The second Monday of September rolled in with the kind of gentle, forgettable sunlight that made Tokyo feel almost sleepy. Kuroha Akira, after what felt like an eternity away, stepped back into the Literary Club activity room. The Class Monitor walked beside him, her presence as steady and reassuring as ever. He hadn't set foot here much last week—too busy racing against the clock to finish his manuscript.
But now? The submission was already sent, winging its way toward Hurricane Publishing like a paper airplane launched into the great unknown. For the first time in days, his shoulders felt lighter. No more deadline demons breathing down his neck. So here he was, primarily to extend the loan period on the manga and novels he'd borrowed ages ago. The stack had been gathering dust while he burned the midnight oil, but now he finally had the luxury of reading for pleasure again.
When he pushed open the door, he found Shirai Shiori and Aizono Moe already inside. He raised a hand in easy greeting.
"Yo. Morning, you two."
Aizono Moe blinked at him, then at the window, where the late afternoon light painted the room in shades of amber. She offered a weak smile.
"Kuroha-san… it's already evening…"
"Our Literary Club is part of the entertainment industry now," Kuroha replied without missing a beat, leaning against the door-frame with casual confidence. "Saying 'good morning' is totally fine."
It wasn't complete nonsense. In Japan, certain industries—hospitality, food service, entertainment—used "good morning" as a fixed greeting regardless of the actual time of day. It wasn't about literal mornings; it was about acknowledging that someone had arrived before you and worked hard.
Shirai Shiori didn't look up from the novel in her hands, but her ears were clearly tuned to the conversation. After a beat, she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"…Why are you here?"
"I'm a member of the Literary Club. Is it strange for me to show up?"
"Hmph. You know what I'm asking."
Her eyes flicked up just long enough to pin him with a pointed glare. Last week, he'd been absent—supposedly "rushing a manuscript." Now he suddenly reappeared. Either he was here to fish for information about her progress, or…
Or he was already finished.
Shirai Shiori refused to accept that second possibility. She knew how brutally hard novel writing was. She still hadn't figured out what to write yet. The blank page loomed before her like an unclimbable wall.
Hmph. So what if he finished? A novel rushed out in record time would never get picked up by an editor anyway. Never.
Kuroha fired back with the same weapon she'd used.
"What about you? I heard from the Class Monitor that you skipped the Literary Club last week too. Why are you back?"
"…I'm also a member. I can come whenever I want."
Her tone was frosty, but the truth was she had come to scout. Her original plan had been to head straight home after school and wrestle with her new novel concept. But at lunch, she'd run into Asato Hitomi, who'd mentioned—casually, or so it seemed—that Kuroha would be stopping by the activity room today. That information had rerouted her trajectory completely.
Kuroha saw right through her.
Of course he did.
A mischievous smile tugged at his lips as he decided to poke the bear.
"Oh my, Shirai, you look exhausted. Rough nights lately? I really do sympathize… but I, on the other hand, have already been liberated."
The implication landed like a dart. Shirai's composure flickered—just for a second—before she looked up, pressing him with barely restrained intensity.
"You… already submitted it?"
"Yep. Now I'm just waiting for the results."
Shirai Shiori did not shatter. She did not despair. Instead, she inhaled slowly, composed herself, and returned her gaze to the book in her hands, her voice coming out softer than expected.
"…Then I wish you luck."
Now that threw Kuroha off.
"Huh? Shirai, you haven't gone crazy from sleep deprivation, have you? You're wishing me luck? Shouldn't you be cursing my name? If I actually pass, you know what that means, right? The naked pose awaits."
She didn't even flinch.
"Compared to a boring bet, I'm more focused on creation right now."
"Hmph…"
Alright. She's locked in.
It seemed Shirai Shiori's mental stats were higher than he'd given her credit for. She wasn't going to be rattled by cheap psychological warfare. Respect where it was due.
Kuroha shrugged off the exchange and pulled out a manga, planning to burn through a volume before heading home. No point in pushing further.
Aizono Moe, however, quietly dragged her chair closer to his, her movements small and hesitant. After a moment of fidgeting, she reached out and poked his shoulder.
"Um… Kuroha-san…?"
He turned, and the smile that spread across his face was radiant—the kind of warm, effortless smile he reserved for things he considered already within his grasp. Aizono Moe, in his eyes, was a treasure figure waiting to be added to his collection. The more he looked at her, the more he liked what he saw.
She shrank slightly under that gaze, cheeks warming, but for the sake of her friend's health, she pressed on.
"I, I wanted to ask… Kuroha-san, do you have any way to make Shiori stop?"
The worry in her voice was genuine. Shirai Shiori's dark circles had been deepening day by day. She was running on fumes—barely four hours of sleep at home, spending every other waking moment either reading or writing, then crashing in the infirmary during lunch breaks to recharge.
"Shiori's the type who can't stop once she steps on the accelerator. She's been reading novels in class lately… it's like she's possessed. If this keeps up, she's going to break down…"
Unlike Kuroha, Shirai couldn't write in class without getting caught. But she was so obsessed with winning the bet that she refused to let class time go to waste, so she used it to devour novels instead. Aizono had been acting as her lookout, narrowly saving her from teacher detection more times than she could count.
"If you can't stop her, and you're her best friend, what makes you think I can?"
"But, um… the one who made the bet with Shiori is Kuroha-san. So if you'd be willing to take it back…"
"Moe!"
Shirai Shiori's voice cut through the room like a blade.
She didn't even use her childhood nickname for Aizono. She said "Moe"—flat, sharp, final. That was how Aizono knew she was truly angry.
"Don't say things that embarrass me anymore. I know you mean well, but… if I have to beg him just to avoid losing, I'd rather die."
The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Shirai Shiori had just declared that her pride meant more to her than her own life.
She seemed to realize how harsh she'd sounded. The tension in the room was suffocating. Without another word, she closed her book, grabbed her bag, and walked toward the door.
"…I'm going home first."
"Ah—wait for me, Shiori! I'm sorry, I said the wrong thing… please don't hate me!"
Aizono scrambled after her, apologies spilling out in a frantic stream.
The door clicked shut behind them, and silence settled over the activity room like dust.
It was just as the Class Monitor had said. Those two were so close that their relationship had entered dangerous territory—the hedgehog effect in full bloom. The closer they got, the more they pricked each other.
Only Kuroha and Asato Hitomi remained.
A familiar scene.
A familiar quiet.
She moved to sit beside him, her presence as gentle as always.
"So, Kuroha-kun," she asked, tilting her head slightly, "are you confident you'll win?"
"I don't know." He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "Creative work means handing your fate over to someone else's judgment. It's not really up to me anymore."
"I see. That sounds like a cruel industry."
"Yeah. That cruel."
A pause. Then:
"So, Class Monitor… who are you rooting for?"
She smiled—that warm, measured smile she always wore.
"I hope you two can get along."
Kuroha laughed softly. "That's such a Class Monitor answer."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No, just predictable." He folded his arms behind his head. "Honestly, though? After this whole thing blows over, Shirai and I will probably be irreconcilable. It's either her or me at that point."
"Is that so? I don't think so, Kuroha-kun." Hitomi's eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. "Would you like to make a bet with me too?"
"Oh?" Interest flickered in his gaze. "What are we betting on?"
"Let's bet on how Shiori will see you after this incident."
Kuroha's grin widened. "Interesting. What're the stakes?"
"If I win… I want the right to call Kuroha-kun by your given name. Directly."
He blinked. "That's it? Class Monitor, you can already call me by my name if you want. That's barely a prize."
"Of course, it's more than that." She held up a finger. "When I call your name, you have to respond. No ignoring me. No pretending you didn't hear or see me. That's the kind of right I want."
He let out a low whistle. "So basically… on-call service. Got it."
"Mm." She nodded, perfectly serious. "And if I lose… well, you should decide what you want from me."
What Kuroha Akira wanted most in the world was, without question, the soft life. The pampered existence. The kind of future where he didn't have to lift a finger.
"Lunch bento," he said without hesitation. "Extended until the first half of next year."
He was well aware of how outrageous that sounded. The bentos the Class Monitor made were already works of art—nutritionally balanced, visually stunning, and packed with premium ingredients that didn't come cheap. Asking for six more months of that was practically highway robbery.
But hey. A man had to shoot his shot.
"Oh, ho…"
Asato Hitomi had been fully prepared for something much more outrageous. Something scandalous. Something unspeakable that would make a maiden's cheeks burn. Physical… interaction, maybe.
But he hadn't gone there at all.
Which meant he wasn't interested in her body. Which was… nice, in a way. It showed Kuroha-kun wouldn't exploit his friends.
Still, it stung a maiden's pride just a little.
So she added another condition to save face.
"No problem. If Kuroha-kun wins, not only will I keep making you even more delicious bentos, but I'll also give you the right to enjoy a lap pillow anytime, anywhere. Deal?"
"DEAL! It's settled! I'm betting Shirai's gonna hate me!"
Kuroha practically pounced on the agreement, locking in his side before she could change her mind.
Hitomi's smile never wavered. "Then I'll bet Shiori will worship you."
"Huh? Worship? You sure that's the word?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
What she didn't say was that worship was the safe bet. The honest bet. The one that wouldn't reveal how she really thought this would end—with Shiori falling for him entirely.
But if that happened, Asato Hitomi realized she might feel… uncomfortable. So she kept that part to herself.
Always pay attention to people's positions and the changes in their hearts, her mother had taught her. That was the first lesson.
Kuroha-kun was a creator. Shiori was also a creator.
Creators were drawn to each other like magnets. It was inevitable.
And when the weak encountered the strong… they submitted. They became subordinates. That was nature's law.
So just wait, Kuroha-kun.
The moment Shiori's pride shatters completely in your hands…
She'll be yours.