"Shiori… you're Shiori Haruki, right?" Ren asked as soon as he recognized her, the sentence barely leaving his mouth before he realized how idiotic it sounded.
Ren asked the question, immediately realizing how foolish his words were. Why was she there? It didn't even need saying.
Miyuki herself had been clear: that night there would only be three people there: him, Miyuki, and the author known as "Daiki Watanabe".
Since there were indeed only three people in this room, it was obvious who the second author was.
Shiori Haruki stood up from the sofa with impeccable politeness. She didn't seem nervous, at least not outwardly. Her tone of voice was clear, serene, like still water.
"Hello, Ren, nice to meet you." She gave a slight, discreet nod. "It's the first time we've met like this. I'm Shiori Haruki."
Her teary eyes stared directly at Ren. She herself had difficulty explaining her feelings. Because she had been silently following Ren for over a month.
Ever since the first edition of "Ao Haru Ride," when its performance had unfairly overshadowed that of "The Light of Yesterday's Stars" And now, in the third edition, the feeling was repeating itself, only worse: the gap between the two works was becoming more evident, and its success continued to obscure its stellar brilliance.
It was the first time in her life that a kind of sincere defeat had gnawed at her chest. And the most irritating thing was that, rationally, she couldn't even call it a failure.
In fact, the performance of "The Light of Yesterday's Stars" had been improving with each edition. Judging by the current upward trend in votes, the third volume of the novel, released today, should, barring unforeseen circumstances, have more than 2,300 fan votes by 9 a.m. tomorrow. The novel's rating has already risen to 8.3.
However, this performance is even worse than the data from the first chapter of "Ao Haru Ride," when it was serialized.
How could he not feel that bitter taste?
Ren blinked, slightly surprised.
"Huh? You know me?"
As a popular girl in high school, it was normal for Ren to know her; after all, every semester, at the opening ceremony, the principal invited her to give a half-hour speech on stage as a distinguished student. But did Shiori Haruki know him? Him of all people?
Ren suddenly remembered the rumor his classmates were spreading:
"Shiori Haruki, from the 7th class, had a strange interest in Ren and was secretly asking about him at school."
"I don't believe it?"
He was about to continue the train of thought when his eyes fell on Miyuki. The editor's presence nipped the paranoia in the bud. Ren took a breath and, to avoid looking like an idiot, concocted a comfortable explanation for himself: it was obvious that Miyuki had mentioned something about him to Shiori, since they were there for a work meeting.
Relief appeared on his face as a smile, and all his doubts vanished.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Ren, from the 3rd class of High School. I really didn't expect you to be 'Daiki Watanabe', the author of 'The Light of Yesterday's Stars'."
He extended his hand reflexively, then recoiled, remembering it was a rather formal situation, and simply inclined his head, trying not to seem clumsy.
Shiori Haruki responded with the same politeness.
"Neither did I! I didn't expect someone from my school to also be publishing a serialized novel in Red Violet Literature."
Miyuki watched the two exchanging formalities and, honestly, didn't have the patience to analyze the "strange energy" in the air. She was hungry, tired, and still had to work after hours.
"You two, hurry up and bring your manuscripts; they're due on Friday. Stop chatting."
Her voice was dry, but not unpleasant. As soon as Miyuki finished speaking, Ren and Shiori quickly handed her their manuscripts.
Ren and Shiori Haruki moved at the same time, each taking their papers from their backpacks and handing them over. Miyuki took the sheets, placed them all on the coffee table, and sat down, as if going into automatic mode.
She didn't waste any time. Doing this kind of work at night was her free extra time. If it weren't for her interest and sense of responsibility, she wouldn't have gone to all this trouble.
Miyuki sat alone, reading the manuscript of chapters seven and eight of "The Light of Yesterday's Stars."
Ren and Shiori sat on opposite sides of the sofa, the atmosphere between them somewhat awkward.
And the space between them was filled with a slight discomfort, as if neither of them knew the protocol for "schoolmates who are secretly rival authors" and who were now in the same room as if it were normal.
Ren glanced at Shiori out of the corner of his eye. His curiosity was inevitable. She was the kind of person who seemed to have a thousand bright paths open to her in life.
"Why would someone like her write a serialized light novel?"
Light novel authors enjoy high prestige. But, considering Shiori's family background, her academic performance, and the artistic talent she claimed to have in school, writing light novels?
In Ren's mind, the comparison came almost automatically, somewhat unfair, but impossible to resist:
It's like someone who has a thousand bright paths to choose from, but opts to raise pigs in the field. Not that raising pigs is bad, it can even be profitable, but she clearly has much better options.
While Ren was analyzing Shiori, Shiori Haruki didn't seem to be paying attention to him. Her gaze was elsewhere: on the shop windows and the collection scattered around the house.
Miyuki had expressed herself poorly earlier. Shiori wasn't completely uninterested in these things; in fact, she had no idea what they represented. After all, time is limited, and finding time to read light novels was already difficult enough; she simply didn't have time to understand the products related to those works.
She didn't grow up with video games, she didn't grow up with the kind of fandom that collects things. Her time was always counted, divided into small, controlled pieces: study, training, chores, expectations.
She already found it difficult to find space to read novels, let alone understand the world of products surrounding the works.
It was Ren who broke the silence. He pointed, almost without thinking, trying to bring up something neutral, and for him, it was the most natural topic in the world.
"Are you interested in this video game console?"
Shiori Haruki slowly turned her head and looked at him.
Ren didn't understand everyday topics with Shiori, but when the subject was anime and manga, he could talk nonstop until dawn.
"Look," Ren pointed to a rather bulky video game console in the display case. This is the second generation of a portable console from the foreign company "Stone Giant." It was released about twenty-five years ago.
The stack of cartridges next to it are all classic pixel art games from that era. Like "Shin Tetsujin," "Great Zhou War God," "Eagle Country Escape," and "Slinger Pig." They were games from my childhood that marked an era. And look at the cartridge boxes, they have the limited edition marking. "All these games are out of print now, extremely valuable to collectors." I don't even know how Miyuki managed to get them.
It was supposed to be just a short explanation. But Ren got carried away. His eyes gleamed undisguisedly, as if he were reliving memories.
Shiori watched silently, trying to understand the emotional weight those objects held for him.
"Is it that impressive?" she paused and asked softly.
Ren turned to her with an almost offended expression, as if she had asked if Mount Fuji was "just a mountain."
"Of course!"
"This is a limited edition cartridge of 'Shin Tetsujin'."
Shiori held her breath. She noticed Ren's surprise at her ignorance in her tone of voice.
And that triggered an immediate memory in her.
Her tone was strikingly similar to when her classmates asked her those spatial geometry questions, which required quick thinking and mental calculations, and she reacted with astonishment at their supposed stupidity in asking such questions. It wasn't entirely unrelated, but practically identical.
Except, in that case, she was the ignorant one.
"Sorry, I... I've never played that game. I don't know anything about it," Shiori said, with a hint of frustration in her voice.
"You've never played True Iron Soul?" Ren blinked.
He was intrigued. "So, what games have you played?"
Shiori Haruki hesitated, and when she answered, it sounded almost like she was confessing to a minor crime:
"I... I haven't played any games."
She looked curiously at the pile of consoles and game cartridges from various national and international manufacturers.
Ren stood still for a second, trying to process.
"You mean you've never played a video game since you were a child?"
Shiori Haruki spoke calmly, as if narrating a common occurrence.
"In kindergarten, I played hide-and-seek and 'The Eagle Eats the Chicken' with my classmates. In first grade, I played Candy Crush on my mother's cell phone, which made my father reprimand her for not being a good educator and for setting a bad example. That day, I felt very guilty and never played video games again," Shiori said calmly and with an almost inert naturalness.
She paused for a second and continued, without drama.
But Ren gleaned a great deal of information from that seemingly casual statement.
If controlling herself and not playing video games for over ten years because of a little guilt, what kind of self-control is that? Is she human?
Ren looked at Shiori Haruki with a different lens, as if finally understanding why she was who she was at school.
It's no wonder she managed to maintain her prominent position at the High School, a school full of academic geniuses, since the beginning of the semester. With that kind of self-control for studies, who can compete?
"Okay…" Ren murmured. "Now I understand."
And, on the other side of the room, Miyuki turned another page, without raising her head, as if she were hearing everything and nothing at the same time. But the corner of her mouth moved, almost imperceptibly, as if thinking:
"So, you finally started talking."
The three-way meeting had truly begun, only not because of the manuscripts. Yes, it was because of the clash between two worlds that, until that night, should not have met so soon.
End of Chapter 24