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A Tense Standoff in the Literary Club!
The current Literary Club could, without exaggeration, be said to be stuck in a quagmire of epic proportions!Whether it was the desperate mission to recruit new members and avoid club abolition, or resolving the tangled, bitter history with the traitorous News Club—none of these were problems that could be solved with a snap of the fingers. They required strategy, patience, and the kind of long-term plotting usually reserved for a shogi master's endgame.
So for now… there was nothing to do. Absolutely nothing.
Well, at least the neighboring Service Club still had requests to handle. Compared to them, the Literary Club's current position felt unsettlingly similar to that SOS Brigade—a club whose very purpose was beautifully, mysteriously unclear!
If you really thought about it, the club only continued to exist due to the sheer force of will of its president, Asato Hitomi. A club sustained by one girl's determination… It had a certain lonely, noble charm to it, didn't it?
But even the SOS Brigade frequently stumbled into supernatural incidents thanks to their uniquely… special brigade leader. Here, the class president was only a "god" in Kuroha Akira's heart—not an actual deity capable of miracles.
Are we really going to play Reversi here every single day? At this rate, we'll morph into a Board Game Club before anyone notices!Honestly, I'd be better off heading home early and giving Shinomiya some more voice actor training…
Still, leaving immediately after arriving would be rude. With a resigned sigh, Akira decided to at least finish the cup of tea in his hands.
"So… what do you guys usually do here, anyway? Just… talk?" he asked, breaking the quiet.
The class president gracefully refilled the cups for the other two, then produced a small tin of elegant cookies.
"Well, it is the Literary Club, so we do engage with literature. For our daily activities, we often exchange ideas about writing and creation. After all…" She smiled gently toward her friend. "Shiori's dream is to become a professional novelist."
"H-Hitomi! Don't just announce that so casually!"
Even the aloof Shirai Shiori couldn't maintain her composure when her secret was unveiled so breezily. A delicate blush rose to her cheeks—she looked as flustered as if someone had just read her innermost diary aloud!
For a hobbyist novelist, revealing that you write is indeed a moment of vulnerability. Generally, writers fell into two camps:
The first type guarded their work fiercely, writing purely as an outlet for their inner world—like Kafka, who never published in his lifetime and asked for his manuscripts to be burned. (It was like entrusting a friend with your hard drive and saying, "Destroy it," only for them to look and think, "Whoa, this is incredible!" and publish it posthumously, creating a legacy the author never wanted.)The second type burned with the desire to share, handing their writing to anyone who would glance at it, craving feedback and the emotional resonance of being read—thriving on validation and attention, but withering quickly under criticism or indifference.
As for Shirai Shiori's aspiration… Kuroha Akira didn't find it strange at all.
It's only natural, isn't it? When you love stories deeply, eventually you want to create your own.Because the end of reading is writing. After immersing yourself in countless magnificent worlds, the desire to build one yourself inevitably blossoms.
Akira understood this perfectly—he was a veteran of that feeling, after all.
Seeing that Akira showed no hint of mockery—in fact, he nodded in quiet understanding—Shiori's embarrassment began to fade.He might be a bit of a lech… but he doesn't seem shallow. And come to think of it…Anyone who has earned Asato's affection, even accounting for "love-struck blindness," must have some substance to them.With her perception subtly adjusting, Shiori's expression softened back to its usual calm.
Noticing this, Asato Hitomi's smile deepened. "You know, Shiori… why not let Kuroha-kun read some of your work? We're just readers—we can't give detailed craft advice. But Kuroha-kun writes, too. As a fellow creator, his perspective might be completely different from ours."
"Eh…?"Now it was Akira's turn to feel the awkwardness.
He had been writing in the Library—partly to practice this world's language, partly as a contingency plan for future… borrowing of ideas.
Memories fade, after all. Who knew how long the plots etched in his mind would remain vivid? In a few years, they might vanish entirely.
But as he'd realized, with his "cheat" now active, plagiarism felt like an outdated, tiresome strategy. Who would work that hard for mere fame and modest earnings?Kuroha Akira sought profit, not prestige.
All under heaven bustles for profit; all under heaven rushes for profit.
And there was a deeper uncertainty: even if he copied a smash-hit from his past world, would it truly resonate here?
This was another world, a different Japan.
Trends, culture, collective memory, tastes, values—all had shifted in subtle, profound ways.Even in his old world, what was popular a decade ago could feel archaic today. Some works were meteoric in their time but faded quickly; others were ignored in their era only to be celebrated later.Creation is eternally bound to its time and its audience.And could Kuroha Akira, a transmigrant of only half a year, truly claim to understand this world's heart?
"What I write isn't really presentable… but I'd be happy to take a look at yours," he offered, shifting focus. His passion was for stories in any form—novels, manga, anime, film—anything that captivated.
Shirai Shiori hesitated, torn. Part of her wanted a fellow writer's insight, yet showing her work to someone she'd just met felt… exposing.After an internal battle, caution won.
"I… didn't bring my manuscript today. Perhaps… another time.""Sure, another time."Akira didn't press whether it was truth or polite deflection. But he noted she'd called it her "manuscript"—a writer's term. She took this seriously.
Since novels were off the table, Akira turned his attention back to the two girls before him.He'd already appreciated their outward elegance… Now, it was time to glimpse their insides.
Get your mind out of the gutter! I mean their inner selves—their potential, their hidden talents!
"Well, since we've got time…" He slipped into a practiced, easygoing smile. "How about letting me read your palms?"
The same old line—but it worked. Fortune-telling always seemed to pique curiosity.
Shirai Shiori's brow furrowed instantly.
Palm reading?How utterly unscientific. Only the gullible fall for such superstition. Fortune-tellers just use cold reading and basic psychology.
And this guy… with Asatoi right here… is using it as a cheap trick to hold a girl's hand!His intentions are as transparent as a summer stream!Don't you dare think about touching my hand, you total… pervert!
Her eyes shot daggers, while Asato Hitomi merely chuckled, a glint of amusement in her gaze. The quiet clubroom crackled with unspoken tension—another ordinary, yet subtly charged, afternoon in the Literary Club had truly begun.