Shirai Shiori… worship him?
Haha!
Not a chance.
That was the kind of impossible scenario that wouldn't happen even if the world flipped upside down and started spinning the other way.
On the way home, Kuroha Akira replayed the bet with the Class Monitor in his head and couldn't help but smirk. This time, she'd definitely handed him a victory on a silver platter. Not only was he getting those bento meals extended, but he'd also secured the right to enjoy her lap pillow whenever he wanted.
The image flashed through his mind: him, like some ancient emperor reclining in decadent luxury, lying on his concubine's lap, opening his mouth for grapes like a pampered bird.
How refreshing.
And if the light novel manuscript got approved? Starting capital secured. The half-year slog would finally pay off. Everything was clicking back into place, the plan moving forward like a well-oiled machine. Life was starting to look dangerously good.
The moment he stepped back into Kobayashi, the good news was already waiting.
Shinomiya emerged to greet him, a letter held delicately between her fingers. "Akira-kun, you've received a letter. It seems to be from the publishing house."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow.
That was fast.
Hurricane Publishing's editors must review manuscripts on Mondays.
Efficient.
He respected that.
Now for the moment of truth.
....
Taking the envelope from Shinomiya, Kuroha Akira felt a flicker of nervousness creep into his chest. How long had it been since he'd felt this way? The last time was probably waiting for job interview results after college graduation—that same stomach-tightening sensation of leaving his fate in someone else's hands.
Some things, no matter how many times you experienced them, you never got used to.
He took a deep breath and opened the envelope.
The letter was short. It didn't explicitly state whether the submission had been accepted. Instead, it carried an invitation: an editor named Mori Katsuma wished to treat him to a meal. Contact information was provided, along with a note that the restaurant and time could be arranged according to Kuroha's preferences.
That alone was enough to make him smile.
Getting invited to dinner by an editor meant he was already halfway home.
Shinomiya caught the smile on his face, her own expression softening in response. She clasped her hands behind her back and tilted her head. "Looks like good news?"
"Yeah." Kuroha tucked the letter into his pocket. "Good news. I get another free meal."
...
The next evening, Kuroha Akira took the train to the designated meeting spot.
He'd contacted Mori Katsuma and laid out the terms: the restaurant could be whatever the editor chose, but the time had to be after five o'clock. School came first. Priorities.
Mori hadn't expected Kuroha to be a high school student. Based on the quality of the manuscript—the sheer polish and structural sophistication—he'd assumed the author behind My Sister is Actually an H-Game Master?! would be some grizzled thirty-something like himself.
Well. He wasn't entirely wrong. Kuroha Akira was a high school student with the soul of an uncle who'd been through the trenches.
The meeting place was an old-school tonkatsu restaurant tucked away in Tokyo's Meguro district. A thoughtful choice—Mori had specifically picked something a student would enjoy. For older authors, he'd usually go with an izakaya, where a couple of cold beers loosened tongues and smoothed negotiations.
When Kuroha stepped inside, the waitress led him to the reserved table. And there he was: Mori Katsuma, the editor who'd likely shape his immediate future.
The man was lean, with medium-length hair and a day or two's worth of stubble shadowing his jaw. He wore a casual suit that looked more like something an artist or actor might throw on than what you'd expect from a publishing house editor. The vibe was less salaryman, more creative.
The moment Mori spotted him, he rose from his seat with enthusiasm, extending a hand.
"Oh! You've arrived! We already exchanged names over the phone, but allow me to introduce myself properly in person. I'm Mori Katsuma, associate editor-in-chief at Hurricane Publishing. Please, take my business card."
"Hello, I'm Kuroha Akira…" He accepted the card with a slight bow. "Sorry, I don't have one to return."
"No need to worry about that. Please, have a seat."
Kuroha settled into the chair across from him. Mori seemed about to steer the conversation toward ordering, maybe some light small talk to ease into things—but Kuroha beat him to it.
"Let's skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point, shall we?" His gaze was steady. "Editor-Mori , what do you think of my work? Is it good enough for publication?"
No hesitation. No dancing around the topic. Just the question that actually mattered.
Mori blinked, momentarily thrown. The small talk he'd prepared evaporated from his mind.
So direct. So eager.
But the expression on Kuroha's face wasn't desperate—it was calm. Measured. That suggested one of two things: either this was pure confidence, or it was a test. A way to gauge whether the editor sitting across from him was worth his time.
If this editor can't even recognize the quality of this manuscript, then he doesn't deserve to be an editor anyway.
Far from being offended, Mori found himself intrigued. This kind of straightforwardness was refreshing. And honestly? It was exactly the kind of energy he appreciated in young, talented authors. No fluff. No wasted motion.
So he matched Kuroha's pace and laid out the verdict first.
"Very well, then. I'll give you the conclusion upfront: in my assessment, your work has reached the standard for publication."
It's done.
Kuroha Akira's heart did a victory lap right there in his chest. But his face? Cool as a winter morning. Before coming, he'd made a point of copying Shinomiya's S-rank Soul Performance talent—the ultimate poker face cheat code. No way he was letting his expression slip now.
Play it cool. You've got this.
Inside, though? The fireworks had already started.
"However," Mori continued, leaning forward slightly, "as your responsible editor, I do have a few questions. They might affect the publication arrangements going forward. Would you be willing to answer them?"
"No problem." Kuroha gave a small nod. "But you don't need to use honorifics with me, Editor-Mori. You're older, right? No need to be so formal."
"In that case, I'll call you Kuroha-kun."
"Sounds good."
"First question, Kuroha-kun: how long did it take you to create this work?"
"About a week."
Mori's eyes went wide. "A week? You mean just the writing time?"
That fast?!
Writing one chapter in a week was considered decent pace. Completing an entire volume? That was something else entirely.
"No, I mean from conception, outlining, main text, to typesetting—all of it took about a week."
"WHAT?!"
Mori slammed the table and shot to his feet. The nearby diners turned to stare. Realizing the scene he was causing, he forced himself back into his seat, but his voice still crackled with barely contained excitement.
"Kuroha-kun, you're not joking with me, are you? You really created this work from scratch in a single week?!"
Jackpot.
This wasn't just a supernova. This was a mini-universe exploding onto the scene.
"Yeah… uh, is that too fast?"
"Too fast? You're practically the Flash! I've been in this industry for years and I've never seen an author with your speed!"
Kuroha winced internally. Fast wasn't exactly the compliment a man wanted to hear. Still, he had to admit—even by his standards, this week had been ridiculous.
But he needed to manage expectations. No way he wanted Mori thinking this was his baseline.
"Don't misunderstand, though. I'm not just writing after school—I was writing in class too. Basically, for that entire week, every waking moment went into this novel except for eating and sleeping. That's the only reason I hit that speed. Plus, the inspiration was flowing this time. I had a good run. I probably won't maintain that pace going forward."
"Even so, that's incredibly fast!" Mori's eyes gleamed. "Do you ever hit creative blocks?"
"Of course. After the prologue, I was stuck for a bit trying to figure out how to develop it further. But… once I find one idea that works, the rest just kind of unfolds on its own."
"I see." Mori stroked his stubbled chin. "You've read a lot of light novels, haven't you?"
"Yeah. A lot."
That made sense. This wasn't raw, untamed talent blazing out of nowhere—it was talent forged on a foundation of serious reading experience. Still, reading a lot didn't automatically translate to writing well. Mori wanted to understand how this young man had developed such precise control over the light novel format.
"Is this your first work? Have you submitted to other publishers before?"
"First one. I figured other publishers might not take a chance on a complete newcomer, so I aimed for Hurricane Publishing from the start."
"So you chose us because we value new talent?"
"Exactly."
He even considered the publishing house angle.
Mori's respect for the kid climbed another notch. This wasn't some amateur firing blindly into the dark. This was someone who'd planned his debut from the ground up.
"Alright, then. One last question." Mori fixed Kuroha with a steady gaze. "Kuroha-kun, what do you think is the most important quality for an author?"