The girl drew while watching Kiyono from the corner of her eye. She cleared her throat and spoke first. "Are you… writing a novel?"
If it were any other ordinary boy, she would never have started a conversation like this. But if it was this guy…
"How do you know?" Kiyono looked at her, puzzled.
"I… I saw it by chance…"
Eriri's hand unconsciously pressed harder—snap—the chalk broke in half.
Kiyono hummed in response, not thinking much of it.
"Finished."
With that, Eriri Spencer Sawamura set down the chalk, took two steps back, and nodded in satisfaction at the blackboard now filled with a large character illustration.
At the sound, Kiyono instinctively stood and looked.
Orange light spilled over the blackboard and Eriri's dazzling golden hair. The smiling, outstretched girl on the board and the golden-haired girl before him mirrored one another—like the inside and outside of a painting.
He was slightly amazed. With his Master Painter talent, he could better appreciate the exquisite grasp of space and expression in this composition. For now—before he had leveled up his own painting skill—Eriri was definitely much stronger than he was.
Putting everything else aside, as a die-hard 2D enthusiast, he really liked Eriri's drawing.
Still… why did she avoid the thing she was best at? Kiyono couldn't understand Eriri's behavior—an otaku who refused to admit it, one persona in public and another in private.
"In middle school and high school, it's normal for boys and girls to game, watch anime, and read manga, right? Why be afraid of getting found out?"
Kiyono asked, curious. He could understand it in elementary school—he'd run into that himself—but times had changed. "2D" wasn't a slur anymore… well, as long as you didn't count the truly hardcore cases.
"Hmph, what do you know! If people found out I drew doujinshi—that I draw 2D stuff—I'd totally get ridiculed."
Eriri gritted her teeth, arms crossed over her chest.
"I think it's the opposite. If people knew your real identity, they'd probably kneel and worship you. I've already spotted a few otaku in class these past few days."
Kiyono teased, not rubbing salt in the wound, and kept sorting the cultural-festival decorations.
"That's even more terrifying, okay."
Eriri rolled her eyes and started working too. She lifted a cherry-blossom lantern from Kiyono's cardboard box, dragged a table in front of the storage cabinet, and tried to stand on it to hang the lantern—but she was always a few centimeters short.
Normally this was a boy's job, but he was about the same height as she was, so it hardly mattered.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead and pulled a chair over. This time she could reach it, and just then—
"Ah!"
A small cry escaped her. The wooden chair tilted to the right, her center of gravity lurched, and the world spun as she pitched forward.
That's going to hurt… She shut her eyes in fear.
But the pain never came.
She felt warmth.
The girl slowly opened her eyes. The first thing that entered her field of vision was a handsome face. She was looking up; he was looking down. From this angle, she could see his delicate features and bright eyes—clear and sparkling, like flowers in the early spring.
Was she… being held in his arms? No—she had fallen into his embrace…
Her lips were dry; her heart raced.
Her fair, pretty face flushed like she was tipsy—delicate beyond belief—and the pink spread quickly to her earlobes and swanlike neck.
"Be careful."
Kiyono's concern was genuine. There was no forced politeness; the girl hadn't done it on purpose.
"Mm…"
A swirl of complicated emotions surged through her. Eriri's eyes shimmered as she whispered back.
She was about to ask Kiyono to let go when two male voices approached, drifting closer.
"Tomoya, didn't you say all your beautiful-girl figurines are your wives? Why would you leave your wife in a classroom drawer?"
"I… I couldn't help it! I was gaming all night and overslept today… I'm sorry, Miss Madoka, I'll make it up to you later!"
That inexhaustibly enthusiastic voice made Eriri freeze on the spot.
T-Tomoya?
And right now of all times!?
Eriri glanced at their embrace and sucked in a breath.
Kiyono's eye twitched. Why did it turn into this kind of situation!?
In an instant, the two exchanged a look, entirely different thoughts flashing through their minds.
—Quick, hide! Tomoya can't see this, he'll totally misunderstand!
—Don't panic! This is just an accident!
Eriri moved first—and faster. She yanked Kiyono into the triangular gap behind the storage cabinet. In the narrow space, their bodies pressed tight together.
The two boys opened the back door and walked in.
"Huh? Did I just hear something weird?" Aki Tomoya pushed up his glasses, scanning the room.
Hearing her childhood friend's voice, Eriri instinctively shrank deeper into Kiyono's arms, breathing in the fresh, dewy scent clinging to him and the heat of his body. Her face flushed darker; shy to the extreme, her eyes spun in panic.
I… I draw doujinshi, but I don't want to be some weird heroine!
Kiyono, pinned against her, felt dizzy. When he opened his eyes, he could see the girl's high nose bridge and misty eyes. Her sweet scent wrapped around him; her warm breath brushed his face, turning his knees weak.
Why did you pull me in!? Now I can't even explain! Ugh, a middle schooler's body is way too powerless…
Eriri suddenly stiffened. Footsteps edged closer—her childhood friend seemed to be approaching the cabinet.
W-what if we're discovered!?
In her desperation, she parted her dry lips and, trembling, called out twice:
"Meow, meow…"
The soft sound echoed in the classroom. Silence fell.
—You're kidding a ghost! That'll never work—no matter how convincing!
"Oh, was it a cat?" Aki Tomoya, who had paused by the cabinet, hesitated.
—Don't believe it!!
The bespectacled otaku shook his head, went back to his seat to retrieve his figurine, and left with his friend.
W-we survived…
When the classroom returned to silence, the two—hearts pounding—exhaled in relief at the same time (Kiyono entirely against his will).
The stalwart warrior of pure love sighed helplessly. The sound jolted Eriri from her daze; her gaze turned complicated.
"Why do you look so disgusted!? You're like a humiliated knight princess!"
I'm the one who didn't sign up to be the heroine, okay!
"A simple explanation would've done…" Kiyono crawled out from behind the cabinet, grumbling. He'd found these loser heroines always picked the worst possible option at the worst possible moment.
"There was no way in that situation!"
The golden-haired girl hopped down, fanning her face quickly, the earlier image she'd seen bubbling up whether she liked it or not.
This guy… unexpectedly handsome. Even if he's still in middle school.
She shook her head hard, trying to banish the strange picture in her mind.
"Um…"
Hearing the girl, Kiyono turned.
"Thanks… for catching me earlier."
Facing him, Eriri's fair face was slightly red. Her voice mixed her signature haughtiness with a touch of shyness, a hint of embarrassment, and a dash of boldness—blending into a uniquely girlish feeling.
A girl in youth is like a bright flower—so pretty it's hard to look away.
So you can say it properly after all.
"Next time, don't be so clumsy, Sawamura-san," Kiyono said with a smile.
In the quiet, elegant wooden house, the boy sat upright before his computer. A glimmer of wisdom lit his eyes—as if, rather than facing a cold, blank document, he stood upon the long river of time, calmly overlooking everything.
He saw geishas' mournful songs and dances; Heian-period girls kneeling before low tables, brushes poised, writing stroke by stroke; he saw poems flowing silently across a thousand years—brilliant fireworks…
Thoughts flashed. Kiyono's smile seemed to hold every mystery in the world. His inner eye had already perceived the essence of literature.
He saw it—saw it all. He even saw a bridge growing at his feet; across it, the great figures of letters smiled at him: Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, Kawabata Yasunari, and even Dazai Osamu with his melancholic smile…
Now is the time!
A sharp light flashed in Kiyono's eyes. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to dance with elegant speed—when the paper door slid open with a whoosh, and Yukinoshita Haruno stepped in holding a cardboard box.
She glanced at the motionless boy, tilting her head. "Hm? Sorry—did I interrupt you?"
"Not really."
The anticipated dance of his fingers slowed to an old tortoise's crawl. Kiyono sighed. He didn't have any inspiration anyway…
"By the way, what's that in your hands?" He glanced at Haruno-nee.
"Ta-da—presents!"
Haruno set down the box and, smiling, pulled out a modern portrait of Akutagawa Ryūnosuke. Next came triumphant armfuls of various literary giants.
"Little Kiyono, aren't you trying to win a literary prize? Big Sis is lending you the power of the greats."
"This isn't Dragon Ball," Kiyono muttered.
"This is so you can properly learn from your predecessors' spirit. Oh—don't learn from Mr. Dazai Osamu, though. I don't want to do a love suicide with my little brother later… On second thought, maybe that wouldn't be so bad?"
Haruno delivered outrageous lines in a bright, sunny tone.
Incidentally, the one who committed love suicide with that gloomy master was his mistress.
Kiyono wisely refused the bait. He stood to help hang the portraits. He didn't think it was necessary, but he respected the girl's kind intentions.
"Phew… it's hot."
Summer approached. Beads of sweat shimmered on Haruno's forehead. She lifted her skirt slightly to cool off.
Only then did he notice: Haruno wore a pink-and-white off-shoulder short dress, a delicate bow tied at her waist. Layers of lace trimmed the elegant outfit; her slightly shorter hair fell to her shoulders; glossy earrings swung from her rounded earlobes; her impossibly long, slender legs were bare to the breeze—stylish yet appropriately youthful.
A carefully chosen fragrance permeated the room.
…Did she just come back from some party? Kiyono muttered inwardly. He was a teenager in the prime of youth—she could at least be a bit more careful!
Haruno paid it no mind. She grabbed a fashion magazine from the box and sprawled across the boy's bed, flipping pages. Of all the girls he knew, the one most obsessed with dressing up was definitely Haruno.
"Little Kiyono, don't mind me. Just focus on your writing." Her voice was lazy.
Kiyono, long familiar with her mischief, took a deep breath and ignored her.
"…This outfit is so cool, but it doesn't suit me."
Flip.
"Ah, this panda necklace is cute. I want it."
She casually finished most of the magazine, tossed it aside, propped her chin on her palm, and watched the pretty boy for a while. After confirming he was merely scratching his head with zero progress, she finally asked, satisfied:
"Little Brother, when do you plan to submit your work? Do you need Big Sis to go with you?"
"Probably in about half a year." Kiyono stopped tormenting himself, lifted his hands from the keyboard, and looked serene.
"Eh… that soon? Can Big Sis take a peek at your manuscript?"
Yukinoshita Haruno's bright eyes sparkled. She and her mother had always known Kiyono's goal, but they hadn't truly taken it to heart—or at least not yet. After all, no one expected a middle schooler to write something groundbreaking. But Kiyono had, step by step, pursued it with unwavering resolve.