Leo had achieved his primary objective. The hook was set in Utaha, and the line was pulling tight. For the next few days, he planned to stay away from the Literature Club. Absence makes the heart grow fonder—or at least, makes the curiosity burn hotter.
His next target was the Golden Retriever of the group: Eriri Spencer Sawamura. But before he engaged the "Tsundere Ace," he needed to finish his reconnaissance on Utaha.
On his way back to the apartment, Leo stopped at a massive chain bookstore in Shinjuku. The air inside smelled of fresh paper and coffee, a scent that always calmed him. He navigated the aisles until he found the light novel section. It was a labyrinth.
He found Love Metronome eventually. It wasn't on the "Recommended" shelf by the entrance, nor was it on the end-caps with the flashy displays. It was tucked away on a standard shelf, spine-out, sandwiched between a dozen other titles fighting for survival.
Leo sighed, pulling the full set of five volumes off the shelf.
"In my world, a book with half a million sales would be front and center," Leo mused, checking the price tag. "But here? The industry is a blood sport. Utaha is just a foot soldier in a war of generals."
He paid for the books and headed home.
Back in the climate-controlled silence of his luxury apartment, Leo settled into his massage chair. He kicked off his shoes, cracked open a cold soda, and tore the shrink wrap off Volume 2.
His laptop was humming on the desk nearby, the fans working overtime as his custom script scraped another 4K anime series from the web. He ignored the tech and focused on the text.
An hour later, he tossed Volume 2 onto the coffee table with a soft thud.
"Okay," Leo muttered, rubbing his temples. "Now I get it. No wonder the reviews tanked."
It was a train wreck. Beautifully written, sure, but a train wreck nonetheless. Utaha had introduced a second female lead, and the pacing had shattered. The interactions between the main couple—which had been sweet and engaging in Volume 1—were suddenly interrupted by forced melodrama. It wasn't a natural conflict; it was an abrupt, jarring shift that made the new girl unlikable by default.
"It's giving me White Album 2 vibes," Leo thought, staring at the ceiling. "She's got the 'Maruto' DNA—complex, messy relationships—but she lacks the maturity to pull it off. She lost control of the wheel."
As a veteran consumer of anime, Leo recognized the flavor immediately. It tasted like Mari Okada.
Back in his world, Okada was a legendary screenwriter known for high-octane melodrama. She wrote shows like Anohana and Iron-Blooded Orphans. When she was good, she was brilliant. When she missed (like in The Lost Village), it was a convoluted mess of screaming characters and unresolved angst.
Utaha was a raw, unpolished version of Okada. She let her characters drive the car off the cliff because she refused to hit the brakes on their emotions.
He picked up Volume 3.
This one was different. He could see the jagged edges where someone—likely Aki Tomoya—had forced her to compromise. The pacing stabilized. It wasn't as brilliant as the first volume, but it wasn't the disaster of the second. Tomoya had zero creative talent, but his gut instincts as a consumer were sharp. He'd realized the story was dying and forced a correction.
"If Volume 2 hadn't nuked the fanbase, this series could have done double the numbers," Leo concluded, stacking the books neatly on his shelf. "A pity. Truly."
He moved to his desk. His "Old Reliable" laptop was hot to the touch. The temperature gauge was flashing yellow. He paused the download script to let the poor machine breathe, then began transferring the terabytes of data to his external array.
"Easy, girl," Leo whispered to the computer. "Just a few more months. Then you can retire."
With the download queue paused, he opened his writing software. It was time to work.
His brain, enhanced by the NZT-48 and the Qi cultivation, felt like a supercar engine idling at the red line. He wasn't just focused; he was optimized. He felt like a Coordinator from Gundam SEED—a genetically perfect being operating in a world of naturals.
The words flowed. He didn't just write; he engineered the narrative. By the time he looked up, it was 10:30 PM.
He had finished Volume 1.
Leo leaned back in his ergonomic chair, stretching his arms over his head until his spine cracked in a satisfying ripple. He felt good. The manuscript was dark, funny, and dangerous. It was exactly the kind of "industry test" he needed.
Ping.
A notification sound cut through the quiet room. Leo glanced at his second monitor. It was the desktop client for LINE.
[Kasumigaoka Utaha]: (Leo-kun, are you awake? ┴┤･ω･)ﾉ )
Leo blinked. The emoticon was... cute. It was a massive gap-moe from the "Ice Queen" he had dealt with in person.
[Leo]: (Yeah, just finished the draft. What's up, Senior?)
[Kasumigaoka Utaha]: (I have a question about narrative structure... if you're not too busy. I tried to apply what you said earlier, but...)
She sent a paragraph of text—a dense, overly flowery description of a character's morning routine. It was beautiful, but boring.
[Leo]: (Senior, you're writing a light novel, not War and Peace. Your readers are tired students and salarymen riding the train home. They don't have the patience for three pages of tooth-brushing philosophy. Cut the fat. Respect their time.)
There was a pause. The "typing" bubbles appeared, then vanished, then appeared again.
[Kasumigaoka Utaha]: (That's... harsh. But you're right. I fall into the trap of wanting to be 'literary.' Thanks for the wake-up call, Leo-kun. ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` ) )
Leo chuckled. Online, she was lively, using emojis like a normal teenage girl. In person, she was a statue made of ice and pride.
[Leo]: (Anytime. Get some sleep, Utaha. We have a game to make.)
He closed the chat window, a satisfied smile on his face. The connection was solid. Now, he just had to reel in the artist.