Three days later.
After their trip, Seiji Fujiwara and Utaha Kasumigaoka flew back to their luxury apartment in Kyoto.
The fatigue from traveling had long since been washed away by a few days of rest.
Now, Seiji was sitting on the soft couch in the living room. On the low coffee table before him, steam curled gently from an elegant tea set—one he'd received at the literary conference. It was the perfect time to put it to use.
Beside him, Utaha sat quietly, reading a hardcover book in English. Her long legs, wrapped in black over-the-knee stockings, rested gracefully against each other—until Seiji's large hand began to idly trace along them.
Still as perfect as ever.
He nodded to himself with satisfaction, ignoring Utaha's annoyed glance as his hand pried determinedly between her tightly pressed thighs, continuing its "exploration" without hesitation.
"Tch…"
A faint blush rose on the girl's face, mixed with irritation. Fighting against her instincts, she sighed and parted her legs slightly.
Seiji gave her a look of appreciation—but didn't push further.
There was still business to take care of.
He pulled his gaze away from Utaha's profile and turned it to the laptop screen in front of him.
"The edits for The Devotion of Suspect X are done."
"I'll find time to submit it. Once I win the Naoki Prize, I can basically retire from the literary world."
"After all, an eighteen-year-old boy isn't exactly expected to win a pure literature award."
He thought to himself in silence.
"Ding-dong—"
The sudden chime of the doorbell broke the calm of the room.
Utaha immediately pushed his hand away, stood up, and went to change. She swapped into a pair of jeans before heading to the door.
That fast?
Seiji's eyes followed the sway of her legs now wrapped in denim, curiosity flashing through his mind.
Their guests entered a moment later: the spirited Editor-in-Chief of Fushikawa Bunko, Ryuji Aida, and the sharp, composed Chief Editor, Sonoko Machida.
They'd come for the third volume of A Certain Magical Index. Today was their scheduled meeting.
Suppressing his stray thoughts, Seiji rose and greeted them warmly.
"Long time no see, Aida-san, Machida-san."
"Hahaha, good afternoon, Fujiwara-sensei!" Ryuji Aida entered with a hearty laugh, carrying a beautifully wrapped gift box.
As the editor-in-chief, he normally didn't handle these visits personally. But Seiji Fujiwara was different—a golden name Fushikawa Bunko couldn't afford to treat casually. Even the chief editor's status wasn't enough; only the editor-in-chief himself could come in person.
The two slipped off their shoes at the entrance and put on the guest slippers.
"Fujiwara-sensei, it seems your trip to Hokkaido went wonderfully!" Aida said cheerfully, setting the gift box on the table. "This is the latest daifuku from our group's confectionery brand. Please give it a try."
"Much appreciated, Aida-san." Seiji smiled and gestured politely toward the sofa. "Please, have a seat. I just brewed some tea."
"Thank you for the trouble."
Sonoko Machida bowed slightly and sat down with Aida.
"Try this chilled tea I brought back from Hokkaido," Seiji said, pouring tea for both guests with calm, fluid movements that seemed too composed for someone his age.
Watching him, Sonoko couldn't help but feel a little sentimental. She remembered the first time she met this boy—still an inexperienced newcomer. In just a few months, he'd become a figure the entire Fushikawa Bunko, no, the entire light novel industry, now looked up to.
"Please, enjoy," Seiji said, placing the cups before them.
"Thank you."
"Thank you."
"This really is exceptional tea—smooth and rich aftertaste," Aida praised.
"Haha, if you like it, take a few boxes home when you leave."
"Then I'll gladly accept."
After some polite small talk, Aida cleared his throat and pulled out a neatly bound proposal from his briefcase. It was time to get to business.
"Fujiwara-sensei, the release of the second volume of A Certain Magical Index has caused an unprecedented sensation! With thirty-nine thousand copies sold in the first month, you've firmly secured your spot as the number one in the industry. After an emergency meeting, our executives unanimously agreed—we need to strike while the iron's hot and push your brand and popularity to an even higher peak!"
He slid the proposal across the table, eyes bright with enthusiasm.
"This is a marketing and PR collaboration plan—your very own 'Seiji Fujiwara National Gratitude Signing Tour'!
"We'll select ten major cities nationwide, partner with the biggest local bookstores, and launch a full-scale media campaign! This will be a historic event, ensuring your name dominates the public spotlight for the entire year!"
Aida spoke passionately, practically glowing with excitement.
It was, in his mind, the perfect plan—grand, orthodox, unstoppable.
But Seiji merely glanced at the proposal cover before shaking his head.
"Signing tours are too exhausting. And the payoff isn't great."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it was like a bucket of cold water poured over Aida's enthusiasm.
"Eh?" Both Aida and Machida froze.
Aida hurried to explain, "Sensei, this isn't just any signing tour—it's the highest-level—"
"I know," Seiji interrupted calmly. "But visiting ten cities, meeting thousands of fans, appearing on a few local news programs… it's too much hassle."
Though his tone was light, the quiet confidence in his words carried an invisible pressure. Aida felt sweat forming at his temples.
This man was here to live life, not to be a wage slave.
"Then… what do you suggest, Sensei?" Machida asked cautiously.
Seiji thought for a moment, then said casually, "Let's change the marketing angle. How about the Naoki Prize?"
"…"
"…"
Both editors froze as if time had stopped.
After five seconds, Aida finally blinked and asked, uncertainly, "Fujiwara-sensei, did you just say… the Naoki Prize?"
"The Naoki Prize," Seiji repeated calmly.
This time they heard it clearly. And they were utterly dumbfounded.
Even Utaha, who'd been silently reading nearby, looked stunned.
"The… Naoki Prize?" Machida stammered, wondering if her brain was playing tricks from too much overtime.
Seiji smiled faintly. "I mean, if I win a Naoki Prize, we can just use that for marketing, right?"
Boom—!
The words struck Aida and Machida like a thunderclap.
Win the Naoki Prize… for marketing?!
Was he serious? That was pure madness!
Trying to repeat what he did with the Edogawa Ranpo Prize? Impossible!
That kind of thing wasn't like eating or breathing—it couldn't just be "done again."
Literary awards weren't vegetables you could pick off the street!
Aida took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.
"Fujiwara-sensei," he began carefully, "I understand how you feel, but this idea is a bit…"
He wanted to say ridiculous, but swallowed it and replaced it with something softer.
"You just won the Edogawa Ranpo Prize, and you're still so young. Given the literary world's… politics, those old-timers won't give another major award to a newcomer anytime soon."
Machida nodded quickly. "Exactly. Competing for the Naoki Prize requires an exceptional manuscript—it takes immense effort. You're already preparing the third volume of A Certain Magical Index. Balancing both might take a toll on your health."
From their perspective, Seiji's plan wasn't just risky—it was reckless, with nothing to gain and everything to lose.
Yet, faced with their earnest attempts to dissuade him, Seiji neither argued nor looked offended. He simply smiled faintly.
"Aida-san, Machida-san—I understand your concerns."
He poured them both a fresh cup of tea, his movements calm and deliberate.
"How about this—once I've finished the manuscript, you can read it first. Then you can decide whether this plan is viable or not."
His tone was gentle, but it carried a quiet finality that left no room for debate.
Aida and Machida exchanged a glance, seeing the same mix of helplessness and awe in each other's eyes.
They wanted to argue—but at this point, Seiji Fujiwara wasn't just any author.
Even the company's executives had to treat him with respect.
What right did they have to object?
"…Understood, Sensei," Aida finally said, bowing his head.
He swallowed his doubts along with his words.
…
Half an hour later, Aida and Machida left Seiji's apartment, their minds spinning with disbelief.
Back at Fushikawa Bunko, Aida immediately reported the meeting to headquarters. The news quickly reached the upper management of the entire Fushikawa Group.
In the top-floor conference room, a heavy silence hung over the long table, surrounded by the company's senior directors.
"Use the Naoki Prize to promote a light novel? Aida-san, are you sure Fujiwara-sensei was serious?" the finance director asked skeptically through his thin-rimmed glasses.
"I'm sure," Aida said firmly. "And judging by his attitude, he has extraordinary confidence in this."
"Still…" the marketing director frowned. "Isn't this a bit risky? If he fails, it'll make us a laughingstock—and it could seriously damage Fujiwara-sensei's reputation."
The concern rippled around the room. Doubts rose one after another—echoing the same worries Aida and Machida had voiced earlier.
"Fujiwara-sensei's a genius, but this time he's going too far."
"Those old fossils in the literary world will never let a kid win that easily."
"The Ranpo Prize was a miracle, not a pattern."
As the chatter grew louder, the company president—an older man with silver hair and sharp eyes—tapped the table twice.
Thump. Thump.
The room instantly fell silent.
"Gentlemen," the president said calmly, "let's not forget who we're talking about. Fujiwara-sensei made history for this company. His A Certain Magical Index and After School brought us immense profit and prestige. For a talent like him, conventional logic doesn't apply."
He looked around the room, then concluded decisively, "Here's my decision: until Fujiwara-sensei presents his manuscript, we will neither interfere nor oppose him. Aida—"
"Yes, President?" Aida straightened.
"Tell Fujiwara-sensei this: as long as he has the ability, Fushikawa Group will always be his strongest support."
"Yes, sir."
The meeting adjourned.
That night, Seiji received a text from Aida.
Aida Ryuji: Fujiwara-sensei, the executives have reviewed your new plan. Please don't feel pressured—create freely. Fushikawa Bunko will always stand behind you.
Seiji read the message and chuckled, locking his phone and setting it aside.
Empty words.
Support meant nothing unless it came with action.
Still, he didn't mind.
…
The next day, at Toyonozaki Academy.
During lunch break, Seiji and Utaha handed out souvenirs they'd brought back from Hokkaido.
"Wow, Fujiwara-kun, Kasumigaoka-san—these are amazing!"
"Thank you!"
"Hokkaido must've been fun, huh?"
Their classmates thanked them cheerfully, filling the classroom with a warm atmosphere.
Just then, a flash of gold burst through the door.
"Seiji! Utaha! Where's my souvenir?" Eriri Spencer Sawamura demanded, hands on her hips, her twin tails bouncing indignantly.
"Here." Seiji pulled out a separately wrapped package from his desk and handed it to her.
"I knew you wouldn't forget me!" Eriri said happily.
"You remind us every day on Line. How could we forget?"
Seiji snorted, standing up and heading toward the hall. Utaha and Eriri followed, laughing.
It was lunchtime.
…
They found a quiet spot to eat.
"By the way, Seiji," Eriri asked between bites, "does Fushikawa have a release date yet for A Certain Magical Index Volume 3?"
She was an avid fan, after all—she'd been waiting for months.
Seiji opened a box of cookies, passed one to Utaha, and took one for himself.
"No rush," he said casually. "I plan to win the Naoki Prize first."
The moment the words left his mouth, Eriri froze, her bright blue eyes wide with disbelief.
"…Ha? What did you just say… Naoki what?"
"The Naoki Prize."
Hearing it clearly this time, Eriri's pupils widened even further.
Utaha chuckled softly at her reaction, saying nothing. She'd already heard about this plan yesterday.
"You're serious?" Eriri looked back and forth between the two of them.
Realizing it wasn't a joke, she grew anxious. "Why would you suddenly go for that award?"
Seiji calmly repeated his reasoning—how he intended to replicate the marketing success of winning the Edogawa Ranpo Prize, only bigger this time.
"…Using the Naoki Prize for publicity."
Eriri blinked, utterly speechless.
"That's insane! The Naoki Prize is way more complicated than the Ranpo one! There's politics, favoritism, factions—"
Her expression turned worried.
"Relax. It's almost a sure thing," Seiji said with quiet confidence.
That calm certainty shocked her even more.
Utaha, on the other hand, looked amused.
Having read The Devotion of Suspect X, she knew it was a work worthy of an award.
Still—awards required connections, politics, and timing.
Was Seiji really that confident?
…
After school, back at the apartment, Seiji ignored the online chatter begging for A Certain Magical Index Volume 3 updates.
Instead, he pulled out a business card and dialed the number printed on it.
After a few rings, the call connected—and an elderly yet vigorous voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Professor Yamada—it's me, Seiji Fujiwara."
On the other end, Professor Kenji Yamada sounded delighted. "Hahaha! I was wondering when you'd call this old man again. How've you been since Hokkaido?"
"Thanks to you, everything's fine," Seiji replied with a smile. "Actually, there's something I'd like to ask of you."