A truly good work always resonates with its readers.
At this very moment, Kasumigaoka Utaha had fallen into that strange, wonderful state of being deeply shaken, her emotions stirred by the words Minamoto Senya had put to the page.
Senya's writing wasn't necessarily ornate, but it was more than enough. It didn't feel childish at all—rather, there was a sense of practiced refinement about it, something familiar yet sharp.
But that wasn't the core of it. What truly stood out was the sheer imagination of the concept, the unique cosmology of the setting, and the vividly distinct personalities of the characters. That was where this novel's brilliance really lay.
And this was only an unfinished manuscript.
Even without the whole picture, Utaha could already sense that there were undercurrents of philosophical thought woven into the story.
If it were to be completed, wouldn't the impact on her be even greater?
Utaha found it unbelievable.
Compared to Senya's Shitai, her own Love Metronome felt like nothing more than children playing house—juvenile in both theme and execution.
She suddenly remembered when she had first started writing.
Back then, her ambitions had reached the sky—she was determined to become a respected author of traditional literature. But because of her limited ability and experience, she had been crushed by reality.
She had been taught a harsh lesson, forced to recognize her own shortcomings, and eventually understood the need to keep her feet on the ground. That was when she turned her efforts toward light novels, which were easier to break into and more approachable for readers.
But now, after reading even this unfinished draft of Senya's Shitai, Utaha felt not only shock but also a swelling, indescribable excitement.
What she had failed to accomplish… perhaps he could.
The landscapes she had never glimpsed, the realms she had never reached…
He seemed entirely capable of touching them with his own hand—rising to heights she could not, gazing freely across vistas she could never see.
"…Um, Utaha…? What's wrong?"
Senya's voice carried a hint of nervousness.
After all, Utaha's current expression was unusually difficult to read.
She had taken her eyes off the computer screen, exhaled softly, then turned her head toward him with a gaze that was half reproachful, half yearning.
Up to this point, Senya could roughly understand what her look meant.
It was that all-too-familiar feeling: reaching a riveting part of a story, only for it to cut off suddenly, leaving the reader's curiosity bottled up with nowhere to go. That unfulfilled hunger showed clearly in her eyes.
But then, her gaze shifted again. After a brief, absentminded moment as if she were pondering something, her expression grew heated. Her lips curved upward, forming the kind of smile one might expect from a lovesick woman on the edge of madness…
This sequence of reactions was far too complex, utterly outside of Senya's expectations.
He had never once seen Utaha act like this before. He had no idea what was running through her head.
Surely she wasn't falling uncontrollably in love with him just because of an unfinished novel, right?
Yes, being a literary genius carried weight, and Shitai was indeed extraordinary—but wasn't this reaction a little too much?
Almost like some kind of aphrodisiac…
"Fuu—"
Only after Senya spoke did Utaha realize her lapse in composure.
She shook her head, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, then reopened them with her usual calm. Forcing down her rapid heartbeat, she finally said:
"Sorry. I was just… too shocked."
"Shocked, huh…" Senya glanced at the bottom of the document on the computer screen. "You mean Shitai, right? Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?"
Utaha shot to her feet, blurting out with excitement. Her blouse-clad chest bounced slightly as she exclaimed:
"Of course in a good way! Senya, you might not be able to judge your own work clearly, but let me tell you—if you keep writing at this level, following the outline you've prepared, then once it's finished, it will absolutely… absolutely win over so many people!"
Her first impulse had been to say, It could definitely win a major literary award. But she stopped herself. She had never even managed to step through the doors of the traditional literary world. She was only a light novel author—she had no right to make that kind of promise.
Besides, she didn't want to put too much pressure on him by raising the stakes too high.
"That's good to hear."
Senya already knew how powerful Shitai was, but hearing Utaha affirm it brought him some relief.
All the sleepless nights he'd spent thinking about how to localize the story to this world—they hadn't been wasted.
Utaha's eyes softened, flowing with gentle admiration.
"Senya, your novel is marked 'Prologue' at the start. That means there's more to come, isn't there?"
Having read tens of thousands of words, she wasn't only excited about the unfinished parts of the story—she was bursting with questions she longed for him to answer.
Senya nodded. "Yeah. This series is meant to be told in three parts. What you just read—the prologue—was mostly about setting up how humanity discovered alien civilization, and through human flaws, hinting at the cause of impending disaster.
The next two parts will cover Earth's struggle against the aliens, introducing concepts like cosmic sociology, the Dark Forest Theory, what it means to strike from a higher dimension… and finally, the war that decides fate itself."
He gave only a simple outline, not worrying too much about tossing in technical terms.
Utaha only half understood, but her eyes still glittered with expectation.
She had always admired Minamoto Senya—admired him so much she imagined holding his hand and growing old together.
She already recognized his excellence. She truly believed his achievements and honors so far were remarkable.
But all those accolades combined were nothing compared to what she had just discovered—his raw literary talent.
That discovery had scratched her deepest, most sensitive pleasure point.
Her gaze toward him now burned even hotter, hungrier.
A certain master of literature once said that men conquer women in two ways: through the body, and through the spirit.
The former was common enough, but the latter was far more elusive.
And if a man succeeded in conquering a woman's spirit, then the body was only a matter of time—if the man so desired.
Utaha herself didn't realize that she had already placed one foot into that second realm.
But Senya could sense the heat in her presence—the sharp, unmistakable air of a cat in heat.
Fortunately, at that moment, little Chiyo began crying softly, waking from her nap.
Senya scooped her up, rocking her gently until she settled down again.
That small interruption allowed Utaha to reel back her overly intense expression.
"Actually, Utaha, I'd like to ask for your help with something," Senya said.
"What is it?"
"This novel—I'm fine continuing to write it. I should be able to finish the first part in about a month, around two hundred thousand words total. But what I'm struggling with is… how to get it out there."
Senya wasn't just writing for fun—he wanted fame, awards, recognition, respect, and a place of honor. Japan was an open, receptive country.
Simply finishing the novel wasn't enough. To achieve a real impact in a short time, he needed a proper strategy.
Should he build a personal brand or sign with a major publisher? Should he let the book slowly gain traction over time, or actively promote it through social media to accelerate the buzz?
Then there were editors, publishers, agents… countless details to consider.
He wasn't well-versed in the Japanese literary world. What he knew came mostly from online research.
But luckily, Kasumigaoka Utaha was in the industry. Even if she was a light novel author, she was still an insider.
As a senpai, she could surely help him avoid many pitfalls. Maybe she even had connections who could lend a hand.
Holding Chiyo, Senya honestly laid out all his thoughts to her.
Utaha's beautiful eyes blinked rapidly, shimmering with charm.
Since meeting Senya, she had never been this happy, this thrilled.
Happier even than when she learned Love Metronome had been given a second chance.
It was like floating among the clouds, her whole body weightless.
Because she realized—this was the first time Senya had formally, seriously asked her for help.
He had even revealed the entire outline of his story to her.
What did that mean?
It meant he trusted her—saw her as someone reliable, someone he could depend on.
"I understand. When I get home tonight, I'll discuss it with my editor. Of course, don't worry—I won't reveal any of your content. You can trust me on that."
"As long as it's someone you trust, I don't mind," Senya said easily.
After all, Shitai was just one of many novels in his head.
And besides, a concept like this wasn't something anyone could pull off just from reading an outline.
He wasn't remotely worried about anyone stealing it.
But Utaha misunderstood. To her, his casual words meant, He trusts me that much?
Her heart melted even further.
What should she do? She liked him even more now…
If only she could just hug him right this second…
Why did little Chiyo have to wake up so soon…?
"Senya, Utaha-senpai, dinner's ready!"
Rokka peeked in through the door.
Senya smiled. "We'll talk more later."
Utaha nodded.
The three of them headed downstairs together.
Toka noticed the two empty drink cans in Utaha's hands. Remembering how Senya had casually drunk from the same cup as her earlier…
Her cheeks burned red, her teeth pressing against her lip.
But seeing how naturally he carried himself, she couldn't bring herself to say anything.
She simply swore to herself that she'd never fall for his tricks again.
After dinner, despite insisting on helping Toka with the dishes, Utaha chose not to linger any longer tonight.
She had been entrusted with an important mission.
She hurried home to scour online forums of light novel authors, looking for any upcoming contests for science fiction and any national literary awards in that field.
She had never paid much attention to that world before—but now, because Senya needed it, she had to learn.
Originally, she had planned to meet with her editor directly. But the editor was away in Hokkaido, chasing deadlines with another author. That was common enough—so Utaha would just have to wait.
Senya walked her all the way to the station. Before parting, he reminded her:
"There's no rush. The novel still has a while before it's finished. Focus on your own work first—help me when you have time."
"Mm, I understand. Then… Senya, may I ask one favor in return?"
"Of course."
"It's just… about Shitai. If you write more in the meantime… could you send it to me right away?"
She asked haltingly, as if confessing some guilty secret.
"Sure."
Senya had expected something serious—but this? He agreed immediately.
He'd read Love Metronome before. Though it lacked the deeper weight of literature, Utaha's prose was elegant, logical, never gaudy. She clearly had a solid foundation.
Having her review his drafts would help him spot issues—especially since he had altered so many details of the world. There might be mistakes even he hadn't noticed.
"Thank you." Utaha's face lit up instantly.
"No, I should be thanking you."
They waved goodbye. Senya walked home under the moonlight.
Inside, his mother, Junko, was sitting on the couch with Toka, watching a comedy show and laughing. Baby Chiyo slept peacefully in her cradle.
Senya greeted them. "I'm home."
"Welcome back, Senya! This show is hilarious. I really like this comedian lately—I can't believe he has so many stories to tell," Junko said, waving him over.
But Senya shook his head politely. It was late; he had just gotten back and needed a shower.
Besides, he noticed Toka's gaze was tinged with subtle disapproval.
He knew exactly why.
That indirect kiss before dinner…
It wasn't a big deal to him, but clearly, she had taken it to heart.
Her innocent reaction only made Senya think she was even cuter.
Still, her response reminded him: he shouldn't act so boldly on impulse again.
She might tolerate it silently, but if he pushed too far and made her wary, that would be a problem.
After his shower, he went upstairs and knocked on Rokka's door. She allowed him in.
She was lying on her bed, feet kicking in the air as she played Monster Hunter on her handheld.
She was terrible at it, but insisted on playing stylishly, so she kept carting back to camp after failing hunts.
Sure enough, she had just fainted again.
"What is it?" she asked, glancing back.
Senya rolled his neck with one hand—a simple gesture, but one she understood instantly.
Her face twisted. "Again? But I'm exhausted… Onii-chan, can't we skip today?"
He ignored her excuse. If she had energy to play games with her feet bouncing around, she wasn't that tired.
"Well, then maybe I'll just tell Toka about that dumb thing you did the other day…" He turned as if to leave.
She jumped up, grabbing his arm in a panic. "Wait wait wait! I suddenly don't feel tired at all! I'll go take a bath right now. Just wait in your room, okay?"
"You know what to do."
"Yes, yes. I'll wash my feet with soap properly."
Rokka scurried off with a change of clothes.
Senya returned to his room. Lately, sitting for hours at his desk while writing had left his back and shoulders sore.
This was where Rokka came in—her massages were surprisingly effective.
At first, he had only made her do it as punishment for giving away his clothes. A few days of massage and he would have forgiven her.
But along the way, he discovered… her massages felt amazing.
Her small hands kneading his shoulders and legs, or her little feet pressing into his back—it was soothing, stress-relieving.
Before long, the punishment had turned into something else entirely.
When Rokka returned half an hour later, she set a one-hour timer on her phone and climbed onto his bed without complaint.
She sighed. "Where should I start today?"
"Shoulders, lower back, thighs… wherever you think."
"Oh." She kicked off her slippers and knelt beside him, pressing her soft hands into his muscles.
"More pressure," Senya muttered.
This is already my maximum strength…
Rokka stood up on the bed, one soapy-clean foot pressing into his back, the other steady on the mattress.
"Hiss—"
Senya sucked in a breath, but she knew it was from pleasure, not pain.
She thought to herself: If all those girls who like Senya saw him like this, under my feet, would their fantasies of him be shattered…?
Half an hour later, she had shifted to straddling his waist, working on his shoulders again.
"Onii-chan, can we talk about this punishment thing? I know I messed up, but don't you think you should forgive me by now?"
"Depends on how you behave from here on."
"You said that last week!" she pouted, pressing harder in protest—but he didn't flinch.
She sighed. Clearly, her suffering wasn't ending anytime soon.
"Oh, by the way, I peeked at your novel when you walked Utaha-senpai out."
"Oh? And?"
"I didn't understand the beginning, so I got bored and stopped."
"…Figures." Senya wasn't surprised. It suited her perfectly.
As they chatted idly, more than forty minutes passed.
That was when Toka pushed open the slightly ajar door.
She froze, taking in the sight of Rokka sitting on Senya's back, massaging his shoulders.
With a faintly sour tone, she said: "You two sure are close. I've been your sister for years, Rokka, but I've never once gotten a massage from you."
Rokka forced a smile, ready to retort, but Toka continued: "Anyway, get down. Dad just got home—he says he has an important announcement."
The three of them went downstairs together.
It wasn't even eight yet. For their father to be home this early was rare.
Judging by his barely contained excitement, it was clearly good news.
With the whole family gathered—even the crow, Jet-Black Wings, perched in Rokka's arms—their father cleared his throat and said:
"A TV station has contacted me. They want me to appear in a program—a cultural exchange about bartending with professionals from overseas…"