Minamoto Senya's manuscript lay open on the computer screen.
Kasumigaoka sat at the desk, her gaze finally settling on the words he had typed out.
At first, her face carried its usual faint, relaxed smile. But as her eyes moved further down, her expression gradually grew more solemn.
Beneath the title, it wasn't the main text that appeared, but rather a concise story outline.
[...] (see note)
Yet even though it was just a few hundred words, Kasumigaoka was reading with undivided attention.
You couldn't really judge someone's prose from an outline alone. But whether the story itself was engaging or not—that much was surprisingly easy to tell.
"Contacting alien civilizations by amplifying signals with the sun… Earth's coordinates… protons… a colonization fleet… sealed-off technology… humanity's struggle against extraterrestrials…"
Her eyes lit up as she muttered to herself, staring at the screen.
Kasumigaoka's strengths had always leaned toward the humanities.
Her academic record was especially strong in literature and history, and so the books she usually gravitated toward were the ones in that sphere—nonfiction, historical accounts, plays, romances, and the like.
What Senya had written here, however, was unmistakably in the realm of science fiction.
It wasn't that she couldn't understand such works—far from it. Everyone had their preferences, and sci-fi simply wasn't the genre she usually sought out.
Yet this… this manuscript, written by Senya—a complete novice when it came to fiction—had, in just a few pages, seized her attention completely.
Her heart was filled with a rush of expectation, an impatient urge to plunge straight into the full text and embark on the adventure his words promised.
"Senya, when did you start writing this?"
She noticed the word count displayed at the top-right corner of the document window.
Including the outline, the manuscript already totaled more than 62,000 words.
That was no small feat. For comparison, in her own serialized light novel, she typically managed around 2,000 words a day—and that was when she forced herself, with her editor constantly checking in on her "by chance" to keep the pressure on.
It wasn't just typing words. Plot couldn't be phoned in. Prose had to stay sharp. The interplay between the male and female leads had to remain vivid and engaging. Everyday events needed proper pacing, foreshadowing had to be laid at the right moments, and each volume had to end with just enough of a hook to make readers desperate for the next one.
Back before she started writing novels herself, Kasumigaoka had never understood how difficult it all was.
But after throwing herself into the work… she knew. It was exhausting, painstaking labor.
"It's been about two weeks."
"…Huh?"
His reply made her blink in shock.
Sixty-two thousand words. In just two weeks.
That meant he was averaging over four thousand words a day.
More than twice her own professional-level output at full throttle.
What the hell was he, some kind of tentacle monster?
Senya tilted his head at her wide-eyed stare. "What's wrong?"
"N-no, nothing…" Kasumigaoka felt too embarrassed to admit her own snail-paced typing speed. She quickly shifted the topic. "Senya, just from the outline alone, your novel is already really interesting."
"Really? Then maybe I can feel a little confident about it."
"I'm going to keep reading, if you don't mind."
"Of course. You read—I'll go get you a drink. Orange juice okay?"
"Anything's fine."
Senya padded quietly out of the room.
Her reaction didn't surprise him in the slightest.
After all, in his previous world, Three-Body Problem had already proven itself beyond question—winning international awards, being praised even by world leaders, adapted into films, anime, stage plays, and more. For a time, it had even triggered a global sci-fi craze.
He hadn't chosen this project by chance.
Part of it was timing.
He might only be a second-year middle schooler, still incredibly young. But Toka was already in her second year of high school—university was right around the corner.
He didn't want to think the worst, but he couldn't ignore the truth: once she entered that new stage of life, her social world would expand. She would meet more people. Make more friends. And with that, countless new relationships would unfold around her.
That was what worried him most.
And so he needed to improve himself as quickly as possible. That was the foundation of the confidence he needed to one day lay his feelings bare to her.
The second reason was more practical.
This world resembled his original one, but with key divergences.
From what he had studied, Japanese literature at present—especially serious, text-driven literature—valued unique style and philosophical depth.
Novels had to transcend "lowbrow entertainment," exposing social contradictions and probing the human condition. Style could be abstruse or pure and lyrical, but it had to be distinct—something that separated it from mainstream, commercial fiction.
Of course, the highest ideal was literature that resonated across classes and ages, gifting each reader a different insight or feeling. That was the elusive pinnacle.
And in Senya's mind, Three-Body was the perfect choice.
It wasn't just science fiction. At its core, it fused hard science with philosophical inquiry.
It had depth. Social critique. Human drama. Hope flickering in the face of despair.
As for why he didn't try to reproduce works by literary giants like Kawabata or Murakami… well, first, the times weren't right. Dropping those works now might not have the same impact, nor be understood the same way.
Second, their prose was simply too masterful. Without relying solely on narrative, Senya doubted he could replicate them faithfully.
And third… their stories weren't particularly plot-driven. Too many details had already faded from his memory.
Three-Body avoided all those problems.
It wasn't shackled by time. Its setting could be tweaked as needed. Its story beats remained etched sharply in his mind.
The skeleton was complete. All that was left was fleshing it out.
The only real obstacle was length. At his pace, recalling while writing, it might take him half a year to finish. By then, he would be nearly graduating middle school—just in time to complete it before Toka graduated high school.
That would be close enough.
"Why'd you come down?"
In the kitchen, Toka was deveining shrimp, preparing the tempura she knew he loved. She didn't need him to ask—every few days, she went out of her way to make it for him.
It was troublesome, hot oil often splashed her hands, but seeing him devour it happily at the dinner table made it all worth it.
"I came to get a drink for Shi… for Kasumigaoka."
"Oh."
Opening the fridge, Senya added lightly, "The baby's already asleep. I can help you, if you want."
He still called Chiyo "little Chiyo" around others, but with Toka, he preferred "the baby."
Toka kept her eyes on the shrimp, her face showing no change. "Don't worry about me. Go back and keep your friend company. It's rude to leave her alone with the baby."
"Then let me cook dinner tomorrow. You deserve a break once in a while."
"No need. You focus on your own things. I don't find cooking to be a burden."
"Oil and smoke aren't good for your skin, though."
"Mom brings me skincare products from the shop all the time. I use them every day."
"Still, once in a while, let your little brother take care of you."
"If I ever need help, I won't hold back." She smiled brightly. "So don't worry about it."
She waved the scissors in her hand playfully, shooing him away.
Senya chuckled, placed the orange juice back in the fridge after pouring, but didn't leave right away.
Instead, he lifted the glass toward her lips.
Toka sighed at his insistent, almost teasing gesture. She didn't really want to refuse, so she leaned forward and took a sip.
She thought it was for her. She even opened her mouth to tell him he could just leave it there for her.
But then she watched as he turned on his heel and carried that very same glass upstairs.
One glass in each hand. He'd taken a sip from one already, so of course he wouldn't give that to Kasumigaoka. That would be far too rude.
Which meant…
"!!"
He did that on purpose? Or by accident?
Seriously… what was going on in that head of his all day?
Her face flushed hot, her thoughts scattering. She stood rooted to the spot for several minutes, completely thrown off.
———
Back upstairs, Senya set the untouched glass of orange juice on the desk.
"Thanks," Kasumigaoka murmured softly without glancing up.
Her eyes were glued to the screen, utterly absorbed.
If she had been intrigued by the outline…
Now, reading the actual prose, she was completely lost in the world Senya had built, empathizing deeply with the heroine's suffering under cruel persecution.
She had expected him, as a first-time writer, to stumble in the same ways she once had.
Overindulging in flowery prose. Losing sight of priorities. Dragging out passages to the point of tedium.
But none of those pitfalls were here.
From the very first chapter, the story flowed smoothly. The plot unfolded with clear structure, the characters' actions and inner lives were logical and consistent. The narration was straightforward, the prose clean and easy to read.
She felt no resistance at all as a reader.
If anything, she was unsettled.
Because—though she couldn't place why—the cadence of his words carried an eerie sense of familiarity.
It was absurd. She had never read any of Senya's work before. And sci-fi was hardly her field of interest.
So why… why did it feel like she recognized this?
Truly strange…
"Senya-nii! I finished my homework already—it was super quick today!"
Rikka burst through the door.
Senya set down his juice and pressed a finger to his lips.
She spotted Chiyo sleeping on the bed, clapped both hands over her mouth, and only relaxed when the baby stirred but didn't wake.
She trotted over, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "What are you two reading?"
Kasumigaoka was too focused on the screen to even acknowledge her.
Senya ruffled her hair lightly. "Just something I wrote. I asked Shiha—Kasumigaoka to take a look."
"Eh? A novel?"
"Something like that."
"And you didn't tell me? I want to read too!"
"You'll get your turn. Later. For now, go help Toka with dinner."
With some effort, he managed to usher Rikka back out, leaving the room quiet once more.
Outside, dusk had fallen. Senya closed the curtains and switched on the lights.
He sat on the bed, reading 2001: A Space Odyssey in silence. Kasumigaoka was so absorbed that she didn't even try to cuddle closer, which only heightened his anticipation for her eventual reaction.
Nearly an hour later, she reached the final line of his manuscript. The story had stopped at a chilling countdown, an unfinished cliffhanger.
Her gaze slid toward Senya, her eyes shadowed and restless.
Now she understood—down to the bone—what her own readers must feel when they begged her for updates.