"Huh?!"
Shirai Shiori let out a sound of pure disbelief, her eyes blown wide, her entire body frozen in place like a statue.
She had understood every single word Kuroha Akira had said before. She'd felt a powerful resonance with his thoughts, nodded along with his critiques, even taken notes like an eager student. But at this moment? Her brain simply refused to process what she was hearing.
What... what was this person even talking about?
But Kuroha Akira wasn't finished. Oh no—he was just getting started. He leaned in like a salesman pitching the deal of a lifetime, holding up one finger, then two, his expression suggesting he was making some great personal sacrifice.
"Alright, alright, I get it. Just giving you the pen name is a little stingy, I admit." He sighed dramatically. "So here's what I'll do—ten percent... No! Twenty percent!"
He flashed a V-sign at her like a game show host revealing the grand prize.
"I'll give you twenty percent of the royalties from my share!"
Similar to the conditions he'd offered Tashiro Kurenai for becoming Shinomiya's agent, Kuroha Akira decided to hand over twenty percent of his remuneration. But notice the clever wording—he said twenty percent of his remuneration, not twenty percent of the total.
If Tashiro Kurenai actually became Shinomiya's agent, she'd have to quit her current job. That was a huge sacrifice, so cutting her a bigger slice made sense.
But ghostwriting? No need to bleed that much.
Shirai Shiori was completely flustered. Her head spun. Why couldn't she understand anything?
No—that wasn't quite right. It wasn't that she couldn't understand. It was that she couldn't comprehend. The logic simply wouldn't click.
Why would he do this?
Seeing Shirai Shiori's blank reaction, Kuroha Akira crossed his arms, tilted his head, and raised an eyebrow.
"What? Twenty percent not good enough for you? Look, I'm telling you, twenty percent is already a lot. I've already agreed to split royalties with Aizono-san, so the portion I actually get isn't even that big to begin with."
The stingy Kuroha Akira had no intention of giving up any more profit than necessary. So he started calculating for her—pulling out the mental abacus with practiced ease.
"Let me break it down for you. The royalty rate for this novel, author and illustrator combined, is thirteen percent. If Aizono-san and I split it equally, that's six point five percent each. Then if I give you twenty percent from my share..." He tapped his chin. "That works out to one point three percent."
Kuroha Akira put on a pained expression—like a merchant being asked to sell his wares at a loss. He sighed heavily.
"Ohhh... fine! I'll be generous. Let's call it one point five percent! That should be plenty, right?!"
But inside? Inside, Kuroha Akira was already doing victory laps. Roping in a ghostwriter of Shirai Shiori's caliber for just 1.5% of the royalties? That was an absolute steal! He'd still have a cool 5% left for himself!
And here was the real masterstroke—the first volume had been a rushed, desperate sprint to the finish. But for subsequent volumes? He'd just need to provide the outline. Then, under the guise of "training," he'd let her expand that outline into the full manuscript. He'd only need to do minor revisions.
That meant eighty percent less work for only twenty percent less income.
Even Kuroha Akira himself trembled a little at his own ruthlessness.
Getting five percent royalties this easily... I'm such a villain!
But just to be safe, he pressed on with his earnest persuasion.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to irresponsibly dump this work on you and walk away. I'll still provide the outlines for future volumes. I'll still decide the story content. Your job is just to polish and add details. That workload shouldn't be too heavy, right?"
Shirai Shiori was so disoriented by his relentless barrage of "buyout" talk that she clutched her throbbing forehead and finally managed to interject.
"Wait a minute... You're suddenly talking about royalties. Do you actually mean you're going to share your royalties with me?"
Kuroha Akira looked at her like she'd just asked if water was wet.
"Of course. You work, you get paid. It's not like I'd make you work for free. Even manga artists pay their assistants, don't they?"
What he said made so much sense that she had no comeback.
But if it was just being his assistant... she could accept that. Actually, she'd be more than willing.
Still, one thing continued to gnaw at her. One question she absolutely had to ask.
"Alright, fine. Let's leave the royalty talk aside for now..."
"Really?! You agreed?!"
Kuroha Akira's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He practically lunged forward to grab her hands and shake them up and down.
"Uh, uh... leaving aside whether I agree or not..." Shirai Shiori pulled back slightly. "You mentioned the right of authorship earlier. Akira-kun... do you really mean you're giving me the pen name for this light novel too?"
He doesn't even want the authorship credit... Does this person not love his own work at all?
Kuroha Akira spread his hands and answered with a casual shrug.
"I don't care about that stuff. As long as what I write gets liked by readers and puts money in my pocket, that's enough for me."
"Hiss...!"
Shirai Shiori sucked in a sharp breath. She looked at Kuroha Akira as if she'd just seen a saint descend from the heavens.
This was the most shocking moment of her entire day. No—perhaps the most shocking moment of her entire life.
For an author, the single most important thing was their pen name. It was a writer's identity. Their legacy. Their very soul poured onto the page and signed with a name that would live on.
Kuroha Akira was also an author. There was no way he didn't understand how crucial a pen name was. It was equivalent to a writer's life!
Only when a work bore your own name could you prove you'd written it. Only then would people remember you. Only then could you achieve lasting fame and be remembered for generations... Well, even if it never became a classic, at least you could show off to your acquaintances.
Even for money... surely no one would go this far?
But he could give up his pen name—just to improve the completeness of the work?
What kind of transcendent realm was this...?!
"Akira-kun." Shirai Shiori's voice was quiet, reverent. "What I said earlier about you not having the resolve to become a professional writer... please allow me to take that back."
"Oh?"
Shirai Shiori looked at him with pure respect, speaking in the most admiring tone she'd ever used with anyone.
"You are the purest writer I have ever met. Bar none."
"Uh..."
Kuroha Akira scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
Uh-oh. Seems like the "I don't want a pen name" ultimate move worked a little too well. Shirai Shiori's favorability toward me just shot through the roof.
But if that was the case... his bet with the class president was hanging by a thread again.
So Kuroha Akira scrambled to do some damage control.
"Just so we're clear, Shiori—don't embellish or arbitrarily change the original plot when you're polishing. I don't accept plot modifications. Stick to the script."
Shirai Shiori nodded firmly, her expression resolute.
"You can rest assured about that, Akira-kun. I would never do anything to ruin the original work."
...Well. No effect whatsoever.
Had Shirai Shiori's favorability completely reversed? Why was it increasing so easily?
Kuroha Akira was already starting to miss her initial defiant, hostile attitude. At least that had been predictable.
"Anyway," he sighed, "the pen name is yours to use."
"But Akira-kun, you seem to have already chosen a pen name. I remember seeing it just now—below the title..."
Shirai Shiori flipped back to the first page of the manuscript and found the pen name printed beneath the title.
"Shirako... Is that your pen name, Akira-kun?"
"Something like that. It's also my nickname at home, actually."
"Does this nickname have any special meaning?"
The real meaning came from his previous life's name—but Kuroha Akira couldn't exactly tell Shirai Shiori that secret. So he waved a hand dismissively.
"Nah, nothing special. I just personally prefer 'white,' that's all."
Shiro. Bai. White.
Actually, it was a double entendre. Kuroha Akira had meant it as "I prefer myself"—a little wordplay that only made sense in his own head. But that was fine.
"..."
To Shirai Shiori, however, that sentence carried an entirely different weight.
Her heart inexplicably began to race. Even though she knew he probably didn't mean anything by it... the listener had intentions after all.
So he prefers white... just like me.
In fact, if you looked at the color of Shirai Shiori's underwear, you'd know immediately that her favorite was white. Because white was the color of paper. The blank canvas. The background upon which stories were written.
And she also loved black—because black was the color of text. The words that danced across the page and brought stories to life.
White paper. Black ink.
Shirai. Kuroi.
Overlapping, they formed something complete. A finished book. A story told.
White and black... together...
Shirai Shiori felt her cheeks warm and quickly looked away, clutching the manuscript a little tighter than necessary.