Looks like this is the golden age of shounen manga serialization for the "Three Great Min-kou Manga."
The min-kou in min-kou manga refers to series so widely popular that even busy construction workers with no free time would know them.
The character designs of the Three Great Min-kou hadn't changed much, but the storylines and developments were wildly different—enough to feel like completely different works.
Which meant Akira could enjoy reading them all over again, with that peculiar thrill of seeing an IF-line version of the originals. It only made him more interested.
"Can I take some of these manga home to read?"
"Sure. Momo brought them because she wanted to share her favorites with everyone. It's a shame the Literature Club only has three people—Shiori and I barely read manga at all… If Momo knew you were interested in manga, Kuroba-kun, she'd be delighted."
"Nice, then I won't hold back. I'll let Aizono-san know when she gets here."
For today, ten volumes should do—enough to read the first volume or two of several interesting series.
Once he'd "looted" the manga shelf, Akira turned his eyes toward the novels on the next shelf over. His schoolbag still had half its space free, after all.
"These novels must be Shiroi-san's, right?"
"Yup. Could you tell?"
"Mm. They have her style."
A heavy bunkei vibe… or rather, half the shelf was stuffed with seishun shou-tou bungaku—youth-and-pain literature.
Flowery prose, rich description… but empty inside. Hollow. Akira had no interest and skipped right past them.
Below that were famous domestic authors—Dazai Osamu, Mishima Yukio, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Kawabata Yasunari—names anyone would know.
And below that, many foreign authors—Zhou Shuren, Hugo, Camus, Hemingway, Tagore, Dostoevsky… works at the "literary classic" level. Akira had read these in his past life, remembered not just their contents but the exact feeling he'd had after finishing them.
It was always the same—shock, and a strange, crawling fear running up his spine and seeping into his brain. Because their analysis of human nature was too precise, their portrayals too deep.
This level of work was something far beyond what someone like him could write—something he didn't even dare to imagine writing.
A classic was a classic because its depth of thought transcended its era. Its craft often broke new ground, even influencing "civilization" itself. Humanity's shared treasure.
What surprised Akira most was that there were quite a few works from the great "Flower-Planting Nation." He hadn't heard of either the works or the authors, but if they sat alongside those other giants, they had to be famous here.
This world's mysterious Eastern superpower had risen even more spectacularly than in his last life—it made sense their cultural achievements would also be more dazzling.
And some of these were even original editions, untranslated… how convenient. Chinese-to-Japanese reading was one of the very few "innate gifts" Akira had been born with.
"Can I take these novels too?"
"That you'll have to ask Shiori. She treasures those books—reads them wearing gloves, even. Treats them like her husband."
"I doubt she'd be this attentive with an actual husband…"
If you asked Shiroi Shiori whether she'd rather spend her life with books or a handsome man, she wouldn't hesitate to choose the books.
Since she already hated him, Akira figured it didn't matter if she hated him more. Grinning wickedly, he began looting her treasured novels.
"In any case, if they're on the Literature Club's shelves, that makes them club property. As a club member, I have the right to enjoy club resources. I'm not wrong, am I, Class Rep?"
Anri Hitomi's expression held both helplessness and indulgence. The look was like a parent gazing at a mischievous child they couldn't bring themselves to scold—tinged with affection and compromise.
"You really are hopeless… If Shiori does get angry, I'll put in a word for you."
"Heh, don't worry, Class Rep. I'll handle it myself."
Akira grabbed another eight novels from the shelf—mostly domestic works. He was genuinely curious to see how far Flower-Planting Nation literature had come in this world.
"By the way, Class Rep, no books from you here?"
"Mm… I bought the shelves, though."
"Fantastic. So you really are the foundation of the Literature Club, Minister."
"Honestly, Kuroba-kun, are you calling me stupid?"
"Come on, as the grade's very last place, I'd never mock the top student, Class Rep."
"No need to flatter me. I know I don't read much outside of classwork. It's not that I dislike reading—I just spend more time on reference books for study than on works that 'nurture the soul.'"
"You really do love studying, huh, Class Rep."
"It's just that my honored mother said there will be plenty of time to read good books later, but while I'm still a student I should focus on my studies. Every age has its priorities. I agree with her—so I focus on grades."
Yes, the Class Rep was a mama's girl. But not the puppet kind with no mind of her own.
Her mother's words subtly shaped her personality.
The woman was… clever. She never forced her daughter to obey. Instead, she reasoned, gave real-world examples, used "sound arguments" and "practical cases" to guide her smart daughter toward the "correct path."
Then she'd say, "It's your choice." But was it really?
Once you know the right road, would you still stubbornly walk the wrong one?
As long as the Class Rep stayed a "smart child," she could never "choose wrong."
This was her mother's invisible pressure—another form of control.
At this rate, the Class Rep's rebellious phase might never come, even into adulthood. She'd always be "the good daughter who listens to Mom," eventually becoming a girl with "no opinions of her own," who only knew the "right opinions."
What a waste… Akira still hoped the Class Rep would find something she wanted to do, instead of something she should do.
It was out of concern for a friend that he, for once, gave a bit of advice.
"Sure, a student's duty is to study—but you should enjoy yourself too. Some works are best read at this age. Once you grow up, you won't have the same feelings you would now."
"I see… that makes sense too. In that case, I'll try reading more outside of class. Do you have any recommendations, Kuroba-kun?"
"Not yet… Let me read these first, then I'll recommend something."
"Alright. It's a promise, then—I'll be waiting."
Anri Hitomi smiled, eyes full of expectation.
Akira felt relieved. It wasn't too late. She could start asking her own heart now. Like trying to save the Literature Club—she should go do what she wanted to do.
What Akira didn't know was that because of him, Anri Hitomi had already found a brand-new life goal.
One whose starting point was twisted. Whose values were twisted.
He had become the second person—after her mother—to profoundly shape her personality.
In fact, Akira's words now carried more weight in her heart than her mother's. When the two conflicted, she would choose his.
And this influence would last, guiding her life from now on… making "right" no longer right.
The correct road Anri Hitomi had always walked would now veer onto a warped, mistaken branch.
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T/N: err ggs
bonus chaps
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200 stones -> 2 chapters
300 stones -> 3 chapters
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