349 What Exactly Were You Two Doing Last Night?

"So that's what it was. I was wondering why his performance was so entertaining."

Inside the dimly lit car, Kyousuke sat with one leg crossed over the other, chuckling softly at his phone.

"Well, tomorrow's going to be quite the show," came the voice of a middle-aged man on the other end. "Just try not to laugh too loud, Hojou."

"Me? Never. I'm always the picture of decorum," Kyousuke replied, grinning.

"But you, Ousaka-senpai, don't get too carried away yourself. Last time you shook his hand, your face looked so disgusted even a blind man would've noticed."

They were talking about Ishida Hidenori, the man who had tried to steal the spotlight at the Honya Taishou (Bookstore Awards) reception.

Dressed in a crimson suit, sporting a tiny triangular goatee and pointy leather shoes—his appearance alone was unforgettable in the worst way.

Add in his voice and mannerisms, and the image was seared into everyone's mind.

People had been wondering all night—why was this man so confident he'd win?

Anyone could see that, based on both the quality of the work and the author's popularity, the award was clearly going to Kyousuke.

The reception wasn't just for socializing either.

It also included practical preparations for the awards ceremony, like coordinating with the winner about the special prize—a custom stationery set selected by the winner themselves.

This was a regular part of the Honya Taishou.

Alongside the official trophy, winners received additional prizes sponsored by various stationery brands.

These ranged from notebook collections to decorative map sets—fancy-looking, collector-type items.

Naturally, these sponsors weren't doing it out of charity.

Visibility and branding were part of the deal.

Without that kind of support, the awards wouldn't have become such a big event.

Halfway through the reception, a woman named Amemiya Miki, a committee member and Kinokuniya staffer, pulled Kyousuke aside.

Fountain pens…

In his previous life, Kyousuke's handwriting with fountain and brush pens was nothing to write home about.

But now? Anyone who saw his penmanship would think his tools were magical—maybe with AI-powered nibs that adjusted pressure automatically for maximum beauty.

Although it was called a "custom stationery set," the choices mostly came down to quantity—how many mechanical pencils, how many fountain pens, etc.

Wanting to keep things affordable for his fans, Kyousuke decisively chose the set with the most mechanical pencils, and the least expensive items like fountain and brush pens.

After all, that's what students use the most.

Of course… this wasn't because he wanted people to think of him every time they used a mechanical pencil and start wondering when his next book would come out.

The tools would also come engraved with Kyousuke's signature—laser-etched in fact.

But his signature was so perfectly aligned, it looked like a printed font.

This gave the sponsor, ZEBRA Corporation's Executive Director Yamato Nagakage, a bit of a headache.

"This is too perfect—it'll look computer-printed to buyers. Hojou-san, could you maybe… stylize it a little? Make it more artistic?"

Kyousuke shook his head firmly. "Artistic? Yeah, no thanks. Let's stick with this. It's part of my brand."

"Haha, exactly. This is Hojou-sensei's unique style. Anyone who's been to one of his signings knows—those hands of his? They are a printer." Amemiya Miki laughed.

"My apologies, then." Yamato bowed, a full 45-degree bend despite his high rank and age.

His flexibility was impressive.

And with that, it was official—Hojou Kyousuke would be on stage accepting the award the next day.

When he returned to the hall, Ousaka Gou and two other newly acquainted friends had already heard the news.

Which immediately led to one big question:

If Kyousuke had been called away to finalize award details…

Then why was Ishida Hidenori, in his garish red suit and overly confident smile, still acting like he'd won?

Could it be… he didn't know he hadn't won yet?

Usually, intel like this would be Kisaki's job. With his network of underlings, his reach practically extended across all of Tokyo.

But before Kisaki could report in, Kyousuke's phone rang.

It was Ousaka Gou.

The same Ousaka Gou who had always looked down on Kyousuke.

The same man who told Kyousuke to stand in the audience and clap politely while he accepted the award.

That Ousaka Gou… was calling him now.

"I mean, come on," Ousaka said with mock sincerity.

"What's wrong with smiling when your dear friend wins an award? Tomorrow's headlines will read, 'Ousaka Gou, loyal friend, beams with pride at Hojou Kyousuke's big win.' That's me—warmhearted, big-spirited."

Kyousuke laughed. "Then it's only right that I, the winner, smile too. If I look all stiff and grim, it'll seem like I don't even care about the prize."

"No no no, that's no good," Ousaka chided in his veteran tone.

"You need to look miserable. Funerals, Kyousuke. Awards ceremonies are like funerals for the losers."

"I see. So accepting an award is like attending the funeral of everyone who didn't win."

Kyousuke nodded solemnly—then suddenly called out to the front of the car:

"Hey, Hirata! If you're gonna laugh, do it loud! What's with the shy little chuckle?"

"Ahaha, sorry boss! My bad!" Hirata, the driver, let out a hearty laugh and then quickly apologized.

"Now that's a good laugh," Ousaka's voice boomed through the phone.

"Even through the line, I could hear how genuine that was.

Bring that guy tomorrow—have him stand next to Ishida Hidenori and laugh so loud it blows his eardrums out!"

Kyousuke grinned. "Nah, that kind of elite treatment is reserved for me. That guy hasn't earned it."

"Man, I can't wait for tomorrow," Ousaka said. "Whoever came up with this whole plan is a genius."

"Yeah," Kyousuke said, voice tinged with mischief. "Makes me wanna pull the same trick on you next year, senpai."

"You punk! Don't you still want the Association Prize?"

"Anyway, let's talk more tomorrow," Kyousuke said, eyes spotting a familiar figure by the roadside. He ended the call before Ousaka could reply.

"Hey—hello? He—"

The abrupt hang-up left Ousaka confused for a second.

But then he smirked.

Kyousuke must be going to see a girl.

That brat… still made time to call him.

That counted for something, didn't it?

In a strange way, that thought made Ousaka a little happy.

Wait, hold on—was he getting emotionally manipulated?

Wasn't it supposed to be bros before hoes?

When did he start feeling grateful to be the shoe polish for this kid's love life?

His little plan didn't last long—his wife's voice came ringing from the bedroom, loud and clear.

The only reason he'd even called Hojou Kyousuke in the first place was to buy himself time.

A stalling tactic.

He thought maybe if the phone call dragged on long enough, his wife would get tired and fall asleep first.

Sigh… Hojou, oh Hojou. One day when you're married, you'll understand—women really aren't all they're cracked up to be.

Osaka let out a bitter laugh as he adjusted his waistband, grit his teeth, and trudged toward the bedroom like a man walking to his doom.

'College girls? Yeah… I'm way past that stage.'

———————————————————————

Outside the restaurant where Shouko and the others were having their dinner, there was no proper parking spot, so Kyousuke didn't have Hirata circle around.

He simply had the car pull up on the opposite side of the road.

Hirata got out and opened the car door with practiced ease.

Back inside the restaurant, Shouko was surrounded by her seniors, all bombarding her with teasing questions about what it felt like to have Kyousuke's arms around her while riding the motorcycle.

Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink from embarrassment.

'Seriously, these senpai…'

'Instead of sticking their noses into things that don't concern them, how about they go find themselves a boyfriend?'

'Then they wouldn't have to worry about walking home alone this late.'

The more women in a group, the rowdier it got.

Though none of these voice actresses had been drinking, you'd think they were drunk with how enthusiastically they were teasing Shouko.

Her blushing face had somehow brought out their long-dormant sense of youth and nostalgia.

But just as they were caught in their playful banter, someone spotted a black luxury van pulling to a sudden stop across the street.

A sleek black van in the middle of the night, with men in dark suits stepping out…

Even in this peaceful Heisei era, such an image still carried a weighty sense of danger burned into the memories of every Japanese citizen.

That said, no one panicked.

In fact, some looked on curiously, wondering which yakuza boss might be inside.

After all, it's rare nowadays to see a gang that can still afford such a fancy car and has subordinates who look that sharp.

Matsuda Kako, one of the more mature members of the group, was just about to suggest everyone step back and head inside to start the second round of the party when…

Saki tugged on Shouko's arm, urging her to move back too—but stopped when she noticed the younger girl standing stock-still, her eyes locked on the street across from them.

Shouko's brown irises shimmered with the reflection of the neon signs—magenta and emerald green flickering in her gaze.

"It's Kyousuke-kun! He came to pick me up!"

Her voice rang out with bright, innocent delight, easily overpowering the nearby street vendors' shouts.

"Hojou-san?" Matsuda Kako blinked, turning to look.

From the open door of the black van, instead of a gray-haired, imposing gang leader, stepped out a handsome man in a casual brown outfit.

Hojou Kyousuke.

With the car's low profile, his long legs looked absurdly long as he stepped out, like they went on for two meters.

For a moment, it was as if he'd stepped out of a distortion in space-time.

Thankfully, once he was fully out of the van, his proportions looked normal again.

He glanced at the crowd of women across the street but didn't walk over.

Instead, he raised a hand and waved at Shouko with a warm smile, then turned to the group of voice actresses and offered them a polite fifteen-degree bow.

Though he wasn't wearing a black suit, and there wasn't a shred of menace about him—only a gentle, refreshing smile—Matsuda and Saki both instinctively returned his bow with full forty-five-degree bows of their own.

Triple respect.

Just in case.

"President, senpai… I'll be heading out now," Shouko chirped, her voice practically floating on air.

Her smile was sweeter than the wagashi they'd just eaten, and her crescent-shaped eyes sparkled like she was about to return to the heavens and become the moon itself.

Before anyone could respond, she had already dashed off toward the street.

There was no mistaking the giddy anticipation in her every step—it was written all over her.

That pure rush of youthful love left the rest of the women—who were stuck drinking with coworkers they barely tolerated—silently weeping in their hearts.

The street was nearly empty by now, but Hojou still looked both ways like a responsible adult before hurrying over to meet her.

Their hands met in the middle of the road. Fingers intertwined, they walked together to the car.

Kyousuke gently turned Shouko around to face the others, nodded politely to her colleagues once more.

Shouko, now feeling completely at ease with her hand in his, waved enthusiastically at the group like a bride tossing her bouquet.

"Shou-chan's waving at me, which means I'm totally finding a boyfriend tomorrow," murmured Ena, dreamily.

"You're drunk. Don't even think about driving home. Shouko was clearly waving at me," Saki replied coldly, without missing a beat.

Yet even as they bickered, both women bowed respectfully in Hojou's direction.

"But wait, isn't Hojou-san a novelist? Then how come he's, um…"

"Yeah… something feels off…"

"Shou-chan said he doesn't have any tattoos."

"How does she know that?"

"Wait—don't tell me they've already—!"

The conversation derailed in record time.

That's just what happens when you mix alcohol with a group of creative minds—one thought spirals into another.

No wonder voice actors always go home in packs.

"Alright, if you're not staying for the next round, then head home," Matsuda Kako clapped her hands, breaking up the increasingly risqué speculation.

"Okayyy~!"

As the president of a top-tier agency, Matsuda belonged to that elite class of people who could afford the luxury of calling taxis without a second thought.

But despite breaking up the gossip, she couldn't help but feel a tiny seed of doubt take root in her heart.

Most yakuza groups these days were shadows of their former selves.

Forget the flashy entourages—some didn't even have a single reliable subordinate.

Even the once-glorious organizations had resorted to online recruitment.

Members had to bring their own suits.

The only ones still thriving were those who'd gobbled up land and property during the economic chaos of years past.

Some ran maid cafes.

Others bubble tea shops.

Some even sold handmade emoji stickers online.

Forget the classic "underground" businesses—these newer ventures were easier and more profitable.

Could it be that Hojou-san was aiming to go down that path too?

After all, anime production made way more money than traditional "service fees."

Maybe he was recruiting otaku as the new blood—since the whole "samurai code of honor" stuff didn't work on young people anymore, but otaku devotion?

That was unshakable.

She glanced out the car window.

It was just past 9 p.m. in Tokyo.

The city's nighttime side—so different from its daytime face—was just starting to stir.

Neon signs flickered to life.

Office workers shed their suits.

Girls stepped into high heels…

A world of dazzling lights, endless drinks, and scattered trash. Only the earliest risers ever glimpsed this nocturnal Tokyo fading into the sunrise.

'Yeah right,' she scoffed to herself. 'You're overthinking. Maybe you drank a bit too much too.'

But no—those few cups of sake were nowhere near enough to muddle her battle-hardened brain.

These days, even yakuza groups tried to market themselves as charitable organizations. No one in their right mind would willingly join.

If anything, given Hojou's skill in kendo, he'd be more likely to enter the police through the Hokushin Ittō-ryū network and make the gangsters bow to him.

Hojou Kyousuke—the man who almost became the "Future of Tokyo Kendo" but nearly ended up the "New Hope of the Tokyo Underworld."

Now, he sat in the smooth-riding van, so stable it felt like they were still on solid ground, listening to Shouko cheerfully recount the silly things that had happened today at the training school.

The soft interior lights had been turned on, bright enough to clearly see the thick, curled lashes of the girl beside him.

"…She really scared me to death!

I turned around, and there was Kitani-sensei just standing in the doorway!

I always knew her voice had a lot of range, but hearing it live was just—overwhelming!"

Shouko clung to Hojou Kyousuke's left arm with both hands, chattering excitedly.

"Hahaha, well, that's what being a voice actress is all about."

To be honest, Kyousuke had always believed that if someone had a pleasant voice, even their insults would sound charming.

He was actually quite curious to see Shouko perform a variety of roles: the tsundere, the kuudere, the cold beauty…

'Hmm… Yukinoshita's insults do sound kind of nice.'

Of course, he wasn't referring to vulgar words like "human trash" or "organic waste."

But when she said things like "Oh? A rare animal has appeared," or "It's truly a miracle of nature that a human can look like this," or "You… you don't seriously believe that, do you?"—those hit differently.

Sure, those three were just elegant rephrasings of the first two, but paired with Yukinoshita's icy, composed voice and scornful gaze, they scratched a certain itch for a very specific kind of person.

Not that Kyousuke was one of them, of course.

He preferred Shouko's soft, gentle voice when she talked to him about her worries.

"But… are you sure this won't cause trouble for you, Kyousuke-kun?" Shouko looked a little worried.

After all, getting to freely choose her role had even shocked President Matsuda.

"Nah, it's no trouble. If anything, it just proves President Matsuda's skills.

Running a business is all about exchanging information.

If she was sharp enough to seize this opportunity, I'm happy.

It means things will go more smoothly for you at that agency too."

Kyousuke chuckled, brushing it off like it was nothing.

He'd already been in contact with the original author of the work and even discussed doing a bonus crossover chapter together.

Something like the five neighbors mistaking a weirdo for a movie actor, and then Saitama-sensei showing up dramatically only to have Miu draw on his bald head.

"That's a relief, then." Shouko smiled, though she hadn't actually been that worried.

"Have you decided what you'll wear to the award ceremony tomorrow? It's going to be on TV in Suimon City too."

"Hmm… Actually, Sakura said we should all wear our school uniforms, but Naoka vetoed it. She said it might cause trouble for you, Kyousuke-kun," Shouko said with a slight tilt of her head.

"…"

'Seriously, Sakura… you're getting out of hand,' Kyousuke thought, sucking in a sharp breath.

Wearing school uniforms to an event like that?

If he actually showed up with three high school girls in uniform, he wouldn't even be able to smile on stage.

The whole nation would come for his head.

Then again… wouldn't Sakura and the others look even more stunning in something else?

Raising an eyebrow, he laughed.

"Well, it doesn't really matter what you wear. As long as you're standing beside me, you don't need to worry about what anyone else thinks."

That much confidence, he had in spades.

Like Osaka Gou said—he didn't even attend the salons hosted by various Tokyo literary associations.

Lazy wasn't a strong enough word for it.

"Hehe~ that's what I thought too. Still, the outfit Naoka prepared looks really cute. And it'll give her brand some publicity too," Shouko smiled.

Though she didn't mention that Sakura had convinced Naoka to embroider her shop's logo onto Hojou-kun's outfit…

Outside the window, the neon-lit streets of Tokyo glittered with nightlife, no less lively than during the day.

Inside the car, the soft lights cast a warm golden hue on the girl's pale skin, like a kiss from the setting sun.

Kyousuke reached out and lightly brushed one of Shouko's thick, curled lashes with his finger.

She didn't flinch, didn't blink—just looked at him with complete trust.

"Tomorrow… I'll dedicate the trophy to all of you."

His voice was soft, but steady, meeting her gaze head-on.

"Mhm!" Shouko beamed.

She had shown him that, with nothing more than his own strength, he could truly change someone's fate.

And tomorrow, he would declare his presence to the world.

The Honya Taisho, the Mystery Writers Award of Japan, the Naoki Prize—he would collect them all.

He would make the world remember the name Hojou Kyousuke.

He pulled Shouko into a warm embrace.

Once a lazy man, he had now found his favorite way to bask in the sun.

After all—if he became the sun, he could be the ultimate lazy fish.

The glossy finish of the car reflected Tokyo's nightlife as it drove them home—to the place waiting for them.

—

"By the way, I saw Hiratsuka-sensei at the restaurant earlier," Shouko murmured as she snuggled against Kyousuke.

"Hiratsuka? What was she doing there?" he blinked in surprise.

"Looked like she was drinking with someone."

"…"

Despite their complicated love-hate relationship, Kyousuke still couldn't help thinking:

'Sensei… it's your rare day off. Please, go on a date or something.'

'If you keep drinking night after night, you're never going to get married.'

"She was drinking and yelling at someone at the same time. Apparently, during the mixer, she squeezed a guy's hand so hard during a handshake that he started crying," Shouko added.

"…Well, at least she's trying."

Wait… is she, though? Is this effort? Effort to stay single, maybe?

———————————————————————

'Riiing riiing~'

The phone rang just as Yukinoshita was toweling off from her shower and changing into her pajamas.

She walked over to her desk and glanced at the caller ID.

[Onee-chan]

Her dark, damp eyebrows furrowed slightly as she checked the wall clock—9:30 p.m.

She hesitated for two seconds before answering.

She already knew—there was never anything urgent when her sister called.

"Moshi moshi~~"

A slurred, tipsy voice echoed from the other side.

Yukinoshita frowned.

Holding the phone away with both hands, her face twisted with thinly veiled disgust.

"I can smell the alcohol through the phone."

Completely monotone.

This, right here, was why she didn't set her ringtone to some cute cat meow.

Imagine hearing a sweet little nyan~ only to be greeted by this mess of a voice?

Even the cat that recorded the sound would be offended.

"Ehh?! Phones are that high-tech now? Does that mean when I watch food videos, I'll be able to taste the air?"

Haruno squealed in drunken awe, performing the role of "boozy older sister" to perfection.

"That was a metaphor. I could tell from the way you spoke—"

"Aw, don't be mean, Yukino~ it's just a joke. A joke! You're always so serious. You'll get wrinkles early, you know."

"I don't believe anything said by a drunkard holds any weight."

Yukino sighed, pulling out her chair and sitting down.

Her long black hair draped over the backrest, the water dripping silently onto the carpet.

Every word she said felt like it took all her strength.

"Nope, nope~!"

Just from her voice, Yukino could already picture her sister shaking her head and tossing her hair with exaggerated flair.

That was just how Haruno was—always using big gestures to add "weight" to her words and steal the spotlight.

But in reality, Haruno had already left the party.

Now she was back at the Yukinoshita family's villa in Osaka.

Moonlight shimmered off the white stone paths of the garden.

The stillness of night was broken only by the soft don of a shishi-odoshi—a bamboo water fountain tapping the stone basin.

Not loud, but just enough to command attention.

Yukinoshita Haruno sat in her family's Kyoto estate, clad in a fluffy white robe that looked like a drifting cloud, soft and ethereal.

The robe pooled around her like waves rolling onto the shore.

Her long, shapely legs were bare, one extended, the other curled beneath her, her dainty toes absently pressing into the wooden floorboards.

In her right hand, she held a delicate tulip-shaped wine glass, filled with a silver-hued liquor that shimmered like moonlight.

Her left hand held a phone.

But instead of gazing at the moon outside, her eyes were fixed on the dimly lit corridor in front of her.

"Alcohol is the lubricant of life, you know? Without it, life would be so much harder to get through~" she murmured with a smile, taking a small sip.

"You didn't drink enough at the party already?" came Yukino's dry reply over the phone.

The moment she said it, she regretted it—it was meant to be concern, a gentle suggestion to go easy on the alcohol.

"Hehehe~ Party drinks and post-party drinks are totally different things. You'll get it one day, Yukino," Haruno giggled.

Then, with a thoughtful pause, she added, "Ah, I almost forgot. You don't need to attend those boring parties in the first place. Must be nice, huh~?"

"..."

Yukino pressed her lips together, now regretting that she'd regretted it earlier.

This woman didn't need anyone's concern—she weaponized it.

"But you know," Haruno said, almost offhandedly, "Hojou gave me a brilliant idea. He said next time I'm stuck at a party, I should bring you instead.

Let you discipline the rowdy drinkers. Show them that drinking is best done solo—like a true connoisseur."

"Pfft—"

Despite how annoying her sister's tone was, Yukino couldn't help but laugh.

That idiot, Hojou Kyousuke—what did he take her for?

"Hahaha, right? I thought it was hilarious too. But if you actually did that, our family might declare bankruptcy within two months."

Her laughter faded.

The warmth from her earlier bath began to slip away, and the evening chill crept back in.

In this empty room, without the heater on, the cold felt more intense—like the kind that made you want to reply to your own voice, just to pretend someone else was there.

"That won't happen!"

Even if she wasn't like her sister, she'd achieve everything through her own power.

That was the kind of person Yukinoshita Yukino was.

"Oh? Oops, my bad. Sounds like I've had a bit too much to drink after all," Haruno replied.

Her wineglass shimmered with silvery liquid, her slightly reddened eyes somehow clearer than the drink she swirled.

Though her voice remained playful, her face was expressionless.

"If you've had enough, go to bed. Good night," Yukino said curtly.

"Yukino~ when will you finally learn to just hang up on me?" Haruno asked teasingly.

"Right now."

Click. The line went dead.

Haruno burst into unrestrained laughter and drained the rest of her wine in one gulp.

That's right.

Keep talking about relying on your own strength.

What, are you waiting for me to step aside and hand over the role of successor?

If you don't even have the resolve to take it from me, what makes you think mother will ever acknowledge you?

In the Yukinoshita family, hardship is the only teacher. Pain is what helps us grow.

Back in her room, Yukino shivered.

The warmth from her bath had all but vanished.

She dried her hair and curled up beneath her thick comforter, but the cold still clung to her slender frame.

She instinctively pulled her legs up under the blanket, recalling how warm it was to sleep next to Sakura last night.

Despite her antics, Sakura's little feet were surprisingly warm.

Yukino had thought she'd spend the whole night sleepless due to discomfort, but to her surprise, she'd dozed off almost immediately.

When she woke up once in the middle of the night, she realized—much to her horror—that she was hugging Sakura's feet.

How disgraceful.

They say moths fly into flames, but humans aren't much better.

Just one taste of warmth, and our tolerance for cold plummets a hundredfold.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, tucking her pale neck deep into the covers.

'Katou Megumi… If Hojou Kyousuke is good at teaching math, then I'll just have to crush you in literature!'

Yukino never feared a challenge.

She thrived on victory, had no concept of surrender. That was Yukinoshita Yukino.

———————————————————————

The next morning—well, not exactly early, since the sun was already high—peace still lingered in the halls of Ruyi Dormitory.

Most nameplates on the doors still showed "occupied."

Yukari, already awake and knowing there was an important event today, was just about to knock on Kyousuke's door when it finally creaked open, revealing a half-asleep Kyousuke rubbing his eyes and yawning.

All that lofty talk last night seemed to have vanished into dreamland.

"Good morning, Kyousuke~ The Earth didn't end after all!" Sakura chirped energetically as she burst out of her room.

Thank goodness for the dorm's soundproofing—otherwise, poor Eriri's beauty sleep would've been doomed.

"Yeah," Kyousuke muttered. "Sun's still shining."

Then, turning, he knocked on Eriri's door.

If she kept sleeping, she'd be up all night again annoying him.

"Wake up, Eriri. The world's ending."

"Ugh, shut up and go save it yourself!" the blonde ojou-sama's voice growled from within.

Yukari watched with amusement.

Poor Earth. So many crises.

This morning's breakfast had been prepared by Mitsuha, who arrived early from home to cook up a full traditional meal—rice and all, in true Itomori village style.

"A rice breakfast, huh? Feels like when I first got to Tokyo," Kyousuke muttered, eyeing the cartoonishly full bowl of steaming white rice.

"Rice is the ultimate carbohydrate. Now stop complaining and eat," Mitsuha said as she dropped a helping of stir-fried greens into his bowl.

That action kicked off the morning chaos.

Chopsticks flew like ballerinas' legs across the table, clinking and clacking in a beautiful, chaotic dance.

Kyousuke sometimes wondered if all the girls had taken courses in structural engineering.

Otherwise, how did they manage to pile so much food into his bowl without it toppling over?

Still, it wasn't even a "happy problem." It was pure joy.

He could eat seconds, thirds—no problem.

This was the reward of living with such a lively crowd.

Without his monster of a stomach, the dining table might've turned into a battlefield.

For example, there were only two drumsticks in the pot, and Eriri had already hoarded both in her bowl like it was her last meal on Earth.

"If Kyousuke eats himself to death, we'll miss today's award ceremony—and tomorrow he won't be around for your anniversary either~" Sakura teased sweetly, eyeing Eriri, who was about to toss in even more chicken.

"Huh?! Anniversary?!"

Kasumigaoka Utaha, who'd just emerged looking half-asleep, jolted awake.

Who knows what she'd been doing all night without even eating dinner.

That was something Kyousuke was also very curious about.

"Wh-What are you talking about?! I'm not trying to kill him—I just don't want Mitsuha's food to go to waste!" Eriri quickly pivoted the conversation.

Smart move.