"I understand, Shirai. Please get up, alright? The penalty game's already over—no need for such a dramatic gesture..."
"If you don't agree, I'm not getting up!"
"Fine, fine. I agree, I agree. Happy now?"
"Really? You'll actually teach me?"
Shirai Shiori's face lit up as she lifted her gaze. And from Kuroha Akira's angle, he got an unfortunate eyeful of the airport runway.
Shirai Shiori definitely noticed where his eyes had drifted. But at this point, being seen barely registered anymore.
Whatever. He'd already seen her completely naked. A few more glances wouldn't make a difference. At worst, her urge to pee would just get even more intense...
Though come to think of it—why did she feel that urge every time he looked at her body? Was it shame and nervousness messing with her internal organs? That was probably it.
"It's not like I'm hiding some secret technique anyway." Kuroha Akira shrugged. "Even if it's just because we're both in the Literary Club, I'm happy to share what I know."
He crouched down again and extended his hand toward her. After Shirai Shiori let him pull her up, she bent over to retrieve her uniform top from the floor and slipped it on.
She saw no reason to be modest anymore. He'd watched her strip down to nothing. He'd personally removed her last piece of clothing. Asking him to wait outside while she dressed felt... performative at this point.
Kuroha Akira, meanwhile, flopped back onto her bed and propped his hands behind his head. Staring at the ceiling kept his gaze from wandering back to Shirai Shiori's exposed skin—a solid win-win strategy.
"Shirai..."
"Just call me Shiori. I'll call you Akira-kun too."
"Let's skip that honorific. Makes me feel like I'm replacing Kobayashi-sensei. Just use my name—no need to be so polite."
The real issue? "Akira-kun" sounded way too casual. If the class president ever heard that, she'd know she'd lost the bet instantly.
Kuroha Akira wanted to make one last desperate attempt to get Shirai Shiori to act more casual around him. If her attitude landed somewhere between "hatred" and "worship," he could maybe—maybe—call it a draw.
"Should I take that as you refusing to take me as your student?"
"I think exchanging ideas as colleagues is fine. But me as your teacher?" He shook his head. "I'm clearly not qualified. I don't even have a published work yet."
"Didn't Mori Katsuma from Hurricane Publishing already accept your manuscript? Publication's basically guaranteed, isn't it?"
"Getting published isn't anything to brag about. Until those first-week sales numbers come in, I'm just an author-in-training."
"Akira-kun..." She tilted her head. "You're really results-driven, aren't you?"
"Shiori." He met her eyes. "The first thing I want to teach you is this—the opinions of the minority don't matter. Sales figures are what reflect a work's true quality."
Shirai Shiori pulled her school skirt up to her waist, fumbling with the zipper and buckle as she replied, "Sales equal quality... got it. I'll remember that."
"You might think that sounds vulgar. Like it reeks of money. But for an author, readers spending their hard-earned cash on your work? That's the highest praise there is. And if you can make them feel, 'Wow, buying this book was totally worth it! I want three more copies!'—that's already a massive success."
"..."
Shirai Shiori turned to look at her bookshelf, and something clicked.
He was absolutely right. She was living proof. She'd buy multiple copies of works she loved—expensive hardcover editions, even. She'd queue for hours at signing events...
Putting herself in the author's shoes, if she were the one signing books for adoring fans, she'd feel an incredible sense of accomplishment.
Learned something new!
Shirai Shiori bounced on her heels excitedly. "And then? What's next?"
"And then..." He waved a hand. "No point in just throwing around big principles. First, let me see the work you submitted this time."
"Okay! I'll grab it right now!"
Shirai Shiori dashed to her desk, pulled the original manuscript from the drawer, and thrust it into Kuroha Akira's hands. The copy had already been shipped off to the publisher.
Kuroha Akira flipped through the pages, then raised an eyebrow. "No title?"
At that question, Shirai Shiori's confidence crumbled. She lowered her head, stammering, "Um... well... when I finished this work, there wasn't much time left. And I didn't want to just slap on any random name... so the title's still pending."
"Huh."
Kuroha Akira didn't say much else. But he'd already formed an initial conclusion.
A light novel that couldn't yield an obvious title from its contents? That usually meant it lacked a strong hook and had fragmented storytelling.
As he kept reading, his suspicion was confirmed. The most fatal problem with this work was its unclear theme.
Shirai Shiori had clearly referenced many popular contemporary works, cherry-picking elements she liked. But she hadn't managed to weave them together smoothly, resulting in a jarring, disjointed reading experience.
That said, her prose was genuinely excellent. Combined with her grasp of story logic and character development, the overall impression was still... acceptable.
After finishing it, Kuroha Akira had a rough assessment: Shirai Shiori's writing wasn't bad. What she lacked was trend awareness, hook deployment, content integration, and pacing control.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Shirai Shiori felt an immense wave of shame crashing over her as Kuroha Akira flipped through her work. It was even more embarrassing than when he'd seen her completely naked earlier!
Was it because he was reading her inner self?
Her toes curled involuntarily. Her palms grew slick with nervous sweat. Her bladder was screaming at its breaking point.
She desperately wanted to run to the bathroom but couldn't bear to miss Kuroha Akira's evaluation. She was tormented—like a patient waiting for surgical results.
If creation was like exposing one's soul, then every time she showed him her work in the future, her innermost self would be laid bare before him... for him to admire, evaluate, and even reshape...
"Hmm..."
Kuroha Akira's thoughtful hum made her heart skip a beat. An electric current shot from her abdomen through her entire body, nearly making her lose control right then and there.
"H-how is it?" she squeaked.
"First off, this opening isn't great." He tapped the page. "It doesn't get to the main theme quickly, and there's no sufficiently eye-catching hook."
"Ugh...!"
"In traditional literature, the prologue's job is to guide readers into the story's background, set up future plot points, establish character relationships, and so on. But in the world of light novels?" He met her eyes. "The prologue has exactly one purpose: to grab the reader's interest. Nothing else matters."
"I see... Wait, hold on—I need to take notes!"
Shirai Shiori snatched up a pen and paper, her expression turning deadly serious.
"Alright. You can continue."
"Right. As for the rest..."
Kuroha Akira proceeded to list a mountain of "flaws." Though in truth, they weren't really flaws—they just weren't "commercial" enough.
Mori Katsuma's praise hadn't been empty courtesy. The light novel Shirai Shiori wrote was genuinely publishable. It was just... a bit "old-fashioned."
When Kuroha Akira read it, he felt like he was reading something from twenty years ago. (Though for this world, that meant a popular work from just a few years back.)
Shirai Shiori's main approach this time was imitating her predecessors. But what was commendable was that the core of this book was still her own.
She was different from him. She hadn't yet fallen into the trap of becoming a trend-chasing writer...
Given time, she would surely surpass him. She'd become an author with her own unique voice—something truly special.
And that was when Kuroha Akira's eyes narrowed.
A brilliant idea sparked in his mind.
Under the guise of training her...
I'll let Shirai Shiori be the ghostwriter for my light novel.