When had she first started liking books?
Yukinoshita Yukino could no longer remember clearly.
Maybe it was in her childhood, when her mother would tell her fairy tales at bedtime—stories full of wondrous adventures, fleeting romances, beautiful princesses and brave princes…
Those stories had given her the first glimpse of what books truly were: vessels for imagination, carriers of fantasy. And from that moment on, the seed of curiosity, the hunger for knowledge, had already taken root in her heart.
Or maybe it was in those quiet moments when her father, always holding a newspaper in hand, would read out various articles to her—even though, back then, she could barely recognize a handful of characters.
She hadn't understood everything, but she'd been fascinated all the same. And she had thought, from the bottom of her small heart, Papa is really amazing. Secretly, she had admired him, wishing to one day become just as remarkable.
Jeez… why am I suddenly remembering such embarrassing things?
Yukino pressed her slender fingers to her forehead, shaking her head lightly.
With a quiet exhale, she closed the novel in front of her with deliberate care.
Since returning home, she had spent about four hours finishing this book.
Her eyes, now, sparkled in the dim light like fireflies in the night—no hint of fatigue, only brilliance.
The time was already past one o'clock in the morning.
Truthfully, given the reading speed she had cultivated since childhood, she didn't need this long. A novel of only 180,000 characters—she could normally finish it in under two hours, if she read quickly.
But this was Minamoto Senya's novel. And not just that—it was good.
Too good.
As she read, she couldn't help but immerse herself completely, as though stepping directly into the world of the story. She found herself analyzing, thinking, speculating along with every new clue.
Who's the culprit?
And yet… she had no idea.
Several cases tangled together.
A murderer obsessed with astrology and alchemy, who claimed he would assemble the body parts of six young women into a "constellation of flesh" to create the "perfect woman" and achieve immortality—only to be killed himself, leaving behind a cryptic journal.
Then came the chain of murders: dismembered bodies buried across the country, home invasions turned to rape-murder, and, years later, the confession of a retired Tokyo police officer…
Yukino had always believed she was intelligent, at least compared to her peers. And yet here, she couldn't even find a thread to follow, let alone piece together the truth.
By the time she reached the ending—by the time the real culprit was revealed—her entire body trembled.
A shiver ran down her spine, her scalp tingled, and her feet curled instinctively beneath her blanket.
So many modern mystery novels relied on cheap tricks—obscuring critical clues, only to pull a rabbit out of the hat at the very end. The endings often felt unsatisfying, anticlimactic.
But not this one.
Minamoto Senya had laid out everything from the very start. Every detail, every scrap of evidence, described with precision.
That meant the reader began the investigation on equal footing with the detective protagonist—no unfair advantage, no withheld information.
And so, step by meticulous step, the truth was unraveled until the final revelation burst forth like lightning in the dark.
The feeling was like savoring a full-course banquet of words—intoxicating, overwhelming, utterly satisfying.
How could I not have seen it? The trick was so simple!
And yet…
"Thank you for the meal…" Yukino murmured softly, half-amused at her own reaction.
After finishing, she spent half an hour in the shower, letting the hot water ease her trembling heart.
Minamoto Senya was her childhood friend—her neighbor, her constant companion. His past accomplishments already spoke volumes: top of the class, kendo champion, piano awards…
She had always been proud of him. She rarely admitted it aloud, but in her heart, she couldn't deny it: He really is amazing. Sometimes, a quiet sense of rivalry even welled up inside her.
But after reading this novel, Yukino understood for the first time what it meant to be shaken to the core, to be truly moved.
Freshly showered, she returned to her room and picked up her phone. A few unread messages blinked at her—Eiri had sent them, the last one around ten o'clock, a simple: Good night.
Yukino had kept her phone on Do Not Disturb while reading, so she hadn't noticed until now.
She'd explain to Eiri tomorrow.
Without thinking, her fingers tapped open her chat with Minamoto Senya. She knew it was late, but after finishing his novel, she couldn't resist the urge to talk to him.
Besides, their relationship wasn't one where she had to overthink things… right?
With that thought, she typed quickly: Are you still awake?
Then, flustered by her own boldness, she locked the screen and set the phone aside, like a child caught red-handed doing something mischievous.
Only seconds later, her phone lit up again.
Senya's reply: Knew you weren't asleep yet.
Another came right after: Finished it, didn't you?
For some reason, just looking at those words, Yukino could see his expression in her mind—his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. She herself couldn't help but smile, too.
She typed back:
Yes. I just finished. It's an incredible mystery novel. At least for me… it's the most brilliant trick I've ever seen. Eiri's illustrations were beautiful, too—the moment I saw them, I suddenly understood the culprit's method.
She deliberately left out another detail: the prose itself had been elegant, almost lyrical in places. There were lines she wanted to reread, even copy down. But knowing that Kasumigaoka Utaha had been the one to help him proofread, Yukino kept silent on that point.
Senya replied: Is that so? I'm glad.
Yukino answered: I haven't read many detective novels, so my opinion might not be very professional. I can only speak for myself.
Senya: That's enough. Hearing you say this, I feel much more confident now.
Yukino tugged the blanket up to her chin, eyes curving with warmth as she stared at the glowing screen.
Just as she began typing again, his name popped up with an incoming video call request.
Startled, she rejected it instantly.
Senya: ?
Yukino: That should be my question. Why are you suddenly calling me on video?
Senya: No reason in particular. I just thought talking face to face would be easier than typing.
Yukino: That's what voice calls are for.
Senya: Expressions matter, too. I wanted to see your reaction after finishing my novel.
Yukino: Half an hour ago, maybe. But now my emotions have already calmed. You wouldn't see much of anything.
Senya: Actually, I have something important to tell you.
Yukino: If you can write a novel that complex, surely you can summarize one important thing in words.
"Unbelievable," Senya muttered with a laugh. "She's impossible to budge."
Of course, he couldn't exactly say: I just wanted to see you right now.
Direct honesty had its place, but not like this.
Still… the more she denied him, the more he wanted to push further.
Fine. If not video, then another way.
From his perspective—his God's eye view—the scene shifted. Rising from his room, through the ceiling, up into the Tokyo night sky, then gliding across the glittering lights until he reached the Yukinoshita residence.
He hovered just outside her window.
Inside, Yukino sat propped against her bed, her hair spilling over her shoulders, a smile playing at her lips as she typed on her phone.
Seeing nothing inappropriate, he boldly slipped his vision into her room.
Normally, he didn't spy like this. But tonight… he needed to confirm something.
He continued their chat as he watched.
Senya: So you finished it. Didn't notice anything else?
Yukino: Something else? Do you mean there's a hidden subplot?
Senya: It's connected to the novel, yes. But I wasn't talking about the story itself. Didn't you notice anything… outside of it?
Her brows furrowed. Then she understood.
She slipped out of bed, her pale feet sliding into slippers, and padded to her desk. Switching on the lamp, she opened the blue folder that held Senya's manuscript.
She skimmed through the pages. Nothing unusual.
Until she reached the very last one.
On the inside flap of the folder, beneath a translucent plastic sleeve, something had been tucked away.
Earlier, she hadn't paid it any attention.
Now, deliberately checking, her fingers brushed against it.
She pulled it out.
A movie ticket.
The date: next month. The time: just past six in the evening.
For a long while, Yukino simply stared at it, unmoving.
Finally, returning to her bed, she typed, hands trembling slightly:
Couldn't find anyone else to go with?
Senya: Are you free?
Yukino: My grandparents are visiting this year, but if I tell my mother in advance, I can make time.
Senya: Then it's settled. I'll see you there.
Yukino: Will Eiri and Saeko-senpai be coming, too?
Senya: No. Just the two of us.
Even though Yukino had already half-guessed when she first saw the ticket, the confirmation still made her heartbeat stumble, then accelerate wildly, as though her chest could no longer contain it.
Her gaze softened, shimmering like a prism of rainbow hues.
She asked nothing more. Some things didn't need to be spelled out.
Yukino was not clueless.
Her reply was simple: Okay.
Senya: Get some rest. Good night.
This time, his message came as a voice clip.
Carefully, Yukino tapped it open.
Senya's voice—warm, amused, natural—flowed through the speaker. A voice tinged with quiet affection, subtle but undeniable.
Her face flushed scarlet in an instant.
What happened next would have been comical to any bystander. Senya, from his unseen vantage, witnessed her panic: Yukino stood, sat, pushed her hair behind her ear, pressed a hand to her throat like she might sing, then scurried to the kitchen for a glass of water.
After several minutes of pacing and rehearsing, she finally returned to her room, cheeks still blazing. Standing by the window, she whispered into her phone.
Seconds later, Senya received her reply.
Another voice clip.
All that buildup, all that commotion—and her words were barely more than a few soft syllables.
Good night. You too.
It was the first time since childhood that he'd ever heard Yukinoshita Yukino speak to him in such a tender, almost motherly tone.
Whatever the case, his goal was achieved.
"Thank you for the meal…" he murmured again with satisfaction.
The chat ended.
He withdrew his vision.
On her end, Yukino did the same. Hugging her pillow tightly, she buried her face into it and rolled back and forth on the bed, unable to contain her giddy joy.
——
December 27th.
The two-day final exams had ended.
That afternoon, Minamoto Senya hand-delivered his carefully checked manuscript to the submission office for the Edogawa Ranpo Prize.
The staff received it solemnly, without batting an eye at his student uniform. That alone told him: there must have been other entrants his age before. They just hadn't won.
But regardless, the hardest work was done.
All that remained was to wait for the judges. According to the rules, the results would be announced late next month.
Meanwhile, Kasumigaoka Utaha and Sawamura Eiri were both heading home.
The Minamoto family had been kind hosts, but with exams and the novel finished, there was no excuse to linger.
That evening, Senya invited just the two of them out to dinner—without Rokka—to thank them for their help.
Sharing the same roof these past weeks hadn't eased tensions between the two girls. If anything, it had sharpened them.
"Ha?!"
"Oi?!"
The moment they locked eyes, sparks flew again.
…
..
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