"No need. This time, I'll write a light novel too. Only by writing in the same genre can it be considered a fair contest, right?"
Shiroi Shiori refused Kuroba Akira's "kindness." It wasn't just stubbornness—she had solid reasoning.
"Even though I've only just started reading light novels, yesterday I realized they cover all sorts of genres. Some even have a more serious style, so I don't think writing a light novel means I'll be at a disadvantage."
Early light novels really had been all over the place—fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, even alternate history. Some were downright heavy, not light reading at all, but still got classified as "light novels" because the concept was in a transitional phase—shifting from "light in weight" to "light in content."
Later, when the term became more universal, light novels would once again become an all-genre mishmash—but their core would still lean toward dialogue-heavy, easy-to-read styles, and of course the endless wave of isekai "toilet paper" novels.
In Japan, there was an even simpler definition: novels that were easier to adapt into manga or anime.
"And if I submitted to a publisher I'm familiar with, the editor's acceptance rate would be higher. That wouldn't be fair."
This time, Akira didn't mock her—just raised a brow and asked,
"…You're serious?"
"Of course I'm serious."
"Shiroi-san, you know the saying, right? Don't challenge someone's profession with your hobby?"
Only after saying it did Akira remember he was currently just an unknown high school boy—hardly convincing as the "professional." So he lightened his tone.
"Well, I might not be a professional either, but in the field of light novels, I'm definitely more familiar than you. You'll be at a disadvantage, you know?"
"I know. But I'll catch up. Regardless of whose writing skill is higher right now, when it comes to reading, I'm confident."
True enough—Shiroi Shiori spent practically every waking moment with a book in hand.
And light novels weren't entirely divorced from traditional literature—there was overlap.
With her reading volume, she'd probably grasp the knack quickly.
But this was still binding herself in a cocoon.
She didn't have to leave her comfort zone, step into a new field, and become a challenger… yet she chose to.
Because of that, Akira's impression of her shifted a little.
Shiroi Shiori's pride wasn't arrogance.
She'd read, she'd written, she'd submitted, she'd won an award—so she knew exactly how difficult publishing was, and that it demanded full effort.
She must have already prepared herself to spend the next month buried in light novels—so she could pursue her idea of a fair fight without hesitation.
Akira smiled too, the curve of his mouth tinged with amusement.
Interesting…!
"Let's confirm this in advance—you're not going to lose and then use 'light novels aren't my field' as an excuse, right?"
"You don't need to worry about that. If I lose, I'll honor the bet. I won't go back on my word."
Shiroi lifted her chin slightly, meeting his gaze with a challenge.
"On the contrary, I hope you can be a man of your word, Kuroba-kun—keep your promise and not weasel out if you lose."
Akira slapped the desk.
"I, Ku—Kuroba Akira, say what I mean and do what I say! A man's word is worth a thousand horses!"
"Then let's wait for the result."
Shiroi had cut off her own retreat—and his as well.
No way down for either of them. Lose, and you lose—no excuses.
With his adult mindset, Akira normally didn't like making things this absolute. It was only children acting on impulse who made wagers beyond their ability, leaving themselves no face if they lost.
But since Shiroi Shiori was this serious…
Akira decided to answer her resolve in kind.
"Then I should tell you, Shiroi-san—I've already decided what I'm writing, and I've already started. So you'd better pick up the pace."
Shiroi frowned slightly—she hadn't expected his progress to be this fast. The bet had been made just yesterday, and he'd already begun? Didn't he even write an outline?
No—maybe he'd decided long before.
That would explain why he'd been so eager to invite Momo to do the illustrations… Yes, it made sense.
Her suspicion toward him lessened a little—but at the same time, she felt the anxiety of falling behind.
But rushing was the worst thing for writing—the faster you pushed, the worse it came out.
He was clearly saying this just to throw off her mindset!
Just like when he'd sniffed her shoe yesterday… shameless bastard!
"Hmph! No need for you to worry. I'll work at my own pace—this isn't a speed contest. Kuroba-kun, you should worry more about the quality of your work."
"Heh heh, that's exactly what I'm doing."
Now that he'd borrowed the books and their heated bet had turned into a fair fight, Akira saw no reason to hang around the Literature Club—he wanted to get back to writing.
"Then Class Rep, I'll head back. See you tomorrow."
"Kuroba-kun, leaving already? Not staying a bit longer?"
"There aren't any actual club activities now. If I stay, I've got nothing to do—and with Shiroi-san here, I'd rather avoid writing in front of her."
Shiroi rolled her eyes.
"I'm not going to steal your ideas! Even if you showed me, I wouldn't look!"
"It's not that—I just think writing needs a familiar environment to really get into the zone. You're like that too, right?"
"…Hmph."
She couldn't deny it. As he said, it was hard to focus on creating in a noisy school. She only read at school—writing was for quiet evenings at home.
"Hitomi, I'm heading out too."
As if to beat him to it, Shiroi slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out first.
"Ah! Wait for me! Shiori, let's go together… Um, Hitomi-chan, I'm off too… See you tomorrow!"
Momo hurried to follow after her.
Akira shrugged, packed the manga and novels into his bag, waved to the Class Rep, and made a quick exit.
Leaving Anri Hitomi alone in the clubroom.
"Honestly… I'm the only one left…"
She smiled wryly, sipping the tea she'd brewed for everyone.
She envied her clubmates who could charge forward toward their goals without hesitation.
At least now, she too had something she wanted to do.
When it came to making money… only one person came to mind—the shrewdest businessperson she'd ever seen.
Her mother, Anri Megumi, the true power behind the Anri Zaibatsu.
Ever since Hitomi had been forced by her mother's words to sever ties with her childhood friends, their relationship had fallen to subzero. Even when they met, it was just polite greetings—nothing more.
Hitomi had sworn to herself she would never ask her mother for help.
But now… she might have to break that vow.
She took out her phone, found the number she had never once dialed, took a deep breath to steady herself, and pressed "Call."
"…Hello? It's me."
"Who's this? If you don't say your name, I won't know… Oh my, could it be my runaway daughter? Eh? But my daughter's never called me before… Ah, I get it—this is one of those 'It's me, it's me' scams, right? Hehe, I won't fall for it~"
On the other end came a light, sweet, almost airy voice.
Hitomi's memories of her mother were still from childhood—back then, Anri Megumi had been like an iron lady: cold-faced, meticulous, merciless.
But she knew her mother had changed a lot in recent years—almost into another person entirely.
Maybe it was the warmth of love. Maybe it was having a second child. She'd become smoother, gentler, more approachable, always smiling…
In fact, Hitomi's own smile had been learned from her mother.
This personal transformation had spread through the Zaibatsu too—the internal unity hadn't weakened, but grown. Under Megumi's leadership, they'd broken multiple profit records.
When the iceberg melted, the steel shell opened to reveal a smiling bodhisattva.
The third-generation president of the Anri Zaibatsu—Anri Megumi's grip had never been stronger.
"Mother, please don't joke with me. Only Dad and I have this number… I'm your daughter, Anri Hitomi."
"Wow… I'm so excited right now! Truly! This is the first time in eight years and ten months that my daughter has spoken to me on her own. I even remember the last thing you said: 'I won't call you Mom anymore. I'll call you Mother.' Uuu… I cried into who-knows-how-many pillows over that… Though it was my fault. I was such a stubborn fool back then."
"…"
Was this really the mother she'd feared?
In her memory, her mother had changed after a fight—and reconciliation—with her father over her "training methods."
But even so, Hitomi had never imagined she'd change this much… to the point it was hard to take her seriously.
Is this the power of love?
Can a woman really turn 180 degrees after falling for a man?
"I want to ask you about ways to make money."
The voice on the other end paused. After a long moment, Megumi spoke again, her tone now serious.
"I think you know what that means… May I ask your reason?"
"…I have someone I care about. And he only notices people who can make a lot of money."
"I see… My little Hitomi has reached that age. Hehe. Good—very good. No problem. Let your mother teach you, hands-on. Whether it's manipulating markets or manipulating men, I'll share everything I know."
"…Thank you, Mom."
And so, the Anri mother-daughter relationship began to mend—while in Hitomi's heart, a new fire burned.
Wait for me to grow, Kuroba-kun… I'll prove to you that I can shine too.
...
Elsewhere, Akira got back to the Kobayashi house earlier than usual—because he'd run all the way.
The moment he stepped inside, he kicked off his shoes, brushed off Shiginomiya's greeting, and went straight to his laptop.
Seeing him so fired up, Shiginomiya sat beside him.
"Akira-kun, you look like you're in a good mood. Did something good happen at school?"
Pulling out his draft, Akira smirked.
"Oh? You can tell?"
"Mm. It's obvious—you're brimming with energy."
She nodded. She'd always been good at reading people's expressions and moods—and with the person she cared about most, she could feel his atmosphere and gauge his mood in an instant.
"Well… let's just say I might have found a worthy rival."
What had started as a plan to make quick money from writing had—thanks to Shiroi Shiori—reignited the excitement he'd felt when he first started writing.
Creation was both pain and joy—and when it became a contest, the joy multiplied.
TMD! I'm fired up!
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