Kyousuke had only made that move to stop Mitsuha and Utaha from fighting.
That had to be it—he was left with no choice.
Eriri took a deep breath, trying to suppress the anger bubbling up in her chest with a dose of fresh air.
…But the air wasn't fresh at all!
If a "read-the-room" expert had been here, they'd instantly know from the blend of perfumes that two absolutely stunning women were involved.
Even when playing the role of a refined young lady, Eriri had rarely needed to read the room—she was usually the center of it.
People read her instead.
But apparently, something very intense had happened between these three before she arrived.
The scent of perfume was practically flooding the room.
Seriously, did they dump an entire bottle on themselves!?
Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad—but it didn't stop Eriri from finding a hundred ways to criticize this ridiculous scene from every angle.
Utaha and Mitsuha fighting?
Probably over the trophy.
Maybe Mitsuha wanted to see it but stingy Utaha refused to share?
That sounds about right.
Thinking about how kind the shrine maiden had been to her in the past, Eriri didn't even try to hide her bias.
But still—what the hell is going on!?
Why is Miyamizu Mitsuha even here!?
Did she predict that that witch would come seduce Kyousuke and rushed over to exorcise the evil?
No… no way.
Even if she ignored the possibility that Utaha secretly loved her (which, ew), she still couldn't have anticipated this.
So why are the three of you here, acting so damn shameless!?
And what the hell was Kyousuke's hand doing in that kind of place?
The image of the three of them tangled together replayed in Eriri's mind, making her face flush uncontrollably.
She'd seen her fair share of love triangle drama in anime—and she'd even drawn plenty herself.
Sure, there were even wilder scenarios in her work, but this was her first time witnessing such a bizarre, tangled pose in real life.
As an artist of the dubious variety, Eriri felt as if another forbidden door had just been opened.
But seriously—how did things devolve to this point?
It wasn't just a catfight—it was sensual. And yet, both Mitsuha and Utaha were genuinely furious.
One was clawing at a chest, the other wildly slapping at a head—their attacks were erratic but brutal.
Eriri took two more deep breaths, forcing herself to shove the chaos back down.
Then, she recalled the meaningful smile her mother had given her when she dropped off that dress earlier.
Differentiation.
Survival of the fittest.
When everyone is "pretty," beauty becomes as generic a label as "woman." But…
While Utaha wore her elegant evening gown, and Yukino and Miki were exuding their mature, onee-san charm, she was the only one radiating youthful cuteness in a frilly western dress.
That contrast made her stand out—her "adorable" trait became a weapon in this battlefield of older women.
It hit her all at once.
She didn't even know what she was competing for, but her instincts told her what to do.
Sure, she could explode right now, scream at those three idiots for behaving so disgracefully.
Maybe even demand that Kyousuke make it up to her by doing something like… gardening together.
That sounded nice.
Actually… just that would make her pretty happy.
But no—she mustn't stoop to the level of Utaha and Mitsuha!
Her mind felt sharper than ever, like a storm raging inside her head.
Her small face was completely calm now.
Her icy blue eyes gleamed like frozen crystals—stern, majestic—like a death god from ancient Egyptian myth, weighing souls in judgment.
The three before her sat stiffly in silence, awaiting her verdict.
Would their souls be allowed into paradise… or fed to monsters?
"I have a question,"
The death god finally spoke—her tone emotionless and flat.
"How long are you two planning to sit on top of him?"
At her words, both Mitsuha and Utaha instinctively shifted their hips.
Their cheeks flushed red as they scrambled to push themselves up from Kyousuke's abs.
With a loud thud, their heads collided mid-motion.
They didn't glare at each other this time.
Silently, they stepped back and stood up.
Utaha angrily kicked off her broken high heels, sending them flying with a flick of her foot.
The moment she stood up, her expression twisted in pain.
The broken heel had sprained her left ankle.
But she quickly masked the discomfort and even tried to offer Kyousuke a hand to help him up—
Only to be beaten to it by Eriri.
Mitsuha was still fixing the clothes that had been pulled into a complete mess during the scuffle.
Kyousuke looked up at the delicate hand reaching out to him, feeling warmth bloom in his chest.
As expected of his director.
Even now, her first thought was to pull Mitsuha and Utaha apart—clearly, she was worried about him.
"Even if the two of you have thrown away your dignity and abandoned all manners," Eriri said coldly, "don't drag Kyousuke into your mess.
Don't turn him into some indecisive jerk swaying between women."
Her voice was calm and even.
Not even Kyousuke—usually a master at reading subtle cues—could detect a trace of emotion on her frosty face.
At those words, Mitsuha immediately recalled where her hands had just been.
Her face turned scarlet with shame as she rubbed her palms against her skirt in a panic.
She'd let her emotions take over and done something insane.
Honestly, even stabbing Utaha might've been less humiliating than that.
Kyousuke should never have been dragged into this.
Forcing him to choose between them would be cruel beyond words.
She glanced at him apologetically, ashamed of what she'd done.
Utaha, on the other hand, whipped her head around so fast she forgot about her sprained ankle.
Wow.
Sawamura Spencer Eriri really just said that. Out loud.
Never in her life did Utaha expect to hear such a scolding from that girl.
Embarrassed? Not exactly.
What mortified her was the fact that she'd let Eriri see her in such an undignified state… and without even securing victory.
Of course, if she had won, she wouldn't have cared how ugly it looked.
Victory justifies everything.
Kyousuke blinked, stunned by Eriri's sharp words.
He didn't expect her of all people to say that.
But he quickly realized—she didn't exclude him from her judgment.
Even as she said "don't let him become trash," those icy blue eyes looked at him exactly like he was trash.
…Heh. Heh heh…
He stood stiffly, hands at his sides like a corporate drone waiting to be chewed out.
"The sacred shrine maiden, savior of the town, admired by thousands; the great Kasumi Utako-sensei, author of Love Metronome, who's made countless readers cry through the night…"
"I don't think either of you—or the prestigious families your surnames represent—should be stained by something so disgraceful."
Eriri stood with her arms folded across her chest.
A gesture she could never quite pull off… until today. Somehow, she nailed it.
'Ha! Even if my chest is smaller than yours, right now—I'm the bigger woman!'
She cheered herself on internally, convinced her speech was flawless.
After all, both of them—not just as individuals, but as heirs to influential families—carried a weight of public image.
Criticizing them from that angle? That was a guaranteed 300% critical hit.
Oh-ho-ho-ho~!
This must be what it feels like to make a dramatic last-minute entrance, to let the other contenders ruin each other before swooping in from the moral high ground and claiming victory.
This—this—was the true power of differentiated competition!
Beneath her cool, expressionless face, Eriri was nearly bursting with smug satisfaction.
But then—Mitsuha, who had just started to feel a little ashamed of herself, suddenly looked up.
Her beautiful eyes narrowed slightly.
Though it had been years, Mitsuha could now look back on her time in Itomori with peace. Sometimes she even felt a quiet joy when reminded of her hometown.
But just like how she had once rejected the government and townspeople's offer to rebuild the Miyamizu Shrine in Nara.
If anyone tried to resurrect that legacy here in Tokyo.
Her happy place with Kyousuke—she wouldn't hesitate to toss them straight into the Itomori crater to spend eternity with the ghost of her old, overly-meticulous self who once spent 20 minutes every morning on her hair.
Her lips parted slightly, eyes fixed on Eriri.
She thought about saying something… but chose silence.
She wasn't a hedgehog.
She wouldn't bristle over one line.
Let's hear a few more, she thought, just to be sure.
Besides… ugh, Eriri really didn't seem like the type to come up with such calculating words.
Even just the few things she'd said so far had shocked Mitsuha so much she wanted to drag her off to a purification ritual.
To exorcise whatever serious spirit had possessed her to say something so mature.
Mitsuha's anger stemmed from past wounds being lightly grazed.
But what about Kasumigaoka Utaha?
"Beautifully said, Spencer-san."
Utaha's voice rang out with a soft laugh, laced with subtle mockery and amusement. She put extra emphasis on the word Spencer.
Eriri's brow twitched.
She didn't hate her last name like her rebellious father did, but hearing it used like that—as if mocking her—still ticked her off.
"As you can see," Utaha continued with a smile that was as dazzling as it was unapologetic, "I've abandoned all shame and reason. I acted disgracefully."
Coming from someone often labeled as gloomy, those words—paired with that radiant smile—carried an almost bizarre allure.
Even Mitsuha turned to look at her, still faintly blushing.
Who are you calling disgraceful, exactly?
They might've been seconds from murdering each other, and that wouldn't change the fact that Mitsuha knew what had happened.
This wasn't about shame or etiquette. It was simply a clash—messy, primal, and personal—for something that mattered.
Like puppies fighting over milk. Nothing more. Nothing less.
No one had the right to judge.
She was sure Utaha—who had thrown punches just as easily as she had—understood that.
…Eriri, on the other hand? Well, who knew what that idiot was thinking.
"What nonsense are you even saying!?"
Eriri's carefully crafted calm cracked, her voice slipping back into its usual emotional lilt.
She felt a strange pang in her chest hearing Utaha say something like that.
It actually hurt a little.
Utaha, meanwhile, smiled wryly to herself.
She watched as Eriri reverted to her usual clumsy self and… gave up on the biting words she'd been preparing.
Sigh…
Eriri wanted to play the hero for once.
Maybe she should let her have it.
As if.
Kasumigaoka Utaha wasn't that kind.
She'd gladly comfort Eriri after she defeated her—but she'd never pull punches in battle.
But this was the truth: Kyousuke was like a fat penguin waddling alone across an icy tundra, and she, Mitsuha, and even Sakura were the hidden predators in white camouflage.
Each of them wanted to claim the penguin for themselves.
Every one of them drooled at the thought. But no one dared to bare their fangs first.
Because if they moved, they'd lose their cover—and expose themselves to the other hunters.
If she were the strongest among them, that would be fine. But… much to her frustration, among the three standing here today, she was—
She cut off the thought.
The battle was paused for now.
The outcome could wait.
"I'm an only child, you know," Utaha said, wearing a bright, playful grin. "Everything that belongs to the Kasumigaoka family will eventually be mine. The name, the fortune… I can waste it however I want~"
She might've held back sharper words, but teasing Eriri a little—like a personal stress ball—was the perfect remedy for her wounded pride.
And besides, even if she was the weakest hunter here, the others weren't exactly in great shape either.
"What are you even talking about?" Eriri frowned deeper.
Someone like her, who always wore the mask of a refined lady, had a hard time dealing with Utaha's unfiltered chaos.
"Hehe~ Even if I have to embroider both the Miyamizu and Gokou family crests onto my wedding dress," Mitsuha added cheerfully, "that doesn't mean I can't do what I want."
She beamed with a kind of breezy mischief, enjoying herself immensely.
"Think about it, Eriri. If someone entrusts their family name to me, that means they've entrusted everything to me. So no matter where I put that name, no one can tell me not to."
She could say the same thing in front of her dad, her grandma, or her grandparents—and she'd say it laughing.
Her dad?
He was the kind of man who'd leave home just to get married.
Her grandma now believed the Miyamizu shrine's purpose had been fulfilled, and had no interest in reviving it—even when Yotsuba shouted about restoring the shrine's honor, she barely reacted.
And her grandparents?
After raising such a rebellious son, a rebellious granddaughter probably felt like karma.
Worst case, they could just give Yotsuba the name to inherit.
That girl would probably be thrilled.
"Mitsuha, not you too!?"
Eriri's eyes widened.
What hurt her wasn't what they were saying—it was that her perfect moral critical hit had completely failed!
How!?
They were supposed to feel ashamed, bow their heads, apologize, and promise never to fight behind her back again!
This was supposed to be her differentiated competition victory!
Where did it all go wrong!?
Kyousuke stood off to the side, having finally relaxed a bit.
When Eriri made her earlier comment, he had honestly braced for another all-out war to erupt.
To Mitsuha, those words must've felt like someone ripping off a bandage from an old wound.
And for Utaha-senpai? Well… that woman never cared about what others thought. If anything, she'd just scoff at it.
Still, it wasn't just him—Mitsuha and Utaha knew full well that Eriri, as clueless as she could be, was never malicious. She didn't have that kind of bone in her body.
She probably just read a dramatic line in some book and wanted to sound cool.
"Heh, anyway, it's about time we cleaned up and got back to the event."
Kyousuke gave a casual laugh, trying to use the ancient art of "Scene Skip no Jutsu" to erase the earlier chaos by way of unspoken mutual agreement.
Huh???
Eriri whipped around, glaring at him with a look that screamed: I am this close to stabbing you with my shoe heel.
'What do you mean, "about time"?!'
'You haven't explained a single thing!'
'Why were the three of you in that position just now?! Was it performance art?'
'Should I sketch it for the school newspaper!?'
"We're not going anywhere yet!
Why were Kasumigaoka Utaha and Mitsuha fighting?! Why were they sitting on top of you?!
Why were you even in the men's dressing room with them?!"
Eriri fired off questions like bullets, trying to crank up the pressure in the room.
But the three culprits, bound by a silent, traitorous pact, all pretended not to hear her.
"Yes, yes, we should definitely head back," Utaha chimed in with a serene smile, ignoring the inquisition. "By the way, Eriri, remember Eikichi Onizuka?
He and his gang always line up to support you at conventions.
They just asked me when your next release is coming out."
She wasn't completely lying. Not entirely.
Ever since discovering the golden ticket that was buying merch and scalping it, Onizuka and his motorcycle crew had proudly rebranded themselves as hardcore otaku.
No wonder their boss became a manga artist—anime money's easy money!
Sure, they loved street racing and bar fights, but from that moment on, they were otaku through and through.
Nothing could stop their love for—no, obsession with—2D waifus… and cold, hard cash.
"Eikichi Onizuka…?" Eriri blinked. "That's… one of my fans?"
"Yeah," Mitsuha added cheerfully. "Aunt Mikiko is still waiting for us too. I wonder if she still remembers me."
That's when it hit her—hard. Mitsuha hadn't come here to get into a catfight with Utaha. She came here… to secure victory from the shadows.
"Right! Aunt Mikiko!!" Eriri's eyes snapped open wide.
If she wasn't there, wouldn't that mean someone else got to spend one-on-one time with Mikiko instead?!
That custom-made "victory dress" her mom had prepared for her—wasted!
"Let's go, then!" Kyousuke said, grabbing the prize box off the table with one hand and gently nudging Eriri forward with the other.
This dressing room?
Yeah… he'd never come back here again.
Not unless it was his wedding day.
Even then, maybe not. Too dangerous.
"But still…" Eriri protested.
This couldn't end like this!
Wasn't she supposed to yell at Utaha? Or at least scold Mitsuha to keep things fair?
"We've been in here too long," Kyousuke added, subtly appealing to her earlier act of maturity when she had closed the door for his sake. "It wouldn't look good."
"…That's true."
Eriri thought about all the media waiting outside.
If reporters got wind of her, Mitsuha, and Utaha being alone in a dressing room with Kyousuke, the rumors would be devastating.
It could ruin his reputation.
She allowed herself to be gently herded toward the door.
But just as her hand reached for the knob, her eyes shot open.
"Wait a second! You—! How come you suddenly care about appearances now?!
When you were alone with Mitsuha and Utaha earlier, why didn't you think about how bad that looked?!"
She had nearly been fooled!
It's not like she teleported into the dressing room—he'd already been in here a long time before she arrived.
And who came in first? Mitsuha? Or Utaha?
Suddenly, it all clicked.
Her mouth opened in shock, her ocean-blue eyes filled with horror.
She finally understood.
She remembered the weird looks the staff gave her when she asked where Kyousuke was.
What if… two other girls had already asked the same question before her!?
Realizing her dignity had been completely shredded, Eriri spun on her heels, cheeks puffed in outrage, glaring at the trio behind her.
Damn it!
Why wasn't I the first one here!?
Why haven't I gotten into any compromising positions with him yet!?
Why didn't I lock the damn door!?
The air inside that tiny dressing room was now thick with unspoken curses and suffocating levels of feminine resentment.
Kyousuke's relieved smile froze in place.
Before he could move or say anything—there was a knock at the door.
The three girls instantly tensed, eyes shooting toward the curtain-covered entrance.
And then they all frowned in unison.
"Kyousuke-sensei, it's Amamiya Miki."
Amamiya… Miki?!
Still holding her high heels, Utaha gave Kyousuke a sly, knowing look.
Hands tucked into her hoodie pockets, Mitsuha raised an eyebrow at him.
And Eriri, still gripping his shirt in both fists, glared with fiery suspicion.
Them being here was one thing.
Each of them had some excuse for barging into his life.
But that MC, that bookstore clerk, that woman who had just wickedly locked arms with him on stage—what the hell was she doing here?!
Under their piercing stares, Kyousuke broke out in a cold sweat.
He was innocent this time—truly! He hadn't had any non-work-related contact with that beautiful announcer!
It's not his fault he was cursed with this level of irresistible charm!
Someone—anyone—please scold his charisma already!
He gave a dry laugh and called out:
"Uh… is something the matter?"
But before he could even finish speaking, the door creaked open.
She came in without permission!?
The three girls all mentally screamed the same thing.
Three pairs of equally stunning, but completely different, eyes snapped toward Kyousuke, demanding an answer.
He stepped forward without hesitation to block the door. Just as he was about to say something polite but firm…
The woman in the silver skirt suit slid through the narrow gap like a fish swimming through a stream.
His temple throbbed. Twice.
He made a vow then and there:
From now on, wherever I go—
I. Will. Lock. Every. Door.
It would be Rule #7 in "The Life Guidelines of Kyousuke."
Amamiya's face lit up in a cheerful smile—only to freeze as she took in the scene.
Her wide eyes went even wider.
Wasn't this supposed to be just Kyousuke-sensei?
Why were there three other girls in here?!
Why did his clothes look all rumpled?!
Wasn't this supposed to be her moment—just the two of them, alone, celebrating his big win, letting her express the pure joy of a No.1 fan, and maybe… the start of a heartwarming author-and-fan love story!?
Amamiya Miki's lips moved silently for a while, as if glued shut—she just couldn't find the words.
Kyousuke-sensei's smile still held that familiar warmth, even if tinged with helplessness, but the three goddesses surrounding him?
Their expressions were fierce. So fierce, in fact, that Miki didn't even know where to place her hands and feet.
Those three pairs of beautiful, yet distinct eyes seemed to be silently repeating the same chilling message over and over again:
"If you don't explain why you're here, we'll kill you."
"Kill you."
"Kill you."
Terrifying. Terrifying!
Why were these girls—who looked so sweet before—now so scary?!
Was being terrifying some kind of requirement for staying by Kyousuke-sensei's side?
"I-I came to see if Kyousuke-san needed any help…" she finally muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
She had come here as a woman trying to courageously pursue her own happiness, but this was all she could manage.
"Ah, that's very kind of you. You're really saving me here."
Kyousuke replied with a smile and casually gestured toward the high heels Kasumigaoka-senpai was holding in her hands.
"My friends came to celebrate with me, but one of them twisted her ankle on the way over.
I figured the women's changing room would have spare indoor shoes, and I was just about to go look for some. Could I trouble you to show us the way?"
The explanation was smooth—flawless, even.
It not only justified why there were three extra people in the changing room but also why Kasumigaoka's shoes were broken.
On top of that, it drew a clear line between him and Amamiya Miki, making it obvious there was no inappropriate relationship between them.
Of course, for a man who plans to marry several women, this level of improvisation was just the basics. No big deal.
"Oh! We actually keep some right here!"
Relieved to be of use, Amamiya Miki lit up and quickly made her way over to the large wardrobes on the left side of the room in her modest five-centimeter heels.
"Because of traditional considerations, the women's changing room is on the second floor, opposite this one.
But since that space is a little small due to the building's layout, extra supplies tend to get stored over here."
She explained softly as she rummaged through the shelves.
Most indoor shoes weren't gender-specific anyway. They were more like thick socks—if the size fit, you were good to go.
While Miki searched, Kyousuke finally took the opportunity to check on Kasumigaoka's injured foot.
He gently helped her sit down on a bench nearby.
Her petite foot, wrapped in sheer black stockings, looked delicate and refined.
Her five toes, pressed neatly together beneath the reinforced darker tip of the nylon, curled slightly under the intense stares—but quickly stretched out again, as if in defiance.
From Kyousuke's angle, he could clearly see her elegant toes outlined through the stocking's tight embrace.
When she splayed them out, the mesh thinned slightly, teasingly revealing the soft skin beneath.
The arch of her foot rose in a perfect curve, accentuated by the snug tension of the fabric.
Even the heel—where the black nylon had worn thin enough to appear gray—glowed with a creamy white softness.
Black stocking, flawless white foot.
A timeless combination. This was no longer just a foot—it was a work of art.
Anyone looking at it would know immediately: the owner of such a foot had to be an extraordinary beauty.
As her pinky toe curled again, Kyousuke, filled with a sense of noble duty, reached out with great resolve.
His index finger lightly touched her big toe.
Even though the reinforced stocking tip concealed the pink of her nail, it perfectly outlined the clean curve of the nail beneath.
He was about to cup her entire foot in his hand.
Not out of lust, of course. Absolutely not.
This was purely a health check! All for her well-being!
Yes. Even with Mitsuha and Eriri watching nearby, he fearlessly reached forward.
But—
"Wait. Let me check her foot," Mitsuha interjected, gently grabbing his hand. "I'm actually good at this kind of thing."
"Eh?" Kyousuke blinked, turning toward her.
He was ready to argue—but the moment he locked eyes with Eriri, who looked about ready to devour him alive, he instantly backed down.
"Ah, right. I completely forgot you trained in dance since you were little. Of course you'd be better at this sort of thing."
Right, right.
Just a small lapse of judgment. Even geniuses slip up sometimes.
"Wipe your hands properly."
Eriri, clearly disgusted, tossed him a packet of wet wipes from a nearby table.
Hearing that, even Kasumigaoka—still a little annoyed that Mitsuha had butted in—raised an eyebrow.
"You're going to be shaking hands with who knows how many people later," Eriri added.
Right. That made sense. Kasumigaoka relaxed a little.
Huh… maybe Sawamura Spencer Eriri wasn't so hopeless after all. She'd definitely grown.
Kyousuke took the wipes and immediately began wiping his hands, his mouth, his face—anything he could reach. Kasumigaoka followed suit.
"No issues," Mitsuha said after finishing her inspection. "She could probably run a 100-meter sprint right now if she wanted."
She too grabbed a wipe.
The events just now were still fresh in her mind, and she couldn't help but blush faintly at the memory.
It's… really big.
If it weren't Kyousuke just now, I might've…
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