The reason Akira suspected there might be something wrong with Aizono Momo’s eyes was this: rather than simply being “weak at coloring,” the illustration showed actual color mistakes.
Especially in the lighter areas—it kept giving off a did she pick the wrong paint? kind of feeling.
Akira wasn’t a professional artist, but he’d consumed far too much anime and illustration content in his previous life. Over time, he’d developed a reliable, instinctive sense for these things.
Even so, he didn’t point the problem out directly. Instead, he softened his words and phrased it tactfully.
“It’s actually pretty good overall, but… how should I put it… the whole thing feels a little unharmonious.”
Then he quickly added a cushion.
“Though it might just be my taste. I’ll take another look—Momo, why don’t you rest for a bit? Have some tea.”
“Ah… o-okay…”
Momo’s lips parted slightly, as if she were about to say something important—then snapped shut again.
She pressed her lips together, her eyes flickering with tangled emotions: hesitation, conflict, waves of feeling pushing against the dam of silence.
In the end, she said nothing. She only lowered her head deeply, retreating back into her shell.
Over the past few days of working together, Momo had come to understand something very clearly.
Even though Akira couldn’t draw, his eye was sharp.
His sense of aesthetics was excellent, his imagination vivid. The suggestions he made were always striking yet easy to understand—and every time she revised her work according to his feedback, the result shocked even herself.
Did I really draw this?
It felt like being guided by a master, her level suddenly jumping several tiers at once.
So no matter how bad she was at reading the room, she knew this much: what Akira had just said was politeness.
There was no way he hadn’t noticed the problem.
He’d definitely seen it.
That realization made Momo feel as if everything about her had been laid bare in front of him—her strengths, her flaws, even her greatest weakness, completely exposed.
Is this what Shiori felt back then…?
So nervous. So embarrassed. So humiliating…
She felt like she might faint.
Meanwhile, Akira was carefully choosing his words. Momo’s personality was the complete opposite of Shiroi Shiori’s.
Shiori’s pride was excessive—you had to hit her with the blunt truth to break through.
Momo, on the other hand, was too insecure. If he told her the truth outright, there was a real chance she’d collapse completely.
After some thought, Akira decided on a different approach.
“Momo, could you color another illustration for me? I want to compare the results.”
“Ah—y-yes! I’ll start on the next one right away!”
Like a brand-new recruit snapping to attention, Momo straightened her back, focused hard, and immediately began coloring the second illustration.
The result was worse.
Significantly worse—full of basic, careless mistakes.
Akira scratched his head. Nervousness likely played a part, but this pretty much confirmed it: Momo’s perception of color really was off.
Meanwhile, Momo sat stiffly after finishing, waiting for Akira’s verdict—her world spinning, her stomach churning with anxiety.
I messed up… I definitely messed up.
Kuroba-kun is going to be disappointed. He won’t let me handle the illustrations anymore… It’s over.
Precisely because Akira had placed such high expectations on her, failing at something as critical as coloring crushed her with unprecedented pressure.
In the past, no one had ever expected anything from her. Drawing had always been pure enjoyment—easy, comforting, happy.
But now she was realizing that drawing wasn’t made of joy alone.
Her brows knit tightly, her cheeks tense. She stood with her legs pressed together and turned inward, so tense it felt like something was about to spill out—
Suddenly, she sprang to her feet.
She couldn’t wait quietly any longer. Instead, she hurried over and refilled Akira’s teacup.
“Th-that is… Kuroba-kun, you must be tired. Please—have some tea first…”
“Oh… thanks.”
He found it odd. Normally, Class Rep handled things like this.
Is she trying to curry favor? Hoping I won’t be too strict?
So… do I lower the standard?
It could work as-is—but it would still be a shame.
Surely she hadn’t hit her ceiling already. Did she really have that little confidence in her coloring?
Or should he talk to Editor Mori Keima and ask him to bring in another artist just for coloring…?
But that would hurt Momo’s pride. And it would cut into her pay.
If possible, Akira really wanted Momo to receive the full compensation—only then could his plan to lock her in as an exclusive illustrator proceed smoothly.
As he sipped his tea, thoughts drifted back and forth, weighing gains and losses.
The moment he set the cup down, Momo stood up again and immediately refilled it.
Akira looked up at her in surprise—and caught the plea in her eyes.
Is she asking me to go easy on her?
No… there was something else there, faint but unmistakable.
As if she were saying: You keep drinking. I’ll keep pouring.
Like someone urging drinks—but with tea. Why?
It definitely wasn’t like hostess behavior, trying to get the customer drunk for profit.
After all, tea didn’t make you drunk. It just made you need the bathroom—
Oh.
Akira suddenly understood.
She was trying to invite him to talk outside—using “going to the restroom” as an excuse.
A private conversation.
If she wanted to create a moment alone, it had to be because she had something important to say—something she didn’t want the other two to hear.
And it was probably related to why her coloring was off.
So Akira drained the cup in one go, then refilled her teacup as well.
“Momo, you should drink some too.”
This was his way of saying: Message received.
“Y-yes!”
Momo felt a wave of relief wash over her. She smiled—a pure, unguarded smile—because her desperate signals had been understood.
She lifted her cup as if returning a toast, tipped her head back, and drank it all.
Then she jumped up in a hurry and raised her hand.
“Th-that is—I—I need to go to the restroom!”
Akira almost facepalmed.
Aizono-san. You’re way too cute.
You’re just going to the bathroom, not heading into battle—do you really need to announce it like that?
Now the other two were definitely going to sense something was off…
So the question was—
Would they let it pass?
If he wanted to be alone with Aizono Momo, he’d first have to get past her best friend.
—
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!
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