"'The Eighteen-Year-Old Overlord!' Ahhh, these headlines are insane!" Eriri's face flushed red as she flipped excitedly through the stack of newspapers, reading aloud the sensational titles that made her heart race:
"A Rebellion Against Common Sense! The Young Monster Mocks Tradition and Creates His Own Myth!"
"The Naoki Prize Becomes an Advertisement! — Seiji Fujiwara Rewrites Marketing History with a Divine Move!"
"The Demon King with Two Faces! The King of Light Novels Crushes Pure Literature's Summit with Ease!"
"Is This Literature? No—It's a God's Game! All of Japan Dances in His Palm!"
One headline after another. Her lips curved higher with each one, eyes sparkling with delight.
She turned to Seiji Fujiwara, who was lounging lazily on the sofa, her gaze full of admiration.
"Seiji… you're seriously amazing! Using the Naoki Prize to advertise your own light novel—who else in Japan could even think of doing something like that, let alone actually do it?"
But the man at the center of the storm didn't look particularly thrilled.
He just smiled faintly.
He'd already done the same thing back when he won the Edogawa Rampo Prize. If even that hadn't excited him much, there was no way the second time would.
In fact… he was getting tired of it.
Lately, Seiji had begun to feel a faint sense of weariness toward writing itself.
"With both the Rampo Prize and the Naoki Prize under my belt, I've already proven everything."
"My name and status are secure."
"Any more awards would just be decoration… wouldn't it be better to just write more light novels and make money instead?"
Seiji nodded to himself. His path as a literary copyist would continue—but only as he pleased.
For now, though…
His gaze slowly drifted toward the blonde girl beside him, still giddily chattering away.
Golden hair, a doll-like face, porcelain skin, a curvy figure—
Heh.
Seiji smirked inwardly. With such a beautiful girl right in front of him, how could he not take the initiative?
He'd just been too busy before.
Now that he had time...
His thoughts began to stir.
Across from him, Utaha Kasumigaoka watched everything quietly. She noticed the predatory look in Seiji's eyes, then glanced at the clueless blonde still grinning like an idiot.
What a bastard, she thought, sighing inwardly.
It seemed the day she'd have to start calling that blonde idiot "sister" wasn't far off.
Meanwhile, in Chiba—
At Sobu High's faculty office, literature teacher Shizuka Hiratsuka stared at the newspaper in her hands, frowning. On the front page was Seiji Fujiwara's handsome, composed face.
Her emotions were a tangled mess.
On one hand, she admired his genius deeply.
On the other… she couldn't stop blushing whenever she remembered that drunken night back in Hokkaido.
"That damn kid…" she muttered, cheeks burning. "Why didn't I realize he wasn't some poor, desperate student?"
Because of that one careless night, she'd ended up… giving herself to him.
Admiration, shame, resentment—and something else she didn't want to name—all twisted together in her chest.
Elsewhere in Chiba—
Inside the Yukinoshita family mansion, Haruno Yukinoshita had just finished a family meeting. She rubbed her temples wearily, took out her phone, and scrolled through her feed.
A headline caught her eye.
Her lips curved into a sly smile.
"Seiji Fujiwara… Naoki Prize… using the trophy to advertise a light novel?"
She read the line aloud, amusement flickering in her eyes.
"What an interesting boy... no—'sensei,' I suppose."
The name, which she'd once heard from Shizuka Hiratsuka, etched itself into her memory.
Tokyo — Shimokitazawa, backstage at STARRY Live House.
Two girls rested in the dressing room—one with blue hair, one with blonde.
Ryo Yamada idly plucked her bass strings, while Nijika Ijichi scrolled through her phone, eyes widening.
"Whoa… Ryo, look at this news. Seiji Fujiwara—he's only a year older than us, and he already won the Naoki Prize. That's insane..."
"Mm." Ryo's response was short, her gaze wandering toward the window, lost in thought.
Nijika sighed, a trace of uncertainty in her tone. "When do you think we'll debut?"
At Fushikawa Bunko, the Naoki Prize buzz sent A Certain Magical Index, Volume 3 flying off the shelves.
"Recommended by the Naoki Prize–Winning Author"—those gold-stamped words gleamed proudly on the cover's obi.
The initial print run of 500,000 copies sold two-thirds within just three days! The publisher rushed to print another 200,000.
Seven hundred thousand copies in total—nearly a record for light novels!
With an 18% royalty rate, plus the explosive sales and royalties from The Devotion of Suspect X, an amount of money most families couldn't earn in a lifetime flooded into Seiji's bank account.
In his luxury apartment in Kyoto, Seiji stared at the endless string of zeros on his phone screen, wondering whether to buy a house—or maybe an entire building.
Just then, his phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID. A realtor.
"Hello, is this Fujiwara-sensei? This is Tanaka from Mitsui Real Estate."
"Yes, that's me."
"Well, Fujiwara-sensei, we've found a detached villa that perfectly matches your request! It's about twenty years old and just went on sale. Would you be interested?"
"Oh? Where is it?"
"In the Arashiyama luxury district—the most prestigious neighborhood in all of Kansai! And get this, I heard the property belongs to the Spencer family. The former diplomat passed away after returning to the UK, and it seems they're liquidating their Japanese assets. It's an urgent sale!"
The Spencer family?
Seiji's pupils narrowed slightly.
He immediately remembered what Eriri had told him—about living in her father's old villa for free until adulthood, only covering her living expenses.
So the Spencer family was selling it now?
"What a perfect opportunity," Seiji murmured, eyes gleaming.
He spoke evenly into the phone. "Send me the details."
"Right away, Fujiwara-sensei!" the agent said enthusiastically.
A week passed since the Naoki Prize ceremony.
Friday, 3:30 p.m.
At the Toyogasaki Academy rooftop—
It was one of Kyoto's rare sunny winter days.
The sky was a flawless blue. Warm sunlight filtered through the wire fence, scattering golden patterns across the concrete.
Seiji leaned casually against the railing, arms draped loosely.
His gaze drifted toward the lively blonde chatting nonstop nearby.
Where did that golden retriever get all that energy?
He was only eighteen too. Was he… mentally old already?
Maybe. Though when he remembered how often Utaha had begged for mercy at night, he relaxed.
At least in that department, he was still in his prime.
That was enough.
"Seiji! Did you see this?!" Eriri's voice suddenly called out.
"What?"
He turned his head.
Eriri was waving her phone excitedly, playing a morning news clip.
"That old critic—the one who said your writing lacked depth—he just took it back! He called you 'the child of God breathing new life into Japanese literature'! Hahaha! His face must hurt so bad right now!"
She mimicked the critic's pompous expression perfectly, her twin tails bouncing with every laugh, blue eyes shining brighter than the sun.
"Is that so?"
Seiji wasn't interested in the news. He was far more captivated by the view in front of him—her flushed face, the way her uniform shirt rose and fell with her breath, the slender legs wrapped in white thigh-highs…
What a perfect heroine.
From her bench, Utaha looked up from her manuscript, sensing danger.
Her sharp eyes caught Seiji's burning gaze.
She sighed softly and went back to writing.
"By the way, Eriri," Seiji said casually, "how's your villa these days?"
"Eh?" Eriri froze, smile faltering. "Why are you asking?"
Her voice was light, but her fingers tightened slightly around her phone.
"Oh, nothing," Seiji said, pretending not to notice. "I just heard the Spencer family's selling off their Japanese assets. They're not… planning to take that villa back, are they?"
The color drained from Eriri's face.
"I-Is that true?" she stammered, voice trembling.
Just yesterday, she'd received an email from the Spencer family's lawyer—revoking her right to stay and demanding she move out within a month.
It had felt like her whole world was collapsing.
She hadn't told anyone.
"I could help you," Seiji said calmly, watching her panic. "It's just a matter of money. And I happen to have plenty."
"I can't—" Eriri blurted, shaking her head. That wasn't a small amount of money!
"But I'm not a charity," Seiji interrupted, voice steady. "There are conditions."
"Conditions?" she echoed, confused.
Beside them, Utaha sighed quietly.
"Yes," Seiji said with a smile, raising a hand to point at her. "You're the condition, Eriri Spencer Sawamura. I want you."
Eriri froze. Her brain went blank.
He wants... me?
Wait—was she hallucinating?
Did Seiji really just say something that shameless?
"Are you… joking?" she asked weakly.
"I'm serious," Seiji said, gaze unwavering. "This is who I really am. I like beautiful girls. And if possible, I'd love to build a big, happy harem. You're one of the ones I've chosen."
"As long as you agree, I'll solve your villa problem."
A thunderclap went off in Eriri's mind.
Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
How could he—
How could he say something so disgusting?!
A harem?! Dream on!
"Y-you… you perverted jerk!" she shouted, slapping at him furiously.
Of course, Seiji dodged with ease.
"Go to hell!" she screamed, spinning around and storming off.
The rooftop fell silent again—only Seiji and Utaha remained.
"Why do you girls always go for the slap?" Seiji asked casually.
Utaha gave him a cool glance. "Be grateful it was only a slap."
"Fair point," he nodded.
When Eriri got home, she cried for three straight days.
Humiliation, anger, betrayal—
All tangled inside her like a nest of snakes.
Seiji Fujiwara's calm, unbothered face replayed in her mind like a curse.
"Bastard… scum… I was so wrong about you!"
"Forget it!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "I'll never ask you for anything again!"
Then she paused, thinking of Utaha—she'd been there too.
Hopefully they broke up already. Better she finds out now than later.
She sent Utaha a LINE message. It was marked "read"—but there was no reply.
"Is she… heartbroken?"
Probably. Her boyfriend had just revealed himself as a complete sleaze—anyone would be devastated.
"Then I'll leave her alone for now," Eriri decided, setting her phone down and straightening her back.
She'd make it as an illustrator—on her own strength.
The next day, Saturday.
Eriri drew all morning, then worked up the courage to call her relatives for help.
"Hello? Oh, Eriri! It's been a while. The villa? Ah… well, there's nothing we can do. The Spencer family's decision isn't something outsiders can interfere with. Take care of yourself, okay?"
The line went dead.
Another call:
"Eriri-chan, we're really sorry about your father. But our company's struggling too... I'll send you fifty thousand yen for now, just to help out."
The "sympathy" in their voices sounded more like pity—like they were tossing coins to a beggar.
Eriri hung up, heart sinking.
As for her father's side—the Spencers? She didn't even try.
To them, her mother Sayuri had been a thief. Her father had followed that "thief" to Japan, abandoning his family and his arranged fiancée.
The scandal had ruined both families' reputations, and they'd despised Eriri and her mother ever since.
Now that both parents were gone, she was nothing more than the "thief's daughter."
Selling the villa and kicking her out—it was their long-delayed revenge.
"So that's it, huh?" she whispered, looking around the familiar home one last time.
There was no saving it.
The next day, Eriri went apartment hunting.
"Miss, this is the place," said the middle-aged realtor, pushing open a creaky wooden door.
A wave of stench hit her immediately—mold, smoke, and damp rot all mixed together.
The room was tiny—barely six tatami mats in size.
The walls were yellowed with grime and mold, and the single small window faced another building's wall, letting in no sunlight at all.
Eriri stood frozen in the doorway, her expression blank.
This… was all she could afford.
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You can read up to chapter 100 on patreon.com/NiaXD.