"In the middle of such a busy city, having a spot like this to enjoy a peaceful lunch break... it's truly a luxury,"
Kenzo Konno murmured in admiration, gently swirling the glass in his hand.
Thick-leafed snake plants stretched quietly toward the edge of the balcony, their golden-striped leaves gleaming under the noonday sun.
Finally living up to the name "tiger's tail." Spring-green hydrangeas, fiery marigolds, blue hyacinths…
…and in the corner, a modest pot of mint. Not flashy, but its crisp, refreshing scent lingered in the air.
A few freshly picked leaves floated in their lemon tea—one sip, and it felt like leaping from spring straight into summer.
After lunch, the three of them sat around the round table on the balcony, the floral aroma filling each breath.
Petals so vibrant they looked ready to drip color brushed their fingertips.
Just below the low balcony wall, the bustling crowd ebbed and flowed—cheerful teenage voices, vendors hawking their goods...
So many sounds, so close, yet by the time they reached the café on the second floor, they blended into a comfortable white noise.
"Right? No wonder Hojou doesn't bother going to that dojo. If I had such a beautiful lady to keep me company, I'd never want to leave this place either," agreed HIromasa Osaki.
"Hahaha, I don't come here that often, really. Maybe once or twice a week," Kyousuke replied, waving his hand modestly.
At his plain response, the two older men exchanged a glance and sighed in unison.
Since all three had afternoon plans, they only lingered another ten minutes before parting ways.
The chairman returned to the association; HIromasa went off to write.
Only then did Kyousuke learn the man had four or more looming deadlines a discovery that instantly elevated his respect.
He still had time to hang out despite all that? What nerves of steel.
After sending them off, Kyousuke didn't stay to chat with Miki either.
His editor, Akamatsu, had already called over ten times—his afternoon book signing was about to start.
He hurried to Ogiyou Bookstore, where the signing was held.
The line outside was even longer than yesterday's.
Even during the holidays, Bunkyō's youth knew how to show up.
Learning from his earlier experience in the shopping district, he grabbed a mask from a nearby drugstore and made a beeline into the store without pause.
The signing event followed the same pattern as the day before, except for one thing: there were no beautiful girls this time.
The event ended at five. Kyousuke then rode with his editor to Kyū-Furukawa Gardens in the northern district.
The Western-style mansion there was a true rarity in Tokyo nothing like those hybrid Japanese-English estates.
Its overall design, the stately brown walls—everything radiated grandeur.
It was the perfect home for a "proper young lady."
Kyousuke mentally bookmarked it as inspiration for future animation designs.
"What are you doing, just standing there? Counting the bricks or something?"
A sharp voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
A small head peeked from the doorway, the tone unmistakably annoyed.
When he turned, only the tips of golden hair remained in sight.
He shook his head—wasn't she on the balcony a second ago? How'd she get down here so fast?
In the dining room, the Spencer couple sat facing the entrance and greeted him with warm smiles, motioning for him to sit and start eating.
Only Eriri, seated with her back to the door, remained silent, stabbing relentlessly at her plate with her fork.
"You're so slow!" she huffed—not bothering to keep her voice down.
"I came straight from a book signing, you know."
Kyousuke explained as he greeted her parents, pulling out the chair beside Eriri and sitting down.
He was pretty sure she was still sulking about what happened yesterday.
"Didn't you just have one of those all-day signings yesterday?" Eriri blinked, surprised.
Another one today?
What kind of evil, exploitative publisher was this? Didn't they know authors were human too?
"It's the peak of award season, these events are important."
"You don't have to kill yourself over it though…" she muttered.
Then, leaning over, she grabbed the napkin he'd tossed onto his lap, folded it into a neat triangle, and laid it properly across his knees.
"You're such a hopeless idiot. Can't even eat without help."
"Thanks." Kyousuke smiled as she leaned forward, catching a glimpse of her pale neck and delicate earlobes that glowed like pomegranate seeds.
"I wasn't doing it for you, okay? If you got your pants dirty, I would have to wash them. Slob!"
From the moment he arrived, nearly every sentence out of her mouth came with some sort of cute insult.
Kyousuke could only imagine the kind of nickname he currently had in her phone.
From "Idiot," to "Annoying Idiot," to "Pervert Idiot," to "Super Ultra Mega Idiot," "Pain-in-the-Neck," "Pig-headed Buffoon"…
And why? Because every time she replied to a call or message, her response always started with whatever label she'd assigned that day.
The nickname changed with her mood.
Today's might be "Messy Kyousuke."
Honestly, for someone as meticulous as Kyousuke who labeled his socks left and right—that was practically affectionate.
"Dad, aren't you going horseback riding next week? Bring this idiot with you."
"Huh? But I wasn't planning on going…" Mr. Spencer, quietly savoring his Cornish pasty, looked up blankly at his daughter.
"It's a social invitation! It'd be rude to turn it down!" Eriri scolded.
"Still, not every invitation needs a 'yes,' you know? I hardly know that Kitamura Kazuo guy."
Mr. Spencer stayed confused, but Kyousuke—sitting right across from him caught the faint glint of amusement in his eyes.
The name Kitamura Kazuo was familiar to him too. He was the lead executive on the judging committee for the current Japan Mystery Writers' Awards.
So Eriri actually remembered all that…? The same Eriri who hated dull socializing?
She was still arguing with her father, explaining the importance of maintaining connections.
Her crab-like grip on her utensils made her look like she might start pinching him next.
"Pfft… hehehe~~" Aunt Sayuri, silent till now, turned away and covered her mouth, unable to hold back her laughter.
!!!
Eriri snapped out of it and glanced around—her mom giggling, her dad doing his best to stay straight-faced while his mouth twitched, and Kyousuke propped up on one hand, staring at her the whole time.
Suddenly, the reddest thing in the entire dining room was no longer the raspberry with cream on the table—it was Eriri's face.
"W-What are you all looking at?! Just eat already! Geez! Do whatever you want, I don't care anymore!"
She ducked her head, furiously sawing away at her food—like she thought maybe the screech of her knife and fork would erase the whole scene from existence.
The three others at the table exchanged glances, all with the same affectionate smile.
As a quiet thank-you, Kyousuke picked up a fluffy, delicious-looking scone he'd been eyeing for a while and placed it on Eriri's plate.
"I'm full!" she huffed, still sulking.
Without so much as a glance at her mischievous parents, she turned and marched off.
"I'm full too," Kyousuke followed up.
Normally, even after finishing her meal, Eriri would lounge around, casually chatting while piling more food onto his plate.
But today, the girl who liked to act tough but embarrassed easily clearly couldn't handle the teasing atmosphere any longer.
"Kyousuke-kun, take the scones with you," Sayuri said kindly, handing him the tiered tray of pastries.
"Thanks, Sayuri-auntie."
Now, when it comes to a race between a guy who's nearly six feet tall and a girl who's around five foot three, even without math, Kyousuke knew who would win.
Before Eriri could slam her bedroom door shut, he had already slipped inside.
"Wait up, Eriri!"
"Hmph!"
She plopped down at her workstation—well, "workstation" might not be the right word.
If your work area was in the bedroom of a sweet-smelling, tsundere blonde girl, who cared how much work it took—you'd die happy with a smile on your face.
"Let's get to it. School's starting soon. We need to stockpile enough pages to enjoy school life with stress-free."
"Trust me, Kyousuke, you don't want to experience the nightmare of being chased for deadlines."
Now that her meddlesome parents were gone, Eriri finally relaxed. She turned in her chair, crossed her legs, and let her white-socked feet swing gently.
"Got it, got it. Let's try to finish three chapters tonight."
"Both One Punch Man and Attack on Titan, remember!"
"Of course. I'm prepared to sleep here if I have to."
"Idiot. That's why I told you to buy a place closer!"
Rolling up his sleeves and undoing the cuffs of his shirt, the Kyousuke-brand printing machine powered on.
Eriri, resting her chin on one hand, stared blankly at his face for a good two minutes before finally smiling in satisfaction and picking up her stylus.
Time slipped by quietly, the room filled with only the soft rustle of pages and the tap of pen on tablet.
Whenever she hit a roadblock, Eriri would groan, mess up her golden hair in frustration, and make small cat-like noises.
Kyousuke would glance at her with a concerned look, only to be met by her flashing a mini-snarl and a glare from those blue eyes that clearly said, "No slacking, get back to work."
And somehow… that made him happy.
Whenever he did obediently return to his task under her mock-ferocious expression, Eriri would give a satisfied nod, stare dreamily at him for a couple more minutes, then dive back into her own work.
Even this boring, repetitive process of drawing became something special with someone you liked beside you.
Sitting next to him made drawing feel like the happiest thing in the world—something she could do forever.
"Break time! Break! Break!" An alarm suddenly declared.
"I know, I know!"
Still focused on her screen, she reached out and smacked the head of a noisy toy on the table.
Snapped out of his flow, Kyousuke looked up, shifting his eyes between her and the toy.
He understood what it was—it was clearly a break-time alarm.
But why did it have his face and his voice? And why did she shut it off so violently? Would a gentle pat not have worked?
"Nnngh~" A soft, drawn-out moan escaped Eriri's lips.
Finishing the last stroke of her draft, she sat up straight and stretched with a long sigh.
As her T-shirt lifted, a glimpse of her slender waist and belly button peeked out.
Then, as if waking from a dream, she realized someone else was still in the room.
Her cheeks turned crimson. Hugging her chest, she launched into a performance as familiar as it was dramatic.
"You perv! Why are you staring at me like that? I get it, I know how irresistibly hot I am, but if I so much as scream, my mom will come running in here!"
"Looks like someone's been eating well and exercising," Kyousuke replied, eyeing the modest but clearly growing chest that looked to be about a Sakura First-Year size.
With a smile, he reached out and gave her head a gentle pat, ruffling her hair.
That little white tummy was definitely cute but he was looking purely with an artist's appreciation. Really.
"Dummy. Don't you know a lady's hair isn't something you can just touch like that…" she muttered, half-heartedly.
"Yes, yes. Thank you, my gracious assistant, for letting me experience the privilege of stroking such silky golden hair."
He responded lightly, his tone casual and calming.
This, he thought, was the real mastery of swordsmanship—not the dojo techniques, but the perfect unity of mind, body, and spirit in everyday life.
"Good. As long as you know."
With her blue eyes lowered, Eriri looked like a satisfied Totoro hugging a cookie, a silly grin spreading across her face.
"Alright, let's move around a bit. Gotta listen to your alarm buddy."
"Okaaay~"
The comforting sensation of his hand left her head.
Eriri gave a slightly disappointed sigh, then suddenly realized what he had just said.
Her eyes darted to the toy, and with lightning speed, she snatched it up and stuffed it under her blanket as if nothing happened.
Then she joined him at the balcony.
As always, they went through some light radio exercises, then eye-relaxation routines.
Instead of heading straight back to work, they both leaned on the balcony railing, gazing out into the distance.
Unlike the brightly lit cityscape far away, the 3.07-million-square-foot Kyu-Furukawa Gardens below looked like a patch of darkness in the heart of Tokyo.
Since it wasn't a night for parties, neither the European-style rose garden nor the Japanese landscape had its lights on.
Only a few paths were dimly lit.
Directly below the balcony, neatly trimmed hedges formed a row of heart shapes, each bed filled with white tulips.
Bathed in faint light from the living room, the scene looked like a page from a fairytale.
'Maybe I should ask Eriri for a few before I go. I haven't bought new flowers today,' Kyousuke thought absently.
It was a perfect spring evening.
The breeze was gentle—not enough to stir the moonlight, not enough to raise goosebumps on the girl's porcelain skin.
Just enough to make a person empty their mind and quietly soak in the peace.
Beside him, Eriri rested the same way—arms folded on the railing, chin propped on top, her whole weight leaning forward.
From the side, her blue eyes shimmered under the moonlight, even more dazzling than usual.
"Hey, Eriri. That thing you were drawing earlier... was it for an anime script?" he asked.
"Yeah." The cool moonlight seemed to calm her too.
"Does that mean you've finally decided to join my anime company?"
"If you already know, don't make me say it!"
"Haha, I was just curious. It didn't look like practice sketches—it looked like actual production work."
Kyousuke knew very well—Eriri, who wasn't exactly known for her love of complex ideas, had always disliked anything as bothersome as scripts.
The doujinshi she normally worked on rarely had intricate storylines.
The idea of writing an actual screenplay? That had never once crossed her mind.
"If you just follow the script every time, you'll never create anything truly original!"
That's what she'd proudly declared after reading the storyboard Kyousuke made for One Punch Man.
For a split second, Kyousuke, the self-professed idea thief, was genuinely struck by her passion for the art of illustration—maybe even a little ashamed of himself.
Fortunately, the feeling didn't last.
Moments later, he caught that same blonde artist muttering to herself while holding her head, "No way a human can draw something like that," and any lingering guilt vanished instantly.
"Well, the thing is…"
Eriri hesitated.
Even though Kyousuke had long since told her he wanted to start an animation studio with her, she knew he didn't have the time lately.
And if she brought it up now, she was sure he'd make it a top priority. Knowing him, he'd push himself way too hard.
In her ideal vision, the studio didn't have to be big—just a cozy little space.
Staff? Just two people: herself and Kyousuke.
She'd handle the key animation; he'd write the scripts and direct the animation.
After school, they'd attend art club together, and the other members could help with the in-between frames.
It would give them experience and a chance to be a part of something special.
Even if they moved slowly just one keyframe a day it didn't matter.
They still had two more years before graduation. That would be more than enough time. And by then…
"Is there a particular story you want to animate?"
Kyousuke softened his voice. Eriri, for all her bluster, had a delicate heart.
Just like during dinner earlier, she was the type to quietly consider others even when no one was watching.
"I was getting to that," she mumbled, casting him a quick glance before sharply turning her head away.
"It's my debut doujinshi. I want to turn it into an anime."
Her debut? Wait…
If he remembered correctly, that was the doujinshi where she imagined their first meeting in Akihabara but then twisted the plot so the main character, a creep modeled exactly after him.
Blackmailed the heroine (i.e., herself) over her hidden otaku identity, leading to… yeah. That kind of doujinshi.
Though, at his insistence, she'd revised it a bit later, changing the protagonist's appearance and adding some fantasy elements.
Wasn't there something about the delinquent hero getting discovered and dragging the heroine into some basement scenario?
Wait a minute… was Eriri not content with just drawing doujinshi? Did she now want to break into hentai animation?
That realization hit him like a truck.
He already knew she had one foot in the professional world but still clung tightly to her doujin roots.
What he hadn't expected was that she'd aim even higher or maybe lower depending on how you looked at it.
"Eriri… are you trying to make an 18+ anime?" he asked, carefully choosing his words and softening his tone.
"…Huh?"
Eriri turned to look at him, her already large eyes widening even more, shimmering under the moonlight.
Has he completely lost it?
Was calling him a pervert every day starting to melt his brain? She'd literally renamed his contact as "Sex Maniac" yesterday!
Of all the things he could have said—like "Leave it to me, I'll bring our first meeting to life perfectly," or "I'm touched you care so much about our first encounter," or even "Funny, I was thinking the same"—what did this hopeless pervert come out with?
"Eriri… are you trying to make an 18+ anime?"
The animation she wanted to make was supposed to be warm, heart-melting, full of love—the kind that would make even the most miserable, suicidal person want to fall in love and live again.
A perfect, beautiful story.
How dare he!
Unlike other girls who'd sulk and storm off, Eriri was the kind to explode on the spot.
Like a Highland calf, she spun around and headbutted Kyousuke in the chest, flailing her fists in righteous fury.
Judging from the strength of her punches, Kyousuke could tell she really had been working out lately.
It was almost… therapeutic.
And the nonstop barrage of cutesy insults was downright educational—he never knew there were so many colorful ways to call someone an idiot in Japanese.
"You dumb jerk! Stupid idiot! Big moron! Dumb—dumbhead!"
Her voice was so soft and bratty, he couldn't help but enjoy it.
Even if he wasn't into voices per se, getting yelled at by a cute girl with such a sweet voice while she snuggled her head into his chest… it was weirdly satisfying.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I've read too many hentai doujins and my brain's officially fried." Her slightly pouty anger was charming, but Kyousuke still felt a pang of guilt seeing her genuinely upset.
"So you meant the real story of how we met, not that ridiculous doujinshi version?"
"…What?"
She paused mid-punch and looked up at him, her cheeks still puffed in irritation.
"Of course not! Who the hell would actually want to animate that? You think a minor can legally make a hentai? Use your dumbass brain for once and figure it out!"
Even now, having fully realized how insane she sounded, Eriri absolutely refused to admit she was in the wrong.
"Sure, sure. That's why I need an assistant like you around to keep me in check," Kyousuke replied smoothly.
He could see right through her—despite her tough words, her nervous fidgeting and darting eyes betrayed her true feelings.
That was Eriri's charm: all bark on the outside, but inside, as transparent as glass.
Honestly, tsunderes like her were the easiest to understand.
"Hmph. It's just a professional relationship. You don't have to act so grateful or anything."
Hands on her slim waist, chin tilted proudly, she turned her head away with a dramatic flick.
Hmph.
This idiot may be dumb, but that's the one thing about him she could always count on.