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396 Finishing Blow
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 15:27:03 +0000 UTC“Don’t try to measure a god’s limits with your own. Staring directly at the sun will only blind you, Kosaka Akane.”
Standing stiffly beside the table, Kisaki Tetta spoke coldly, glaring at Kosaka Akane’s naive expression with thinly veiled satisfaction.
Yes—this felt good.
There was no point in him getting stronger.
It was his bos who was truly powerful!
Eriri, catching the mood, smiled smugly.
Aside from herself, the most powerful being around was the man handling all the ‘menial tasks.’
“Oh? A god, huh? Interesting. So that’s the new setting now?”
Kosaka Akane didn’t bother to hide her surprise, nor did she buy into Kyousuke’s dramatic claim.
Instead, she jumped straight into questioning him about the proposal—one she had painstakingly typed out herself, word by word.
Naturally, she knew every line by heart.
“What should the updated release schedule be for Attack on Titan?”
“Double the current rate. Plus, release a side story every two months.” Kyousuke responded instantly, though he couldn’t help muttering, “Seriously, though...”
“When will the Sword Art Online novel begin its anime adaptation?” Akane cut him off mid-sentence with her next question.
“Immediately and hey—are you sneaking in all your personal projects here too?!”
“How many manga assistants are needed to fully unlock Hojou Kyousuke’s potential?”
“Twenty-one.”
“…”
“…”
“How do you balance writing novels, drawing manga, and producing anime?”
“Okay, enough! Does this plan even treat me like a human being anymore?”
Kyousuke threw in the towel.
Akane’s proposal laid out everything—from ongoing serialization plans for his current works, to future development, new project selection.
Even the number of assistants he’d need, art supplies, health routines, sleep schedules, and recommended spa treatments.
It was basically a “Mommy’s Little Genius” instruction manual.
But there was a problem—it outlined a lifestyle no human could possibly endure.
Sleep one hour every three hours.
After completing each stage of work, someone would come to give him a full-body massage, take him for a walk, or provide other forms of “recreation.”
The rest of the time? Nonstop work.
Over 100,000 characters written every day.
More than 200 illustrations drawn.
And on top of that, he was expected to participate in Mars’s strategic planning as a key creative.
“What’s wrong? Didn’t your underling just say you were a god?” Akane smirked. “Oh, I get it. One hour of sleep every three hours is too much for a god, huh? Fine—let’s change it to 30 minutes of sleep every three hours. Same as me.”
Her smile widened, but deep down, she was shocked.
Did he really memorize all of that just by glancing through it?
If she wasn’t certain her plan hadn’t been leaked, she’d think he’d gotten his hands on it and studied it for weeks.
Still, if Kyousuke was this talented, then the plan would have to be revised accordingly.
Thirty minutes of sleep every three hours?
That meant… only four hours of sleep in a full 24-hour cycle?
Eriri did the math in her head and immediately stared wide-eyed at Kosaka Akane across the table.
Give up something as wonderful as sleep? Was this woman even human?
“You’re not human, are you?” she blurted out.
It was the same question Kasumigaoka Utaha wanted to ask.
“Creators,” Akane declared as she stood, arms spread wide, face lit by a crazed grin, “have long ceased to be human.”
“To create perfect works, we live by devouring dreams and pushing forward. What? Don’t tell me you’re not the same, Eriri Spencer Sawamura?”
With those intense, almost predatory eyes, she locked her gaze on Eriri again.
“Or has your dream already dried up—no longer enough to keep you going?”
“Tch! You think some old hag like you can say that to me?” Eriri stood up too.
She was always conscious of power dynamics.
If not for the setting, she might’ve climbed up on the chair—anything to avoid being looked down on.
Even if she often ended up at a disadvantage anyway.
Kyousuke and Utaha remained seated, watching the madness unfold.
Kosaka Akane, she really had gone off the deep end for the sake of her work.
As a wealthy heiress, she didn’t need to go this far. And yet...
“But I don’t see a dream in your work,” Akane said sharply. “Is it that your dream was so weak it got consumed by your own ambition? Or was your dream just that shallow to begin with?”
With that, she tossed the final folder onto the table.
Eriri didn’t ask Kyousuke to look at it first.
She knew this one was meant for her.
“Cycling H&H?”
Her expression tightened the moment she saw the cover page.
The title was nearly identical to her most recent doujin project, Cycling X&H.
It was an anime-style promotional piece—not about intense bicycle races between guys, but about a group of girls riding bikes through quiet neighborhoods after school.
They’d race down small hills, carefully balance along narrow dirt paths through rice fields, and vent their frustrations about homework on empty roads while enjoying the night breeze…
The first time Eriri saw it, the carefree lives of those girls pierced her heart.
Her childhood had been nothing like that.
And with her well-known skill in drawing beautiful girls, she poured everything she had into the project—even skipping a Tokyo Youth Expo competition to focus on it, ignoring all of Kyousuke’s reminders with feigned ignorance.
She’d expected Akane to bring something that would knock her down.
But this?
This was her pride and joy.
So now, after seeing the strength of her beloved Tansan Animation Studio, Akane wanted to surrender through praise? That was rich.
A confident smile played at Eriri’s lips as she picked up the dozen-page packet and flipped open the cover.
But the moment she saw page two… her pupils dilated.
Before Kyousuke could even lean over for a peek, Eriri was already flipping through the next page, and the next—her speed rivaling Kyousuke’s.
Her expression grew more anxious with every turn.
Beads of sweat appeared on her smooth forehead.
‘Smack.’
Her slender, pale fingers went limp.
The pages slipped from her hands and scattered across the floor.
“Wh-Wh-What...?” she muttered, slumping into her chair.
Her pride crumbled, and she looked up at Kosaka Akane with wide, helpless eyes.
Kyousuke glanced down.
One look was enough for his brows to furrow.
On the ground were pages filled with illustrations of girls in swimsuits riding bicycles.
He’d seen Eriri’s early drafts, so the content itself didn’t surprise him.
But...
Though she appeared on the surface to be a traditionally trained artist, someone capable of entering international exhibitions, Eriri was a completely different beast when she switched to her doujinshi persona.
In that mode, she always factored in market trends.
She chose popular subjects, and when it came to fan works, she’d go all-in on the type of 18+ material that mainstream otaku adored.
"You think I actually like drawing that pervy stuff? No way. It’s because those dumb otaku eat it up! As long as I draw what they want, they obediently hand over their money!"
That was what she always claimed.
But the way her eyes sparkled with excitement while drawing told a different story.
Kyousuke had known this about her since the day they met.
Her debut work—which starred thinly veiled versions of the two of them—was already so extreme that it needed to be censored to even be sold.
Wait a minute...
Midway through that nostalgic memory, a terrifying thought suddenly hit him:
‘Was it… because of me?’
Could it be he was the one who awakened Eriri’s destined talent as a doujinshi artist?
The one who set her down this perilous path?
Well—he didn’t want to brag, but very few people could resist falling into fantasy after seeing him…
Back in the present, Kyousuke looked down at the scattered pages on the floor.
The content was the same as Eriri’s latest work, yet the art itself...
Eriri’s signature style had always been praised for its intricate elegance.
But the sketches Kosaka Akane had just tossed out?
They surpassed her in every way—composition, linework, expression... all sharper, deeper, and far more polished.
The way the swimsuit straps dug into the girls’ skin, the almost-overflowing curves threatening to burst out.
The friction between thighs and the metal bicycle frame—it was all there, vividly expressed not just through lines but through the bashful tension etched on the girls' faces…
Even without any lewd plot, these images alone could be considered powerful "spell material."
If it had just been a case of inferior technique, that would be one thing.
But this—this was an improved version of Eriri’s own style.
It was like someone saying: “That talent you’re so proud of? Yeah, not that impressive after all.”
“That piece took me three hours to complete. This is what you call a dream? Just this... pathetic level?” Akane sneered, lips curling into a cold smirk.
There wasn’t a trace of femininity in her expression—only scorn.
With every word that fell from Akane’s mouth, Eriri’s delicate frame trembled.
“A-a-ah…”
Her head drooped, and broken little sounds spilled from her mouth.
Kasumigaoka Utaha could see it clearly—Eriri was shaking.
“...Sawamura-san…” she called softly, worry in her voice.
‘No way!’
Eriri screamed inwardly.
She wanted to reject it—to tear apart Akane’s work and declare it trash.
She wanted to proudly shout that she could draw something like that in her sleep.
That she evolved faster than the speed of light.
She didn’t want to admit it.
She shouldn’t admit it.
But…
She had to admit it.
It wasn’t just the style or technique—it was the soul. The essence of it.
It was the same as hers.
And Akane had done this… in just three hours.
The blow to her pride her greatest strength was devastating.
Her mental defenses cracked under the pressure.
Her trembling hand instinctively reached out and clutched Kyousuke’s thigh like it was her final lifeline.
But the shaking didn’t stop—it only grew more violent.
Because she realized—Kosaka Akane… was right.
If Akane could produce something like this with just three hours of effort, then if she really committed to put in serious time and energy.
She could create something far beyond perfection.
Just like she said:
“My assistant, the guy who cleans my brushes—he shines brighter when he’s under my direction.”
Even that dream Eriri had... the animation she wanted to make, a story that captured their beautiful, shared life
—if Akane got involved, it could probably be brought to life faster and even more beautifully.
‘I… I’m not the only one…’
‘I’m not… irreplaceable.’
‘I’m not… unique…!’
‘Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!’
The realization crushed her.
Tears spilled from her eyes, dropping onto the floor one after another.
Her grip on Kyousuke’s pants tightened desperately.
As if he—this loyal “assistant” who followed her every wild dream and even started a company for her—might vanish at any moment.
Seeing her like this, Utaha couldn’t stay quiet.
She glared sharply at Kosaka Akane, her expression burning with fury—as if ready to throw herself in front of Eriri to protect her pride.
“That's enough already, Red—”
But her sentence was cut short—by the sound of someone rising from their seat.
The boy who had remained perfectly still until now suddenly stood up.
The sheer force of the movement overwhelmed the room like a thunderclap.
This was what it meant to dominate through sheer presence alone.
Unmoving as a mountain. Moving like thunder.
Even though Kyousuke didn’t say a word at first, everyone in the room felt his pressure.
Aki Tomoya staggered backward in panic, face pale.
“Just like Utaha said—enough already, Auntie.”
Kyousuke’s voice was cold as ice as he snapped at Akane.
He used the word “Auntie.”
That gentle boy who known for treating women kindly—actually called her Auntie.
“A-Auntie!?”
Even though she always spoke and acted like a hardened veteran, Kosaka Akane was still a woman.
Her expression twisted horribly the moment she heard that word.
Kyousuke ignored her completely.
He turned, and gently placed his left hand on Eriri’s head.
“You really are such an idiot.”
He softly ruffled her hair, deliberately messing up her perfectly braided locks.
His voice, as clear and crisp as a breeze over a frozen lake, floated into her ears.
But instead of chilling her already broken heart, it felt like the cold wind of spring—refreshing and full of life, breathing warmth into the darkness inside her.
Eriri looked up, face streaked with tears.
As the salty drops slipped down her cheeks and into her mouth, she suddenly realized just how miserable she must look.
She quickly pulled her hand away from Kyousuke’s pants and began wiping at her face with both hands, mumbling frantically:
“Uu… S-So annoying… You’re… you’re the real idiot here!”
Her voice, usually crisp and lovely, was broken by sobs.
So instead of trying to speak clearly, she blurted it all out in one fast, teary rush.
The despair hadn’t disappeared. There was no resolution.
No light had appeared at the end of the tunnel.
But just hearing him call her an idiot filled her with a strange, deep comfort.
Just like that day they first met—
Even if the crowds threatened to swallow her whole, Even if she felt tiny and powerless,
As long as she was in his arms, Nothing could drown her.
“Only an idiot would cry this hard.” Kyousuke teased, giving her flushed nose a light pinch.
“I just... I just felt like crying, okay? Got a problem with that!?”
Eriri had been trying to come up with a good excuse, but his warm tone made her drop the act.
She just went full brat-mode instead.
Because—after all—he was Kyousuke.
Her loyal “assistant.”
“That kind of cheap trick... only a fool like you would fall for it.”
Kyousuke leaned down and gently cupped Eriri’s tear-streaked face in his left hand, tilting it so she’d look at him.
With both hands now holding her cheeks, he softly brushed away the tears beneath her deep blue eyes using his thumbs.
Before she could say a word, he straightened up and turned to face Kosaka Akane.
“I get it—you want what I have. But come on, playing these kinds of petty games at your age? That’s just low.”
“You do get it, don’t you? That’s why we’re the same, Hojou Kyousuke!” Akane grinned, adjusting her expression. “If the goal is great enough, the means don’t matter!”
Seeing how much he cared for the girl beside him only reaffirmed that she was on the right track.
Kyousuke glanced down at Eriri, who looked up at him, still completely oblivious.
He sighed—this idiot. Still, he began to explain.
“You’re a seventeen-year-old high school girl. She’s a dropout who’s been grinding in the industry for who knows how many years. No matter how talented you are, thinking you can just erase all of her experience with raw skill alone… that’s arrogance, Eriri.”
He’d already called her “auntie” and pointed out her age, and yet this dummy still hadn’t connected the dots.
Eriri’s blue eyes went wide.
Even her sniffles paused in shock.
Her jaw dropped slightly.
She glanced at Akane—who didn’t seem the least bit fazed that her plot had been exposed—then down at the sketch-strewn floor.
Her gaze trailed to her frilly white socks and rounded school shoes, then back up to the pale green shorts and pastel pink fan-club T-shirt she was wearing.
She desperately wanted to slap herself.
But slapping hurts, and it’s humiliating, so instead she opted to scold herself silently like Kyousuke would.
‘Ughhhhhh! I’m such an idiot!!!’
Hadn’t she already planned for this from the start?
If the argument didn’t go her way, her backup plan was to use her unbeatable youthful charm and hit Akane with the finishing blow: “You old hag!”
And now what? The hag beat her with nothing but her age advantage?!
‘I’m a moron!’
But even as she stewed in regret, a warm light once again pushed out the dark cloud of despair inside her.
“Shut up! That’s the arrogance of genius talking. I’ve never once compared myself to people my own age! Idiots like you would never understand!”
She crossed her arms proudly, leaning back in her chair with a dramatic huff.
‘Yes! That’s my assistant! My most loyal underling! So reliable!’
Her heart leapt with joy, and even the ten round toes inside her polished shoes curled excitedly to express her delight.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Utterly speechless, Utaha watched the blonde idiot, a mix of relief and exasperation in her eyes.
‘That’s literally my line.’
Not only do you constantly compare yourself to your peers, you waste ungodly amounts of time pretending to be some high-and-mighty rich girl at school.
But…
‘Kyousuke… damn. You really are the man I chose.’
Even she hadn’t noticed Akane’s trap, busy planning to counterattack with her own dirt.
Meanwhile, Kyousuke had seen straight through the setup from the start.
Everyone knew how hard Eriri worked.
Utaha admired her not just for her talent, but for having the grit and drive to hone it to its fullest potential.
Talent gives you the possibility of greatness—but to actually reach it? That takes relentless effort.
Utaha, who fell in love with literature as a child just from being praised for her vocabulary, understood that better than anyone.
And Kosaka Akane—she wasn’t just talented.
She’d worked just as hard.
Maybe harder than anyone.
“You evil old hag! Don’t you know characters like you always end up gagged and locked in a basement in manga?! You love copying other people’s work so much—fine!
Lock you up, gag in place, no water until you draw a hundred perfect replicas a day! And if there’s even the slightest difference from the original, WHIP!”
Eriri hissed venomously.
She decided she’d use at least fifty percent of her power to verbally destroy this dinosaur.
Utaha, who’d just been impressed by her, immediately turned her head and pretended not to know the raging doujin artist beside her.
‘Seriously? "Locked up" and "gagged" this many times?’
Sure, everyone knows your reputation, but maybe dial it down just a little…
“…You brat.”
Yet another “old hag.” Akane twitched.
Her smile warped as she glared daggers at Eriri.
“Looks like once you join my company, I’ll have to take some time to teach you how to speak respectfully to your elders. How to be a proper, polite little girl.”
She bit out the words “little girl” like they were poison.
“Oh? Me? Learn manners from you? You’re the rudest one here! Did you even greet your interviewer when you walked in?”
Eriri scoffed coldly.
“Sounds to me like you should be the one joining our company—so I can properly train you.”
When it came to “training,” Kyousuke had absolute faith in Eriri’s professional skills—especially considering how often that very scenario popped up in her more explicit works.
