The King of Tokyo Freeloaders [97]

Anri Hitomi went to open the Literature Club’s windows, letting the breeze in. Today wasn’t particularly hot, and the air carried a light, steady wind.

The heat on Shiroi Shiori’s body gradually faded.

Of course, it wasn’t really heat—it was the lingering fever stirred up by her own over-the-top, scandalous daydream.

To think I just made up something like that about my friend’s private life… absolutely unacceptable!

It had to be because she’d been reading too many sensual novels lately. She’d told herself it was just to study how desire was depicted… but she hadn’t expected it to affect her this much, filling her head with dangerous fantasies.

Clearly, she needed to cut down on adult literature—too easy to slip into, too easy to lose yourself in those thoughts.

Once she’d calmed down, Shiroi prepared to say the words she’d been turning over in her heart for some time now.

These were words she had to say—if she just brushed things off, they would curdle into a knot, even a sickness in the heart.

Shiroi didn’t want to face her friends—or herself—while leaving that stone lodged inside her chest. It would be a kind of quiet torture for them both.

“Kuroba-kun, there’s something I want to say to you.”

“Eh? Me?”

Akira pointed at his own nose, looking puzzled.

What was this about? Why so serious?

Surely… not a confession?

That would be terrifying—enough to make Akira suspect this world had some mysterious force capable of rewriting common sense.

“And to Momo as well.”

“Shiori…”

In truth, Shiroi had already apologized to Aizono Momo yesterday and received her forgiveness—but that apology had only covered Momo. The person she truly needed to apologize to was Kuroba Akira.

One thing had nothing to do with the other—you had to take responsibility for your own words.

“I want to apologize to you both… I’m sorry! I was arrogant enough to belittle something you love.”

Facing the two of them, Shiroi gave a deep, formal ninety-degree bow.

To a man she’d been at daggers drawn with just yesterday, a man she still disliked even now, she lowered her proud head.

Akira’s mouth opened halfway—first in surprise—then he glanced at the Class Rep, who was watching with a proud smile.

As if to say: See? This is why Shiori is my good friend.

I see…

Shiroi Shiori really was something.

Akira, for once, spoke seriously.

“There’s no need for that, Shiroi-san. Everyone has the right to judge a work. If you don’t like something, you don’t have to force yourself.”

But Shiroi didn’t accept that. She kept her bow and continued.

“No—once I calmed down, I realized those words truly shouldn’t have been said. Yes, everyone has their preferences, but I shouldn’t use mine to judge others’. I can say I don’t like light novels—but I can’t say they’re beneath notice. That was wrong.”

She drew the line sharply.

She could say she didn’t like light novels—but not that they were trash.

That was an insult to everyone who loved them, the most tasteless double standard.

“My shallow perspective is what made me speak so arrogantly. Without understanding, I had no right to speak. I shouldn’t have made judgments about a genre I’d never even read.”

If it were like the boring youth novels she’d brought to school—books she had read—then yes, she could critique them.

But to dismiss light novels without even reading them? That was absurdly arrogant.

She felt ashamed of her reckless words.

“So yesterday, I borrowed some light novels from Momo and read through the night. I haven’t finished them yet… but from what I have read, I think they’re well-written and very enjoyable.”

Only then did Shiroi straighten, looking Akira squarely in the eye.

“However… because of that, I’m even more certain—Kuroba-kun, you saying you’ll publish a light novel is ridiculously overconfident.”

She’d changed her opinion of light novels, yes—but she still disliked his dismissive attitude toward creation.

Akira shrugged.

“Well, trying doesn’t get you pregnant… Ahem, I mean—trying doesn’t guarantee success, but if you don’t even try, you’ll never have the chance.”

“But yesterday you were certain your novel would definitely get published. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made that bet with me.”

“…”

It was true—he was confident.

More confident than most new writers.

It came from decades of reading experience in his past life, and from his professional background in content work.

“Shiroi-san, I think you don’t really know me—so maybe my attitude yesterday gave you the wrong impression…”

Akira met her gaze squarely.

“But I can tell you clearly now—I’m not doing this as a joke, or on a whim. When I say it’ll get published, it’s not empty bragging. Just like when you won your short story award, I have a solid basis for my confidence.”

“Oh? And you approached Momo for your own work’s sake as well?”

“That’s right. Illustrations are an essential part of a light novel. You could even say without good illustrations, it’s not a good light novel. That’s why I invited Aizono-san so warmly yesterday. But if that made you think I had ulterior motives toward her, I apologize for that as well.”

He bowed his head slightly—not a full ninety degrees, but a polite forward tilt.

“…”

Shiroi was surprised.

This open, unreserved honesty made her realize she might indeed have misunderstood his intentions.

So—he was serious too.

Like her, he genuinely wanted to become a professional author.

A fellow traveler…?

Maybe it was just an act, meant to impress Momo and Hitomi—and win her over too.

At the very least, until she was certain, she couldn’t let herself be fooled by his exterior and become his ally.

Even if, deep down, she wanted him to be exactly as he seemed.

After straightening, Akira scratched his head.

“So—should we call off the bet?”

Since the misunderstanding was cleared up, he thought the wager from yesterday wasn’t that important anymore.

No need to humiliate Shiroi—she already knew she’d been wrong.

But she had no intention of taking her words back. She still wanted to test whether his claims were genuine.

“No… The bet continues. I want to see if you really can publish a light novel—only then will I believe you meant what you said.”

“And the stakes stay the same?”

“They stay the same.”

“Mm… Shiori…”

Momo, who had been quietly watching all this time, couldn’t help clasping her hands at her chest in worry.

She thought the wager’s forfeit was too much. Stripping naked… just imagining it made her want to die of embarrassment.

But Shiroi had her own pride—the pride of a creator.

Now she didn’t just want to tear off Akira’s mask and expose him. She wanted to have a true, serious contest.

Akira saw it in her eyes and said:

“I heard from a friend yesterday—you’ve won a well-known industry short story award, right?”

“…Just luck.”

“No need to be modest. I know winning in the literary world isn’t easy. I heard you even set the record for the youngest winner.”

“That was only because the publisher’s editor revealed my real age without my permission.”

In fact, that was something she resented—because it made it seem like she’d won because she was young, not because the work was excellent.

That was why, after winning, she’d never submitted again. Partly because she felt her skill still wasn’t high enough, wanting to spend a few years polishing it—and partly because she wanted to shed the double aura of “young” and “student,” to win on her own merits.

Akira brought it up not to flatter her, but to adjust the bet’s terms.

“What I mean is—since light novels aren’t your field, you don’t have to write one. The bet was ‘whoever gets published first wins,’ with no restriction on genre or theme. So write in the style you’re best at.”

And then he added:

“Of course, you can submit to whatever publisher you’re familiar with. I don’t mind.”

“…Heh…”

Shiroi smiled.

On her cold face, that smile meant burning fighting spirit.

Good…

You want a fair and square showdown, is that it?

Perfect.

But to think you’d even give me a handicap—you must be awfully confident in your work.

However… I don’t need your consideration.

In the world of writing, you’re the challenger.

—

T/N: okay gojo LMAO… no how dare i defile my husbant by comparing his glroious self to this thing

This is a fan translation of 东京软饭王 by 夜幕下的鬼 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!