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366 This Is War (and a Kiss)
🕑 Added 2025-08-03 15:00:13 +0000 UTCMitsuha who used to spend tens of minutes each morning perfecting her hair, whose steps were always evenly spaced.
Who never tilted her neck more than ten degrees, whose voice never exceeded fifty decibels, and who made sure her every word and action matched the expectations of the ancient Miyamizu shrine family in Itomori.
That girl had long since been buried beneath the meteor crater in Itomori.
Here in Tokyo, in the Minato district, inside the groom’s dressing room at the Meiji Memorial Hall, there existed only a regular girl named Miyamizu Mitsuha.
Sure, she was a skilled swordswoman.
Sure, her grandparents had a thousand acres of rice fields in Nara.
And yes, her father was a high-ranking official at the Fire and Disaster Management Agency.
But right now?
She was just an ordinary girl fighting for the man she loved!
‘And Kasumigaoka Utaha—how dare you! I let you off just now out of old friendship, and you still don’t know your place!?’
‘And this bastard Kyousuke!’
‘Even while kissing me, he still had the nerve to worry about someone else!?’
‘Sure, he was trying to protect me—but why the hell didn’t he just let that temptress fall on her own afterward!?’
If she hadn’t rushed in to try and hit me, would she have tripped? If her actions weren’t righteous, then isn't her suffering just karma?
Fueled by that thought, Mitsuha completely forgot she was still mid-kiss.
Gritting her teeth, she made her move—hooking her left foot behind Kyousuke’s right heel, slamming her upper body into his chest, and executing a takedown straight from kendo-style jujutsu.
‘So you wanna fight me for Kyousuke? Fine, I’ll crush you!’
This shrine maiden was no longer the passive little girl who used to silently endure all the rumors and whispers.
If she could go back in time, she’d slash down every one of those two-faced jerks without hesitation.
And now?
Now that this woman had stolen a kiss and interrupted her moment with Kyousuke?
No more forgiveness!
She braced herself for the throw, certain that Utaha wouldn’t actually be crushed—because Kyousuke, with his skills, would absolutely react in time.
But even if it just scared the daylights out of that woman, it would still be worth it!
That was the plan, anyway… until Mitsuha realized something strange.
Wait—did Kyousuke actually just go down that easily!?
No way.
Sure, she always knew he turned into a clumsy mess around cute girls, but this wasn’t the time for that kind of behavior!
She liked how soft and gentle he acted when they were alone, sure—but this was not the time for married-couple bedroom games!
Kyousuke was 180 centimeters tall.
Not exactly a muscle-bound beast, but still—at least seventy kilos.
If he really fell like that, Kasumigaoka’s massive chest was going to get flattened.
The same Mitsuha who had just been filled with resolve suddenly started panicking.
What she didn’t know was that Kyousuke’s loss of balance had a very specific cause.
He’d always found her little love-bites kind of adorable—when they were gentle and careful.
But the moment this passionate girl truly bit down in the heat of the moment, her sharp little teeth managed to draw blood from a tongue that had never trained for this kind of abuse.
This wasn’t the kind of “pleasure” one should be feeling during a kiss!
If this was how she reacted just from a kiss… what would happen if he actually sent her to heaven? Would she bite his entire shoulder off!?
Using the annual resurrection card for this kind of situation would be a complete waste!
Wait—could it be?
Could Mitsuha have figured out the truth behind his fearlessness against cleaver-wielding maniacs and was now trying to cut off his escape route in advance?
No, impossible. Mitsuha was far too kind and innocent for that!
Anyway, he had one arm wrapped around Mitsuha’s waist enjoying the kiss, while the other was trying to stop Utaha-senpai from falling.
His attention was already divided several ways.
By the time his instincts registered danger and he quickly pulled his tongue back from that warm, inviting mouth, it was too late—he’d already lost his balance.
Worse yet, it was due to a move he himself had once taught Mitsuha.
A takedown—a move banned in modern kendo, found only in classical schools and in police-style kendo.
It’s used when your sword skills aren’t enough to win and you’re confident in your physical strength.
Without hesitation, you reach out with that sinful left foot and pull the opponent into a ground fight.
What began as elegant swordplay would devolve into sweaty, undignified grappling—but as long as you won, who cared?
Now, with Mitsuha pushing hard against his chest and Utaha’s heel broken, clinging to him for support, Kyousuke had no way to cushion the fall.
As he fell flat on his back, a bizarre thought flashed through his mind:
‘Was this divine karma for all the good deeds I’ve done in life!?’
After all, falling backward and hitting the back of his head—it would make total sense for him to black out.
And if he blacked out… well, then losing his memory was only natural, right?
And if he lost his memory… then none of the dumb stuff that previous scumbag Kyousuke had done would have anything to do with him!
All those complicated relationships with these girls—that was the old Kyousuke’s fault.
Kyousuke was just an innocent guy cleaning up someone else’s mess.
So Mitsuha, Utaha-senpai, Eriri—none of them could blame him for being a playboy anymore!
‘Wait a sec… am I a genius!?’
The same man who once feared Utaha would knock him out with a crystal fruit bowl and give him real amnesia was now actually hoping for fake amnesia.
And as he entertained that absurd fantasy, the serious expression on his face melted away.
His lips curved into a sly smile, already imagining the scene:
He’d be sitting dazed on a hospital bed, surrounded by worried beautiful girls, each of them crying out, “Kyousuke! Don’t you remember me? I’m your wife!”
Wait no—that would just start another war!
Worse, in a hospital, Mitsuha and the others might be even more reckless!
No, no—that would be a catastrophic disaster!
His smile instantly vanished.
That invincible brain of his rapidly joined forces with his battle-hardened body to form a plan of action.
Step one: retract the left foot and push off the floor.
Even if his right foot was off balance, just one leg was enough to regain stability.
Right arm: tighten around Mitsuha’s waist and gently push her forward.
Left arm: scoop up Utaha-senpai by the waist and lift her entire body.
With the two girls as counterbalances, stabilize himself once more.
And then—one arm around Utaha, the other around Mitsuha—he’d lower his head and plant a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads.
“Stop fighting,” he’d say softly but firmly.
He’d overwhelm them with raw, undeniable masculinity.
And maybe—just maybe—that would lead to a different kind of fun for the three of them later.
Yes.
That would be… the ultimate victory.
Kyousuke couldn’t help but admire his own brain and body.
This was the fruit of countless hours solving practice problems and tirelessly working out.
Truly, his invincible mind and perfected physique were far more reliable than that nagging voice of conscience.
Now this—this was what he called real “family”.
As that thought warmed his heart, he tightened his left arm around Utaha-senpai’s waist—only to suddenly realize another hand had moved at the exact same time as his own.
…Huh???
Before he could react, something soft and curvy slammed into his chest—a warm, shapely body that wasted no time pushing against him.
Sure, his understanding of motorcycles was limited to "shock absorption," but the shockwaves in this moment were more intense and satisfying than anything he’d ever experienced.
And yet—despite all that pleasure—his body betrayed him once more. He began falling. Again.
…What???
‘Mitsuha?! What the hell are you doing?!’
Was this some kind of new time-travel trick?
The moment he fell, would his body enter a dreamlike state, free of pain, like returning to his mother’s embrace?
Would he wake up as a baby—Mitsuha by his side, ready to raise him as her childhood friend from scratch?
Even as his thoughts spiraled into nonsense, nothing could stop his descent, not with two soft, feminine bodies pressing down on him.
But why? Why was Mitsuha doing this?
Why did she first try to cushion his fall—only to then throw herself into his arms and cling tightly alongside Utaha?
That mystery left not just Utaha, still wide-eyed with confusion, baffled—but even the soon-to-be human cushion, Kyousuke, didn’t figure it out until it was too late.
Just as Utaha’s voluptuous rear landed with a heavy thud on his chest, her soft, silky black skirt perfectly outlining every curve…
Oh.
He finally understood.
“UURGH—”
A man who didn’t even groan when sat on by a full-grown woman finally let out a low grunt and widened his eyes in pain.
“Miyamizu Mitsuha! What the hell do you think you're doing?!”
Utaha glared daggers at Mitsuha, her wine-red eyes burning with fury.
One hand was braced against Kyousuke’s rock-hard abs as she sat slightly sideways on his chest.
She shifted her hips once, then again, getting into a more comfortable position before continuing her death stare.
Flawless posture—even now. No wonder she was the perfect candidate for a wife: beauty, brains, manners. She even sat on a man like she was posing for a royal portrait.
Legs closed, angled demurely to his left. Her soft, ample hips rested squarely on his pecs.
That one hand still braced on his abs, with just the tiniest tremble of hesitation—it created a delicate contrast of anger and elegance that made Kyousuke want to hold her tightly and spoil her silly.
Mitsuha, meanwhile, had zero interest in elegance.
Wearing a white hoodie and gray jeans, she straddled Kyousuke's lower abdomen in a casual duck-sit, legs wide apart and absolutely no sense of refinement.
It was that very position that had made Kyousuke groan just now.
Mitsuha, who’d been patting herself on the back for saving Utaha, immediately flared up again.
Sure, even the ever-kind priestess could admit it—Kyousuke would’ve been fine.
But still! She could’ve handled it!
And what did she get for her sacrifice?
This shameless vixen didn’t even say thank you.
Instead, she tried to smother Kyousuke with her butt and was now fondling his abs right in front of her!
Absolutely shameless!
Mitsuha puffed out her cheeks in frustration, kicked her feet a little, then leaned forward and yanked Utaha’s hand off Kyousuke’s abs and tossed it aside.
‘Huh??’
Utaha’s expression morphed from confusion to outrage. Her wine-red eyes flicked between her floating hand and Mitsuha’s smug little face—three times.
The feel of Kyousuke’s firm, comforting abs was still lingering in her fingers.
And now—someone else had taken that comfort from her!?
What the hell just happened?
She squirmed slightly, realizing her butt was dangerously close to Kyousuke’s chin again, and scooted forward to avoid crushing him.
That brief distraction gave her mind time to catch up, and her expression changed.
The once-gentle senpai now wore the same terrifying aura Eriri and Kato had described from their “hellfire moments.”
Without hesitation, she grabbed Mitsuha’s hand now resting on Kyousuke’s abs and threw it off, reclaiming her territory.
Then she laid her own palm flat over his stomach once more, soaking in the warmth and strength it gave her.
Now Mitsuha was the one staring in disbelief.
But her years of kendo training hadn’t been for nothing—her body reacted before her mind could.
Just as Utaha looked smug, Mitsuha flung her hand off again.
Wine-red eyes widened. Utaha retaliated: grab, throw, touch.
Mitsuha: grab, throw, touch.
Grab, throw, touch.
Grab, throw, touch.
Again and again and again…
All the while, their hips were grinding against Kyousuke’s body.
Pain and pleasure collided.
He had once bragged that even 50 kilograms bouncing on top of him was no big deal—but now, with Utaha’s plump backside nearly engulfing his chin and her round curves pressing against his face…
Yeah, this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.
As for below the waist… ahem.
He just prayed Mitsuha wouldn’t notice the physiological reaction going on beneath her.
Or maybe… maybe that’d give her even more fighting spirit?
Mitsuha could certainly feel the movement beneath her, but she was too busy trying to teach a lesson to this shameless woman to care about the perverted beast squirming under her butt.
Grab, throw, touch.
Grab, throw, touch...
Their hands danced an endless waltz of territory control, battling over Kyousuke’s abs like it was holy land.
Eventually, Mitsuha’s superior athleticism won out—she intercepted Utaha’s hand mid-air before it could land again.
The battleground shifted from stomach to sky as the girls’ four delicate hands clashed in midair.
Fingers interlocked, they began grappling, eye to eye, neither willing to back down.
In each other’s gaze, they saw the same murderous intent—I will end you.
And just like that, the insults began.
No longer logical and sharp like before, the girls devolved into a loop of Eriri-style trash talk:
“Stupid cat!”
“Shameless hussy!”
“Old hag!”
“Big ass!”
“Pervert!”
It was no longer a deadly showdown—it looked more like children squabbling over toys.
Blessed be world peace.
Realizing he was no longer part of the plot, Kyousuke started pondering the role of a harem king in maintaining global harmony.
As he always said: intimate things should only be shared with intimate people.
If two people truly love each other, even something like kissing—something the average idiot might find gross or silly—can become a treasure trove of tiny joys.
Right now, he was learning that the world experienced by his hands was completely different from the one felt by his pecs, abs, or the lower regions…
Honestly, to keep things fair, he was tempted to help Utaha hold her butt in place so she could fully enjoy the duel.
But the moment Mitsuha saw that, he might really end up with actual amnesia.
So he gave up.
Lying flat on the carpet, arms and legs spread out, a calm, satisfied smile on his face…
Kyousuke was ready to fall asleep.
Ah… springtime is wonderful.
And award ceremonies… are the best.
But then, Kyousuke felt something… shift.
The commotion on top of him suddenly intensified, snapping him out of his half-dream state.
He quickly opened his eyes.
Utaha-senpai, the same woman who had repeatedly bested Eriri and Yukinoshita in verbal and emotional combat, instantly changed tactics once she realized she couldn’t overpower Mitsuha in a test of strength.
She yanked her right hand free and, without hesitation, went straight for Mitsuha’s clothing—grabbing the collar of her hoodie and pulling hard.
It was a move born from cold calculation.
Why do fighters in pro bouts often strip down?
Partly to showcase muscle and sweat-soaked grit—but also to eliminate any wardrobe-related vulnerabilities.
Like now.
Mitsuha, caught off guard by the sudden tug at her hoodie’s collar, froze up completely.
Meanwhile, Utaha felt smug satisfaction.
Mitsuha’s loose hoodie made it easy to grab and control her. Utaha, on the other hand, wore a sleek, form-fitting dress that offered no grip.
Mitsuha couldn’t grab her even if she tried—her fingers would just slip off.
In that moment, Utaha was so glad she didn’t choose a dress that revealed her cleavage.
If she had, she would’ve just handed her opponent a tactical weak point!
And so, with her hoodie yanked, the shrine maiden from Itomori found herself completely flustered.
She had grown up being respected as a divine priestess—when had anyone ever pulled a stunt this shameless on her?!
Even the sneaky opponents in kendo matches had only tried to wear her down, not yank at her clothes!
Even Grandma never hit me like this!!
But that moment of shock quickly turned to fury.
With fire in her eyes, Mitsuha retaliated—reaching for Utaha just like she had reached for her.
But just as Utaha had predicted, Mitsuha’s hand slipped off the smooth fabric just below her collarbone…
Unfortunately for Utaha, that wasn’t the end of it.
Mitsuha’s hand kept sliding downward.
And landed squarely on her chest.
“Nnnh~ Aaah~!”
A soft moan escaped Utaha’s lips as Mitsuha, now wearing a triumphant expression of revenge, gave her chest a very firm squeeze.
Her pale cheeks flushed red, but her right hand showed no mercy.
Meanwhile, the black-haired, red-eyed temptress had just one thought echoing in her mind:
“Even Kyousuke’s never grabbed me this hard!”
Utaha’s wine-colored eyes gleamed with icy fury.
She knew she couldn’t let the battle stay on her own body—that would only make her the victim.
The key to victory was always to strike where the enemy was most vulnerable!
With both hands now free, she grabbed the drawstrings on Mitsuha’s hoodie, yanked the hood over her head, and pulled—tight.
The hood’s rim shrank like a sea anemone, plunging Mitsuha into total darkness.
“Huh???”
The world went black.
Mitsuha gasped, stunned, before reaching the same savage conclusion as Utaha.
Just like Kyousuke used to do as a kid—if someone’s beating you up, don’t overthink it.
Just grab whatever part of them you can and fight back!
She already had her hand clamped down on Utaha’s weakness.
It didn’t matter if she couldn’t see—she still had the upper hand!
With zero hesitation, Mitsuha reached out with her other hand and grabbed again.
Utaha let out a pained gasp as her chest was attacked again, her eyes brimming with tears.
She clenched both drawstrings in her left hand while her freed right hand lashed out blindly, slapping and smacking at Mitsuha’s hood-covered head and shoulders.
…
…
…
Wait… what??
Wasn’t this supposed to be world peace?
Wasn’t it nice just a moment ago, when they were playing their little slapping game over his abs?
Why did it suddenly escalate into full-on war?
Kyousuke turned his head, trying to peek around Utaha-senpai’s butt to see what the hell was happening on top of his body.
For a self-declared pacifist, the battlefield he now witnessed left him completely speechless.
But it wasn’t just the chaos—it was the sheer intensity of it that left him no choice but to intervene.
He nudged Utaha-senpai’s butt forward, straightened up as best he could under the combined weight, and reached out.
His right hand gently pried Mitsuha’s fingers off Utaha’s chest.
His left hand rested firmly on Mitsuha’s head, shielding her from Utaha’s flailing attacks.
“Okay, that’s enough…”
Opening his mouth, he prepared to reassert his authority as the head of the family.
Seriously—how many times did he have to say this?
Harmony. Harmony. Harmony!
How were they ever going to live happily as one big family if this kept up?
But the moment he joined the fray, things got worse.
Mitsuha felt Kyousuke’s protective hand on her head—protecting her rival.
Utaha saw him gently guiding Mitsuha’s fingers away—protecting her enemy.
Both women flared up with rage.
That’s it. The other girl dies today.
The fight escalated.
Just as Kyousuke opened his mouth to speak again—
‘SLAM!’
The dressing room door burst open with no warning.
Even after having been interrupted twice already—first by Utaha, then by Mitsuha—Kyousuke had to admit: this was the fastest door-slam he’d ever seen.
Who the hell opens a door like that?!
Didn’t your mother teach you to knock first?! Push the door slowly! What if there’s a kid behind it?
You might accidentally make a “contribution to world population control”!
Earlier, he could still hide behind the curtain with Utaha.
But now? With two girls—over 100 kilograms of combined “destructive force”—pinning him down?
Nope. Not happening.
The door had already swung wide open before he could even think to warn them.
All he could do was lie there, helplessly watching the glint of polished black shoes step into the room.
‘Whew…’
He exhaled in relief.
It’s just Eriri.
Thank god—wait.
Wait. WAIT!
Eriri?!
Kyousuke’s eyes widened as he locked gazes with the blonde-haired girl now frozen in the doorway, her own eyes just as wide.
Her gaze scanned him up and down.
Black rounded shoes.
White stockings. Long, elegant legs.
A punk-inspired navy-blue dress with gold buttons.
The ruffled hem flared like a flower, just barely covering her thighs.
A waist so slender you could wrap one hand around it.
A delicate silhouette just starting to blossom into womanhood…
And then her face.
Twisted in shock—like she’d just witnessed a dinosaur taking a dump.
———————————————————————
My name is Sawamura Spencer Eriri. I’m seventeen years old.
By all metrics—looks, body, talent—I’m a perfect 100 out of 100.
And the reason it’s only 100 isn’t because that’s my limit.
It’s because the scale only goes up to 100.
Anyone who knows me would agree—100 doesn’t even begin to describe how perfect I am.
Today, the person I live with—my housemate-slash-coworker-slash-intern (though he’s mostly my clumsy errand boy, not that I mind)—is receiving some dumb, mediocre award.
He didn’t invite me to go with him.
And I totally didn’t care.
I just changed his contact name to “Wet Garbage Trampled by Rats.”
But I deleted it soon after—not because I thought it was mean, but because I hate rats.
I went with “Useless Errand Boy Who Only Causes Problems” instead.
Much more accurate.
Besides, we’re headed to our joint anime studio, TANSAN, tomorrow.
That tag helps me remember things. Not that I’d ever forget something that important, of course.
So, yeah—he didn’t invite me to witness his big moment.
And I totally. Did. Not. Care.
Not because our manga has already won way bigger awards.
Just because I didn’t care.
Not even a little bit.
And I’m not mad!!
That manipulative witch Utaha Kasumigaoka pulled some shady move again—she actually went and invited all of Kyousuke’s family and friends to Tokyo to attend his award ceremony.
Seriously, seriously, seriously!
What shocked me wasn’t that she came up with such a brilliant idea.
No, what really blew my mind was… how did that woman even dare to talk to Kyousuke’s mom?!
Like, didn’t her legs go numb and her hands turn into malfunctioning robot claws the moment Mikiko-auntie opened her mouth?!
Ahem… Anyway!
For Mikiko-auntie’s sake (definitely not for Kyousuke’s), I reluctantly agreed to come along with everyone to witness this “glorious moment.”
Not fun at all. Not even a little.
I mean, yes—he did look ridiculously handsome up there on stage in that suit, standing under the spotlight like he was glowing.
He even looked better than the protagonist I designed based on him in my manga. And yes, his speech into the mic made me tear up a little. And yes, he—
BUT STILL!
He was flirting with that woman, Utaha Kasumigaoka, right there on stage!
And that host—what’s-her-name—who looked like some seductive spider woman, was hugging him, like, repeatedly!
This was supposed to be a formal award ceremony! What was he even thinking?!
Could he not act like a decent human being for five minutes during such an important event?
That’s it.
When the romance novel he writes for me wins an award someday, I’m going to bring every single friend, family member, and pet to the ceremony as witnesses.
And no matter who’s hosting, giving speeches, handing out trophies, or taking pictures—I’m doing all of it myself!
And if they refuse? Fine! I’ll just have Mom and Dad organize a new award:
“The Eriri Thinks This Is The Best Work In The World Grand Prize!”
As I was passionately plotting how to make that dream a reality, the little bomb—I mean, the little angel Kasuko in my arms—suddenly squirmed and pointed toward the right side of the hall.
What’s this? Is she trying to find Sakura?
Wait… don’t tell me—Kasuko’s fallen for her charms too?!
Even the kid?! Ugh, how frustrating!
“Eri, Eri~ Where’s she going?”
Aww, her soft, baby-like voice is way too adorable.
I’m definitely asking Shouko-chan to mimic it later—Kasuko will be so amazed!
I was grinning to myself when my brain—my genius, magnificent brain—processed the key info.
Kasumigaoka Utaha? That woman? Where is she going?!
I followed Kasuko’s little finger… and spotted that witch’s back as she slipped out of the venue.
No way.
No way she’d go to all that trouble to get Kyousuke’s family to Tokyo and not try to use it to get closer to him.
Cunning as always. But I’m more cunning.
Good job, Kasuko!
You’re a precious little angel—just like me when I was your age!
Actually, I’m still just as cute now. Mikiko-auntie said so!
I reached out to pass Kasuko back to Mikiko-auntie.
Why? To tail Kasumigaoka Utaha, obviously! Whatever sneaky thing she’s planning—I’ll ruin it!
Mikiko-auntie didn’t ask anything, just smiled and took Kasuko.
Noooo, don’t cling to me, little angel! I have important business to handle!
Ugh, kids really aren’t that cute sometimes.
You were so helpful earlier—why can’t you keep helping your big sis defeat the evil Kasumigaoka?
I’ll ask Kyousuke to make “General Bubbles” into sweet and sour fish for you when we get home, okay?
After nearly offering her Momotaro the stuffed dog as a trade, Kasuko finally let go.
“Be right back!” I called out, waved to Mikiko-auntie, and headed toward the hall exit.
“Eh? Eriri, are you going to find Kyousuke too?”
On my way out, I ran into Sakura.
She said she was heading to find Mikiko-auntie… Wait, “too”? What do you mean “too”?!
Ah! I see now.
That woman—Kasumigaoka Utaha—is at it again with her shady tactics!
I gave a half-hearted nod and kept going.
Tch—why are all these people still here after the ceremony?!
Waiting for food or something? Move, you crowd of walking obstructions!
Thanks to my natural aura of elegance and superiority, I made it out of the packed venue in no time.
But dammit—why does this place have so many corridors and branching paths?! Where the heck did that witch go?!
Luckily, there were staff members nearby.
I almost asked, “Where did the woman with the ridiculous boobs bouncing around go?” But then I thought that might make it sound like I was jealous… so I rephrased:
“Excuse me, where did that pretty woman in the black dress go?”
Before I even finished the sentence, the staff member pointed immediately.
Tch! Tch! Tch!
Sure, I got the answer… but I wasn’t any less annoyed.
He didn’t even hesitate. No need to think, no recollection effort at all.
Clearly, that woman’s beauty left such a strong impression it branded itself into his brain.
Ugh. I hate to admit it, but when it comes to charming men, that woman is the absolute worst—the best at being the worst.
Whether she’s smiling, and people think she’s a blooming flower, or scowling, and they think she’s an untouchable snow queen… it’s infuriating.
Fueled by boiling rage, I stormed through corridor after corridor, asking directions and pressing forward.
Seriously! Why the hell are there so many stupid turns?!
What is this place—the Meiji Shrine Memorial Hall or a damn maze attraction?
Finally, I reached a corridor with no more splits. According to the last staff member, at the end of this hallway… was where Kyousuke was.
That’s right.
I stopped asking about Kasumigaoka Utaha. My heart couldn’t take the strain. Instead, I just asked for Kyousuke’s location.
If it were a regular person asking, they wouldn’t have answered.
You know how dangerous obsessive fans can be.
They stalk their favorite celebrities after signings or awards, waiting to pounce the moment they're alone—like wild predators.
Who knows what horrible things they might do?
Terrifying. I had to find that idiot before it was too late.
That woman’s dangerous. Utterly dangerous.
Anyway, thanks to my flawless improvisation skills, I made it onto this final path.
But… wait.
Why is there a middle-aged man standing in the hallway, looking like he lost his soul?
Ah, I get it now.
He must’ve been one of the finalists for the award.
Poor guy lost to Kyousuke.
Honestly, I’m surprised he’s not crying.
Unlike that guy in the deep red suit back in the hall—he couldn’t even sit down without people holding him up.
Would’ve collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
I gave the wall-hugging uncle a polite, sympathetic glance—but only on the outside. Inside, I was glowing with pride.
Of course, I didn’t show it. I’ve had proper etiquette training, thank you very much.
Taught by traditional grandmothers flown in from Dad’s hometown.
Unlike some people who wear their smugness on their sleeve (cough Kasumigaoka cough).
Actually, I didn’t want the poor guy to feel worse, so I sped up, jogging the rest of the way toward the dressing room.
Alright then…
Let’s see just what that scheming witch Kasumigaoka Utaha is really up to!
No matter what you’re planning, I will definitely stop you—stop you—stop you…
Huh???
Mitsuha? That idiot? Kasumigaoka Utaha???
What the hell are you three doing!!!
The scene before me made my vision blur with darkness. My ears even started ringing with imaginary birds chirping.
That scumbag, that cold-blooded, heartless idiot—
That emotionless mystery novelist, that perverted playboy with a head full of indecent thoughts—
Was half-lying down on the floor.
Earlier, he was my partner, my housemate, my subordinate, and my assistant (useless, but I generously tolerated him).
But right now, all those nasty names I’ve borrowed from every insult dictionary in existence perfectly summed up his current self.
Because what he was doing now… matched my worst expectations.
Kasumigaoka Utaha was sitting on his upper body.
Miyamizu Mitsuha was on his lower half.
(Even though her head was completely covered by her hoodie, I recognized her just from the way she cursed. Zero finesse. Her insults don’t even compare to the artistry of my vocab.)
And as if that wasn’t enough—his right hand and Mitsuha’s hand were both grabbing Utaha’s chest, while his left hand was gently covering Mitsuha’s head.
WHAT. AM. I. SEEING.
Could this be a hallucination caused by running too fast and pumping too much blood to my brain?
I blinked.
Then I blinked again.
Still there.
That idiot was staring back at me, frozen.
Those two girls were still wrestling on top of him.
It’s over. My eyes…
My beautiful blue eyes, as clear as the sky and as deep as the ocean… they’re ruined.
Why the hell is Mitsuha doing this?
Why is Utaha acting like that?
And what the hell is Kyousuke even thinking?!
My brain was instantly overwhelmed, tangled in a mess of thoughts like a ball of yarn thrown to a cat.
Kyousuke gave an awkward smile as he looked into my eyes—
Eyes that were once as pure as sapphires but now filled with shock, then disbelief, and finally… disgust.
Before he could say anything, before either of the two girls could react—
I turned around, stepped out of the room, and slammed the door shut behind me.
All the fighting, yelling, and chaos were now sealed inside that dressing room.
Hmmph.
———————————————————————
That’s more like it.
As expected from the eldest daughter of the Spencer family—poised and dignified.
Sayuri Auntie really raised a proper lady.
If it were up to me, I’d give myself a 100 out of 100 for my composure.
This is what being “family” means.
If you have issues, settle them behind closed doors.
Sure, nice voices can make even insults sound like poetry—but that’s only true when no one is throwing punches.
And while their amazing voices might make this catfight sound like a duet… it only made my face grow darker and darker.
Amid the chorus of insults, the sound of the door shutting was especially sharp.
Mitsuha, still lost in the dark under her hood, suddenly froze. Her groping hands stopped mid-motion.
Utaha had already spotted the figure standing at the door.
Golden twin tails, resting on a crimson dress, like the sun against a clear blue sky.
More dazzling than ever.
She really did deserve to be called a living piece of art.
That usually clueless little face of hers now looked uncharacteristically serious—
Like a mother catching her child skipping class for the first time.
Utaha forced a stiff smile.
But the idiot at the door didn’t return it.
Her expression remained cold and stern—like she was staring at a convicted arsonist.
Seeing both their awkward grins only made me want to roll my eyes harder.
But I kept my face serious and expressionless.
"Are you three not planning to let go of each other yet?"
That usual sweet and gentle voice suddenly had an air of absolute authority.
Despite the drastic tone shift, Mitsuha immediately recognized who had arrived.
‘Ahh—save me,’ her heart wailed. ‘Why did it end up like this??’
And in that moment, all six hands—three people—suddenly seemed to remember what they were doing.
‘Swoosh.’
All hands retreated.
“…Heh… heh heh…”
Awkward laugh ×3.
Utaha quickly withdrew her hand and began fixing the skirt over her now-messed-up chest.
Mitsuha yanked her hood down and pretended to neaten her ponytail—which didn’t even need fixing in the first place.
‘I’m never wearing a hoodie again. Ever.’
She swore in her heart.
As for Kyousuke…
He was still leaning up with both hands bracing the floor, providing “stability” for the two girls perched on top of him.
