The final sentence lingered on the page for several long seconds before I finally set my pen down.
It was over.
After two full years of uninterrupted serialization, I had finally completed the last chapter of my bestselling romance novel, Konoha Affairs: The Cold-Faced Ninja's Runaway Sweetheart.
One hundred and twenty chapters.
Two years of deadlines.
Seventeen consecutive months at the top of every major bookstore's bestseller rankings.
Not bad for a world where the average reader preferred books like Tactical Deduction, Advanced Chakra Fluid Dynamics, The Complete Ninja Tool Maintenance Manual, or Applied Seal Formula Engineering.
Meanwhile...
I had somehow become the country's most popular author by writing stories with titles that practically screamed:
"The Emotionless Elite Ninja Secretly Fell in Love With Me!"
Life truly worked in mysterious ways.
Thinking about it now, I really owed Jiraiya a favor.
If it hadn't been for his legendary "Icha Icha Paradise" series smashing through the market's expectations for ninja fiction, readers probably would never have accepted my shamelessly melodramatic plots.
Misunderstandings.
Love triangles.
Amnesia.
Runaway brides.
People falling off cliffs and somehow surviving.
Everything readers secretly loved but pretended to hate.
Of course, there was still one major difference between Jiraiya and me.
His novels were written for adults.
Mine were suitable for readers of every age.
The distance between us...
...was approximately the thickness of three complete volumes titled "How Not to Have Your Manuscript Rejected by the Censors."
I couldn't help smiling.
After stacking the final manuscript neatly on my desk, I slowly reread the ending from beginning to end.
The story concluded beneath a silver moon.
The male protagonist, Chudo Shunsundo, knelt on one knee before the heroine, offering the confession I had rewritten countless times over nearly half a month.
«"I've survived countless missions by calculating every possible outcome... but meeting you was the only decision I ever made without caring whether I'd win."»
Silence filled the room.
I stared at the page for exactly three seconds.
Without another word, I opened my desk drawer and carefully placed the final manuscript beside the previous one hundred and nineteen completed chapters.
The drawer slid shut with a soft click.
Only then did I stand up.
Straight to the kitchen.
One glass.
Cold water.
I drank it in one gulp.
Then quietly returned to the study.
"...Okay."
"I'm normal again."
Every single time I finished writing an especially romantic chapter, I needed time to recover emotionally.
Writing overly sweet dialogue wasn't physically exhausting.
Mentally, however...
It dealt terrifying damage.
Throughout these past two years, every submission day had followed the same routine.
The editor would come to collect my manuscript.
I would greet her while wearing a hat pulled low over my face and a mask that covered nearly everything else.
Whenever she asked why, I always answered with complete confidence.
"An author should maintain an air of mystery."
It sounded incredibly elegant.
The real reason?
I was afraid someone would recognize me on the street and start throwing rotten vegetables.
Especially after Volume Three.
That disastrous arc.
The heroine accidentally infiltrated enemy territory...
Fell off a cliff...
Lost consciousness...
And was rescued by the handsome young master of the opposing clan.
The readers absolutely lost their minds.
The editor's office was flooded with letters.
Half begged:
"Please let the young master become the main love interest!"
The other half threatened:
"If Chudo Shunsundo doesn't win her back immediately, I'm dropping this novel forever!"
To every single complaint...
I replied with the exact same four words.
"Please read next issue."
Simple.
Professional.
Cruel.
Now...
There wouldn't be another issue.
The story had finally reached its ending.
After washing my glass and placing it upside down on the drying rack, I returned to my desk, opened my notebook, and started planning the next stage of my life.
First...
Sleep.
For three entire days.
Second...
Finish the long novel I'd been postponing for over six months.
Third...
Sleep another three days.
Fourth...
Pretend not to notice the editor reminding me—for the eighth time—that I still owed her an author interview.
Outside the window, darkness had completely settled over Konoha.
Moonlight quietly spilled across the courtyard.
I stretched my aching wrists before absentmindedly remembering something important.
The refrigerator was almost out of eggs.
I'd have to buy more tomorrow.
Oh...
And pudding.
Naruto had insisted that the strawberry flavor tasted much better than the original.
He'd looked unusually serious while making that recommendation.
Clearly, this was a matter of great importance.
I smiled before adding one final line to tomorrow's schedule.
Resume a normal daily routine.
Three days later...
I finally crawled out of bed feeling like a functioning member of society again.
Golden sunlight slipped through the curtains, warming the edge of my pillow.
I stretched lazily.
Every joint in my body cracked in succession.
Wonderful.
It felt like I'd finally repaid every hour of sleep I'd sacrificed over the past two years—with interest.
Feeling refreshed, I wandered into my study.
The notebook still lay exactly where I'd left it.
The first line caught my attention.
Resume a normal daily routine.
Satisfied, I nodded.
Then my eyes drifted downward.
Immediately beneath it...
One sentence had been circled three separate times in bright red ink.
AUTHOR INTERVIEW!!! SATURDAY 2:00 PM!!!
Next to it...
A poorly drawn crying face.
...
I stared at it.
Right.
I had drawn that myself.
On the night I finished the manuscript.
Apparently Past Me had anticipated Future Me trying to forget.
I silently looked at the crying face.
Then turned around.
Walked into the kitchen.
Poured another glass of water.
Took one slow sip.
The situation had somehow become even worse.
Not only hadn't the interview been canceled...
The editor had added a book signing event as well.
Her confirmation letter still rested neatly on the dining table.
The wording was incredibly polite.
Impossible to reject.
It essentially said:
"The venue has already been prepared."
"The promotional posters have been displayed for half a month."
"Readers are eagerly waiting."
"And if you don't show up..."
"...the bookstore owner will personally visit your home."
The terrifying part?
He absolutely would.
I slowly placed my empty glass back onto the table.
"...Fine."
"I'll go."
"It's not like anyone knows what I actually look like."
The interview took place on the second floor of Konoha's largest bookstore.
By the time I arrived, my editor was already waiting near the entrance.
The moment she saw me...
She froze.
Then looked me up and down.
"A mask..."
"A hat..."
She sighed.
"Are you attending a book signing..."
"...or carrying out an assassination mission?"
I adjusted my hat with complete seriousness.
"Mystery."
"A bestselling author requires an aura of mystery."
She gave me an expression that clearly translated into:
"Who exactly are you trying to fool?"
Still...
She simply shook her head.
"Come on."
"The readers already know Bluebird never shows their face."
"So today's no different."
I followed her inside.
Thankfully...
The interview itself turned out much easier than expected.
The host was a sharp-looking woman with short hair and remarkable professionalism.
Her questions were exactly what anyone would expect.
"What inspired this story?"
"Which character is your favorite?"
"When writing the finale..."
"...did you cry?"
That last question made me think for a moment.
Then I answered honestly.
"I did."
Her eyes immediately sparkled.
"Was the ending simply too emotional?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"I cried because I finally finished writing it."
For half a second...
The entire venue became completely silent.
Then laughter erupted throughout the audience.
Even the host couldn't stop herself from laughing.
After recovering, she smiled warmly.
"Then..."
"What are your plans after this?"
"I'll probably rest for—"
Before I could finish...
She interrupted.
"There are already rumors regarding your next novel."
My heart skipped a beat.
"They say it's about two heirs whose identities were swapped."
"A genuine heir of the main family."
"A false heir raised in luxury."
"They meet during the struggles of the ninja world."
"They become rivals..."
"Friends..."
"And eventually the people they least wish to fight."
"Is that true?"
...
I froze.
That plot...
Wasn't that the discarded outline I'd thrown into my trash basket?
Slowly...
Very slowly...
I turned toward my editor.
She smiled brightly.
Her expression clearly said:
"Surprise! I found you another bestseller!"
...
Thank you.
Thank you very much.
The imaginary outline continued appearing on the giant promotional board behind me.
The True Heir.
The False Heir.
Two boys.
One raised within the center of political power.
The other growing up in a forgotten branch family.
One carrying a destiny stolen from another.
The other mastering techniques never meant for him.
Until one battlefield...
One clash of blades...
One moment where they finally noticed...
Their eyes were exactly alike.
"You're my family..."
"And the only opponent I never wanted to defeat."
...
She hadn't merely leaked my discarded idea.
She had written the synopsis.
Printed it.
Advertised it.
Thousands of copies.
At least three hundred readers were currently holding promotional flyers and discussing my next novel with sparkling eyes.
I slowly closed mine.
Took one deep breath.
Forced myself to smile.
"...Yes."
"I do have plans to write that story."
The applause that followed was overwhelming.
As soon as the signing session ended...
I immediately dragged my editor backstage.
The negotiation lasted nearly half an hour.
I argued.
She argued back.
I appealed to reason.
She appealed to sales figures.
Finally...
We reached an agreement.
I would receive a glorious...
Magnificent...
Absolutely priceless...
Six-month vacation.
In return...
I would occasionally appear for interviews and book-signing events whenever necessary.
It wasn't perfect.
But compared to endless deadlines...
It felt like freedom.
My resolve collapsed almost instantly.
I shamelessly accepted.
With one graceful stroke of my pen...
I signed the contract.
As the ink dried across the page...
A strange feeling settled into my heart.
Somewhere...
Six months from now...
The future version of myself was definitely going to regret today's decision.
Probably while staring at another impossible deadline.
Probably while wondering why I had ever believed this contract was a good idea.
For now, however...
That problem belonged to Future Me.
Present Me...
Was finally going on vacation.
And absolutely nothing could ruin these next six months...
...or so I confidently believed.