Kuroba Akira squatted down beside her, gently placing his hand atop her head.
Shiroi Shiori felt the touch above her; though she couldn't see clearly, judging by the angle of the hand, she realized Kuroba Akira wasn't standing in front of her, but had come to her side.
He hadn't accepted her dogeza.
"Say, Shiroi-san, do you want to become a professional author?"
"Yes, I do—no… I absolutely must become an author!"
Shiroi Shiori had never once considered any other path.
She'd first encountered novels because, from childhood, her parents were rarely home. Alone in an empty house, bored and lonely, she wasn't the type who liked going out to play.
So she'd wandered into her father's study and randomly picked up a book from the shelf to pass the time.
The moment she opened her first novel, she found herself stepping into a new world, utterly captivated by one fascinating fictional universe after another.
Looking back now, that first book wasn't even good; it was just some third-rate sci-fi novel her father bought to fill space on his shelves. But at the time, it had completely captured her heart.
That same book now occupied pride of place, right at the very front of the first row on her bedroom shelf—marking the beginning of her life as a reader.
Her desire to write her own stories began the day her close friend, Aizono Momo, announced she was going to learn drawing.
Previously, Momo had been a quiet girl like herself—someone who also enjoyed reading, though Momo preferred manga rather than novels.
She had always been extremely shy, so much so that when their kindergarten teacher praised her drawings, her face would flush bright red, and she'd refuse to let any of the other kids see her work.
But once Momo started seriously learning to draw, she gradually became willing to share her art with others, smiling brightly from the bottom of her heart whenever praised.
This made Shiori curious: was creating something really that joyful? Could it even change someone's personality?
So, Shiori tried writing her own novel. Soon she couldn't stop—the ideas poured forth like mushrooms after rain.
Yet, upon finishing her first story and rereading it as a reader, all Shiroi Shiori wanted to do was tear that trash apart.
Precisely because she'd read countless excellent books, she keenly felt the immense gap separating her from real authors.
At one point, she sank into despair, thinking no matter how much she wrote, she'd never reach their level.
But… ultimately, she still picked up her pen again and continued writing new stories.
She knew she could no longer stop.
Because she'd already tasted the joy of writing, that incomparable delight akin to giving birth, welcoming new life into the world.
Now, Kuroba Akira was like a mirror reflecting her innermost feelings, asking:
"In that case, Shiroi-san, do you think writing novels is a joyful thing?"
"Yes… very joyful… but also extremely painful…"
"I understand you…"
Of course Akira understood.
After all, he too had countless times pulled his hair, agonized endlessly, drowning in struggle.
But what kept him going was, ultimately, that pure love for creation.
"So, don't ever forget this joy. Because this 'starting point' will help you survive the endless torment. It'll be your way out whenever you're drowning in despair."
"Yes… I know… I won't forget."
"And remember clearly this bitterness of losing to me, because it'll make you continue to grow greedily."
"I definitely won't forget that either! I'll remember you forever! For the rest of my life!"
"Good, Shiroi Shiori."
Kuroba Akira returned to stand in front of her, reaching his hand out toward the girl kneeling on the floor.
"Welcome—to the creator's hell."
Shiroi Shiori raised her upper body, lifting her head to see Kuroba Akira's face, adorned with an evil, demon-like grin.
It was as though he was saying, "Now you're an accomplice, too."
In her mind flashed Akutagawa Ryunosuke's story, Hell Screen.
Right now, he was inviting her into hell.
Without the slightest hesitation, Shiroi Shiori grasped his outstretched hand, clutching it tightly as though gripping the spider's thread descending from heaven.
Hmph… did you think I'd be afraid?
I've already been in hell for a long time.
"Well then, Shiroi-san, since you've fulfilled the wager, I guess it's about time for me to leave—"
"Wait! Don't go yet!"
Just as Akira was about to slip away, having finished what needed doing, he was stopped by Shiroi Shiori, who was only half-dressed.
She was still practically naked, having barely put on her bra—and she hadn't even hooked it at the back yet.
So, Kuroba Akira's eyes had nowhere safe to rest.
Earlier, due to the heavy atmosphere, he hadn't really noticed her bare form, focusing instead solely on her hands.
Plus, after her dogeza, all he could see was her back and neck—at least then he didn't have to worry about seeing too much.
But now, with the solemn atmosphere dissipated, seeing Shiori half-dressed, Kuroba Akira suddenly felt flustered, overcome by a strange sentimental feeling—almost as though they had just done something intimate.
Hey, shouldn't you at least put your skirt on first, covering your bottom half… do you seriously not care about being seen?
Naturally, Shiroi Shiori was still feeling embarrassed. Her rational mind screamed that exposing her lower half in front of a boy her age was thoroughly indecent, borderline perverted.
But right now, it was far more important to not let him leave!
And perhaps she had already gotten used to it, since Shiori found she could now calmly remain "uncovered" before him.
Though, for some reason, there was a slight urge to pee… but she could hold it!
So, rather than covering her lower half, Shiroi Shiori clutched tightly onto Kuroba Akira's shirt hem, pleading urgently:
"Teach me how to write novels!"
"Uh… Shiroi-san, if you want to write a popular work, you should consult an editor, not me—"
"It has to be you!"
"…Huh?"
Realizing her words had sounded ambiguous, Shiori blushed a bit, cleared her throat, and quickly amended:
"Ahem… I mean, your opinion is more valuable. Editors will spare my feelings; they won't be harsh with their comments. Even my assigned editor just gently hints at suggestions rather than pointing out clear flaws in my work. Right now, what I need is brutal honesty."
"Hoh…"
Kuroba Akira stroked his chin thoughtfully. Well, she wasn't wrong.
Smart editors wouldn't openly oppose authors. Instead, they'd coax and guide them into writing works that fit market demands.
There was no point in harshly criticizing an author—doing that risked backlash and drama online. If editors thought someone was truly hopeless, they'd quietly let the manuscripts gather dust.
"I completely agree with what you said earlier—especially placing myself and readers on opposite ends of the balance scale. It makes perfect sense. But it's very difficult for me to correct the imbalance alone."
"So, you want me to help you fix it?"
"Yes, Kuroba-san—no, Akira-sensei! Please teach me! About writing light novels!"
Having already done this once, Shiroi Shiori crisply knelt once more, performing a flawless dogeza.
Only, this time wasn't a punishment—it was a proper disciple's bow.
And at least now she wasn't fully naked—technically, she was wearing one… well, half a garment.
Looking at Shiroi Shiori's fair, smooth back and the bra still unhooked behind her, Kuroba Akira sighed deeply.
Looks like, regarding that wager with Class Rep…
…It's my loss.