Armed with the ultimate passive buff of permanent, optimal physical health, Hiroto Tachibana felt as though he possessed an absolutely bottomless reservoir of stamina.
Consequently, the only thing left for him to do was:
Rush his manuscript.
Rush his manuscript.
Rush his manuscript.
Rush his manuscript.
Rush his manuscript.
Just like that, time ticked away continuously until the dismissal bell rang.
With a sharp clack, the door to the Service Club was slid open by Yukinoshita.
Coincidentally, Hiroto had just wrapped up typing the final period of his latest chapter.
He lowered his head, methodically packing away his belongings.
The timeline for clearing his remaining debts had been accelerated yet again.
This single week—he merely needed to grind through this final week, and his entire debt liability would be completely wiped clean.
Once the debts were paid off, he would have absolutely no functional reason to continue lingering around the Service Club anyway.
He could only harbor a faint hope that Yukinoshita might manage to observe some profound breakthrough about him before that deadline hit; if she couldn’t, well, that was entirely on her.
His time was exceptionally valuable.
Right at that exact instant, the Service Club door was forcefully pushed open without warning.
Hiroto didn’t bother turning his head.
He flat-out refused to believe there would be another grand spectacle to entertain him this time around.
Besides, now that he had successfully extracted Bocchi-chan’s specific class information from Ryo, what could possibly be more entertaining than going over to tease Hitori Goto?
The door swung fully open.
Three individuals stepped into the room.
Leading the march was Tomoya Aki, clad in his signature black-rimmed glasses, a burning, enthusiastic smile plastered entirely across his face.
Following directly in his wake were two girls.
One possessed long black hair, pristine porcelain skin, a remarkably statuesque height, and a school uniform worn loosely enough to subtly hint at the raging, majestic contours hidden beneath—Utaha Kasumigaoka.
The other was a short-haired girl whose raw presence was so profoundly faint she practically blended into the background—Megumi Kato.
Yukinoshita Yukino’s brow furrowed slightly.
Knocking was a foundational element of baseline etiquette.
Tomoya Aki, however, was clearly entirely oblivious to such finer details.
The moment he crossed the threshold, he charged straight toward the main objective.
“Um, Yukinoshita-san!
My name is Tomoya Aki!
The reason we’ve come here today is to formally request the assistance of the Service Club with a specific matter!”
He launched into his grand monologue.
He spoke passionately of a certain hill where the cherry blossoms swirled through the air, and how he had laid eyes upon a girl whose beret had been swept away by the wind.
He spoke of the precise millisecond a searing, unstoppable impulse had ignited within his soul: he absolutely had to immortalize this visual masterpiece by transforming it into the ultimate galge.
He detailed how he had successfully recruited the grade’s undisputed number-one beautiful young prodigy author, Utaha Kasumigaoka, to script the scenario, and how he had secured the genius artist, Eriri Spencer Sawamura, to manage the character designs.
”This is literal destiny, Yukinoshita-san!” Tomoya threw his arms wide open, his eyes gleaming with a manic spark.
“This isn’t some mundane, run-of-the-mill club activity—this is authentic creation!
Something that can be distributed commercially, something capable of emotionally moving countless souls…”
”Therefore, what specific area requires our assistance?” Yukinoshita directly sliced through his speech, her tone entirely flat.
”Uh—” Tomoya choked on his words, his momentum instantly breaking.
“For the time being, we lack an allocated club room…
and, well, the overall preparations are still a tiny bit lacking…”
”I see.” Yukinoshita set her book down onto the desk, sitting perfectly upright.
“Aki-kun.
Let me confirm a handful of baseline questions.”
”First: where is your project proposal?”
“Uh…
project proposal…”
“Second: the budget allocation blueprint.”
“Third: …”
With every successive metric she systematically listed out, Tomoya’s physical posture seemed to shrink down by a noticeable fraction.
”Do you happen to possess even a singular item from these baseline requirements?”
“W-We are still firmly within the preliminary preparation phase.”
”Preparation,” Yukinoshita echoed the term, her tone utterly devoid of any emotional cadence.
“The preliminary preparation phase refers to the benchmarks that must be fully realized prior to assembling a development team.
You have already dragged two separate individuals into your ranks, yet you do not possess even a baseline project proposal.”
Tomoya opened his mouth, yet no words came out.
To speak completely honestly, he hadn’t given the logistics a single shred of thought.
He simply wanted to create a game—the exact game residing inside his imagination.
But as for what that game specifically entailed, how the characters were structured, or how the narrative arc progressed, he was entirely incapable of articulating it.
”But I possess raw passion!” he clenched his fists tightly.
“Do you comprehend passion, Yukinoshita-san?
Pure passion!”
”Passion.” Yukinoshita offered a thoughtful, measured nod.
“You claim your desire is to manufacture a galge.
Let me ask you: have you personally coded or written a single line of script?”
“I-I am responsible for managing the production pipeline.”
“Have you illustrated a single piece of character art?”
“That is Eriri’s designated domain.”
“Have you…”
Following a brief, clinical cross-examination, Yukinoshita had effectively mapped out the entire situation.
”In other words.
The solitary elements you are capable of contributing to this endeavor are mere passion and conceptual ideas.
And utilizing nothing more than those superficial commodities, you managed to convince a professional author and an industry-recognized artist to invest their raw talent and precious time into a project that lacks so much as a baseline proposal.”
Silence descended heavily upon the Service Club room.
”As a fellow creator, conducting a creative endeavor in such a flippant, amateurish manner is something I consider an absolute disrespect to the act of creation itself.” Yukinoshita’s words cut like a razor-sharp scalpel.
“You are merely playing the part of ‘an individual putting in effort.’ Utilizing a high-energy, passionate facade to actively flee from the grueling reality of foundational preparation.
Come find me again once you have actually initiated tangible operations.”
An amateurish farce?
The originally lazy, half-lidded gaze of Utaha Kasumigaoka shifted subtly.
That specific phrase had managed to deliver a sharp, stinging prick to her pride.
As a bestselling light novel author whose sales statistics cleared the threshold of half a million copies, she harbored an intense, deep-seated pride regarding her creative capabilities.
Yukinoshita routinely unleashed her venomous tongue with absolute equality across all of humanity, and this time around, Utaha had been caught entirely in the crossfire.
”Yukinoshita-san,” Utaha straightened her body away from the doorframe, taking a measured half-step forward.
“Your definition of ‘making a firm resolution’ presumably entails meticulously mapping out every micro-detail to absolute perfection prior to taking a single step, correct?”
”However, authentic creation has never functioned within those rigid parameters.
Certain elements are structured such that one only recognizes what is lacking once the actual work has commenced.
To think you fail to grasp even this foundational truth, yet you stand there lecturing others on how to construct a firm resolution?”
Yukinoshita Yukino didn’t offer a single millimeter of retreat.
“I indeed do not claim to possess a flawless comprehension of creative operations,” she stated.
“But I recognize that prior to creation and operation, one must prepare everything that can and should be prepared to the absolute upper limit of one’s capabilities.”
”Conducting yourselves in this manner—if this isn’t an amateurish farce, what else would you call it?” Her chilly gaze locked squarely onto Utaha.
“As an established author, you willingly accompany him in this childish farce.
Should I label this a manifestation of excessive self-confidence, or simply a profound lack of awareness regarding your own insignificance?”
Fine beads of cold sweat began to coalesce across Tomoya Aki’s forehead.
Utaha let out a cold, sharp sneer.
”In that case, I would truly love to seek your enlightened guidance.
The designated activity of your Service Club consists entirely of sitting idly in this room, waiting for individuals to cross your threshold and beg for assistance.
Measuring by your exact system of logic, is this lifestyle of yours not considered an absolute, amateurish farce as well?”
Pffft!
Seated in the far back corner of the room, Hiroto Tachibana ultimately lost his battle against gravity and failed to suppress a sudden burst of laughter.
Every single head in the room whipped around simultaneously to lock their vision onto the rear.
Yukinoshita turned her head as well, her brow furrowing tightly.
In her baseline mental log, Hiroto should have packed up his belongings and exited the premises a long time ago.
He had literally picked up his backpack moments prior.
Why on earth was he still here?
Hiroto leaned heavily against the wall flanking the window, one hand desperately clamping over his mouth as his shoulders shook with rhythmic, quiet tremors.
He simply couldn’t keep a straight face anymore.
Tomoya Aki was using raw enthusiasm to sprint away from harsh reality, Utaha was clearly in the wrong logistically yet desperately scrambling to safeguard her elite professional pride, and while Yukinoshita was undeniably being excessively hurtful with her phrasing, her assessment was fundamentally correct.
”My bad, my bad,” Hiroto lowered his hand, waving it dismissively.
“Please, continue.
Don’t look at me, pretend I’m completely invisible.” He shrank a bit closer toward the window frame, attempting to drop his presence down to absolute zero.
As for leaving?
Why on earth would he choose to leave right now?
This was an exceptionally rare, tier-one historical spectacle!
Girls engaging in a verbal slugfest was his absolute favorite genre of entertainment.
Furthermore, these were premium-grade beautiful girls.
Fight!
Fight!
Fight!
Can we please get a little more intense?!