The quiet inside the Service Club room (if one could ignore the occasional strangled gasps from Yuigahama Yui whenever she stumbled upon some particularly outrageous setting) did not last much longer.
A heavy, rhythmic set of footsteps approached from down the corridor and finally came to a stop outside the door.
Thump, thump, thump!
The knock carried a certain deliberately cultivated solemnity.
Before anyone inside could respond, the door was shoved open with a whoosh.
The burly figure of Zaimokuza Yoshiteru appeared in the doorway.
Head held high, chest thrust out, one hand planted on his hip, the other sweeping forward in an exaggerated gesture as if commanding an army of thousands, he declared in his booming, cadenced chuunibyou voice.
“My dearest comrades!
After an agonizing wait, the hour of judgment has at last arrived!
So, how was it?!
This epic saga—penned by none other than the great Blademaster General himself, pouring forth the very blood of his heart and soul—has it shaken your mundane hearts to the core?
Has it granted you a glimpse of a radiance surpassing this mortal realm?!”
His eyes blazed with undisguised anticipation, as if fully prepared to receive a tidal wave of praise.
The corner of Hikigaya’s mouth twitched.
He shifted his gaze toward the Yukinoshita Yukino seated across from him.
Yukinoshita slowly closed the “brick” in her hands—now densely covered in graceful annotations—and lifted her head.
Within her ice-blue eyes, something akin to the stillness preceding a blizzard had now gathered.
The urge to unleash scathing commentary, so intense it seemed almost tangible, was something even Hikigaya could feel with perfect clarity.
“Zaimokuza-kun,” Yukinoshita’s voice was eerily calm, like the turbulent currents rushing beneath a frozen surface.
“First, regarding this…
‘work’ of yours.”
She placed deliberate emphasis on the word “work.”
“Allow me to present the following…
observations, based on the most fundamental conventions of literary creation and basic logic.” She picked up the manuscript, her tone measured but her pace gradually quickening, each point landing like a precisely aimed icicle.
“Point one: The world-building is riddled with contradictions.
Chapter Three states that ‘the Dark Demonic Dragon feeds upon the very stars themselves,’ yet in Chapter Seven, that same dragon is described as ‘sustaining its existence through the leyline energies of the earth.’ I must ask—is it a devourer of celestial bodies, or a spirit bound to the terrestrial plane?
This constitutes a critical flaw in the foundational setting.”
“Point two: Character motivations are chaotic and entirely lack foreshadowing.
The protagonist, the ‘Blazing Inferno Fallen Celestial Knight,’ without any warning whatsoever, suddenly betrays the kingdom he has protected for three hundred years in Chapter Twelve—for no reason beyond ‘hearing the whispers of chaos.’ This abrupt shift serves no purpose other than to bewilder the reader and shatter any sense of immersion.”
“Point three: Rhetorical devices are abused and fail to convey meaning.
The entire manuscript is saturated with lengthy and hollow metaphors such as ‘a pain akin to having one’s soul gnawed upon by ten thousand abyssal worms’ or ‘a gaze colder by billions of times than the eternally frozen glacial wastelands.’ Beyond increasing the burden on the reader, these do nothing to effectively build atmosphere or characterize.”
“Point four: Grammatical and punctuation errors abound.
Sentence breaks are chaotic, commas are used indiscriminately from start to finish, and the vast quantity of invented terminology severely undermines basic readability.
For example, this sentence—’With a sinisterly bewitching and wildly arrogant laugh, he summoned forth the forbidden secret treasure imbued with the power of infinite annihilation and final demise, the World-Destroying Demon Blade Apophis, and then…’ I must ask—after reciting all of that in a single breath, how exactly is your lung capacity faring?”
One point after another, logic razor-sharp, diction mercilessly incisive.
Yukinoshita laid bare every problem in Zaimokuza’s novel without the slightest shred of mercy.
Her tone, while still maintaining a surface-level politeness, carried the accumulated resentment of having stayed up all night reading—and the devastatingly sharp critique born of her perfectionist nature.
It crashed down upon Zaimokuza like a freezing, merciless downpour.
Zaimokuza’s initially triumphant, high-spirited expression stiffened and crumbled, degree by degree, with each of Yukinoshita’s “observations.”
By the time she had finished, even his massive frame seemed to have shrunk by a size.
His face was a mask of bewildered devastation that practically screamed, “Who am I?
Where am I?
Why did I ever write a novel?”
Desperately, he cast a pleading glance toward Yuigahama Yui at his side.
Yuigahama’s heart softened under that gaze—so pitifully reminiscent of an abandoned puppy.
She hurriedly closed her own manuscript, of which she had barely read more than a few pages, and forced the warmest smile she could muster—though it came out somewhat stiff—attempting to smooth things over.
“Um…
Zaimokuza-kun, actually…
actually the setting is pretty interesting, you know!
Ahaha…
‘Blazing Inferno Fallen Celestial Knight’—that name sounds really…
really powerful!
Right, Hikki?” She tried to drag Hikigaya into it.
Hikigaya watched Zaimokuza—looking so utterly crushed he seemed about to split apart—and sighed in exasperation.
He stepped forward and clapped a hand on Zaimokuza’s thick shoulder.
In the tone of someone who had been there before, with gravitas and earnestness, he spoke.
“Zaimokuza.
Give it up.
You’re really…
not cut out for this.
Take a piece of advice from me.
Some dreams are better off staying in the imagination stage.” His follow-up stab was precise and merciless.
Having now suffered, in succession, Yukinoshita’s blizzard of brutal critique, Yuigahama’s pallid consolation, and Hikigaya’s “well-meaning” advice to quit, Zaimokuza finally shattered completely.
As if all his strength had been drained from him, his head drooped.
His voice came out choked with despair.
“Could it be…
that my dream…
the literary path of the great Blademaster General…
ends here…”
Watching his utterly crestfallen expression—as if all light had been extinguished from his life—a flicker of hesitation and…
softening, barely perceptible, passed through the ice-blue eyes of the very same Yukinoshita who had just been so mercilessly sharp-tongued.
She recalled that, during her sleepless night of reading, although her mind had been overflowing with complaints, she had indeed also glimpsed, behind that manuscript, a clumsy yet fervent dedication belonging to a creator.
She drew a soft breath.
Her tone eased somewhat.
Still cool, but stripped of much of its earlier sharpness.
“Zaimokuza-kun.”
Zaimokuza raised his head, dazed.
“If you…
still wish to continue writing,” Yukinoshita paused, seeming somewhat unused to saying such words, “future…
novels that you write can also be brought to the Service Club.”
Zaimokuza’s eyes instantly flew wide open.
“We will…
help read them,” Yukinoshita added, averting her gaze as if not wanting the other party to see her expression at that moment.
These words were like a divine light shining down into the depths of despair, instantly illuminating Zaimokuza’s darkened world!
He jerked his head up, his face blossoming with incredulous ecstasy, as if he had been resurrected to full vitality in an instant!
“R-Really?!
Thank you so much!
Great Bodhisattva Hachiman!
Goddess Yukinoshita!
Angel Yuigahama!
I, Zaimokuza Yoshiteru, shall never forget this boundless benevolence for as long as I live!
I shall henceforth pour my utmost into creation and shall not disappoint your expectations!”
He was so overcome with emotion he could barely speak coherently.
Nearly throwing himself forward, he solemnly received the manuscript Yukinoshita handed back—now densely covered in annotations—as if clutching a peerless treasure.
Then, with another exaggerated bow that practically approached full prostration, he expressed his gratitude once more.
Only then did he charge out of the Service Club with footsteps even lighter than those with which he had arrived.
Watching Zaimokuza’s vanishing figure, Hikigaya turned his head and looked at Yukinoshita beside him.
A teasing, surprised smile crossed his face.
“Well, well…
never thought you’d be the type to say comforting things like that.
I figured you’d just straight-up suggest he switch dreams—maybe take up sumo wrestling or something more practical.”
Yukinoshita’s fair cheeks flushed faintly at his words.
Somewhat flustered and indignant, she shot a glare at Hikigaya and reflexively fired back with her own sharp tongue.
“Hmph.
I merely picked up a bit of unnecessary sympathy from a certain someone who always wears those dead-fish eyes, acts aloof, yet occasionally sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
The direction of that remark couldn’t have been more obvious.
Hikigaya found himself choked into silence, rubbing his nose, momentarily unable to retort.
“Now, now, isn’t that a good thing!” Yuigahama Yui looked at the two of them bickering, and a happy, slightly teasing smile spread across her face.
She pressed her hands together.
“Even if Zaimokuza-kun’s writing was…
um…
very ‘unique,’ he really does seem to love writing!
And Yukinon did encourage him in the end, didn’t she?
Hikki, you shouldn’t always be so hard on people either!”
The atmosphere lightened under Yuigahama’s mediation.
The three chatted idly about Zaimokuza’s novel and amusing happenings around school.
The sunlight streamed through the window, warming the room with its glow.
Suddenly, Yuigahama seemed to remember something.
Her eyes lit up.
She leaned forward, hands braced on the table, looked at Hikigaya and Yukinoshita with eager anticipation, and brought up the proposal she had been brewing for some time.
“Oh, right!
Hikki!
Yukinon!
Tomorrow…
tomorrow at lunch, can we all eat together?
Here in the Service Club room?”
The air went still for an instant.
Yukinoshita’s brow furrowed almost subconsciously.
Her tone was cool as she refused.
“The Service Club is a place for carrying out club activities, not a venue for social dining.
Besides, Yuigahama-san, don’t you usually eat with your friends…”
“Ehhh—!
Just this once!
Just once, please!” Yuigahama immediately deployed her signature technique—the all-out pleading offensive.
She pressed her hands together in a gesture of supplication, blinking her large eyes at Yukinoshita, her face practically inscribed with “pretty please.”
“I’ve always wanted to eat together with Yukinon and Hikki!
I just know it’ll be so much fun!
And I promise I won’t bother you for too long!
After we finish eating, we’ll all go do our own things!
Pleeease, Yukinon~?”
She even stretched out the last syllable.
That sweet, wheedling, almost playfully stubborn entreaty—it was something even Yukinoshita Yukino, renowned for her cool composure, found difficult to withstand.
Yukinoshita looked at Yuigahama’s expression—the kind that threatened “I’ll cry if you say no”—then cast a sidelong glance at Hikigaya beside her, who was pretending to admire the scenery but clearly also waiting for her answer.
A flicker of internal struggle and resignation passed through her ice-blue eyes.
“…Just this once.” In the end, as if admitting defeat, she let out a tiny sigh and spoke in a voice barely audible, a barely perceptible blush rising on her cheeks.
“Yay!
Awesome!
Yukinon is the best!” Yuigahama immediately cheered, then turned to Hikigaya.
“Hikki, what about you?”
Watching Yukinoshita’s expression—that “against my better judgment” look that nonetheless carried no real opposition—Hikigaya found it a little amusing, and also felt a strange…
anticipation?
He shrugged and answered in his usual indifferent tone.
“…I don’t care either way.”
“Then it’s settled!” Yuigahama clapped her hands together happily, her face beaming with the radiant smile of a scheme successfully executed.
“Tomorrow at noon, Service Club room.
Don’t be late!”
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