(A Rival's True Nature, Revealed!)
Sumitomo Ryota gingerly touched the bandage still taped across the bridge of his nose and let out a pained hiss. "Oww, it still stings. That was one hell of a punch, you know? It nearly sent me to the floor… but I held my ground!"
He actually sounded… proud of that fact?
"Speaking of which, Akira-kun," he continued, eyes lighting up with curiosity, "how'd you land that punch? Do you train in boxing or something?"
"No…"
Kuroha Akira had never formally practiced boxing. As a former corporate slave, finding time to breathe was a luxury, let alone hitting a gym. Though, in a bid to shed some excess weight, he had dabbled in a few months of cardio-boxing workouts… but that was just glorified aerobics, not the real deal.
"If anything, when someone swings a wild, telegraphed punch right at your face like you did, as long as you see it coming, dodging it is just common sense, right?"
"I see… 'As long as you see it coming'…" Sumitomo Ryota muttered to himself, arms crossed as he fell into thought.
He's not getting weirdly inspired by this, is he? A guy with 'Boxing A' talent suddenly taking up the sport… Could the first step of a future Japanese boxing champion start right here? The idea of being the catalyst for a boxing prodigy was almost comical.
"That sounds pretty cool! Let's hit the gym together sometime!" Ryota declared, his enthusiasm reignited.
"Pass. I've got important things to do," Kuroha Akira shot back without mercy.
"Like what?"
"Writing a novel. It's our Literary Club activity."
He deliberately stressed the 'our' part, hoping to provoke a reaction, but Sumitomo Ryota's carefree nature made him immune. He simply shrugged. "Oh, that's probably just Shiori's way of stirring up trouble. The Literary Club's real functions got snatched by the News Club ages ago… What's the point of just writing novels anyway…"
It seemed Ryota was aware of the club's precarious situation. Perhaps his initial desire to join was to help tackle this very issue—a task that had now fallen to Kuroha Akira.
"That stuck-up girl… she's actually pretty decent-looking when she keeps her mouth shut."
"You know her?"
"She's kind of famous in Class 3. Was famous even before high school, I think. Wrote some short story and won a new writer award or something…" Ryota scratched his head, trying to recall details, but his disinterest in literary matters left his memory fuzzy on titles and specifics.
"Don't really get that stuff, but a buddy in Class 3 said her writing's legit, but her personality's the worst. Not gentle at all—totally non-girlfriend material. No idea how Hitomi ended up friends with her…"
Fujiyoshi Michio, who had been listening quietly, chimed in with a wry smile. "It was the Suiren Publishing Short Story Newcomer Award. It might not be as prestigious as the Naoki or Akutagawa Prizes, but it's a well-respected gateway award in the industry. Every author who's won it has debuted as a novelist without fail, and many have gone on to win major awards later. It carries significant weight in traditional literary circles."
"Ohh…"
"But the most impressive part," Fujiyoshi continued, his voice tinged with awe, "is that Shirai-san is the first minor to win the award since its inception! She made history!"
"..."
He then added, with a hint of sheepishness, "Actually… I've read that winning story. It's incredibly well-written—doesn't feel like a student's work at all. I have no doubt she'll become a famous author someday. We're all just high school students, but some people already have their futures mapped out so clearly…"
Fujiyoshi Michio's expression was one of genuine envy. Meanwhile, Kuroha Akira's mind was racing.
He'd just obtained crucial intel on Shirai Shiori from the most unexpected source.
So she's the real deal.
Because she'd refused the palm reading and worn those pristine white gloves, Kuroha Akira hadn't been able to gauge her talent. But now it was clear: her right hand undoubtedly bore characters. And not just any characters—a high-tier talent. Winning a major literary award at her age was no fluke.
Furthermore, having already been published via the award anthology meant she had experience. No wonder she'd been so confident during their wager.
But her critical miscalculation was challenging a man with no shame.
Kuroha Akira's strategy was simple: drag her down to his level of cunning, then overwhelm her with his vastly greater reservoir of… questionable experience.
So what if she's a genius? I'll take on a genius!
That said, this new information shifted Kuroha Akira's perspective.
His original plan had been a masterstroke of benevolent condescension: if Shirai Shiori failed to secure publication within the month, he would graciously extend the deadline until she did. The result? A technical draw.
He'd give her a face-saving out, then hold this perpetual 'debt' over her head—a lifetime supply of teasing material, watching the prideful literary genius squirm as she swallowed her indignation.
But the intel changed everything.She might actually do it.Within the month.Which meant it was no longer a controlled spar; it was a flat-out race against time.He had to land a publishing contract before she did.It seemed that even when the opponent was just a high school girl, there was zero room for holding back. The class president really does attract extraordinary friends… Is this some kind of 'Stand User' magnetism among geniuses?
After a few more minutes of casual chatter with the two, Kuroha Akira finally left the school gates and began the walk home.
Every step of the way, a single, nagging debate looped in his mind: To plagiarize, or not to plagiarize?
To be brutally honest, he felt a deep-seated resistance.
As a former professional—a copywriter and scriptwriter—Kuroha Akira still clung to a shred of professional ethics. Inspiration was one thing; outright theft was another.
The language barrier had always been a convenient excuse. If he'd truly wanted to, he could have started 'translating' famous works with rudimentary software on the second day of his transmigration. The fact he hadn't… was because he couldn't quite clear the moral hurdle labeled 'plagiarism' in his heart.
To start copying felt like becoming a thief, plain and simple.
Had Kuroha Akira never been a creator in his past life—just a consumer—he could have probably plagiarized without a twinge of conscience, happily bathing in stolen fame and fortune.But precisely because he was an 'insider,' he understood all too well the blood, sweat, and solitary midnights poured into crafting those beloved stories.
Even though this was a parallel world where the original authors might never write those works, or might not even exist as writers… he couldn't shake the feeling of stealing their 'potential.'There was also the fear of 'ruining the original.' He didn't possess a cheat-like photographic memory. He recalled plots, outlines, iconic scenes—not every nuanced sentence. A copied work would always be a flawed facsimile, a ghost of the original.
Ah… Having too high a moral bar can really be a pain sometimes.
Furthermore, the wager with Shirai Shiori had fundamentally changed the stakes.
If it were purely for money, back when he was destitute and desperate… maybe he could have rationalized breaking that line. Making money isn't shameful, after all.
But this was different. This was about making an arrogant writer girl yield. Using someone else's masterpiece to achieve that would undoubtedly work… but the person she'd be yielding to would be the 'work,' not him.
Even if Shirai Shiori could never possibly know the truth, Kuroha Akira would know. He couldn't lie to himself.
Winning this duel on borrowed brilliance would be a hollow, unfair victory.
With that thought crystallizing, he slipped his student ID from his pocket. Clipped inside was the bank card he'd carried since the moment he woke up in this world.
He didn't know the exact balance, but he knew it represented a safety net. If he could access it, his basic survival would be secured.
In fact, now that he'd mastered the language, with a bit of legwork and some forged excuses, he could probably withdraw the funds, even contact the family of this body…
The reason he hadn't? Another, deeper hurdle stood in the way. A hurdle named 'This isn't mine.'Outwardly adaptable, he'd never fully accepted this new identity. He still felt like an imposter—'Shirako' merely occupying 'Kuroha Akira's' life.
Thus, this money was the parents' support for 'Kuroha Akira,' not for him, 'Shirako.' It was why he hadn't protested when Shinomiya refused to use her father's money. He understood that sentiment perfectly.
As long as Kobayashi provided food and shelter, with no imminent crisis, there was no need to touch those funds.
In essence, despite six months in this unfamiliar Tokyo, he had never truly landed.
Yet, this absurd, high-stakes duel… it had somehow sparked a flicker of his own agency.A realization cut through the existential fog:
No matter where he was.No matter what body he wore.He was, at his core, a creator.A two-dimensional otaku who lived and breathed stories.That was the undeniable truth of the current Kuroha Akira.
So… walk your own path.Use your own strength… to make Shirai Shiori strip!
A fierce, competitive grin finally touched his lips. The hesitation evaporated, replaced by the clear, burning focus of a challenge accepted. The battlefield was set, and he would meet her on it with his own arsenal. The race was on.