Hearing Saori's cheerful voice on the phone—that bright, unguarded tone that could melt even the coldest heart—Shiratori Seiya was momentarily stunned, then quickly recovered:
"Ah, Saori, I just arrived at the venue. I'm sorry—I got delayed a bit on the way, traffic was worse than I expected..."
"Seiya doesn't need to apologize. Saori... Saori is already very happy that Seiya came to see her. That's all that matters."
Hearing this, Shiratori Seiya's heart warmed like sunlight breaking through clouds. Just from her joyful voice, he could vividly imagine her bright, radiant smile—the kind that made everything else fade away. He continued:
"So, where are you all right now? I'll come find you..."
"Ah, Saori will ask the club president..."
A few seconds later, after learning that Saori was in Section C, Row 1, Shiratori Seiya hung up the phone and hurried through the bustling gymnasium.
The venue was enormous—at least three or four thousand people packed into the stands, their collective noise rising like a roaring wave. The air hummed with energy. Shiratori Seiya initially thought it would be difficult to spot Saori in such a sea of faces, but as soon as he entered Section C and took a couple of steps forward, he saw her standing up and looking around eagerly.
She seemed afraid Shiratori Seiya wouldn't see her—as if that were even possible—and even waved her arms and jumped in place like an excited child at a festival. It was unclear who she was greeting exactly, but from a distance, she looked utterly ridiculous. Like a puppy who'd spotted its owner across the park.
This dummy.
Shiratori Seiya felt both touched and a little pained at the sight. His steps quickened unconsciously, but he didn't call out her name. He wanted to at least give Saori a surprise—to see that look of delighted recognition when she turned around and found him there.
However, perhaps sensing his gaze fixed on her like a warm ray of light, or perhaps it was simply that telepathic connection they seemed to share, she suddenly turned around just as Shiratori Seiya was about to approach.
Their eyes met directly—lock, click—and Shiratori Seiya subconsciously stopped in his tracks.
For two heartbeats, they simply gazed at each other across the crowded aisle, the noise of the crowd fading into background static. Then a smile bloomed on the girl's pure, snow-like face—a smile so bright it could rival the sun itself.
She ran toward him, taking three steps in two, her ponytail swaying behind her like a pennant in the wind, sketching joyful arcs through the air with every bound.
"Seiya!"
She came closer and closer, her arms already spreading wide. Shiratori Seiya was about to speak, to say something—anything—when Saori suddenly launched herself at him like a cannonball of pure affection.
He reacted quickly, his body moving on instinct. Immediately raising his hands, he caught her momentum and supported her rounded hips, steadying them both.
The girl's fair arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tight as if she was afraid he'd disappear the moment she let go. Her legs clasped his waist, locking him in place like a koala clinging to its favorite eucalyptus tree.
"Seiya..."
Hasegawa Saori softly murmured his name over and over, like a sacred mantra. She constantly rubbed her chin against his face, nuzzling into him, inhaling his familiar scent as if she'd been starved of it for years.
Compared to Saori's unbridled enthusiasm, Shiratori Seiya—though somewhat surprised by her intensity—was relatively calm. As the two stood in the middle of the aisle, he noticed the surrounding people turning to look at them, some whispering and pointing, others just smiling knowingly. He said softly:
"Alright, alright. I'm here now, Saori. You're a bit too..."
"Saori likes Seiya. It's been so long... Saori missed Seiya so much."
Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, small and vulnerable, utterly sincere.
"..."
Shiratori Seiya had originally wanted her to get down—to not make such a scene in public. But hearing her words, the smile on his face slowly faded, replaced by something softer, more tender. He rubbed her face in response, a gentle, reassuring gesture, then carried her down the steps and returned to where she had been sitting earlier.
Saori opened her eyes and finally noticed everyone around them staring—some whispering, some laughing, some just watching with amused expressions. She immediately came to her senses, a deep blush spreading across her face like a sunset. She whispered, "Seiya, Saori, Saori wants to get down now."
"Okay."
He released his hands, setting her down gently.
However, with Saori no longer blocking his view, Shiratori Seiya found himself making direct eye contact with Yokoyama Miyu, who had been watching the entire scene with a carefully neutral expression.
The latter pursed her lips, seemingly somewhat satisfied with his previous response—at least he caught her—but still couldn't help adding a sharp, sarcastic remark:
"You're quite the dutiful boyfriend, aren't you? I thought you'd wait until the curtain call tomorrow to come pick up Saori. You know, really drag it out."
Knowing that she was speaking up for Saori—defending her honor like a protective older sister—Shiratori Seiya gave an awkward laugh and looked at Saori, explaining:
"I'm sorry. Something came up on the way, and I got held up. I never meant to worry anyone."
Yokoyama Miyu rolled her eyes at him, her tone dripping with skepticism:
"Oh, what a busy man you are. So important."
When she first met Shiratori Seiya, she'd thought he was an honest, decent person. But then she'd found out he had another girlfriend—that Mio girl—and that knowledge had soured her opinion considerably. It made her a bit annoyed on Saori's behalf. Although she found the whole situation a bit absurd, she told herself that his other girlfriend must not be as good as Saori, and that Saori would definitely be the one to end up with him in the end.
But then yesterday—Saori's first major competition in years, a national one at that—and he hadn't even shown up. It really made her blood boil. She felt Saori deserved so much better than this uncertainty.
Seeing her relentless—like a shark that smelled blood—Saori couldn't help but step forward, standing protectively in front of Shiratori Seiya. With a pitiful, pleading expression, she said to Yokoyama Miyu:
"Miyu-senpai, please don't make things difficult for Seiya. He's here now, and that's what matters."
"..."
Seeing her wholeheartedly protecting him, without a shred of resentment or suspicion, Yokoyama Miyu opened her mouth to say something—anything—then finally sighed in defeat. She turned her face away, waved her hand dismissively, and fell silent.
Shiratori Seiya said nothing, but silently took off his backpack. He unzipped it and pulled out two sushi sets he'd bought on the way—fresh, still warm—as well as the latest model of a mobile phone, still in its sleek packaging. He handed them to Saori and said:
"These are for you, Saori. I've already swapped the SIM card, and my number is saved in it. The phone's instruction manual is inside too—just ask me if you don't understand anything. I'll walk you through it."
Although he didn't know if Saori had already eaten, even if she had, she'd be hungry again in less than an hour—that girl's metabolism was practically legendary.
Every time Shiratori Seiya pulled something out of his backpack—first the sushi, then the phone—Saori's eyes brightened a little more. Finally, her eyes welled up with tears—shiny, happy tears—and she looked at him with a blissful, overwhelmed expression:
"So, Seiya was buying these for Saori? That's why you were delayed on the way, right? Because you wanted to surprise me?"
"Hurry and eat. Have a little something to tide you over, and I'll take you out for a proper meal later."
Shiratori Seiya smiled, opened the sushi box, and handed it to her with a gentle push.
Actually, that wasn't entirely true. If he'd only bought these for Saori, he could have arrived half an hour earlier. But while buying the phone, he'd suddenly received a call from the record company. They'd informed him that the first batch of 250,000 albums sold by Hojo Shione had been settled—the money was finally coming through.
According to the settlement terms in his contract, the funds would be distributed to his account after each batch of sales. As a lyricist and composer, his standard share was 5%—which was already quite high. Ordinary lyricists and composers usually got around 1.5% to 2%, if they were lucky.
Since this album featured new songs, the selling price had been set at 3,300 yen per copy. So from 250,000 albums, the money he earned after the first settlement came to 41,250,000 yen. Plus copyright fees and royalties, the amount credited to his account today was roughly 60 million yen.
Sixty million yen seemed like a lot on the surface—a staggering sum to anyone looking in from the outside. But he had spent 50 million yen to exchange for one LV3 song, and another 50 million for a second. With two songs, he still hadn't broken even yet—still far from the 100 million mark he'd invested. But the returns were coming.
However, fortunately, this was just the first batch. 250,000 copies sold in less than a month—a phenomenal debut by industry standards. He would definitely earn more later as the album continued to sell.
In comparison, Hojo Shione should have earned much more than him. He remembered her share was around 9%, plus additional treatment as an artist signed to the company. Shiratori Seiya hadn't calculated it specifically—it wasn't really his business—but her cut should be somewhere around 100 million yen, maybe more.
However, she had just finished paying off her massive debt, so this money would be a significant replenishment for her bank account—and probably a huge relief.
Watching Hasegawa Saori happily eat sushi while simultaneously fiddling with her new phone—sushi in one hand, phone in the other, utterly content—Yokoyama Miyu's anger toward Shiratori Seiya subsided somewhat. At least he'd come through with gifts and food.
However, she then remembered that her conversation with Saori wasn't finished. She glanced at Shiratori Seiya, then reached out and tapped Saori's shoulder:
"Saori, don't be so eager to play with your phone. What have you decided about that matter we talked about? You can't keep putting it off."
As she'd expected, Shiratori Seiya turned to look at her with a curious expression, but he said nothing—just waited.
Hearing this, Saori was stunned for a moment, then slowly put down her phone. She cautiously glanced at the young man beside her, then looked at Yokoyama Miyu and whispered:
"Is this matter... very urgent? Can't it wait a few days?"
"It's not urgent, but how long do you plan to keep thinking about it? Hesitating like this—are you going to wait until after graduation to make up your mind? Some opportunities don't stay open forever, you know."
After a pause, Yokoyama Miyu added, her voice dropping to a persuasive whisper:
"Don't worry, it definitely pays more than being a security guard. Way more—like, actual adult money."
Hearing the word 'security guard,' Shiratori Seiya couldn't help but narrow his eyes and frown. Before Saori could speak, he asked, his tone sharp with concern:
"What security guard? What are you talking about?"
Hearing him ask, Yokoyama Miyu chuckled—a mix of exasperation and amusement—and explained:
"Saori asked me about security guard jobs before. She said she still wanted to buy a house in Tokyo, and she asked if there were any suitable high-end residential areas where she could work as a security guard or something.
She said she wanted to earn money to buy a house. She has no concept of how expensive real estate is here, but surely you understand how ridiculous that idea is? Oda-senpai is an 8th dan master. If he takes Saori as his disciple, Saori won't be at a disadvantage. You, her boyfriend, should persuade her to take this seriously."
Hearing the words 'buy a house,' Shiratori Seiya's expression stiffened. He seemed to have thought of something—a sudden realization that hit him like a truck—and his throat felt dry. He swallowed hard, then turned to Saori and asked, his voice carefully controlled:
"Saori, are you very short on money recently? Do you want to buy a house? Why didn't you tell me?"
"No, it's not..."
Hasegawa Saori instinctively pressed her legs together, her toes curling up nervously. A blush of timidity appeared on her face—exposed by Yokoyama Miyu's bluntness—and she dared not look at Shiratori Seiya's face, mumbling her words like a child caught sneaking cookies:
"It's just that Miyu-senpai said that if I agree to be Oda-senpai's disciple, I can earn a lot of money..."
Her voice dropped even lower, barely audible:
"Saori... Saori wants to help Seiya reduce his burden. Even just a little bit."
She hadn't wanted to tell Seiya the full truth—that she wanted to buy him a house in Tokyo. Ever since moving near Seiya's apartment, she had been secretly saving money, penny by penny, dreaming of the day she could give him something real.
Although she hadn't saved much so far—not even enough for one decent meal for herself—she thought of asking Yokoyama Miyu about security guard jobs. She'd seen on TV that security guards for wealthy residential areas could earn tens of thousands of yen a month, which seemed like a fortune to her.
The girl's voice was very soft, as light as a feather falling, but it exploded like thunder in Shiratori Seiya's heart.
He fell silent, his hands unconsciously clenching tightly at his sides. His jaw tightened.
After a long, heavy pause, he suddenly looked at Saori and asked, his voice low and intense:
"Saori, do you actually want to do this? Forget the money—do you truly want to become his disciple?"
"If I can earn money—"
"I'm asking if you really want to!"
Shiratori Seiya's voice unconsciously rose by two degrees—sharp, urgent, almost desperate. He stared intently at Saori, his entire aura suddenly intensifying like a storm about to break.
Hearing that he was clearly angry—no, not angry, something else—both their expressions froze. Yokoyama Miyu's mouth opened, then closed, suddenly feeling like she'd said too much.
Realizing that he seemed to have scared her—that wide-eyed, startled look on Saori's face—Shiratori Seiya took a deep breath, forcibly calmed his emotions, and reached out to smooth Saori's bangs with a gentle hand. He looked into her eyes, his voice softening to a tender whisper:
"Saori, do you know why I earn money? Why I work so hard?"
Saori held his hand to her face, feeling the warmth of his palm against her cheek, and immediately felt at ease. She slowly shook her head, her eyes fixed on his.
"I want to earn money—not to do whatever I want with it, not to buy flashy things or show off. I want to earn money so I can say 'no' when faced with things we don't want to do. So that we never have to do something just for the money."
"So if Saori forces herself to do things she doesn't like—if she becomes someone else's disciple just to earn money—then what's the point of everything I'm doing? What's the point of all my effort?"
He paused, his voice dropping to a near-whisper:
"Saori, I can support you. My goal has never been about buying a house or accumulating wealth for its own sake. My goal is to protect the people I care about."
As if feeling that his words were not convincing enough—actions speak louder than words, after all—Shiratori Seiya pulled out his phone, opened his mobile banking app, and showed Saori his account balance. The numbers stared back at them—more than enough to make his point.
"I can support Saori. I can be responsible for you. You don't need to worry about money. That's my job."
After a pause, he hardened his heart, his tone becoming flat—even cold—for emphasis:
"Saori, you know I am very... arrogant. If I need to force Saori to earn money—if she has to sacrifice her happiness just to make ends meet—then I'd rather die. And in that case, I wouldn't like Saori anymore."
Hasegawa Saori's pupils suddenly constricted, her eyes going wide as dinner plates. She shook her head frantically, tears already welling up:
"No! Seiya not liking Saori—that must never happen. Never, ever!"
Hearing this, Shiratori Seiya breathed a long sigh of relief—the tension draining from his shoulders—and then asked seriously, his gaze steady and unwavering:
"So, I'll ask Saori one more time. Do you really want to be his disciple? I don't want you to consider the money factor anymore. Just your heart. Tell me the truth."
"No!"
Crystal tears flowed from the girl's eyes like a sudden rainstorm. She threw herself forward and hugged the young man in front of her tightly, her voice choked with emotion:
"Saori's swordsmanship was taught by Seiya. Every stance, every strike—it all came from Seiya. Saori only wants to be Seiya's disciple for life, and wants to be Seiya's wife. I don't want to be anyone else's disciple! I only want to be yours!"