This time, the hug was different from before—normal, restrained, the kind of brief embrace that didn't threaten to cut off oxygen flow. Just a warm, grateful squeeze.
Miss Toshiro in her fully sober state maintained proper boundaries. She even felt compelled to explain herself afterward, as if worried about being misunderstood.
"Akira-kun, please don't get the wrong idea. I'm not that kind of woman, really. It's just... I'm genuinely grateful to you this time. I really want to do something for you, but I don't have anything to offer..."
Kuroha Akira, relaxing into the familiar rhythm of banter, couldn't resist.
"So you're offering yourself instead?"
His social skills operated on a simple principle: speak human language to humans, ghost language to ghosts—tailor the approach to the person. With someone easygoing like the class monitor, he could be casual. With serious types like Shinomiya, his speaking style adjusted automatically.
And with Miss Toshiro, who radiated that irresistible "older sister teasing younger brother" energy? He had to flirt back. Anything less would be showing weakness.
"Heh..." Her smile turned playful. "Can you afford to keep me?"
"Not right now." He met her gaze without flinching. "But who knows what the future holds?"
If what she'd murmured in her drunken sleep last night was accurate—if she truly only needed a monthly salary of 200,000 yen—then maybe it was worth considering. She'd mentioned being willing to work as a maid, and Kuroha Akira had originally planned to hire a professional housekeeper once he struck it rich. A proper maid, of course. Nothing weird.
If daily access to that chest came with the package? The money would be well spent. Consider the economics: those strip clubs charged fortunes just for a glimpse, let alone a "facial service." Two hundred thousand wouldn't even get you a taste in those places.
"I'll look forward to Akira-kun making lots of money and taking care of me, then." Her tone remained teasing, clearly not believing he'd actually pull it off. "I'd love to escape this sea of suffering soon."
Kuroha Akira didn't bother defending himself. His money-making plan was already in motion. Once the cash materialized, he'd have confidence. He just hoped Miss Toshiro wouldn't forget her words when that day came.
Speaking of money, Miss Toshiro touched her chin thoughtfully, a nostalgic expression crossing her features.
"Come to think of it, I talked with Hijikata-san before. Apparently, he was quite remarkable in his previous life—very successful, very wealthy. But this life..." She shook her head. "He's in a miserable state now. Owing huge amounts of money... honestly, worse off than me."
"Oh?" Kuroha Akira's interest piqued.
He'd always assumed Tsuchikata-san was another miserable programmer who'd died from overwork, just like him. A fellow corporate soldier who'd fought the good fight and lost.
But a wealthy businessman in his previous life? That was unexpected. How secretive could one man be?
How had Tsuchikata-san died, then? Old age? Peaceful passing?
Maybe on his deathbed, he'd realized that money was meaningless—you can't take it with you—and declared he'd trade all his wealth for another chance at life. And then... he actually got reborn?
Except the price of rebirth was inheriting massive debts. Starting life from negative numbers. A hell-mode difficulty start that made Kuroha Akira's own penniless, language-barrier situation look like a minor inconvenience.
"But he's so much more amazing than me." Tashiro Kurenai's voice carried genuine admiration. "Even facing such a bleak existence, he bravely pushes forward. Unlike me..." She trailed off with another self-deprecating sigh.
Then, catching herself, she perked up and turned to Kuroha Akira with renewed curiosity.
"So, Akira-kun, are you going to make games in this life too?"
"No..."
He was actually planning to live off a woman's income, but admitting that out loud felt impossible. Too unserious. Too disrespectful to people like Tsuchikata-san and Miss Toshiro, who were genuinely struggling to survive.
So instead, he told her about his current project.
"I'm writing a light novel. Planning to make money that way."
Tashiro Kurenai's eyes lit up immediately.
"Writing light novels! That's amazing!" She looked at him with undisguised admiration. "I have so much respect for creators with wild imaginations!"
"It's just light novels." He shrugged. "Second-rate entertainment, really."
Light novels weren't traditional literature. They were products—entertainment designed for mass consumption. From that perspective, Kuroha Akira saw himself less as an artist and more as a service provider. Make readers feel good. Make them willing to spend money on books. That was the whole game.
"Don't sell yourself short!" She shook her head firmly. "I used to love reading light novels. And the more I read, the more I could sense the author's inner world through their work. Creators are genuinely amazing people." Her expression dimmed slightly. "It's just a pity that there are so few light novels I can actually read these days..."
"Huh?"
That was a strange way to phrase it. Not that she rarely read light novels, but that few light novels met her standards. Had her tastes become too refined?
Kuroha Akira understood the phenomenon. Once your reading level advanced, those brainless novels you used to stay up all night bingeing became impossible to stomach. Formulaic plots, templated characters—you'd seen it all before. Why bother?
But having worked in this industry, he also knew the truth: light novels needed to be accessible. They had to serve the general reader. Chasing highbrow taste led to one outcome: critically acclaimed but commercially dead. Sometimes not even critically acclaimed.
It was also easy to become that person—arrogant about their refined taste while producing nothing of value themselves. You could read a thousand masterpieces and still write complete garbage when you tried.
"It's nothing." He brushed it off. "I can read all kinds of light novels now, no problem. Actually, I haven't read any in a while..."
Tashiro Kurenai's face brightened again, a radiant smile breaking through.
"Thank you, Akira-kun!" she said warmly. "You've reminded me of an old interest!"
She'd thanked him multiple times in just this short conversation. It was starting to feel excessive.
"Then how about another thank-you hug?"
True to her word from earlier, Miss Toshiro believed gratitude shouldn't stop at words. Body language mattered too.
Kuroha Akira certainly didn't mind additional hugs, but he couldn't help feeling curious.
"Toshiro-san, do you make a habit of hugging everyone you meet?"
"Actually, it's the opposite." Her smile turned enigmatic. "I'm using this opportunity to slowly get used to touching a man's body."
"Ah?"
"Don't look at me like that." She laughed at his expression. "I'm actually terrible with men. Completely hopeless."
Liar.
If she was "terrible with men," then every virgin in a hundred-mile radius was already hypnotized by her. She had no idea the effect she had.
Though, to be fair, Kuroha Akira was technically still a virgin himself. But old men—spiritually speaking—didn't get flustered as easily as young boys!
"So you're not treating me like a man?"
"You're still a little boy." She grinned. "Hehe."
Damn it. He'd been looked down upon!
Kuroha Akira briefly considered demonstrating his manhood right there—spinning on the spot, whipping out the evidence of his healthy development, using that sufficiently grown length to prove he was no longer "little."
But even Kuroha Akira, shameless as he could be, drew the line at such outrageous behavior.
He sighed internally. A child. That's what she saw. And being a child had its privileges, didn't it? Only kids could rightfully enjoy big, soft beauties without anyone raising eyebrows.
Like that little devil from the Nohara family—always using his kid status to take advantage of older sisters, pressing his face into their chests with innocent enthusiasm.
Don't get me started on Momonosuke! Sanji understood my pain.
Maybe this was why so many boys grew up to be breast fetishists. They'd been subtly influenced since childhood by "big" sisters who let them get away with things.
Not that Kuroha Akira was complaining about the current arrangement.
If being "just a little boy" meant more hugs like this, he could live with that.
****
Thank you for the stones, the comments and support. While the stones aren't nearly enough to place us on the rankings, they make me happy to keep sharing this passion project of mine.