The next day, Kyousuke didn't slack off.
Instead, he headed to Tansan Publishing with Eriri, both of them going all in on preparations for the new book release.
Everything from posters, promotional materials, digital ads—had to be completed today.
Even though the official launch was still a few days away, printing, shipping, and distributing to bookstores across Japan would take time.
Thanks to Himeno Seiko, and the influence of the Himeno family, their sales network in Hokkaido expanded even further.
To top it off, the Hokkaido Educational Society had already added "Writer K: Dream and Death" to their recommended reading list and school library catalogues.
They even included "The Death of Suspect X" as a companion work.
The efficiency was almost terrifying—like the educational society itself was secretly run by the Himenos.
When Kyousuke heard the news that morning, he was genuinely shocked.
No wonder Kisaki had been scheming so hard to get him to charm Himeno Seiko—these old elite families in Japan had ridiculous amounts of influence.
Their reach extended into every corner of society, all under the cover of rigid, traditional formality.
Even the other "ladies" from lesser families had lent a hand.
The least influential among them still managed to get the Shibaura Civic Center in Minato to preorder five hundred copies of "Writer K: Dream and Death."
Meanwhile, back in Kyousuke's hometown of Hokkaido, the Hokkaido Daily—which had once interviewed him, published an enthusiastic front-page feature about the upcoming novel.
Whether it was due to the Himeno family's pull or simply local pride in their "hometown genius," the newspaper went all-in with its praise:
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"A masterpiece on par with The Devotion of Suspect X—a work of genius unseen in five centuries!!"
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Fortunately for Kyousuke, the Hokkaido Daily had abysmally low circulation—thanks to the declining population.
If Asahi Shimbun or Yomiuri had printed something like that, he'd seriously have to consider sending Kisaki to "have a word" with the chief editor to make sure they hadn't been bribed to mess with him.
Online, the Hojou Kyousuke Support Club was also hard at work.
Technically it was a fan organization—but the vice president was none other than Kisaki Tetta himself.
Japan's fan culture was already intense, but under Kisaki's "management," the fan club was basically turning into a military unit.
Together with Kisaki's army of bots, the group started pushing conspiracy theories about the new book, claiming Kyousuke had written it out of anger after being mistreated by the Mystery Writers Association of Japan.
Curious onlookers immediately jumped in to join the drama.
Of course, those conspiracy posts came from Kisaki's troll accounts—but the fans were genuinely outraged.
They were already planning a full-blown protest outside the association's headquarters.
Kisaki was even in the middle of filing official paperwork for the demonstration.
He was very experienced at this sort of thing.
He'd organized more than a few rallies in his time.
The first civil servant who handled their protest permit was a young clerk from the Tokyo Metropolitan Office—incidentally, the father of one of Kisaki's old biker gang members.
When he heard his son was finally doing something legal for once, the man was so relieved he nearly cried.
The poor father had lived in constant fear of seeing his son's name under a white sheet on the morning news.
Out of sheer gratitude, he pulled every string he could to fast-track the approval.
That one act of kindness changed his life—Kisaki took a liking to him, and three years later the man had already been promoted to section chief.
Proof that sometimes, good deeds do get rewarded.
Now Kisaki planned to return the favor… to another "good man"—the president of the Mystery Writers Association himself.
He was determined to make the protest glorious, helping the association "gain some attention."
"We at the Mystery Writers Association are no bureaucrats! We hide nothing! Everything we do stands proudly in the sunlight! Let the public see our commitment to reform!"
That's what Chairman Kenzo Konno had declared—and both Kyousuke and Kisaki were sure that next year's Mystery Writer's Award would basically be under his total control.
The guy was cunning—ruthless, even.
He'd use any opportunity to crush rival factions within the association, wiping out opposition under the guise of "reform."
Kyousuke, of course, was his "shiny new sword" in this political battle.
Still, since Konno and the association were putting their full weight behind promoting his new novel, Kyousuke and the Rampaging Angels gang decided to overlook it.
Both sides silently agreed to keep feeding the flames of publicity.
Thanks to the "efforts" of all these so-called good people, the launch campaign for "Writer K: Dream and Death" was going smoothly.
Eriri continued working on the promotional art—just as Kyousuke had suspected, she was determined to handle every single illustration herself.
Though she insisted that letting others "assist" didn't count as help.
Kyousuke, meanwhile, was working on a manga—not Detective Kiddo, that one could wait until after the awards season.
This was a special spin-off of "Writer K: Dream and Death."
Unlike most authors, Kyousuke had debuted as a manga artist, and he wasn't about to forget his roots.
It was also a clever marketing strategy—while other writers only got cover illustrations, he was releasing a full companion manga.
On the digital tablet before him, an unfinished page showed the protagonist's soul-crushing office life.
The man, with dark circles under his eyes and a fever patch on his forehead, typed mechanically on his keyboard surrounded by piles of energy drinks.
No caffeine, no cold patch could save him—he fell asleep face-down on his keyboard, only to be smacked awake by his boss's paper tube and immediately return to work.
All-nighters, washing his hair in the office sink, napping under the desk, inhaling his coworker's foot odor, being dragged out for forced drinking parties, watching his boss flirt with the pretty receptionist…
In just a few pages, the manga captured the hellish life of a corporate drone so vividly that even Eriri felt a chill down her spine.
She silently swore never to become an office worker.
The assistant artists in the studio felt the same—before they made it, their lives as manga assistants hadn't been much better either.
The spin-off ended with the protagonist standing on the company rooftop, shouting to the sky with arms raised:
"I've had enough of this life! I'm going to become an amazing novelist!"
"I'll sell millions of copies! Win every award!"
"And I'll get a hundred lovers with long legs, slim waists, and perfect faces!"
The manga would be published as a teaser before the official release—serialized on Kyousuke's personal website.
And thanks to connections within the same publishing group, featured in a small column of Weekly Shōnen High, courtesy of editor-in-chief Tetsuya Shimomura.
A little extra advertising never hurts.
Once his assistant team finished polishing the short manga, Hojou Kyousuke sent it straight to Editor-in-Chief Shimomura.
He was about to start sketching the next one when his phone rang—it was Shimomura again.
After just two sentences, Kyousuke hung up without hesitation.
The man had suggested that such a brilliant manga shouldn't be "wasted" on mere promotion and that Kyousuke should consider turning it into a full-length serialization.
Was he insane? Kyousuke flatly refused.
Sometimes, being too good really was a curse.
Admittedly, the short comic was excellent—after all, even the notoriously picky Eriri and the studio artists had read it with glowing eyes.
From the very first panel, the life of the exhausted office worker was so relatable that readers couldn't look away.
Even though manga magazines were mostly bought by middle and high school students, they could still see their future selves reflected in the poor protagonist's miserable life.
And in their innocence, dream of changing their fate when he finally decided to stand up.
But still—it was supposed to be just an ad!
The next short manga wouldn't be released online for free.
Instead, it would be given as a bonus to bookstores that ordered large quantities of the new novel—something for them to use in their promotional events.
As for the content…
On the page, a 372-pound beautiful woman was walking arm-in-arm with the well-built protagonist along the banks of the Sumida River.
The Tokyo Skytree gleaming in the background.
Both wore bright, genuine smiles.
The happiness radiating from them was almost enough to spill off the page.
Yes—this short comic told the story of the protagonist's peaceful life with his wife and mother-in-law after conquering the literary world.
Kyousuke poured his heart and soul into it, and even Eriri joined in.
Together, they created a bizarrely heartwarming sci-fi love story.
You could call it… a "gift for the fans."
Not long after sending it, Shimomura called again.
This time, he was back to his usual nonsense, saying the story had huge potential if they expanded it—how about making the 372-pound heroine secretly ill.
Then showing her miraculous recovery into a slim beauty, and having the two lovers return to dominate the literary world together?
There was no saving this man.
Kyousuke hung up with a sharp click.
These short comics, however, weren't wasted work—they served as excellent prep material for a possible film adaptation.
After all, mystery novels were among Japan's most frequently adapted genres, and Kyousuke's spin-offs practically handed screenwriters a ready-made storyboard.
Meanwhile, Eriri's poster progress was looking great.
The two drafts she'd finished yesterday had already been finalized and sent to the publisher.
She was now working on the third, and if she pulled a few late nights, the posters would be plastered all over train stations and bookstores by tomorrow.
By the end of the day, the genius blonde artist known as Eriri-sama was completely exhausted.
When she got home and saw the family dog, Momotarou, happily bounding toward her, jealousy flared in her tired heart.
'Why do you get to be so happy when I'm dying of exhaustion?'
Without even removing her shoes, the golden-haired princess kicked Momotarou, sending him tumbling three times across the floor.
Outraged, the dog immediately started barking angrily at her.
Sawamura couldn't understand dog language, but judging by Momotarou's face, whatever he was saying definitely wasn't polite.
Of course, who wouldn't be angry after being kicked like that?
Never one to back down, Eriri started yelling right back, and the two were soon locked in a heated shouting match—barks versus insults.
Hojou Kasuko, hearing the commotion, rushed over and joined the chaos like a cavalry charge.
Meanwhile, Kyousuke simply shook his head, walked into the kitchen to relieve Yukari, and decided to cook something nice to reward Eriri for her hard work.
That night, in an act of benevolent "generosity," Eriri-sama offered him a rare reward—the privilege of touching her soft, flawless skin.
Translation: she made him give her a massage.
"I only sat and drew all day," she grumbled, "but it's exhausting, okay?!"
As he massaged her shoulders, Kyousuke couldn't help but think of Fist of the North Star.
As a kid, he used to believe that if you found the right pressure points and poked them with a finger, you could kill someone instantly—an unbeatable martial art.
"Too hard!" Eriri complained.
Right. In hindsight, that was nonsense.
If you wanted to kill someone with a touch, why bother finding pressure points when you could just use the ultimate move—American Iai Slash!
Before he could continue the thought, the blonde princess started softly snoring.
Kyousuke smiled silently.
He gently rolled her onto her back, watching as her breathing deepened into a peaceful rhythm.
Her lashes fluttered lightly as she slept, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Good night," he whispered.
He tucked the blanket around her and quietly closed the door.
"Finished with work?"
In the living room, Kasumigaoka Utaha—wearing a deep purple nightgown—asked softly.
"Yeah," Kyousuke nodded, slumping onto the couch. "Now all that's left is the release."
He wrapped his arms around Utaha's long, smooth legs, letting out a tired sigh.
The black-haired girl shifted, reversing their positions and pulling him into her embrace instead, resting his head against her chest.
Her delicate hands began to massage his temples with practiced gentleness.
Breathing in her intoxicating scent, Kyousuke closed his eyes.
The next morning, their beautiful weekend came to an end.
Fortunately, on this most dreaded of days—Sunday—Eriri wasn't paralyzed by the usual "back-to-work" despair.
She threw herself into her projects, continuing to make her mark on the world.
Kyousuke, meanwhile, went to school as usual, attended club practice, and went about his day as though nothing special were happening.
But outside, the world was already beginning to stir because of him.
—Jimbocho, Chiyoda District. Meirin Bookstore.
This was one of the stores where Kyousuke had previously held a signing event—and they'd built quite a good relationship.
This time, they'd preordered three thousand copies of his new book and were promoting it enthusiastically.
By early morning, the brand-new promotional posters were already displayed at the store's entrance, impossible to miss.
One of the first people to see them was Futami Jirai, a famous literary critic.
His fame wasn't self-proclaimed, he was genuinely respected in literary circles.
He reviewed films, novels, even politicians, and was also a novelist and translator himself, with several books selling in the hundreds of thousands.
A single handwritten review from him could fetch over ten thousand yen.
He had a morning ritual, every day he'd visit local bookstores to browse the latest releases. To "evaluate new talent," as he called it.
Or, to be more accurate, to find something worth tearing apart.
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