A Sister's All You Need., Vol. 1

Copyright
A Sister’s All You Need.

Vol. 1
Yomi Hirasaka
Illustration by KANTOKU
Translation by Kevin Gifford

Cover art by KANTOKU
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
coincidental.
IMOTO SAE IREBA II. Vol. 1

by Yomi HIRASAKA
© 2015 Yomi HIRASAKA
Illustration by KANTOKU
All rights reserved.
Original Japanese edition published by SHOGAKUKAN.
English translation rights in the United States of America, Canada, the United
Kingdom, Ireland, Australia and New Zealand arranged with
SHOGAKUKAN through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc.
© Lookout Games 2007/2008
English translation © 2018 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of
copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to
produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is
a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to
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the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First Yen On eBook Edition: June 2019

Originally published in paperback in May 2018 by Yen On.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Hirasaka, Yomi, author. | Kantoku, illustrator. | Gifford, Kevin,
translator.
Title: A sister’s all you need. / Yomi Hirasaka ; illustration by Kantoku ;
translation by Kevin Gifford.
Other titles: Imōto Sae Ireba II. English | Sister is all you need
Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen On, 2018–
Identifiers: LCCN 2018004223 | ISBN 9781975326425 (v. 1 : paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Women novelists—Fiction. | Fictitious characters—Fiction.
| BISAC: FICTION / Humorous.
Classification: LCC PL871.I74 I4613 2018 | DDC 895.63/6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018004223
ISBN: 978-1-9753-5971-3
E3-20190618-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
The Novelist Is a Little-Sister-Obsessed

Genius and Perversion
College Girls and Their Assorted Types
The Occasional Guy Friend
The Main Theme
Turtle Soup
Baring All
Gods
North-Meets-South Spring Rolls
Valentine’s Day
Valentine’s Day EX (feat. Haruto Fuwa and His Hard-to-Read Sister)
Concerning Nayuta Kani as a Literary Writer
Die in a Fire, Tax Returns
Chronica Chronicle (Part 1)
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
The Novelist Is a Little-Sister-Obsessed
“C’mon, Bro, time to get up, up, uuuup…”

As I opened my eyes to the voice, I was greeted by the sight of
Alice, completely naked.
Alice is my little sister. She just turned fourteen years old this year,
and her flowing blond hair and ruby-like crimson eyes leave an
unforgettable impression. She’s a beautiful girl; nobody could possibly
lodge any complaint against her.
“Mngh, morning, Alice,” I stammered, still in a daze. She giggled in
response.
“Boy, Big Bro, you sure look sleepy-weepy this morning! And I got
just the thing for a sleepyhead brother like you…”
She quickly thrust her face right up to mine…and gave it a smooch.
“…!”
Alice’s soft lips pushed close against my own, banishing any
lingering drowsiness I could possibly have had. “Feeling more chipper
now?” She withdrew her lips, flashing me a sly grin. Her cheeks were
a little reddened. “Today Alice has a super-dee-duper-special
breakfast for you! C’mon down before it gets cold!”
“Oh! All right,” I replied. She nodded at me, looking all satisfied in
her birthday suit, and left the room. Her butt, soft and supple as a
freshly peeled shrimp, jiggled this way and that as she sauntered off.
I had kicked off hundreds of mornings like this before, but it never
got old to me. Reflecting upon the pure joy it brought me, I zoomed
out of bed, eager to tuck into my sister’s latest culinary masterpiece.
On the way, I washed my face with the hot water left over from my
sister’s morning bath and wiped it clean with her still-warm brassiere
Page 1 Goldenagato | https://mp4directs.com

before heading for the dining room table. Yoshiko was there, which
was a surprise, considering I thought she had died yesterday.
“Okay, Big Bro,” the achingly nude Alice belted out with a heart-
melting smile, “get it while the getting’s hot!”
“Thanks!”
Her fried-rice omelet was, as always, a masterpiece. The milk she
served with it overturned all previous notions I’d had about what milk
could taste like. The eggs she laid for me and her fresh-squeezed milk
couldn’t have complemented each other better.
“Ooh, Big Bro, you got a big dollop of ketchup on ya! Ooh, mee-
owww, what will I ever do with you? Um, something to wipe with,
something to wipe with…”
Deftly conjuring a transdimensional gate to a parallel universe,
Alice took out a warm, fuzzy pair of panties and dabbed at one corner
of my mouth with it. The intoxicating fragrance of the Alice from the
alternate dimension wafted into my nostrils, exciting them and
whetting my appetite even further. Sure wish I could eat these panties.
Nom, nom, nom… Oops! Now I’ve bitten into them. Munch, munch,
nom, nom… Man, what a culinary delight.
Before long, I had scarfed down the entire undergarment. Alice
responded with a bashful pout. “Ooh, Big Brotherrrr… If you wanted to
eat my purty li’l panties, I woulda whipped up a piping-hot new pair—
along with more of my farrrrm-fresh milk, of course! Tee-hee! ”
“You got it, Sis! I can’t wait to take a whiff of your fresh-baked,
fresh-stripped, fresh-tasting lacy stuff!”
“What in the hell is this?!”

“Whoa! Wha…what’s up?”
Itsuki straightened up as Toki slammed his manuscript against the table
and shouted at him.
“What do you think is up? …Th-this world of yours is sheer insanity… I
thought I was going into the loony bin for a second there!” Toki said, glaring
as he attempted to catch his breath.
Itsuki crossed his arms and flashed a world-beating smile. “Heh… Guess
my expertly woven world’s found another captive, huh?”

“You…are such a psycho…,” Toki replied, face tense.
Itsuki—to be exact, Itsuki Hashima—was a novelist, twenty years old,
and a little small and wiry for his age. His eyes were sharp and villainous
looking, but there was still a trace of youthful innocence to his face—even as
he stared brazenly at Toki, clearly attempting to annoy him. Itsuki Hashima
was his real name; he didn’t opt for a nom de plume like many fellow writers
in his genre.
Kenjiro Toki, meanwhile, was Itsuki’s editor and a rather intense-looking
man, twenty-six years old, in glasses and a business suit. He and Itsuki were
in the midst of an editorial meeting. They kept in contact via text and phone
conversations, but as much as possible, Itsuki preferred to see Toki in person
and have him read hard copies of his progress. It let him better gauge his
editor’s unfiltered responses to the work, he thought.
Today they were in Itsuki’s apartment—not an unusual meeting place for
them, since it was only about a five-minute walk from Toki’s office.
“…So just to make sure we’re on the same page here,” Toki ventured, his
voice weakened from fatigue, “this is your submission for chapter two of
what we’re calling Demon Hunter in Scarlet for now?”
“Of course.” Itsuki briskly nodded. It only made Toki wince harder.
“…Well, that’s weird, isn’t it? Because according to the plot outline,
chapter two’s supposed to start with the hero being surprised by the sight of
the heroine at breakfast, even though she died defending him from a demon
attack at the end of chapter…one…?”
“Yep. And I’m following that outline perfectly. A little too perfectly, if
you ask me.”
Toki was referring to a handwritten flowchart of the general plot that the
two of them had hammered out beforehand.
“Following that outline how, exactly?”
Itsuki winced a little himself as Toki banged a hand roughly against the
table. “What? The hero’s acting surprised, isn’t he? That girl died in front of
him yesterday, and now she’s right… Um, what was her name?”
“You can’t forget the main heroine’s name! It’s Yoshiko, all right?
Yoshiko! And that’s a pretty generic name, too, don’t you think? Is that really
a good name for a woman fighting alone, uncelebrated, in the dark realms
against hordes of demons? …I mean, all right, you did cram her in there and
make the hero shocked to see her. I almost skipped that line entirely, but…”

“Wow, some editor you are,” Itsuki said, letting out a light sigh. “I mean,
don’t you hate it when you write something plain as day into the story and
people forget about it or skip right over it, and then they bitch at you about
how there’s no foreshadowing or the story’s all over the place?”
“Don’t make me the bad guy here!” Toki fired back, voice raised, before
taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Sticking Yoshiko’s return in there like
an afterthought is one thing, but that’s not even the main issue.”
“What is?”
Toki rapped at the printout with his middle finger and replied, “The main
issue is, who’s this new Alice girl? I don’t remember hearing anything about
her!”
“She’s the hero’s sister. I wrote it down in the character descriptions,
didn’t I? That he had a little sister.”
“Yeah, and that’s all you wrote in there! You didn’t go into any more
detail, so I thought she was just a secondary character. No major exposition
needed…and then you give me this monster…!”
“A monstrous beauty, right? Ha-ha-ha! I’ll say!”
“No, you dumbass! For the love of…! I mean, it’s creepy enough you
have her naked by default, but then there’s all this other crap going on, and I
can’t even begin to explain what’s the most screwed up about it! You have
the hero sniffing bras, literally eating panties… What kind of deranged
is this guy? Are you sure you didn’t mean, like, ‘pancakes’ instead of
‘panties,’ or…”
“Well, that’s a silly question. Do you really think I’d make such an
amateur mistake?”
“Goddammit, of course you wouldn’t… And what’s all this stuff about
Alice’s ‘milk’ or whatever?”
“What? It’s just like I wrote. It’s milk from Alice’s breasts. Really rich.”
“And those eggs…?”
“Yeah, she lays them. It’s, like, a thousand times better than caviar, not
that I like caviar all that much.”
“Ha-ha-ha… Both of them are absolute maniacs! And you’re the biggest
maniac of all for dreaming up this BS! And I thought the hero was meant to
be this average high school student from a cookie-cutter modern family! With
this show, readers are gonna forget all about the Blood of the Demon
Hunters, along with anything else!”

The extended dressing-down made Itsuki frown a bit. “Hmm… Well, if
you put it that way, maybe the whole milk-and-eggs thing was going just a
little bit too far… I figured, you know, with all these supernatural fight
scenes, I could get away with just a teensy break from reality…”
“Just a little bit…? Seriously…?” Toki shuddered.
“You see it all the time in books like this. Like, the hero’s parents are
actually famous adventurers, or they’re secretly the hidden successors of
some ancient martial art that the hero’s got a talent for, too.”
“Okay, so you’re telling me that these psychopaths laying eggs and
chowing down on panties are the same thing as the basic backstory of every
fighting-hero manga ever?”
Toki’s head was visibly throbbing at the temples.
“…All right,” Itsuki timidly ventured, “but if you’ve got a younger sister
and she takes a bath first, then sure, it’s totally normal to wash your face with
the hot water she leaves in there, right?”
“You call that normal, you sister-obsessed ?!”
Toki screamed at the top of his lungs.
Itsuki Hashima had made his debut after winning a prize for new authors at
the age of sixteen. In the ensuing three or so years, he had published a total of
twenty novels—five one-shots and three multivolume series.
Even with what he had already written before going pro, twenty releases
in three years was a dizzying pace—and with the level of quality he still
managed at that speed, he had built up a fairly decent reader fan base. Several
titles had made it onto the top-ten paperback bestseller lists released by
Oricon, the most well-known sales charts in Japan. You could, in other
words, say he was kind of a rising star.
When it came to writing speed, imagination, and ability to formulate a
compelling story and engaging characters, Itsuki Hashima had what it took to
grow and mature as a popular novelist going forward—but despite that, all
his recent works had sold at a decidedly “eh” level.
One trait common to all his stories was that the main heroine was framed

as a “younger sister” type.
It was a common trope among novels like these, and one that was easy to
turn into a popular character, but his dogged adherence to that mold for
heroines certainly made some readers roll their eyes and go, “Not again…”
And given how Itsuki himself constantly strove to differentiate his little
sisters from those in other novels, these characters were trending slightly
further along the “extreme” scale with each new volume. As of late, even his
male leads were talking about their sisters in ways that can be described only
as demented, no doubt turning off quite a few readers along the way.
Figuring Itsuki would need to step away from this trope for a bit if he
wanted to experience a second big break, Toki had half forced him into
devising Demon Hunter in Scarlet (final title TBD). He discovered that in
doing so, Itsuki had instead created an entirely new breed of sisterly monster.
“Ugh… The guy’s just crazy for little sisters…” Toki was on his way back to
the office from Itsuki’s place. He heaved a weighty sigh, releasing a cloud of
visible breath in the crisp January air.
“Oh! Hello, Mr. Toki!”
He was cheerfully greeted by a small young man in a windbreaker with a
plastic bag from the grocery store hanging from one hand.
“Ooh, hey there, Chihiro,” Toki replied. “I was just coming back from
discussing story ideas with your brother.”
“Were you? Well, thanks for being such a help to him.”
“Oh, not at all. He’s helping me, really.”
This was Chihiro Hashima, Itsuki’s younger brother. He was in his first
year of high school, and between his neck-length black hair and fair-skinned,
indifferent-looking face, he had a sort of dashing charm to him. Itsuki
described him as the perfect kid—head of the class, a star on the sports field,
the whole bit. The Hashima family home was around twenty minutes by bus
from Itsuki’s current apartment, and Chihiro made the trip frequently to cook
for him, tidy his space, and so forth. That made him an acquaintance of
Toki’s as well.
“Here to make dinner for him again?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“…Man, he’s lucky to have a brother like you. I’m almost jealous.”
“Oh, no, really…” Chihiro blushed a bit at Toki’s heartfelt compliment. “I
should get going, though. Let me know if you need anything from him.”

With a polite bow, he walked off. Toki watched him go, reflecting on
what a kind, gentle, gallant kid he was. A good cook, and he kept an ever-
watchful eye on his big bro. Perfect.
“…Too bad Chihiro wasn’t born a girl, I guess. Then maybe Itsuki
wouldn’t be a with all these little-sister fetishes… Oh, but then he
probably never would’ve become a novelist in the first place… Hard to say, I
guess…”

Several minutes after Toki took his leave, Itsuki heard the doorbell ring. He
opened the door, as he had been expecting Chihiro around this time.
“…Hey.”
“Yo.”
“…Mm.”
With this exchange of grunts, Itsuki let Chihiro in. Despite the fact that
they were relatives, there was an odd, ever-present awkwardness in their
interactions. They had become stepbrothers three years ago, when Itsuki’s
father married Chihiro’s mother—right when Itsuki made his professional
debut, in other words. The older son had been in his second year of high
school, the younger in his first year of middle school—a time of great
emotional change for both. Suddenly becoming brothers left them
unprepared, unable to figure out how to deal with each other, and at first they
acted more like roommates sharing the place than anything else.
Things began to change only when Itsuki went to college and moved into
his own apartment. He could’ve stayed with the rest of the family and
commuted from there easily enough, but he rented this place anyway, with
his own money, claiming that he could use the time saved to work on his
writing. He had wound up dropping out of university during his freshman
year, but being near his editor worked so well for him that he decided to keep
living there.
During Itsuki’s aborted attempt at college, Chihiro would stop by
sometimes with rice and other basic supplies. That was now happening more
frequently, with Itsuki’s brother handling basic cooking and cleaning duties
as well. Becoming a full-time writer had further accelerated Itsuki’s already
lightning-fast pace, but it had also further deteriorated his already poor grasp
of living skills. His eating and sleeping patterns grew more and more
irregular over time, and it was showing in the grime covering his apartment.
After a certain point, Chihiro couldn’t bear to look at it any longer.
“I’ll cook this up real quick.”
“…Sure.”

Now Chihiro, wearing an apron, was lining up his ingredients and cooking
utensils with obvious familiarity. Itsuki gave him a side-glance or two as he
typed away on his laptop, working on his novel. Half an hour later, they were
on opposite sides of a table.
“Thanks.”
“No prob.”
He had prepared shrimp in chili sauce, some Chinese-style stir-fry, and
fried rice—all made from scratch, nothing Itsuki could ever make, and all
bursting with enough flavor to keep his chopsticks busy. Chihiro, flashing a
slight smile as he watched his brother feast on it all, minded his manners as
he ate at a more measured pace. Even at the dinner table, he was the perfect
picture of refinement. Sophisticated, attractive, head of the class, phys-ed
phenom, master chef, master homemaker, chill personality, well mannered—
some kind of perfect über-bro, really. As his older brother—or as another
man, really—Itsuki couldn’t help but foster an inferiority complex. It had a
tendency to make him take a dig at Chihiro sometimes.
“…Hey, uh, Chihiro? I really appreciate you coming here all the time, but
don’t you, um, have anything better to do? Like… I dunno, take your girl out
on a date or something?”
Chihiro soured a bit. “I don’t have a girl.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.”
A matter of personal choice, no doubt. No way Chihiro, of all people,
wouldn’t attract attention from the opposite sex.
“Why don’t you go find one?”
“…I dunno. Don’t really want one, I guess,” he said moping. “Plus,
y’know… I’m worried about you.”
“Aw, geez, Chihiro, you don’t have to worry about me!”
Chihiro let out a soft sigh. “…Well, maybe I wouldn’t if you could get
your act together a little?”
“Hey, I can! Like, if I wanted to.”
“Really? So you can make three meals a day by yourself? Like, real food,
with vegetables and stuff, and not just instant ramen? Will you clean and
bathe yourself and keep the recycling organized? Could you put your porn
games back on the shelf by yourself?”
“S-sure I can…”

“No, you can’t,” Chihiro immediately replied. “Look, Bro, you washed
one of your knit sweaters with the rest of the laundry again, didn’t you?
That’s what you always do. You just toss all your crap in there, pour in
whatever amount of detergent looks right to you, then pick a random setting
and start it up.”
Itsuki scowled at this completely accurate description of himself.
“There’s settings…? Um…b-but you got one thing wrong there, Chihiro!”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t put any detergent in at all! I ran out, and I never bothered to buy
some more!”
“Wooow, what an achievement. And don’t you have another jug under the
sink in there?”
“…Oh, I do?”
“Ugh…” Another sigh. “You’d be pretty doomed without me, wouldn’t
you?” he observed, sounding ever-so-slightly pleased.

Genius and Perversion
Itsuki Hashima’s apartment was on the second floor of a three-story building

built ten years ago, your standard concrete-slab job with a kitchen, a
bathroom, a single living area, wood-laminate flooring, and a washing
machine. It was packed to the gills with a work desk, a foldable bed, a TV, a
rather large kotatsu table, and a multipurpose metal bookshelf packed with
books, CDs, video games, DVDs, board games, and figures, all organized
with tender care.
The sheer volume of stuff made the place feel cramped, but for a man
living alone, it was fairly clean and free of clutter. That was 100 percent
thanks to the tenant’s brother, of course.
Being just a five-minute walk from the publisher of his novels (as well as
ten minutes from the nearest train station) made this residence a popular
hangout for the other authors who worked for the company. When he first
moved in, Itsuki purchased a much larger kotatsu than he needed, and while
he regretted it at first, figuring it’d be in the way, it was perfect for
entertaining guests.
The writer visiting Itsuki’s apartment was using it right now, in fact,
snuggling in to enjoy the heat it provided.
Nayuta Kani was silently reading a novel, face totally bereft of emotion.
She was eighteen years old and beautiful, with silver hair and blue eyes that
made her look like a sprite from a fantasy realm, and despite her diminutive
height, her chest was fairly well endowed.
Nayuta Kani was her pen name. Not even Itsuki knew her real one. She’d
made her debut a year ago, after placing in the same contest Itsuki had once
won, making him a kind of mentor to her. Her first published title was The
Silvery Landscape, an instant hit, and her popularity (and sales) rose with
every new entry in the Landscape series. It consisted of four books by this

point, and already they had sold well above everything Itsuki had in print put
together. Taking your “mentor” and leaving him in the proverbial dust
happened all the time in this business.
Nayuta and Itsuki first met at the awards party for the new-author contest, not
long before she made her published debut. He had been talking with a few
other writers, and Nayuta, aged seventeen at the time and one of the stars of
the evening, was led over by her editor. Her lovely features blushed wildly as
her eyes welled with emotion. Those eyes were planted squarely upon Itsuki,
and the first words out of her mouth were:
“…I love you.”
Itsuki, along with everyone else in the group, did an immediate spit take.
“…Your work, I mean,” she continued.
“Say that first!” everyone commented at once. She didn’t let it bother her,
at least not externally. Itsuki studied her face, a little dubious, as her fair skin
gradually began to take on an even paler hue, and then:
“Hrgghhhhhhh…”
A reversal of fortune.
It was, for Itsuki, his first experience with an anonymous girl coming up
to him and immediately heaving all over him. Or an anonymous anyone,
really. Apparently, as he learned later, running into an author she respected so
much sent her nerves into overdrive, along with her stomach.
Nayuta and her editor paid a visit to Itsuki’s apartment two days later with
a box of chocolates and enough cash to cover the trip to the cleaners. He
gladly accepted both. She’s got a good eye, he thought, appreciating the work
of someone like myself. I’ll be a good mentor for her. I could write a nice
blurb for the cover of her novel, or maybe we could have a little private
writers’ workshop… Ah-hah-hah-hah-hah!!
He had believed he had the upper hand back then, and yet…

“I’m kinda hungry, Itsuki.”
Nayuta sounded totally indifferent as she lobbed a comment at Itsuki, who
was sitting at his work desk. The clock showed seven in the evening.
“Yeah, maybe it’s about time for dinner. Anything you in the mood for?”
“I want your hard cock.”
“Oh, hey, there’s some leftover shrimp and fried rice Chihiro made for me
yesterday. How ’bout we go with that?”
“…If you’re gonna ignore me, why’d you bother to ask?”
Itsuki took care not to look at the sullen Nayuta as he stumbled into the
kitchen and moved a couple of plastic containers from the refrigerator to the
microwave.
Soon, the two began eating around the kotatsu. Nayuta huffed and puffed
to cool the fried rice down as she nibbled at it—almost like a cat, Itsuki
thought.
“Hff, hff… All this delicious homemade food I get to eat by the kotatsu
whenever I come to visit… Will you marry me?”
“Shut up, Kanikou. I didn’t even make this. Don’t you have a family to
live with? If you want a home-cooked meal, go to them.”
“My mom’s out of the house a lot. She hasn’t been making food for us too
much lately.”

“Oh? So learn to cook for yourself.”
Nayuta stared squarely at the once-again-overbearing Itsuki.
“…Like you know how to cook anything.”
“…Oof.”
Itsuki felt a bit pained at the idea of relying on his younger brother for the
rest of his life. He thought he’d like to take over a bit of the cooking, and
while he’d never actually do it, it was the thought that counted.
“Hey, look, if I had a god-tier sister like Kobato from Haganai or
Komachi from My Youth Romantic Comedy, I bet I’d seriously wanna learn
to cook for her, all right?”
“…You’re still that obsessed with little sisters, huh? How about someone
a little bossier, like Kirino from Oreimo?”
“Yeah, sure. I’d love to cook a whole spread for her, but I wouldn’t. I’d
much rather she pointed at me and went like, ‘You can’t even cook? You
really are totally worthless!’”
Nayuta sized up Itsuki, rather impressed at the instantaneous reply.
“…You’re sick, you know that?”
“I’d like nothing better than a sister to infect me! …But seriously, my lack
of a little sister pretty much lies at the core of my inability to cook or clean.
Life would be totally awesome, twenty-four hours a day, if I had one. Where
did I go wrong, I ask you?”
“…I guess you’ll have to ask your parents for a favor or two.”
It was the most realistic option, Nayuta figured. It made the normally
loquacious Itsuki turn awkwardly mum.
“…That’s getting kind of…real, don’t you think? Could we, like, steer
away from that?”
His father and Chihiro’s mother had been married for three years. They
had a fine relationship; the wife was still in the prime of her thirties, and from
a biological standpoint, it was entirely possible they could conceive a new
son or daughter. But what if that did happen? How should he react? Itsuki
wasn’t sure.
“You are such a pain sometimes,” Nayuta said, smiling gently as she
shook her head a little. “How’s the work on your new series coming along?
The one where your heroine isn’t a little-sister stereotype for a change?”
Itsuki had asked Nayuta to read through chapter 1 of Demon Hunter in
Scarlet (final title TBD). She had loved it, begging him to let her see more as

he progressed. But Itsuki just frowned in reply.
“Hmph… I wound up trashing it,” Itsuki replied moodily.
Her face flushed with surprise, Nayuta exclaimed, “Trashing it…? Why?”
“I finished chapter two, and that asshole editor of mine insisted that I do a
rewrite. I wasn’t that enthusiastic about it in the first place, but if I have to do
his bidding to keep my plotline going, I figured I might as well go back to
square one.”
“…That’s a shame. It was neat, too.”
Nayuta looked honestly disappointed. It made Itsuki feel a tad guilty.
“…But if you look at it another way, I guess I’m the only person besides
your editor who ever got to read that, aren’t I? Makes me feel like I’m
someone very special to you.”
“Nah, I had Miyako and Haruto read it, too.”
These were both acquaintances of theirs.
“…So that manuscript was seeing other people? That skank.”
Nayuta pouted to herself a bit again before going back to her fried-rice-
nibbling mission.
After hanging out and doing nothing long enough to miss the last train home
(on purpose), Nayuta wound up spending the night in Itsuki’s apartment.
…I can’t believe how much I love Itsuki. Man, I wanna get down and dirty
with him so bad. I wanna just…
She let her consummate powers of imagination as an accomplished author
go hog wild as she took a hot shower, conjuring up images far too erotic for
publication (or to even say out loud), and let out charming little panting
noises as her face melted. It was no expression she’d ever dare to show
anyone.
Nayuta had first become smitten with Itsuki at the age of fifteen, when she
entered high school. She had been the victim of some vicious bullying at
school, which kept her away for extended periods of time. Sometime around
then, she happened to pick up his first book. Its story was a complete mess, a
giant run-on mishmash scribbled off at breakneck speed, but it was packed

with an unmistakable energy. From cover to cover, you could tell that the
author truly loved his characters, believed in his plot, and was having too
much fun writing it—and living life, for that matter.
The fact that the author was still in high school, revealed in the afterword,
came as a shock to Nayuta. One sentence in particular had resonated with her:
I’m not that gifted physically or academically, and I don’t have too many
friends, but I have this habit of continually daydreaming during class, and
eventually it led me to write a novel. It was a pretty innocent, artless thing to
say, something Itsuki would never write now, but he brought honesty and
modesty into that first piece of work.
In his own way, Itsuki Hashima taught Nayuta that even if you can’t find
a place of your own at school, there’s a whole other world out there for you.
It made her wonder whether she could turn out like him, too—and if she
could, she wanted to, deeply. And thus, well before they met or even knew
what the other looked like, she was smitten with him.
She then wrote her first novel, submitted it to the contest just like Itsuki,
and won a prize, just like him. And that was all the motivation she needed to
drop out of high school—a formality, really; she hadn’t attended in a long
time anyway. The prize money, along with the royalties that came streaming
in, she handed over to her parents, a token of thanks for all the trouble she
had caused them. Even with her current string of hits and monthly paychecks
reaching frankly unthinkable figures, Mom and Dad were still handling all
her finances. Money didn’t matter to Nayuta—being together with Itsuki was
what filled her with joy.

And if there was one great wish she had in the world, it was for Itsuki to
finally accept her, fully and truly.
“…And instead all he cares for are these trite little-sister girls from his
novels.”
Leaving the bathroom naked, her face buried in Itsuki’s boxer shorts as
she took in the smell and the feel of the fabric, Nayuta sighed.
The noise from the running water made it hard to focus on writing, so Itsuki
put on his headphones and cranked up the music to high volume. That, too,
wasn’t very conducive to his creative juices. But it certainly beat imagining
Nayuta naked.
Nayuta had first confessed her love to him on the occasion when she
visited his apartment right after hurling on him.
“Ah, don’t worry about it. Everyone makes mistakes if they get butterflies
in their stomach like that. I’m not the kinda small-minded man who holds a
grudge over that stuff, ha-ha-ha!” he’d said after her apology.
Nayuta breathed a visible sigh of relief, then took an even deeper breath.
“Also, I love you, sir. Could we maybe be a couple?”
“Hyah! Hah…hah…urrp. Krpbbbhh?!”
The mask of the broad-minded published author peeled itself off as Itsuki
completely lost all presence of mind in the most pathetic of fashions.
“Wh-what are you talking about, Ms. Kani?!”
Nayuta’s editor looked just as surprised at this turn of events. Nayuta
didn’t let it faze her.
“Ever since I first saw your work,” she began, “I’ve always been in love
with you. When I got to meet you at the awards ceremony, that made me
realize how real that feeling truly was. It’s not that I love your work or that I
love you as an author—I love you, Itsuki Hashima, in the romantic kind of
way. I am infatuated with you. I need you to be my lover.”
Every piece of her body language indicated she was telling the unadorned

truth. It made Itsuki fall into a panic. “…Um, um, l-let me think about it? A
little…?” he managed to stammer as Nayuta was all but dragged out of the
room by her editor.
Then he rolled into his bed and pondered over it, mind racing. This was
the first time a woman had done anything like that to him. He’d never had a
girlfriend before. To him, this was as life changing an event as winning that
award. Nayuta wasn’t the little sister he wanted, strictly speaking, but she
was beautiful and buxom, and being told by her that she loved him certainly
wasn’t a depressing thought.
So, as he regained his composure over time, Itsuki’s mind quickly became
tinted with shades of red and pink.
“Ohhhhhhh, maaaaaaaannnnn, what am I gonna dooooooo?! I mean, I
know I don’t wanna lose my V-card to anyone except the person I marry,
but… Pfft-hee-hee-hee-hee! We don’t really even know what we’re like or
anything yet, toooo… It’s not just about your face or your body, riiiiight?
There’s also, like, personality and stuff? It’s not like we can go out and, and,
and start p-p-playing a-roouuund or whatever? We take it slow, get to know
each other, and gradually get closer, right? That’s how it uuuusually works,
um…?”
His eyes fell upon a paper bag on the kotatsu table with his publisher’s
logo on it. It contained the box of chocolates and a single book from Nayuta
—The Silvery Landscape, her first work, due out wherever books were sold
the following week.
…I’m not a big fan of the cover art. The title’s pretty plain Jane, and
based on the back-cover blurb, it doesn’t have a little-sister heroine or
anything, so I’m not exactly thrilled about it. But maybe reading this will
teach me a little about her…?
These were the types of feelings Itsuki had as he began reading through
The Silvery Landscape. They didn’t last long.
“This… This is on a totally different level…,” he said, voice shaking, after
finishing the book in a single sitting.
He then replied to Nayuta’s offer three days later.

College Girls and Their Assorted Types
Quitting halfway through his freshman year didn’t give Itsuki Hashima the
time to make many college friends. He had only one real acquaintance left
from that era that he bothered to maintain.
That was Miyako Shirakawa, aged twenty and now a sophomore. She was
the same age as Itsuki and was in the same college department, making them
sort of ex-classmates. She had an air of refinement, the classic big-city
college student, and she had a cute sort of beauty to her. Her light brown hair
had a gentle wave—all natural, no dyes or perms. Her flashy looks made her
popular throughout grade school, but she had yet to enjoy a steady boyfriend.
The two of them had first spoken about a month after their first semester
began. It was a time most freshmen used to squeeze the most out of their
newfound freedom—joining clubs, going to parties, getting part-time jobs,
making new friends and lovers. But Itsuki was the guy in the department who
was always alone. Whenever he wasn’t in class, he was there in the back row,
staring intently at the screen of his laptop as he typed away, occasionally
grinning to himself or twisting his face up in pain. He put it away during
class, but his written notes clearly had little to do with the topic of the lecture
as his face alternated through a whirlwind of emotions—smiles, intense
concentration, occasionally sheer pathos. And when class was over, he’d go
right back home.
Her friends laughed as they called the guy all kinds of mean things—
weird, emo, friendless—but Miyako had a different impression. She felt as if
he had something really important that drove him, something far more vital
than college classes or playing around with friends or falling in love.
Something more concrete. Something that Miyako and her friends—more or
less drifting through college, bobbing around in life as the semester wore on
—didn’t have.

After a while of this, Miyako finally decided to ask this guy, Itsuki
Hashima, what he was doing on his computer all day. “Bwuhh?” he replied.
“I—I don’t… What do you mean?”
“Come on—I won’t tell,” she said in response to this clearly suspicious
behavior. It was a hard push, she knew, but in a moment, Itsuki finally told
the truth. “A novel? Do you wanna become a novelist or something,
Hashima?”
“Well, no, um,” a distressed-looking Itsuki began. “…I guess I kinda
am…already.”
Since he wrote under his real name, it didn’t take long for Miyako to
check out the college bookstore and find a single novel under the name Itsuki
Hashima. She picked it up and read it, and to be frank, she didn’t really get it.
The next day, sitting next to him in class, she commented, “I tried reading
your novel, but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”
“Pfft!” he replied, like a sullen child. “That novel’s not meant for easy
college girls like you!”
This evaluation understandably offended Miyako. People had been
lobbing insults like that at her based on looks alone ever since middle school,
but it was the first time anyone had said it to her face.
“Hey, I’m not easy, you prick! And if it’s not meant for me, then who’s it
meant for, anyway? And why does kissing his little sister give the main guy
all these magic powers?!”
“Hah-hah-hah! I guess an easy ho like you would have trouble figuring
out the deep, sacred mythology behind the sisterly bond!”
“I told you, I’m not easy! I’ve never even had a— Look, we aren’t talking
about that! Your story wouldn’t make sense to anybody!”
“Oh, is that what you think? Well, too bad! You read Genesis Sisters of
the New World, right? That’s my second series, and Volume One of that sold
over a hundred thousand copies!”
“What? No way. Something like that…?”
The blurted-out reaction rubbed Itsuki exactly the wrong way. “What do
you mean, ‘that’?” he shot back. “‘That’ broke a hundred thousand copies,
which means there’s at least a hundred thousand people out there who fully
understood what you couldn’t! And here you are, in public, all like, ‘Aww,
gee, I don’t understaaand it!’ Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? That’s so
hilarious, it’s practically sad! I mean, being stupid isn’t anything to feel bad

about, but it should be a crime how brazen you are with flaunting your idiocy
for all to see! A stupid ho like you oughta realize just how stupid she really is
and go crawl into a hole or something!”
Crack!
The torrent of insults finally drove Miyako to slap him straight on the
cheek.
“Ah…wha…?!”
Miyako stared right at the dumbfounded Itsuki. Tears fell from her eyes.
“You didn’t have to say all that, you asshole! Nnngh…!”
“Oh, um, wait, uh… Ummm, all right. Maybe, perhaps, there’s the
possibility that I went just a little too far, all right? I had a crappy review like
that written for me on Amazon the other day, and it really pissed me off, so…
um… Like, I’m sor… I apolo… Look, can you just stop crying, you easy
ho?!”
“For Chrissake, I’m not easy! And I’m not crying!”
“No, you clearly are.”
“I’m not, and I’m not easy!”
“O-okay, okay… All right… You aren’t crying, and you aren’t easy…”

“Damn right I’m not!!”
Then, simultaneously realizing they were now the center of attention,
Itsuki and Miyako instantly reddened.
“…Oh, geez… Now everybody’s gonna think I’m some kind of
nutcase…”
“…Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. We all know you’re a
nutcase.”
That was their first contact, and for whatever reason, Miyako and Itsuki
kept talking after that. To an impartial viewer, the exchange must have
looked like a disaster, but to Miyako, curiosity still won out over disgust.
His obsessions over little-sister characters remained a total mystery to her,
but he was willing to lend her a bunch of neat books and games, and it was
interesting to listen to him talk about the publishing industry and the work he
did for it. It felt kind of nice to offer fashion advice for his novels’ female
characters, too.
That was why it was such a shock, after summer break ended and the
second part of the Japanese school year began, when Itsuki suddenly
informed Miyako that he was leaving school. The news came in the form of a
text that arrived on her phone just after she stepped out of the bath.
“I quit school”
Just three words, provided to the only college friend he had, without
previous discussion or indication that anything was amiss in his life. It
shocked and saddened her so much that she didn’t even bother putting on any
clothes before calling him.
Over the phone, Itsuki was just as arrogant and self-centered as always.
“Hah-hah-hah-hah! I’m a writing genius! I made it in the Oricon top ten and
everything! It all made me realize that college is just a waste of time for me!”
He probably meant it, Miyako reasoned. College meant nothing to him, to
the point that he felt three words were enough to explain his behavior. To her,
it felt as if it should be a much more monumental decision. In some ways, his
being able to follow through with that on a whim, without consulting anyone
for advice, made her incredibly envious.
The words “waste of time,” in particular, struck home with Miyako. As
she fought back the tears that came out for no reason she could articulate, she
wailed, “Oh, really! Well, good luck not getting dropped by your publisher,
then!”

Her choice of words was harsh, but deep down, she knew she didn’t want
to let him go. That was why, as she swore to herself on that day, she still
made regular visits to Itsuki’s place. It was just a five-minute walk from
campus, so using it as someplace to kill free time didn’t seem unnatural at
all…or so she thought.
But today, she was back there again, ringing the bell until she heard the
latch turn. Quickly, she prepared the excuse she had conjured up.
“I-Itsuki! I have some free time, and the library’s totally packed, so
lemme use your place to study for my—”
She was greeted not by Itsuki but by a beautiful silver-haired girl in her
underwear.
“Wha… Nayu…?!”
“Oh. Hey,” Nayuta sleepily groaned at the beet-red, half-frantic Miyako.
“Good morning, Myaa. Itsuki’s still sleeping. We were at it until early in the
morning, so…”
“At i—?! Oh… Well, sorry I interrupted you, then…!”
“Oh, wait a second, Myaa. If you’re leaving, is it okay if I come with you
for a bit?”
She was already edging away from the door when Nayuta stopped her.
After Nayuta got some clothes on, she and Miyako began walking to the rail
station. Unlike Miyako, who was going around in a daring miniskirt despite
the wintry season, Nayuta was in a long, puffy coat, a scarf, gloves, and
earmuffs—the full suit of armor. Seeing her waddle around in these layers
reminded Miyako of the cat her family kept back at home.
Ever since they met, Nayuta had acted terribly friendly toward her.
Miyako, for her part, found her a little odd…all right, a lot odd, but still nice
enough.
“So, Myaa, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Oh…?” Miyako replied, eyes still glazed over.
“Yeah. Itsuki hasn’t done anything sexy with me lately.”
“Huhh?!” Miyako exclaimed, voice half breaking. “So, so that’s where

your relationship is, or…? W-wait, but didn’t you say you were ‘at it’ until
this morning or whatever…?”
“Yeah. And after I fell asleep, he kept on writing after that, too.”
“Geez, then start with that! But if he hasn’t been doing it ‘lately,’ does
that mean you’ve…you know, done it in the…past?”
“From the moment I met him until this very instant, Itsuki hasn’t had sex
with me once.”
“Then say that! You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Hee-hee! Call it the ‘unreliable narrator.’”
“Can you stop being unreliable for no reason, please?” Miyako
complained, even as her heart filled with relief. “…But why didn’t you have
any clothes on before, then?”
“I was snuggled up naked next to Itsuki in bed, but then the doorbell rang,
so I threw my bra and panties on real quick.”
“Nope, no longer relieved!”
Ignoring Miyako’s sudden panic attack, Nayuta continued. “Well, you’re
pretty easy, right, Myaa? With your experience, what do you think I should
do to make Itsuki horny for me?”
“‘Horny’…? And I’m not easy, all right?”
“You aren’t? I thought that college girls were all supposed to be walking
blow job machines.”
“Ugh! You and Itsuki… Could you even have a more prejudiced view of
me? …I mean, all right, I do have a friend or two that likes to play around
a…pretty decent amount, but…”
“So are you a virgin, Myaa?” Nayuta asked, tilting her head like an
inquisitive puppy.
“What? Of course not! I’ve had a few BFs in my life!”
She hadn’t, but something drove Miyako to pretend otherwise for
appearance’s sake.
“Wow, Myaa. I should have known, I guess. You’re so grown-up.”
Miyako broke into a cold sweat at the sight of Nayuta’s reverent eyes.
“I wish I could be doing it with Itsuki all the time, like you have, Myaa.”
“It—it’s not all the time… And stop making it sound like I’ve hooked up
with him, too… You think I would?! No way!” She blushed again. “…I have
no idea what you see in that sister-obsessed moron…”
“Everything. I love everything about him.”

The instant reply came back like a boomerang and stunned Miyako into
silence. In a way, someone like Nayuta, so freely able to talk about exactly
who and what she loved, made her jealous. It drove her to say something she
normally wouldn’t.
“…Yeah, well… Good luck with that. I’ll be rooting for you.”
Nayuta responded with a sweet, elfin smile. “Thank you very much,
Myaa. I never had any friends, so I’m really glad I got to meet you.”
“Oh…? Well, I’m glad I got to be friends with you, too, Nayu…”
The words didn’t exactly form a lie, but Miyako still said them with a
terribly guilty conscience.
Miyako and Nayuta had first met about half a year ago, on a day just like
today. Miyako was visiting Itsuki’s apartment, and Nayuta was already there.
“A college friend who reads my manuscripts sometimes” was how Itsuki
chose to introduce Miyako. Nayuta, at first anyway, had trouble hiding her
hostility. She wasn’t expecting this incredibly gorgeous college girl enjoying
the prime of her life—“I mean, she’s Itsuki’s friend!” as she later put it.
Later, once Itsuki conked out after an all-night writing session, the two of
them decided to go out for a bit. Nayuta took the occasion to lob an
immediate fastball her way.
“So are you in love with Itsuki, Ms. Shirakawa?”
Miyako instinctively parried. “Wh-what? Of course not! He’s just a
friend, is all!”
That made Nayuta breathe a sigh of relief, but she still kept a wary eye on
this potential rival. “Well, I am. Itsuki means everything to me,” she
declared, making sure it was clear that the words were meant as a warning.
“What could you possibly like about that sister-crazy loon?” Miyako
asked, flinching at the show of force.
It was Nayuta’s cue to explain exactly how Itsuki’s novels had saved her
life—the bullying she’d faced in middle school and all that. It was an
appalling tale, and Nayuta told it virtually unvarnished, detailing the exact
level of desperation she’d felt at the time—using all the expressive genius she

harnessed for her own novels.
Her hope was that mentioning Itsuki’s enormous presence in her life as a
savior would keep Miyako in check before she had any chance to rival her in
love.
Instead, it chiefly served to enrage Miyako. Her face was a mess, she shed
tears the size of raisins, and her nose ran as her heart swelled at the tale of the
cruel misfortunes Nayuta had faced. She cursed the bullies that had
tormented her, feeling in full the sadness she must have felt.
“Ugh, if only I was there!” she wailed. “I woulda kicked all of their asses
for you—I promise!”
Nayuta stared blankly at her, not anticipating this onrush of emotion.
Then, unconsciously, she began to smile. Ooh. This girl’s seriously crying for
me. She’s getting all pissed off for me. She’s nice. I like her.
So, without much further encouragement, she took a liking to Miyako.
And, even after half a year passed, she still wasn’t exactly sure what Miyako
thought about Itsuki.

The Occasional Guy Friend
“Hellooo! It’s your hot friend.”

This evening, Itsuki was hard at work in his apartment, as he always was,
when the sound of both a doorbell and an unfortunate comment reached his
ears.
Frowning, Itsuki went to greet his visitor. And unpleasant though the
comment was, the person standing outside his apartment was indeed a hottie.
He was in his early twenties, with sharp eyes, distinctly graceful features,
narrow-rimmed glasses, and a crop of bleached light brown hair to complete
his artless charm. Despite his wiry frame, nothing about his physique seemed
unhealthy, and his legs spoke for around half his stature.
He was smiling warmly, and everything about him made you feel right at
home.
Itsuki hated it when a truly attractive young man acknowledged his own
looks, since he had no idea how to respond. That said, modest protests of
“But I’m nooot” to accusations of hotness were equally irritating. Thus: “Hot
guys should all drop dead. QED.”
“What was the argument?”
Even after being told to go eff himself, the handsome young man just
gave a wry grin. There was something oddly invigorating about that smile he
had.
Itsuki didn’t know his real name, but he wrote under the name Haruto
Fuwa. He was another writer, working for the same publisher as Itsuki, and
he had made his pro debut at around the same time as Itsuki after winning a
prize in the same contest.
“Hey, Itsuki. Doing okay?”
“Hmph. Yeah, pretty much.”
“Keepin’ your dick clean?”

“D-don’t say that outside!”
Haruto laughed as Itsuki visibly reddened. “Aw, come on—it’s fine! You
know your neighbors and the people above and below us are college students,
right? They’re all in class right now.”
“…Why do you know more about who lives in this building than I do?”
Itsuki said with a groan, squinting. “Come on in.”
“Thanks. Here, I got a present for you. Lemme put ’em in the fridge.”
“Sure.”
Haruto opened the refrigerator door as if it were his own and put in a few
bottles of imported beer that he’d brought along in a tote bag. Once he did, he
removed two bottles from the fridge that had already been in there—two
Belgian beers, the Tripel and Christmas from Gouden Carolus. Despite living
alone, Itsuki had a fridge large enough for a nuclear family; it was about a
fifth full of leftovers from Chihiro’s meals and three-fifths full of alcohol.
The rest was occupied by plastic bottles of water, tea, or sports drinks, as well
as ham, cheese, sausages, chocolate, dried fruit, and other snacky things to
pair with beer.
As close as Itsuki’s place was to the publishing house, Haruto almost
always stopped by before hitting the Editorial Department.
“Hey, I’m gonna borrow a dish, okay?”
Without waiting for confirmation, Haruto grabbed a large platter from the
kitchen, opened the bag of ham he’d taken out with the beer, lined up a few
slices along the outer edges, and filled the center with a neatly arranged
assortment of cheese and dried fruit. This he placed in the center of the
kotatsu before grabbing two name-brand Gouden Carolus chalices from the
shelf, giving them a quick rinse, and placing them next to the desk, along
with a bottle opener.
“Here ya go,” he said as he sat by the kotatsu, completing the work as
neatly and cleanly as Chihiro.
“Mm-hmm,” Itsuki replied, giving him a composed nod. He had been
reading manga at the kotatsu while his guest, Haruto, prepared the food and
drink.
“Pick your poison.” Haruto said, both beers in hand.
Itsuki pointed at the Christmas beer. “That one.”
“Right.” Haruto opened the bottle and poured out the deep-brown
contents. The scent of herbs and spices filled the room as the beer formed a

head in the glass.
“Well, another day down.”
“Yep.”
With a light clinking of glasses, Itsuki accepted his drink. He was just
about to bring it to his lips when Haruto stopped him.
“Hang on.”
“Mm?”
“Can you give me the peace sign over the dish for a sec?”
“…Like this?” a quizzical Itsuki asked as he put his glass down and made
a pair of scissors with his index and middle fingers over the somewhat
attractively laid-out snack spread. Haruto did the same close by with his left
hand, then shot a pic with the smartphone in his right.
“All right, thanks. Let’s see… ‘Eating with my co–prize winner Itsuki
Hashima at his joint! ^^ I’ve been here like three times a week lately, guess
it’s about time to get married~~’”
“…What are you doing?”
“Oh, just actin’ gay on Twitter,” Haruto said as he punched away at his
screen.
“…?” Itsuki raised an eyebrow.
“Well, y’know, I’m starting to get my name known lately, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Chevalier of the Absolute World, Haruto’s launch series, wasn’t quite as
much a phenomenon as The Silvery Landscape, but it was still among their
publisher’s five best-performing titles. The anime adaptation was slated to
premiere on TV this coming April, and that meant a lot more exposure for
Haruto, thanks to autograph sessions and coverage in anime mags, on Internet
news portals, and on video sites. His attractive features had already earned
him the semiofficial nickname “the Heartthrob Novelist.”
Haruto’s work was mainly read by younger males, an audience that
wouldn’t generally care much what the author looked like. Some of them,
however, expressed open hostility at how handsome his headshots were, a
few voicing non-ironic concern that he might try making a pass or two at
some of the anime’s voice cast.
“So that’s why I’m gaying up my persona a little,” he explained. “If
people think I like screwin’ around with the dudes more than the girls, that
means voice-actress fanboys won’t start hating on me…and ladies who dig

that sort of thing will start flocking to me. Two birds with one stone.”
“…What a life,” a half-exasperated but still sympathetic Itsuki
commented. “But wait. What about me? Am I your unwilling partner now,
or…?”
“Mm? Sure. Wanna be gay buds?”
“Hell no!” shouted Itsuki at the careless pitch. “Why do I have to change
sexual identities just to cover your ass?”
“Aw, what’s the big deal? Maybe you’ll earn some new fans that way.”
“I don’t need fans like that! I want my books to sell based off my
characters, not what kind of character I am!”
“…Ooh,” Haruto exclaimed, face suddenly serious. “Man, you sure get all
hung up over the weirdest stuff sometimes,” he said with a grin. “Why do
you care if the world thinks you’re batting for the other team?”
“Are you seriously that stupid? When I marry the ultimate little-sister
voice actress who’s playing the ultimate little-sister heroine in the anime
version of my magnum opus, what am I gonna do if people think it’s a cover
or something?”
“Whoa, you want to marry a voice actress, Itsuki?”
“Ha-ha-ha! Don’t be an idiot! I’ve got zero desire to get married, but don’t
you like how that sounds? The idea of voice actresses fawning over you?
’Cause I sure do, hee-hee-hee-heeee!”
“…Are you getting enough sleep?” Haruto asked, looking honestly
worried.
“…Um, yeah… I just kinda hit a wall in my work.” Itsuki nodded, face in
a ω-style pout.
“…Oh? Maybe you better not drink today, then?”
“No, I will. Maybe getting wasted will give me some new ideas!”
Itsuki brought the beer to his lips. The brilliant mix of spices tickled his
nostrils, the heavy sweetness spreading in his mouth, only to give way to a
complex but comfortable bitterness. Gouden Carolus Christmas clocked in at
10.5 percent alcohol by volume, about twice what you saw in mainstream
Japanese beer, and the flavor hid the alcohol so well that glugging it down
was dangerously easy. “Ooh… That’s good.” Itsuki exhaled, his eyelids
already becoming heavy.
“Hey, don’t keep that pace up.” Haruto grinned as he took a sip, rolling it
around on his tongue. “You got writer’s block, huh? Is it that Demon Hunter

thing? The first non-sister heroine in the Hashima oeuvre?”
“…Nah, I shit-canned that,” Itsuki said, a tad apologetic.
Haruto kept a close eye on recent trends in novels and anime. Itsuki had
had a few discussions with him along those lines while devising Demon
Hunter in Scarlet (tent.). He had even gone over the opening with him.
“Shit-canned? Seriously? Why?”
“Because my heroines have to be little-sister characters, man! I’m just
tryin’ to think up the ultimate in sisters in my new project. Something
nobody’s come up with before!”
“…You’re sure taking that mania of yours to the deep end,” Haruto said
with an exasperated grin, grabbing a piece of dried fruit between sips. “…I
got a younger sister myself, but—real talk for one second—there’s nothing
that great about them, you know? She whines constantly at every little thing I
do; she starts beating on me at the slightest provocation; she calls my books
‘disgusting’ or ‘boring’; she reads interviews done with me and calls them
‘horrible’ or ‘gross’… She drives me crazy.”
“You dumbass! Don’t lump my sister in with that piece of garbage
disguised as your sister!”
“Garbage…?! Geez, she’s not that bad! I mean, she was pretty cute when
she was younger, and she bought snacks for me whenever I came down with
a cold… Also, you don’t even have a sister!”
“Sure I do!”
“Huh?”
“Right here, inside my heart!”
“Oh… Right…” Haruto flashed him a look of pure pity. “…But, again,
straight talk for a sec: I know I don’t have the ‘little sister’ bug that you have,
but your novels lately… Like, I think they’re veering way off the highway,
you know? I’ve been seeing people on the Net say the same thing, too, like, ‘I
can’t identify with the hero anymore’ and stuff.”
“Why’re you reading reviews of my books online…?”
“Oh, no reason. I just like reading impressions of other people’s stuff.”
“Hmph…”
A little peeved, Itsuki refilled his empty glass and downed it in one drink.
“Well, I know. I know there’re takes like that going around, in certain circles.
I dismissed most of them as the demented ravings of idiots who don’t
understand the difference between Amazon reviews and their personal

journal or the stupid trolls who lurk around the anonymous boards. But my
editor said the teen readers sending survey forms back are starting to say the
same thing more and more, and I’d like to think there’s some value to that
feedback, at least…”
He took another big gulp from his glass, eyes starting to glaze over.
“But!” he shouted, slamming a palm against the kotatsu. “I’m not going to
succumb to the bleatings of that low-minded rabble! If I let people who say
I’m ‘going too far’ dull my blade at this point, I’ll never reach the ultimate in
little sisters! I’ve got to keep pushing it, all the way to the edge—create a
world with my own hands, drenched in originality like none seen before with
the ultimate, undefeatable, absolute god of a sister that’ll make ’em all bow
for forgiveness! She’ll take those idiotic haters and tear their very souls to
shreds!”
He chugged the rest to hammer the point home.
Itsuki’s speech, covering his passion for the little-sister ideal and his sheer
distaste for his editor, continued for a while, and Haruto interjected a little
“Yeah” or “Right, totally” now and again as he listened. Before long,
however, Itsuki’s drunkenness had proceeded to the point where he began to
reply “Nyanpasu” to everything.
“Yeesh… Don’t say I didn’t warn you about your pace, man…”
“Nyanpasu,” the semiconscious Itsuki warbled, waving a hand
distractedly in the air as he kept his eyes closed.
“…Do you know your name?”
“Nyanpasu!”
“…Do you remember your address, maybe?”
“Nyanpasu!”
“Nyanpasuuuuuu?”
“Nyan…pasu…?”
Itsuki sprawled back, and that was it. A look of abject bliss was on his
face as he slept. Haruto grinned at it.
“…Bet Nayu would love to see this,” he said as he took a close-up shot of
him, although he simply put his phone back in his pocket instead of sending it
to her.
“Fnnhh… Nyan…pasu…”
Haruto filled up his own glass as he watched Itsuki talk in his sleep.
“Well, hang in there, man… It just gives me a chance to get an even

bigger leg up on you, while geniuses like you trap yourselves in pointless
nonsense…”

The smile on Haruto’s face was just as attractive and refreshing as always,
but the color in his eyes seemed to almost burn with passion.
After taking a couple of hours to wrap up the beer and snacks and do all the
washing up, Haruto pulled the still-blacked-out Itsuki out from the kotatsu,
laid him on his bed, and left. He shuddered as he stepped outside, the frigid
wind robbing the heat from his alcohol-warmed body.
To Haruto Fuwa, Itsuki Hashima was his friend, drinking partner, industry
war buddy fighting for the same publisher, troublesome little-brother-like
presence, and enemy, one he hoped he could beat someday.
They had both earned nods in the same new-author contest, but the written
evaluations of their submitted work couldn’t have been more different.
Haruto still couldn’t forget the judges’ commentary for the two of them.
“The unrefined content plays host to a wealth of issues, and we’re

honestly unsure if releasing this to the public would be the right thing, but it
also carries unfathomable impact. It’s something only this author could ever
have written, and we’re extremely curious to see how he grows and matures
as a creative talent going forward.”
“A very expertly put-together piece, obviously from someone well versed

in current trends. Its quality makes it easily publishable as is—and hey,
maybe it’d sell pretty decently, too [he says, idly picking his nose].”
Which review applied to which author should be obvious.

He had wanted to punch out several of the judges after reading that
evaluation, but when he actually read Itsuki’s published work, it was
suddenly clear to Haruto: He was beaten.
Yes, maybe Haruto’s series clearly outsold Itsuki’s, scoring that anime
version and all that, but this in no way meant he himself felt victorious.
Fame, royalties, reader reviews—all those external standards meant nothing
against the supreme sense of defeat he felt. That feeling only deepened a year

ago when he first ran into Nayuta Kani, a girl who became an author after
reading Itsuki’s work—a girl whose life Itsuki literally changed forever with
his writing.
There are, generally speaking, two types of novelists: the artist, who
wields their personal emotions as their mightiest weapon, and the craftsman,
who analyzes what the market wants and hones their work to match. These
aren’t hard categories; most people fall in between somewhere, from the artist
with a few craftsmanlike qualities to the middle-of-the-roader who leans a bit
craftsman. But Itsuki and Nayuta were textbook artists, while Haruto was the
pinnacle of the craftsman ideal.
These two archetypes, of course, were hardly in competition with each
other. One wasn’t necessarily better than the other at writing compelling
novels. As long as you produced results, there was no reason to beat yourself
up about where you fell. If anything, publishers tended to cherish craftsmen
and their steady pace and quality over artists, whose emotional states could
greatly affect their quality or pace, or even make it impossible for them to
write at all.
Haruto knew that, of course. But still…
“…Too bad I couldn’t have been a genius, too…,” he whispered to
himself as he disappeared into the night.

The Main Theme
Haruto Fuwa had a sister seven years his younger. She was just as pretty,
refined-looking, and stylish as her brother, but unlike the easygoing Haruto,
she had a sharp, stinging personality. Many were the times a boy attempted to
confess his love to her, only to be humiliated by a long string of merciless,
heartbreaking insults.
As a younger child, she had hung around Haruto like a dog with its
master, constantly fawning over her big bro. Now they didn’t even make eye
contact in public.
“You’re so late, Bro!” she whined at Haruto the moment he stepped
inside. “You promised you’d help me with homework tonight! What’re you
gonna do if they yell at me in school tomorrow?”
Haruto sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ah, cram it,” he said in a tone he’d
never use with anyone else. “Meeting ran long.”
“Liar! You were drinking with your friends again! You tweeted about it
and everything!”
“Who invited you to look at my Twitter, you ass?”
Haruto clicked his tongue, exasperated. His sister was talking about that
appeal to gay sensibilities he’d sent from Itsuki’s apartment. Having a
member of the family catch it was a tad embarrassing for him.
“…Look, it’s late, all right? Let’s just get this homework done and go to
bed,” he said, changing the subject. “Like, are you really stupid enough that
you can’t do this by yourself?”
“I’m not stupid! I could handle all of this if I really wanted to, but I don’t
want to waste my valuable time on it! That’s why I’m having you help me!
You should be thankful, you douche!”
“What the hell, man…?” Haruto wearily droned at the irrational abuse
hurled his way as he smoothly motored his way through a sheet of math

problems. She was probably right when she said she could handle this if she
wanted to; her test scores were among the best in her grade.
If she wanted to, he reminded himself as he wrapped everything up in ten
minutes or so.
“Okay, I’m off,” he said. His sister stopped him before he could reach his
room.
“W-wait a minute! I got some pudding in the fridge, so I’ll let you eat that
as your reward.”
“No thanks. I’m just gonna wash up and go to sleep.”
“I wanna eat it, too! Just wait a minute!”
“You’re gonna get fat if you eat that stuff after midnight,” Haruto
whispered to himself as his sister jumped out of the room, a tad red-faced.
She was back before long, and soon they were staring into each other’s
respective pudding cups.
“Hey, uh, Bro?”
“Mm.”
“Y’know, I keep reading your books, and they’re still the most boring
things I’ve ever seen. I’ve probably read your new one, like, a hundred times,
and I have no idea what anybody sees in it.”
“Huh,” Haruto said bluntly. He had heard all of this before.
The reply made his sister puff her cheeks up in anger. “There’s just
nothing attractive about the female lead at all! All that stupid ‘fateful
encounter’ stuff is so twenty years ago, too… It’s better if the main heroine is
closer to the other guy than that. You can get an affinity for her that way, you
know?”
“…Closer, huh…? Like, childhood friends? As if that’s not a tired old
trope.”
“What? What are you, stupid? A childhood friend’s just gonna be another
random stranger to you.”
“So what d’you want me to write, then?”
“I don’t know, dummy! That’s your job! Oh, and I saw your interview in
the anime magazine that came out today, Bro. It was so gross.”
“I’m not gross!”
Haruto had read the interview himself. He hadn’t said anything
problematic in it, and while he didn’t like to pat himself on the back, he
thought the photo they’d printed flattered him a fair bit.

“You are. You tried to act like some total stud way too much. And that
angle in the picture—like, did you ask for that? You aren’t some pop idol,
Bro. You seriously thought you’d look cool from that angle? Ugh, you’re
disgusting!”
“Will you just shut up?!”
Haruto’s face was reddening as she drove in the point repeatedly.
“You should just, like, put on a bald wig and some pancake makeup.
That’d suit you way better, you clown!”
“No, dummy! If I do that, I’ll lose all the female fans I’ve finally started
attracting!”
“Bro, you know nobody but a bunch of pale virgin boys reads your stuff!
Which is great for you! At least you don’t have to worry about other fangirls
following you!”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Even for male-oriented stories, attracting a female
audience is one of the biggest keys to success in this—ow!”
She punched him in the arm.
“You’re being ridiculous! Ugh, forget it! Just get out of here!”
“Whoa, I haven’t finished my pudding—”
“I’ll finish it!”
“You’re gonna get fat if you do that! Or maybe you should!”
“Shut up, you bastard! Just die!”
Haruto, stripped of his half-eaten pudding and punched in the arm, was
forced out of the room.
“I hope you turn into a pig!!”
He shouted through the door as he glumly went into his own bedroom.
“Yeesh,” he sighed as he took his computer out of his backpack, hoping to
handle a little more work before bedtime. “Maybe I oughta rent a place
somewhere, too.”
Haruto had been living in the same house, his family’s house, for all
twenty-two years of his life. He had considered leaving the roost twice—once
when he was accepted into college, once when he made his pro writing debut
—but his sister was dead set against it both times. His parents sided with her,
so he caved.
No, he believed wholeheartedly, there’s nothing good about a little sister.
If Itsuki was around to see this, he’d probably scream “That’s the whole

joy of it!!!” and melt into a puddle of pure envy. But Haruto was too much of
a realist—too convinced that his flesh and blood hated him too much to fit
any of the brother-obsessed or tsundere hot-and-cold archetypes of little-
sister fiction.
Even if he noticed the truth—that his sister was, in fact, both of those
things—it wouldn’t have changed much with him. Because even more than a
little sister that would’ve pushed all of Itsuki’s buttons, Haruto Fuwa craved
raw, natural talent.
Talent, money, social status, prestige, looks, character, dreams, hopes,

acceptance, tranquility, a friend, a lover, a sister.
Whatever a person wants the most, they’ll always find it belonging to
someone close to them—and despite how much that person desires what they
lack, the other possessing it will often see it as all but worthless.
Someone actually possessing what they want in life is nothing short of
miraculous. But the rarity of such miracles is the bountiful well from which
most forms of tragedy and comedy are born.
And this world—this tale—pretty much unfolds that way from start to
finish.

Turtle Soup
Several days had passed since Itsuki Hashima had trashed his idea for Demon
Hunter in Scarlet (final title TBD). He had mostly spent it lazing around his
kotatsu, playing mobile games and reading books.
It may have looked like simple goofing off to some, but this was all a vital
part of the novel-writing process. Itsuki was in the midst of refining his well
of raw ideas into something new, something solid enough to replace Demon
Hunter in Scarlet (final title TBD). Ideas aren’t something that simply
appears when you sit in front of the PC, ready to do work, and say, “Okay,
brain, do your stuff!” Often they come at times like these—when you’re
relaxing and not focused on work tasks. In the case of Itsuki, he tended to
bump into them while gaming, reading, sitting in the bath, or taking a crap.
For a novelist, goofing off and playing around are important work tasks.
Seriously. Believe me.
The rest of Itsuki’s kotatsu was currently occupied by Haruto Fuwa and
Nayuta Kani. Haruto, just back from an editorial session, was organizing his
notes from the day’s meeting on his tablet. Nayuta, who had stopped by for
no reason in particular, was currently seething at Haruto, giving him her best
“Itsuki won’t bump uglies with me if you’re here, so scram” look.
“Okay, done!” Haruto said, putting his tablet on the table.
“Oh, you’re all set? Mind going home, then, Prince Manwhore?”
“Could you stop calling me that, Barfalina?” he countered, the handsome
smile still on his face.
A while ago, they had all played a card game called Moteneba, or “Gotta
Be Popular.” The basic idea was to try to become as popular a kid in school
as possible so you could attract the attention of girls—a game theme all but
guaranteed to ruin friendships. Haruto won by a landslide, of course,
destroying the rest of the pack, and that’s when Nayuta first busted out the

“Prince Manwhore” nickname. “Barfalina,” meanwhile, came about because
Haruto happened to be around to see Nayuta puke her guts out all over
Itsuki’s clothing.
“So how’s it going with you?” a dissatisfied-looking Haruto asked Itsuki,
who was currently focused on the PSP in his hands.
“…It’s not. I can’t get anyone to drop Muramasa. I’m starting to wanna
murder the developers.”
“I wasn’t talking about Elminage; I was talking about new story ideas.”
Itsuki frowned. “Even worse.”
“Yeah?” Haruto said, grinning at the terse reply.
“You know,” Nayuta suggested, “I could help take your mind off things,
right on that bed over—”
“No thanks.” Itsuki nipped that in the bud.
“Okay, well, how about something else, then?” Haruto offered.
With a sigh, Itsuki picked himself up off the floor and placed his PSP on
the table, apparently interested in the idea.
“…So you’re willing to listen to Prince Manwhore but not me?” the
peeved-looking Nayuta whined.
Haruto thought for a moment. “Hmm… Well, how about a little mental
exercise with Turtle Soup?”
““…!””
Itsuki’s and Nayuta’s faces wrinkled nervously.
“Dude… Are you serious…?”
“Wow, Prince Manwhore, you like turtles that much?”
“Mm? Well, if you think you can’t take me, we could always do
something else.”
They both took the bait.
“Hell no! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that I’ve never lost this game!”
“You better not get too cocky around me, Prince Manwhore!”
“Great, then. Also, I think you’re remembering wrong, Itsuki.”
“Turtle Soup” is a game that falls into the realm of lateral-thinking
puzzles. This particular name is largely a Japanese invention, but the basic
idea is akin to Twenty Questions—players ask a series of yes/no questions in
an attempt to find the answer to a scenario posed by another player.
The classic Turtle Soup scenario goes along these lines: A man goes into a
restaurant and orders turtle soup. After eating it, he calls for the chef and

asks, “Is this really turtle soup?” “It is, sir,” the cook replies. Then the man
leaves the restaurant and kills himself. Why did he do that? Players can then
pose questions like “Did the man have any allergies?” or “Did the chef lie
when he answered the question?” to try to reach the correct answer. If they
do, they win the round.
It was a game commonly played by writers during parties and the like,
since it required no tools to play. The Internet was packed with sample
questions, and there were even a few published question-and-answer
compilations. Itsuki and Haruto preferred to come up with original scenarios,
putting limits on the number of yes/no questions to add to the competitive
aspect.
A dishonest emcee could easily throw the game by posing a scenario that
was impossible by design to figure out. Lodging these “bad stories” with
unconvincing explanations, however, would expose the question poser to
criticism like “Talk about amateur” or “Go back to the newbie contests” or
“Your twisted sexual perversions are seeping into your scenarios” or “They
should examine your brain to see why you had no shame about giving us
such a shitty question.” All this character assassination could lead to a
victorious round at the end but also a broken heart.
As a result, question posers were asked to strike a delicate balance—come
up with a scenario that was impossible for the opponents to solve before they
hit the question limit, but just barely so, and that also had a convincing
backstory to it. It made Turtle Soup, in some ways, a trial by fire, where
creators were forced to stake their good name for little in return.
“Okay,” Haruto said, “we’ll start with whoever thinks up a problem first.
Fifteen questions per round. Ready…go!”
The three of them began to devise questions. Three minutes passed before
Itsuki raised his hand first.
“Right, I think I came up with something.”
“You can come anytime you like, Itsuki…”
“Shut up, Nayuta!” Itsuki retorted before posing his question. “Okay, so a
man gets married to this woman who’s, like, the sublime quintessence of
trash, body and soul. She’s ugly, her personality’s awful, and there’s just
nothing positive you can say about her at all. But the man lives with her his
whole life without a single complaint. Why?”
“Is it because she’s his little sister?” “She’s his sister, isn’t she?”

Nayuta’s and Haruto’s replies came in stereo. This made Itsuki rear back
in surprise.
“N-no way… You got it in one shot without any questions…? Are you
guys reading my mind or something?!”
“…Well, it was a pretty shitty question to start with, but that phrase
‘sublime quintessence of trash’ sounded kinda inspired to me, so I’ll spare
you too much humiliation.”
“Yeah, Itsuki’s scenarios are always garbage anyway.”
“Mm-hmm. Okay, I’ll go next.” Haruto took a deep breath. “A novelist is
on deadline. He completely blows it apart. But the editor doesn’t lodge a
single complaint—in fact, everyone in editorial thanks the author, from the
bottom of their hearts. Why?”
“They thanked him?!”
Itsuki’s and Nayuta’s eyes opened wide. Both were no stranger to
ignoring previously promised deadlines, and the rage from the editorial
department each time was terrifying. Gratitude was unthinkable.
“…Are you sure this isn’t just some hallucination of yours, Prince
Manwhore?”
“Does that count as a question, Nayu?”
Nayuta shook her head. “No, lemme try again: Are we talking about
modern Japan?” Previous games had occasionally involved scenarios that
unfolded in outer space or the Jomon period of Japan (circa 14,000 to 300
BC), so pinning down the setting was an integral strategy.
“Yes,” Haruto replied.
“No it’s not! Japan’s corrupt publishing industry keeps pushing to ‘stick
to your deadlines, stick to your deadlines’ without giving a single crap about
my problems! You’re dreaming, Haruto! You should know—you work for
the same guys!”
“Well, I’ve never broken a deadline, so…”
“You haven’t? You listen to them? You traitor!”
“Why do you act so goody-goody around ’em like that, Prince
Manwhore?”
“Why am I the bad guy here?” Haruto said, perplexed at their irrational
outburst.
“Heh-heh-heh… What’s it gonna be? Either you stop respecting your
deadlines, or you stop being our friend.”

“Pretty shitty friendship, if that’s how it is!”
“You’ve broken all those cherries, and you’ve never broken a deadline?”
“I’m not actually Prince Manwhore, you know!”
“C’mon, man, the more deadlines you fail to keep, the more the regret
makes you a kinder, stronger person.”
“Oh, like you ever regretted blowing a schedule!”
“How are you supposed to break out of your shell if you can’t break out of
the shackles of your deadlines?”
“The shackles…?!”
Despite how rash and thoughtless she was being, there was a mysteriously
convincing aspect of Nayuta’s expertly woven argument. It threw Haruto for
just a moment before he shook it off.
“Guys, stop trying to lure me down the path to Asshole Land! You’re
supposed to be asking me questions!”
“Oh, right,” Itsuki growled. “Next question! …Um, is this author
someone’s little sister?”
“They might have some siblings, but let’s go with no. The writer’s
background isn’t important.”
“No way… So it’s nobody’s sister, and the editors are still heaping praise
on the guy for blowing a deadline…?”
“Could you stop wasting our questions, please?” Nayuta asked, staring
right at Itsuki.
“…Sorry,” he apologized honestly. “…But if the background isn’t
important… It doesn’t matter if the author’s popular or on the brink of getting
fired or whatever…? So maybe we should be focusing on the editors here.”
“Ooh, good idea!” Nayuta exclaimed.
“Maybe I gave out too much of a hint?” Haruto said, a bit concerned.
“Okay, so is the editorial department in some kind of crisis?” she
ventured.
“Yes.”
“And if the writer blows this, would that save the editors from whatever
danger this is?” Itsuki followed up.
“Yes.”
Itsuki and Nayuta visibly brightened. They were on a hot streak…which
didn’t last long.
“…A problem you could solve by breaking a deadline… What could that

be?”
“…Would the editors be in big trouble if the author’s novel ever got
published?”
Haruto thought about Nayuta’s query for a bit. “I dunno…? Probably not,
I guess?” he said, shrugging.
“That’s pretty vague… So the novel itself isn’t the issue?”
“Maybe the novel uses some characters from a theme park that’s really
picky about its copyrights? Or, like, the publisher’s Shogakukan and the
writer wrote about Dora—n…?”
“You’re blowing this way out of proportion, guys…”
The two of them mulled the question over a bit more before Itsuki spoke
up.
“Wait… Haruto, can you repeat the question?”
“Okay. ‘This novelist has a deadline; he completely blows it apart, but the
editor doesn’t mind at all. Everyone there thanks the author from the bottom
of their hearts. Why?’”
“So this novel,” Itsuki began, far from confident. “Well, it could be a
novel or a comic script or game text or whatever, but are we talking about
blowing it for the author’s own work?”
“No,” Haruto said with a smile.
“…! Hmm… In that case…”
“Wait, wait?” Nayuta broke in. “He broke a deadline for something that
wasn’t his? I don’t get it.”
Itsuki gave her a sidelong glance and plunged ahead. “Are you saying that
the novelist physically blew something open?!”
“Yes!” Haruto nodded, the smile now an ironic grin.
“Physically? …Oh!” Nayuta jumped a little in her seat. “Was the author
being kept in the editorial office until he broke it?”
“Yes… You pretty much got it now.”
“At the time he broke it, were all the editors unconscious?”
“Well, all right, yes. Maybe they weren’t, but they were all incapacitated.”
Haruto shrugged again in a sign of defeat. Itsuki grinned in reply.
“…I got it. Here’s what happened. All the windows and doors in the
editorial office were closed and locked, and then a bunch of carbon monoxide
was released inside. All the editors lost consciousness, but then the novelist
stopped by, realized something was wrong, and kicked the door or window or

whatever open, completely blowing it apart. Then he saves everyone, and
they all love him for it! That’s why you framed the word deadline and the
term blow it in two different sentences. You weren’t talking about blowing
the deadline at all!”
“Ding, ding, ding. I had a backstory for why the office was being gassed,
but it doesn’t really matter. You win.”
“Ah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah! Questions like those are a total pushover
for someone like me!”
Haruto warmly smiled as Itsuki laughed his high-pitched laugh and
Nayuta gave him a round of applause.
“That was a pretty good problem by Prince Manwhore’s standards,
though, huh?” she observed.
“Yeah, thanks. You’re up next, Nayu.”
“All right. Wait’ll you hear this one. It’s gonna shock you so much, you’ll
have erectile dysfunction for the rest of your life.”
It was an oddly threatening way to frame what turned out to be a pretty
short question.
“So there’s this man, and he made a jump. The man died. Why?”
““Huh?””
The other two answered her with slack-jawed stares.
“That’s the whole problem? Clarification, not a question,” said Haruto.
“If this winds up being the kind of crap we’d never solve in fifteen
questions,” Itsuki said, “you better get prepared for one severe tongue-
lashing, girl.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Nayuta gave a confident nod at them both as they began working on the
question.
“He made a jump and died? Did he jump off a building or mess up a ski
jump or…? Well, did he die in a fall?”
“No.”
“What?” Haruto exclaimed. “Is this kind of like my question, where it
depends on how you interpret the word jump? Was the man in debt?”
In Japanese financial parlance, someone who extended the period on their
loan after paying nothing but interest on it was said to be “jumping” the loan.
In other words, Haruto reasoned, the man might’ve had money issues. But
Nayuta quickly disappointed him.

“I don’t know. Let’s go with no.”
“It’s not money… Um… Did someone else kill him?”
“No.”
“Did the man have a little sister?!”
“I have no idea,” Nayuta bluntly answered Itsuki.
“Please stop wasting questions on that…,” Haruto pleaded. “Did the man
fall from a really big height?”
“No.”
“No? So it’s not like the shock of falling gave him a heart attack halfway
down, huh? It’s someone who died jumping but not falling really far… Did
he hang himself?”
“No.”
“Did he die inside a room?”
“No.”
“Did he die outdoors?”
“Not…outdoors, no.”
“So not inside and not outside…? Did he die someplace dangerous?”
“Yes.”
Despite all his questions, Haruto still struggled to find the crux of the
query.
“…Are we in modern-day Japan here?” Itsuki asked out of the blue,
recalling what Nayuta had asked Haruto a moment ago.
Nayuta’s eyebrows twitched a little. “…No.”
“It’s not modern Japan? Is it some other country?”
“Yes. Probably.”
“Probably…?”
“I mean, it’s not that important, really, whether it’s in Japan or not.
Although I guess the location is kind of a key point…”
Haruto’s eyes brightened.
“Is this taking place in reality?”
Nayuta took a moment to respond.
“…No.”
“Ah-haaaa… I think I got it…” Haruto flashed a somewhat concerned-
looking smile.
“What do you mean?” a still-oblivious Itsuki asked.
“…We’re in the world of video games, aren’t we?” Haruto pressed.

“…Yes,” said Nayuta, and the edges of her lips curled upward.
“Is this the guy from Spelunker?”
“…Yeah,” the crestfallen Nayuta admitted.
“Nayu…,” Haruto began, a mix of relief and wry irony on his face. “I hate
to say this, but I think that was a pretty shitty one. Way better than Itsuki’s,
but…”
“Aww…”
“Huh? Um, a game?” Itsuki burbled, still lost at sea.
“There’s this old action game called Spelunker,” Haruto explained. “You
play this guy exploring a bunch of ruins so he can discover a bunch of
treasure at the bottom. But the game got famous because your character’s,
like, a total wimp, even weaker than any of us. He’ll die if a bat takes a shit
on him or if he falls even a little less than his own height. If you make him
jump off a cliff, he’ll die in midair before he even hits the ground.”
“…Oh, yeah, I think I saw a video of that on the Net once! It’s this game
that’s notorious for being really crappy, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Spelunker is not a crappy game!”
Nayuta suddenly exploded, clearly peeved.
“I mean, all right, Mr. Spelunker tends to die a lot, but if you’re willing to
accept that as the rules of the game, it’s never deliberately unfair to you. If
you die, it’s like you always know that it was your fault you died, not the
game’s! And now the game’s gotten all famous because of how wimpy you
are, so people jump to the conclusion that it must be really bad, even though
they’ve never played it. I hate that!”
“Oh…”
“Um…okay?”
It was rare for Nayuta to lose her temper like this. Rare enough that it
gave both Haruto and Itsuki pause.
…Back when she had spent all her time cooped up at home, she had
played a ton of free or cheap-to-download old games on the Internet, and she
was still a fan of retro games today.
“Here, let me show you! We can play Spelunker right now!”
Seizing the momentum, Nayuta wound up purchasing Spelunker via
Virtual Console on the nearby Wii system. The experience was eye opening

to Haruto—“It’s hard, but if you’re careful, you can make it pretty far,” he
admitted, “so I guess it’s not that unfair”—but Itsuki kept dying on the first
few screens. “See?” he complained. “It really is crappy!”
This, however, created the kernel of an idea within Itsuki’s mind—a
Spelunker-style little sister who keeps dying immediately. He writes a
proposal posthaste, sends it to his editor, and has it rejected. Why?

Baring All
It was the end of January, and Miyako, free from her end-of-semester exams,
was over at Itsuki’s place.
“…Hey,” he greeted her after she rang the doorbell.
“Oh, Itsuki! I, um, I wrapped up the last of my exams today, so I got a lot
of free time! So I just thought I’d stop by and tell you! And, um, if there’s
anything you need me to do, I’m open to whatever, so…”
Her voice seemed to be speeding up midsentence as she blushed at him.
Then she noticed what Itsuki was wearing. It made her do a dubious double
take.
“Um, are you going somewhere?”
Itsuki had a coat and a scarf on, looking ready to leave at any moment, but
he shook his head at Miyako anyway.
The explanation for this was provided by Nayuta’s shouting from inside.
“Itsukiii! Shut the doooor! You’re letting the wind inside!”
“Just come in,” he prompted.
“Um, okay,” Miyako meekly answered.
It was just as cold inside as out, with Nayuta lying half-covered by the
blanket of the kotatsu table, dressed in as many layers as Itsuki and reading a
manga magazine. “Congrats on finishing your exams, Myaa,” she said,
turning only her face to greet her.
“Thanks, Nayu. Man, it’s kinda cold in here! Why don’t you have the heat
on?”
“…Because it broke this morning. It just had to be today, too… Brr,”
Itsuki said as he threw himself under the kotatsu with a shiver, taking a
moment to glare at the air-conditioning unit above his head. “I’m deeply
disappointed in you…”
“Did you call anyone about it?”

“Yeah, but they said they can’t show up for three days. This kotatsu’s
keeping us from freezing to death, at least, but I can’t do any work like this.”
“Why don’t you just go to the store and get a cheap room heater?”
“Mmm… Well, there’s one other option left…,” Nayuta said, sitting up
and showing Itsuki an advertisement from his magazine. “Itsuki, what about
this?”
It was a two-page spread showing a group of swimsuit-clad beauties
screaming “The beach!!!” in unison.
“…? You want us to go take the polar plunge somewhere in this
weather?”
“No! This manga’s set around a school trip in Okinawa.”
“Okinawa…! We could do that!”
“We could, yes!”
Seeing Itsuki and Nayuta relate to each other over this unnerved Miyako a
bit. “Wait a sec, guys,” she interjected. “What are you suggesting? I mean, I
guess Okinawa’s warm during the winter, but you aren’t gonna go fly there
right now, are you?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Itsuki instantly agreed.
“You should come along with us, Myaa!”
“Huh? Me?!”
“You just finished up your tests, right? I could pay for your ticket!”
“Whoa, Nayu, I couldn’t… I mean, money wouldn’t be the issue, so…”
“Great, so we’re all set! Me, you, and Itsuki in Okinawa!”
“We’re what? Already? Huhh?!”
Faced with Nayuta’s supremely joyful grin, Miyako found it impossible to
say no.
And thus, that was that.
It being the off-season, securing plane tickets and hotel reservations turned
out to be the easy part. All three of them were on the island of Okinawa by
nightfall.
“I can’t believe we’re really here… I mean…is Okinawa really the kind of

place you just zoom off to because it feels a little nippy out?” Miyako
whispered as they walked down the airport hallway, carrying only a small
bag with her.
“Hah-hah-hah! I’m finally back home, Okinawa!” Itsuki bellowed,
twirling his long black coat like a medieval cape.
“Huh? Were you born here?”
“…No. But I did visit around two years ago.”
“Oh. Where did you go then?”
“To the hotel.”
“Well, yeah, but what kind of sightseeing did you do? Any activities?”
“No, nothing, really.”
“Um…”
“It was August, so everything was friggin’ packed with tourists, and the
sun was so hot I felt like I was melting. So I wound up spending all three
days in the hotel.”
“Wow, are you an idiot?”
Itsuki blushed at Miyako’s frank and honest impression. “What do you
mean, ‘an idiot’? It’s my vacation! I can do whatever I want!”
“Sure, but…that is stupid, you know.”
“N-no it’s not… You’re stupid for thinking it’s stupid…”
Itsuki himself regretted the memory of that trip enough that not even he
bothered to put up a vigorous defense.
“…Th-this time, though, I’m gonna learn from the past and take in
everything Okinawa’s got to offer! …Sure is hot, though. I’m startin’ to not
wanna go outside.”
“True… I can’t believe this is January,” Nayuta said, wiping the sweat
from her brow.
“They said it’s in the low sixties here,” Miyako added. “That’s Okinawa
for you…always warm… You know, guys, maybe you wouldn’t be so hot if
you took off a layer or two.”
“Oh, right!”
“Good point.”
They took off their coats, only to reveal knit sweaters underneath. They
wound up buying T-shirts and underwear at the souvenir shop before taking a
taxi to their hotel in Okinawa’s capital city of Naha. Itsuki took up a single
room, while Miyako and Nayuta shared one with two beds.

“Hey, Myaa, you wanna trade rooms with Itsuki?”
“No! We can’t do that!”
“Aww… I look forward to staying with you, though, Myaa.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Miyako said, patting the smiling, undulating Nayuta on the
head.
After quickly freshening up in their rooms, the trio headed to a nearby
izakaya for dinner. This was Okinawa, after all, and a ton of local cuisine was
served family-style—taco rice (Tex-Mex-style seasoned beef over rice), goya
champuru (bitter melon stir-fry with pork or Spam), rafute (pork ribs), sea
grapes (a type of edible tropical seaweed), and fried gurukun (the most
common fish in Okinawa), one of the island’s most well-known saltwater fish
species.
Itsuki and Miyako toasted the meal over a couple of jugs of beer seasoned
with hibiscus extract. The light, refreshing sweet-and-sour flavor couldn’t be
beat in hot weather. (This extract is available on the Net, allowing you to
create your own anytime you’d like. It’s best mixed into lighter varieties,
such as a nice Belgian white or Okinawa’s hometown Orion beer.) Nayuta,
not quite being the legal age to drink yet, had to make do with hibiscus juice
instead.
“…Mm. This is nice.”
“Yeah. It goes great with the goya champuru.”
Nayuta puffed her cheeks out at the sight of Itsuki and Miyako savoring
all the flavors they were taking in.
“Aw, I want some, too…”
“Nope. Wait until you’re twenty years old.”
“Yeah,” Itsuki added, “just enjoy your little-kid juice for now.”
“…Is that why you won’t look at me as a romantic partner, Itsuki?
Because I’m not of drinking age?”
“Bpph!!” Itsuki spat out the beer in his mouth. As he furiously wiped the
table and his mouth with a washcloth, he added, “Um, what was that? I didn’t
hear you.”
“…Isn’t it a lot more painful to pretend you didn’t hear me after that
insane overreaction? So am I too young to be of any romantic interest to you,
Itsuki, or not?” Nayuta said, staring at the barefaced liar before her.
“Oh, did you say something? Geez, they’ve got the music up so loud in
this place, you can barely hear anything.” Itsuki kept up the wooden-doll act

as Nayuta doggedly pursued the issue.
“I need you, Itsuki.”
“You need a Jew? Sorry, I’m not that religious.”
“We’re driven together by destiny.”
“Oh, did you buy a car?”
“Let’s have sex.”
“Mmm, I like the trumpet more than the sax, myself.”
“…Now I’m wondering how long you can keep this going. You can cop a
feel whenever you like, y’know.”
“Cop? Did someone commit a crime?”
“Fuck me now!”
“Hockey? On a tropical island? Yeah, right.”
“…This is getting painful.”
“And you’re kinda stretching the definition of romantic confessions.”
“I want your cummies!”
“E. E. Cummings? Boy, some of his poems were pretty off the wall,
weren’t they? And that’s still not an admission of love.”
“…Okay, let’s class it up a little. It’s a beautiful moon, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.”
“Huh? Um, that was the way that Natsume Soseki translated—”
“I know! I was just stringing you along!”
It was how the great author Soseki had famously translated the English
term I love you into Japanese, his reasoning being that the term love didn’t
have a direct counterpart in the rarefied literary language of nineteenth-
century Japan.
“Well, I adore you for it, Itsuki.”
“……A durian? Nah, those things smell… Hey, can we knock this off?
It’s starting to tire me out.”
“Sure, if you let me have some beer.”
“Go suck on an egg, kid,” Itsuki replied, stabbing at one of the full-size
boiled eggs by the rafute with his chopsticks and offering it to her. With a
soft “Glom,” she took the whole thing into her mouth, chopsticks and all.
“Mpph…mmm…psshht…”
“Would you stop licking your lips like that?”
He took the sticks out of Nayuta’s mouth while she clearly made a
spectacle out of licking her chops as loudly and moistly as possible. The edge

of one chopstick was connected to her lips by a low-arcing line of spittle.
“Wow, Itsuki. Planting one of your balls right in front of my face? Maybe
you are a little too kinky for me.”
“Would you cut it out with the lewd phrasing?”
Cheeks ablush, Itsuki refocused on his dinner as Nayuta grabbed one of
the fried fish bits with her own chopsticks.
…And as they were tossing bon mots at each other, Miyako was in a
miniature panic, eyes darting back and forth between the two, wondering
when—or if—she should finally intervene.
Back at the hotel, Itsuki turned on his laptop and got to work. He’d had only
one round of beer, so he wasn’t drunk enough to be knocked out for the night,
and the filling tropical meal and gentle evening breeze through the window—
in January, no less—did more than enough to refresh his mind. Work
proceeded quickly as a result. It almost made Itsuki consider wintering in
Okinawa from now on, before he finally got tired out after almost two hours.
Just as he considered turning in, there was a knock on the door. He
opened it to find Miyako on the other side. Her hair was a little wet, and she
had a FamilyMart convenience store bag in her hand.
“They had all kinds of booze I’d never seen before,” she said, “so I
bought some. Wanna join me?” Her eyes were a bit glazed over, her cheeks
flushed, and her voice oddly bright for this late in the evening, convincing
Itsuki that she had gotten a head start.
“…Where’s Kanikou?”
“Nayu took a bath and went straight to bed.”
“Oh.”
Inviting herself into the room, Miyako took a few cans out of the bag and
lined them up on the table. From the Nangoku Chuhai to the Orion Southern
Star and Special X beers, Itsuki hadn’t seen any of the brand names over on
Japan’s main island.
“The convenience stores in Okinawa are crazy! They sell taco-rice bentos
and rice balls with pork meatballs inside them—and, like, limited-time

burgers and snacks and stuff. And they were selling soba noodles in the oden
food display, too. Oh, and tons of regional juice and stuff in the vending
machines!”
“Yeah, I know. I got all my meals out of the convenience store last time I
was here.”
“Wow, can’t say I can praise you for that,” a stunned Miyako replied as
she pulled the tab on the Southern Star and began sipping it. Itsuki, for his
part, was tackling the shequasar-and-pine-flavored Nangoku Chuhai, another
Okinawa-exclusive flavor combo. He hadn’t had anything to drink while
writing, so he realized for the first time that he was pretty thirsty.
“How is that?”
“Oh, not bad,” he replied after glugging it down to quench his thirst.
“Yeah? I guess this is just okay. Wish I had some of that hibiscus extract
to pour in it.”
The two of them continued chatting as they turned to their second cans,
Miyako unsure which one to go with.
“Hey, Itsuki?”
“Mm?”
“What do you think about Nayu, anyway?”
“She’s a pervert,” he immediately replied.
“Yeah, um… Well, yeah, I guess so! But being told she loves you all the
time like that… I mean, have you ever thought about going out with her, a
little?”
“…Think about it, huh…? I already turned her down. Like, ages ago.”
Thanks to the alcohol, Itsuki was having a bit of trouble focusing his eyes.
“R-really? When?!”
“…”
He opened the Special X and took a swig, letting out a quick burp that
sounded oddly cute to Miyako along the way.
He explained to her that Nayuta had come back to his apartment three
days after her first visit to ask what he thought of her debut work and of her
love confession. Apparently, he replied, “I can’t be that way with you,” and
that was that. Nayuta burst into tears on the spot, and Itsuki, as he put it, still
recalled what an ass he felt like, watching her fall to her knees and cry in his
apartment. Even if it wasn’t particularly his fault, he felt completely
worthless, unable to do anything to help.

When Nayuta turned to leave, head hung down low, he heard her whisper,
“…Will you still talk to me, Mr. Hashima?” Itsuki was so racked with guilt
that he hesitantly said, “S-sure, of course. I mean…I’d always love to have
another novelist friend or two.”
…He didn’t expect that would mean Nayuta would visit his apartment
again the very next day.
Still, after just claiming he’d “love” to have another friend, he found it a
bit too cruel to summarily kick her out. So he invited her in, and they started
playing some game or another together. Then she visited again and again,
which brought them to their current relationship.
“Ohhhh…”
“‘Ohhhh’ what?”
“Mm. I just felt kind of guilty. All this time, I had pictured you as this
bastard who kept dodging any actual commitment with this cute girl hanging
around you but giving her just enough positive reinforcement so she stuck
around.”
“…You did?” Itsuki gave her a bleary glare.
She grinned apologetically. “Why don’t you two just become a couple? I
mean, she’s cute, and—wait. Never mind. I take that back.”
“?”
Miyako took her eyes off the perplexed Itsuki.
Why aren’t you a couple?
She remembered one of her friends asking her the same question multiple
times and how it had always put her on the spot. It wasn’t as if she minded
hanging with people she didn’t like just because they were handsome or
smart or captain of the soccer team or rich or had a bright future ahead of
them or whatever. Maybe she’d start to like him over time if she kept it up.
It’s just that people kept assuming that they’d get together—that it’d be weird
if they didn’t—and Miyako resented that.
“…So you really don’t think anything about her?” she ventured again.
“Well, that’s a stupid question.” Itsuki turned his face away from her. “…I
don’t think nothing about her, no. And that’s what makes this so shitty.”
Seeing his shockingly reddened profile almost made Miyako want to cry
on the spot.
“…Have you ever read Kanikou’s books, Miyako?” he whispered, eyes
still downturned.

“…No,” she replied.
“…You should, as long as you have no writing aspirations for the future.
If you don’t, you’re seriously losing out. You had the free time to read my
stuff; you should really devote it to Nayuta Kani’s instead…”
He delivered it almost like a monologue, then capped it off by falling to
his side and instantly starting to snore. Hearing this unfamiliar, amazingly
unarrogant side of Itsuki came as a shock to Miyako.
“…Guess you got a lot on your plate, too…”
The next morning, the three of them were discussing the day’s itinerary over
breakfast at the hotel restaurant.
“This is our first trip to Okinawa,” Miyako began, “so we gotta hit up
Shuri Castle and the Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium. Beyond that, you guys
got any recommendations for the island in the winter? Anything you wanna
do?”
“Um…”
“Meww?”
The responses from Itsuki and Nayuta, both of their eyelids still heavy
from fatigue, were rather sluggish as they chewed on their grilled fish.
“I said, do you have any place you wanna go?”
“…Ooh, not so loud. It’s ringing in my head…” Itsuki winced.
“What, are you hungover?”
“…Don’t be stupid… Who gets hungover after a single can of beer…?”
“One can…? Do you even remember what you did last night?”
“Um… I was writing late at night, and I must’ve dozed off sometime…”
Miyako sighed at Itsuki. He really didn’t remember. And she wasn’t much
in the mood to clue him in. After their deep conversation, she’d spent a while
longer drinking as she’d enjoyed the sight of Itsuki sleeping like a baby. It’d
be a little weird if that got out.
“So you wanna go somewhere, or what?”
“Mmngh… Desert island.”
Miyako raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“…In the next volume, I have this event where the hero and his little sister
get marooned on a desert island. I wanted to get some material.”
“Hmm… Well, maybe there’s an uninhabited island we can check out
nearby. I’ll do some research.”
And so, just a bit after noon, the three of them arrived at one of Okinawa’s
outlying islands.
Chatting with the hotel staff and a guy who worked at the place where
they had lunch, Miyako had tracked down an island that, at this time of year,
was unlikely to have anyone on it.
“Thank God we have Myaa with us, huh, Itsuki?” Nayuta chirped.
“…Yeah,” Itsuki replied.
When it came to hotels, flight reservations, and other things he could buy
as part of a prearranged system, Itsuki could handle that, no problem.
Actually talking to live human beings and getting info out of them,
meanwhile, was an ordeal. Having Miyako and her superior communication
skills handle that was a godsend for him.
Just as her contacts had suggested, there were no tourists on the island
today besides the three of them. It was a small one, too. They had been
walking down a narrow path, snapping pictures on their phones, and all too
soon they were on the opposite beach from where they’d started, the blue
ocean spread before them.
“Wow…,” Miyako sighed.
“Iiiit’s beach time!” Nayuta intoned as if they were in a poorly acted
anime scene, flipping off her shoes and mincing her way across the sand.
“Ooh, it’s cold! Guess I should’ve expected that.” Miyako joined her,
removing her shoes and planting her feet into the crystal-clear waters.
“We should swim in it anyway, Myaa! We’re here and all!”
“What are you, crazy? We don’t have any swimsuits.”
“What do we need those for?” countered Nayuta calmly. “There’s nobody
heeeere…”
“Huh?” Miyako blankly asked as Nayuta began to wriggle out of her T-
shirt. “Whoa! What’re you doing, Nayu? Itsuki, look away!”
“Y-yeah, I know!”

He had reflexively turned around, not needing what Nayuta was doing
spelled out for him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Nayuta had her shirt and
skirt off, flinging her panties into the air before falling straight into the water,
not a stitch on her.
The way she shouted “Splassssh!” only added to the bizarreness. Some of
the resulting spray landed on Miyako’s clothing.
“Hey! Come on! Put your clothes on!”
“It’s so cold, Myaa!” Nayuta opened her eyes wide, as if this came as a
surprise to her.
“Of course it is!”
“I, um, I think it’s fine, though. You come in, too, Myaa!”
Nayuta stood up and began splashing more water in Miyako’s direction.
Every time she swung her arms, she drummed up some remarkably wide-
ranging sprays, considering her small size.
“Agh, that’s cold! You’re getting me wet!”
“C’mon! You too, Itsuki!”
“You dumbass!” Itsuki shouted as he ran off, taking pains not to turn
toward Nayuta.
“Knock it off, Nayu!”
“We were in the same public bath together last night, Myaa!”
“So what?!”
In the waters, which were painted a dazzling array of sparkling colors by
the sun, the way Nayuta spun her silver hair and pale limbs around in her
torrents of water made her look like some kind of demented water spirit. It
was even starting to make Miyako’s heart race, despite her preference for the
opposite sex. It was a portal to an alien world out there in the sea, and if she
waded in there, too, she might just become part of the fantasy realm
unfolding inside.
It was oddly exciting. Oddly irresistible. She had to follow those
emotions.
“Ughh! Itsuki! You keep an eye on the beach! You peek, and I’ll break
your collarbone!”
Without waiting for a reply, Miyako tore off her clothes and followed
Nayuta into the sea. She ran as if she were trying to traverse the water’s
surface, shrieking “Ahhh, it’s collld!!” all the while.
“Over here, Myaa.”

“All right! You happy now?!”
“Nyaaah!”
Nayuta splashed more water her way, enjoying every moment. Miyako
fought back.
“Oh Godddd, what am I even doooing?!”
Even this far south, the sea in January wasn’t exactly warm. Going into it
buck naked really was pretty stupid. I’m doing something right now I
wouldn’t even dream of doing. If my college friends saw me, what would they
even think?
“Nya-hah-hah!”
And this girl in front of her, carrying on like a child, hanging around her
and giving her affection as if they were sisters, was apparently this genius-
level writer who made Itsuki Hashima—someone Miyako already found
impressive—say de facto “forget about me” by comparison.
Ever since she’d met Itsuki, she had fallen into the habit of reading
novels, making occasional inroads into manga, games, and anime as well, but
Nayuta Kani’s work was still unfamiliar to Miyako. She had avoided it, in
fact. She had the vague impression that somehow, if she read her stuff, she
wouldn’t be able to interact with Nayuta the way she did now.
But the Landscape series was enough of a bestseller that most bookstores
gave it prominent positioning. Whenever Miyako ordered a book on Amazon,
Nayuta’s stuff would show up high in the “Customers who bought this item
also bought” section all the time. She couldn’t help but notice it. Every
volume of hers had several hundred reviews, most of them fawning—almost
into the realm of worship sometimes, with people claiming this book
“changed [their] life” or “saved” them.
It made Miyako wonder, Have I ever changed someone’s life? Or saved
them?
As the guy on the 10,000-yen bill wrote, “It is said that heaven does not
create one man above or below another man. But that doesn’t, like, mean
everybody’s equal in real life, either.”
That made sense to Miyako. People aren’t equal. Nayuta Kani was more
valuable than her. And she was less valuable than Nayuta Kani. And, she
thought, someone like herself had no right to interfere in her love affairs.
The tears came rolling down. They were quickly washed away by the
plumes of water Nayuta was splashing at her, impossible to notice.

Meanwhile…
“I’m the one who should be saying that. What am I even doing?”
Itsuki was seated behind a boulder and staring at the sky. Two naked
women were shouting at each other just on the other side of it. If someone
asked whether he wanted to look or not—hell yeah, he wanted to look. And
he probably wouldn’t get caught, either, if he peeked out from behind the
crag.
But Itsuki boldly resisted the urge. He was here on this desert island for
research purposes. The captain of the boat they’d taken had warned him to
watch for poisonous vipers, so he couldn’t go exploring by himself. Vipers
sounded scary.
“Talk about a snake in the grass…”
And as time continued to crawl, second after anguishing second, he
couldn’t help but wish he had been smart enough to bring his computer
along.
After taking the boat back to Okinawa’s main island, they toured Shuri Castle
and bumped around International Avenue, Naha’s largest thoroughfare,
picking up some souvenirs as they did.
They spent most of their second full day at the Churaumi Aquarium,
gawking at the whale sharks, then had a fast-food dinner at A&W. The four
root-beer refills Nayuta enjoyed there laid so much waste to her GI tract that
they almost missed their flight back home.
But make it back to Tokyo they did, later that night, although they almost
froze their asses off all over again returning home before snuggling back
around the kotatsu. The HVAC guy came to fix the system the next day, and
then everything was back to normal.
Itsuki had dug the whale sharks so much—even buying a bunch of cheap
merchandise at the aquarium before he’d left—that he quickly whipped up a
new book proposal centered around the tale of a little sister who lived naked
on a desert island with her brother, who was cursed and turned into a whale

shark.
“Hey,” his editor Toki said, “that might actually work. Kind of a fairy-tale
fantasy love story. It could be a new Itsuki Hashima frontier to explore.” But
he rejected it anyway. Itsuki was adamant that the man must be doomed to be
a whale shark forever and united with his sister underneath the churning
waters, and Toki just couldn’t wrap his head around the feel-good climax.

Gods
It probably doesn’t need to be said, but the stories Itsuki Hashima, Haruto
Fuwa, and Nayuta Kani wrote all fell under the genre of “light novels.”
The term has become widely known in recent years, but even now, it lacks
any sort of concrete definition, despite all the (pointless) arguing people have
done over it. That’s because no matter what rubric you attempt to use to
classify them—by content, by packaging, by writing style, by author, by
publisher, by target audience, by genre, by characters, and so on and so on—
it’s too easy to come up with several examples that defy the rules.
The series Light Novel Club includes a section where the hero, Misaki
Asaba, provides a few sample books generally perceived as light novels,
more or less, and says, “Yeah, those are light novels, I guess.” Just like her,
people in real life are forced to make these vague judgments, with no solid
definition to rely upon. She was doing the best job she could, really.
So let’s try taking Asaba’s approach. A “light novel” is the sort of novel
published by prestigious, leading Japanese light novel publishers like our
very own Shogakukan Gagaga Bunko, featuring (usually) anime- or
manga-style art on the cover. That, in a very lazy, hazy sort of way, sums it
up.
Packaging, it turns out, is vitally important for almost any product, not
just books. It refers to almost anything that attracts the customer’s attention
and drives them to make a purchase—in a book’s case, the cover, the title, the
obi description, and the blurb on the back or the side flaps.
For a light novel, the most important thing of all—the pillars that keep the
whole package upright—is the illustrations (with some exceptions). No
matter how charming the characters, no matter how much the story grabs you
by the heart and doesn’t let go, nobody’s going to notice if they never pick
the book up in the first place.

The industry isn’t so easy to profit in that a decent package means a
bestseller 100 percent of the time, but the fact of it is, if you don’t have a
good package, nobody will read it. You can’t even throw your hat in the ring,
so to speak. This fact isn’t necessarily restricted to light novels, either—
nearly anyone involved with product development has encountered it one
time or another.
So to light novel writers like Itsuki and his cohorts, the illustrators
handling their books were a vital part of their continued relevance in this
field. Sort of gods in their midst. And the world of artists was polytheistic;
there might be Zeus-types with omnipotent skills, gods you couldn’t really
rely on much, gods with tons of ability but not much in the way of stability,
even accursed gods who caused problems and (on rare occasions)
actively damaged their books, authors, and publishers. Generally, however,
they were considered holy presences, worthy of great honor and respect.
Itsuki was, right now, playing with one of these gods. Setsuna Ena, to be
exact, a young man sitting across the kotatsu from him. He had a
mischievous, puppy-dog-like face and a body about as diminutive and thin as
Itsuki’s. His hair was dyed a trifecta of colors, mostly blue, and his clothing
was frilly, colorful, and unique—the “Harajuku style,” as some people called
it.
At the age of sixteen, he was an intensely popular artist, working on titles
like Genesis Sisters of the New World (Itsuki’s second series) under the
handle “Puriketsu,” which literally meant “Jiggly Ass.” He was great at
drawing cute girls, and he had an inimitable knack for drawing asses with the
perfect amount of jiggle.
Volume 1 of Genesis Sisters of the New World remained Itsuki’s most
reprinted individual release, and it wouldn’t be going too far to say that Itsuki
had punched his ticket into the Bestselling Authors Fun Club thanks to
Setsuna over here. And for some reason, this god among men had taken a
shining to both Itsuki’s work and Itsuki himself, hanging out at his place even
though Genesis Sisters had long wrapped up.
“Thirty-seven points,” Itsuki said, reading his score after the game ended.
“Dah, I’m thirty-five. Close! All I needed was one more sheep!”
“Hah-hah-hah! It’s talent, man, talent! Bah-hah-hah-hah-hah!”
Itsuki was nothing if not a sore winner.

They were playing a game called Agricola: All Creatures Big and Small, a
special version of the Euro-style board game Agricola, tweaked for two
players only, rather than the original’s two to five. In Japan it had earned the
nickname Futaricola, a portmanteau of Agricola and futari, or “two people.”
Each player took the role of a farming couple tasked with building their
household’s facilities and expanding their count of livestock. Whichever
player had the more bountiful farm after eight turns was the winner.
The main difference between Futaricola and its predecessor was that it
had no luck-based elements, no dice to roll or cards to draw from a pile. It
was, to use technical terms, a “two-player, zero-sum, logically perfect
information game,” akin to Go, chess, reversi, and so on. Games without luck
elements were at their most exciting when played by people of roughly equal
skills, and Setsuna and Itsuki were perfectly matched in that way.
“Boy, it sure is exciting to play Futaricola with you, sir! Want another
game?”

Itsuki shook his head at Setsuna’s cheerful request.
“I gotta come up with a new proposal by the end of today.”
“Aww,” Setsuna replied, pouting. It made him look even more puppy-
dog-like.
“Don’t ‘aww’ at me. You’re the one who came in without any notice.”
Setsuna rarely provided any. He didn’t have any cell phone at all, smart or
dumb, so the only way to reach him was by e-mail on his PC or by calling
him on his home’s landline. He was often out of the house, almost never
checked his mail, and didn’t bother picking up the line when he was drawing,
making communication exceedingly difficult. This had put a tremendous
strain on things during work on Genesis Sisters of the New World—
particularly on their editor Kenjiro Toki, who developed a stomach ulcer
midway through.
“Ah, what’s the big deal, sir? You’re practically home all the time
anyway.”
“Hah-hah-hah! You fool! I was over in Okinawa until the day before
yesterday!”
“Whoa, really? Cool! I’m impressed.”
“Heh-heh! Jealous, huh? …Here’s something for you.”
Itsuki took out a box of chinsuko, a traditional biscuit sold for people to
bring home from Okinawa, and handed it to Setsuna.
“Wow, thanks! Did you have fun down there?”
“Yep. I saw a whale shark.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them! Like, really huge, right?”
“Yeah, it was gigantic. Up close in person, it’s totally crazy. Something
that huge just makes you melt on the spot.”
“Yeah? Hey, isn’t that a whale-shark strap on your phone case?” The
sharp-eyed Setsuna spotted the charm dangling from Itsuki’s phone. “You
must really like ’em, huh?”
“Uh-huh. I wanted to put one in my next story, too.”
“Whoa, really?”
“…Until my lame-ass editor rejected it.”
“Whoa, really? What was it about?”
Itsuki recapped the general gist—the tale of a whale shark and his nudist
human sister.
“Holy crap! That’s awesome, sir!”

“Heh-heh-heh! Yeah, ain’t it?”
He couldn’t help but laugh at how honestly impressed Setsuna seemed.
“But how’s a fish gonna have sex with a girl? I saw this documentary on
TV that showed salmon laying eggs, but first the female lays the eggs, and
then the dude blows his load all over them!”
“No problem there. Sharks actually fertilize their eggs inside the female’s
body, unlike most fish. They’ve got genitals for it and everything.”
“Whoa, really? Sharks have dicks?”
“Mm-hmm. That’s why the climax was gonna be so awesome. The story
and setting work in perfect harmony, and it only works because the hero’s a
shark! And my asshole editor didn’t understand a damn word of it!”
“Here, lemme try drawing that!” Setsuna shouted, whipping out his
sketchbook and a mechanical pencil.
“Draw what?”
Before Itsuki’s astonished eyes, Setsuna was sketching out an illustration
at a blazing speed.
“Is that…?”
He was drawing, essentially, what Itsuki had just described—a scene
depicting a whale shark in natural unity with a beautiful girl under the sea.
“Here! Kinda like this!”
The naked woman on the unruled sheet was impaled by something
sprouting out of the shark’s lower body, a look of bliss upon her face. From
afar, it merely looked as if she was swimming alongside the beast, but the
entire piece of artwork reeked of obscenity nonetheless. It left an
otherworldly, fantasy-like impression, as if the observer were himself floating
in the warm tropical blue waters, marveling at the girl’s jiggly bubble butt
from up close.
Despite being drawn with nothing but a mechanical pencil, it was already
high-quality enough to serve as an in-the-book illustration. It was so good,
Itsuki honestly felt Toki would change his mind and give him the green light
if they showed this to him. He had to pause for a moment to observe, to take
it all in. It was all there—the moving climax, the picture in his mind he was
trying to express with this novel. Even better than anything he’d pictured.
“Boy, I could go for some ikura sushi right now!” Setsuna observed,
apropos of nothing.
“Sushi?” Itsuki parroted, not following him.

“We were just talking about salmon, remember? Now I’m kinda hungry
for some!”
“…Why don’t you go out and do that, then?”
“You oughta come with, sir!”
“…Well, if you want.” Itsuki nodded, not thinking much about it.
It was past sundown by the time Itsuki and Setsuna arrived in Hokkaido.
“How did this happen…?” Itsuki groaned as he set foot in New Chitose
Airport, the expression on his face reminiscent of Miyako’s when she’d
arrived in Okinawa.
He’d been expecting to head for some nearby sushi joint with Setsuna for
their ikura salmon-roe feast, but then he’d started cajoling him further. “If
we’re gonna go out,” he’d said, “we might as well eat some really awesome
salmon, sir! And nobody does salmon better than Hokkaido!”
Itsuki agreed, still revved up from his previous trip. “I was just in
Okinawa two days ago,” he reasoned as he made the plane and hotel
reservations. “Might as well cover the northern tip of Japan, too!” The
arrangements were a little trickier this time, with the enormous Sapporo
Snow Festival in full swing, but it all fell into place anyway. “Might as well,”
indeed.
And despite traveling to Hokkaido in search of salmon caviar, Setsuna
kicked off the trip by chowing down on a bowl of miso ramen at an airport
restaurant. “Hey, I was hungry!” he protested, grinning. “If you’re in
Hokkaido, you gotta try out the ramen, sir!”
You could’ve gone for something with actual seafood in it, Itsuki thought,
but his own ramen was too delicious to get too worked up about it. This was
his first time on Japan’s northern island, so he figured he should enjoy the
ride.
So they hopped on a train to their hotel in Sapporo. Then, when they left
Sapporo Station, they noticed something: the cold and the howling wind.
“G-geez, I’m freezing…! This is nuts! How can people live in this?! I’m
going home!”

There was a light blizzard going on as Itsuki shivered, making it hard to
assess his surroundings. Setsuna was even more lightly dressed than he was,
but he remained chipper, singing “Winter, Again” from pop group GLAY as
he traipsed along the sidewalk.
“Hm hmm hmmm, hmmm hm hmm hmm hmm hmm hm hmmmm… ”
He was actually singing the lyrics (and he was good, too), but our
publisher didn’t want to pay the licensing fees.
“Singing about taking your girlfriend up to Hokkaido in the winter…
Takuro must be some kind of sadist… You know where the hotel is?”
Setsuna gave Itsuki a blank stare. “Huh? Wasn’t it pretty much this way?”
“……Give me a sec.” Itsuki looked the hotel up on his phone. “…We’re
going the complete opposite direction, dumbass! Dahhh! Hmmm, hmm hmm
hmmmm…”
Itsuki was so troubled by this turn of events that he began singing
T.M.Revolution’s “White Breath” (the lyrics, again, are left to the
imagination) as he followed his phone’s screen to the hotel.
The next morning was kicked off at a restaurant, where the two of them each
ordered rather opulent bowls of sashimi served over rice. They were
practically overflowing with sea urchin, salmon roe, and crab legs, with piles
of northern shrimp and scallops enshrined upon the apex. There were clearly
far more toppings than actual rice.
“This is way too much!”
“Ha-ha-ha! I’ve never seen anything like this!”
The two were shocked and delighted at the meal. Once they actually
finished eating it, though, Itsuki moaned, “I think I’m done with sea urchin
and roe for a while…”
“Yeah,” Setsuna drowsily agreed. “I had no idea too much of that could
actually make you sick…”
“…You know, I never understood why they included the ginger and the
shiso leaves at the top of these bowls, but now I do. I need some vegetables,
bad…”

Either way, they had set out to eat salmon roe, and salmon roe was eaten.
They had reserved the hotel for only one night, and their flight back was that
afternoon, so they checked out, traveled right back to the airport, shopped a
little in the terminal, and ate some jingisukan for lunch—mutton grilled in a
skillet, a popular meal in Hokkaido.
On their way to the flight check-in desk, Setsuna stopped in front of a
poster for the Sapporo Snow Festival.
“Hey, sir, I’m gonna stay here for another week or so.”
“Um, what’d you say?”
“Y’know, I’m here and all! I figured I oughta go see the Snow Festival,
too.”
“That’s kind of rash, isn’t it?”
“You wanna come with, sir?”
“No way. Too cold. And all those crowds!”
“Oh yeah? Okay, well, I gotta go cancel my flight, so see ya later! An’
thanks for the chinsuko!”
“Uh, sure?”
Itsuki smiled distractedly as he waved at the departing Setsuna, his mind
still a blank.
“He just goes where the wind takes him, huh…?”
With no other great ideas, Itsuki boarded the jet by himself, went back to
Tokyo, made it back to his apartment, turned on the heat, and sat by his
kotatsu. Setsuna’s drawing of the sex scene with the girl and the whale shark
was still on the table. He stared at it for a while.
Packaging could refer to an entire range of things. A single outstanding
aspect wouldn’t be enough to make a product sell; nor would a single inferior
aspect doom it to failure. The art was the most important piece of a light
novel’s packaging, but even the greatest art in the world might not be a good
match for readers’ tastes. It could clash with the cover logo or obi’s design or
give too complex an impression to work within the confines of a paperback’s
size. A high-quality work of art wasn’t necessarily the same thing as a high-
quality cover illustration.
On extremely rare occasions, however, the stars would align, and you
would come across a piece of art that singularly, overwhelmingly caught the
eye. It would work on a level beyond individual readers’ tastes or
juxtaposition with the other elements. It would shine bright, even if it wasn’t

optimized for paperback sizes, and it would all but force people’s eyes to
gaze upon it.
No doubt about it. That was exactly what Setsuna Ena had come up with.
About a year and a half ago, when the Genesis Sisters of the New World
series wrapped and it was time to launch the next franchise, Toki suggested
that Itsuki keep working with Puriketsu as his illustrator. Genesis Sisters was
a commercial success, whether it gave Toki a stomach ulcer or not, and
Setsuna himself was a fan of Itsuki’s work. It seemed like an obvious choice.
But Itsuki declined the offer anyway. “I want someone who’ll stick to his
deadlines,” he declared. “Someone who won’t go incommunicado. Someone
who’s actually a decent person.”
“True!” Toki declared at first. A bit later, he tried to walk it back. “Kind
of a shame, though,” he said. “I’d really like to keep Puriketsu on board for
this project, but if the author doesn’t want him, so be it! Such a shame,
though…”
Itsuki, though, had another reason to refuse the offer. To him, deadlines
were nothing more than nice goals to strive for. He was willing to flush them
straight down the toilet if that resulted in something better in the end. No, the
real reason, to put it succinctly: He didn’t think his work was up to snuff for
Setsuna’s art. Definitely not the other way around.
“My novels totally lose out to your art,” he explained to Setsuna later
when he (naturally) asked why Itsuki went with someone else for the next
series. “So…for now…I can’t team up with you again.”
“You’re such a kid sometimes, sir,” Setsuna replied, half laughing.
“That’s why I like you so much!”
Right now, Itsuki had a single-minded goal. Whenever he had the power
to surpass her in this craft, that was when he wanted to strike. That was when
he wanted “Illustrated by Puriketsu” on the cover, and that was when he
wanted the inside art to be just as mind-bogglingly stupendous as the story he
wrote. Then he’d stand at the very peak of the light novel industry.
Staring at the artwork Setsuna had left on the table, Itsuki replayed all
those events in his mind once more. The trips to Okinawa and Hokkaido had
recharged his mental batteries well enough.
Time to get to work.
First up, time to scan this art and make it my computer’s wallpaper.
Just as he had the thought, his editor Toki called him on the phone.

“If you’re looking for a new proposal, keep looking,” he said with a groan
instead of saying hello.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s not about that.”
“Uh?”
“I was just wondering, is Puriketsu over there?”
“…Not now, no.”
“Oh… Well, if he shows up, get his ass over to editorial for me. Break his
legs if you have to. I’ll vouch for you.”
“Um, is something up?” There was something slightly off-kilter about
Toki’s tone of voice. It gave Itsuki the chills.
“…We don’t have his cover for the month yet, and we’re going balls to
the wall to meet the deadline. I’ve been to his place every day this week, and
he’s never there.”
“Oh, really?”
Setsuna was handling illustration work for another series Toki was
managing. Toki had been dead set against assigning him to it, but the author
had insisted. As Itsuki had expected, it wasn’t exactly a well-oiled machine.
“Do you have any idea where Puriketsu might be right now, Itsuki?
’Cause I swear I’m gonna kill that little brat this time…after I have him draw
that cover…”
“Hmm…can’t say I do, no,” he lied, trying his best not to get caught up in
this. There was no doubting that Setsuna Ena was a god, the highest class of
illustrator in the business, but Itsuki hoped this god would be a little kinder to
his editor’s intestinal fortitude whenever they teamed up again.

North-Meets-South Spring Rolls
It was evening, three days after Itsuki’s return from Hokkaido, and Chihiro
was at his place, cooking dinner. His windbreaker was still on beneath his
apron as he got to work.
“Ah, hang on a sec,” Itsuki interjected.
“Hmm? What’s up?”
“I almost forgot about the crab.”
“The crab? You mean Kani?” Chihiro said, puzzled.
“No, not her.” He stood up and opened the fridge. Inside was an entire
snow crab, easily twenty inches from one end to the other.
“An actual crab?” His brother goggled. “Where the hell did you…”
“I bought it in Hokkaido.”
It had arrived this morning, packed in dry ice, and he had stuffed it in the
fridge because it was too big to fit in the freezer. It was already thawing,
assorted crab juices pooling on the bottom of the compartment, and the whole
kitchen was starting to smell.
“Wait, Bro, you went to Hokkaido? When?”
“Three days ago.”
“You didn’t say anything about that to me.”
“Well, it was kind of a rush trip. Setsuna dragged me there so we could
eat some salmon roe or whatever.”
“Setsuna? That’s the guy who draws for your books, right?”
“Yeah. Puriketsu.”
“You went with Puri…” Chihiro reddened a bit. “With Setsuna?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Oh…” He stared at the crab, looking a little jealous. “Boy, this looks
incredible. What should I do with it…? Now that you’ve defrosted it, I guess
we better use it… Why’d you buy a huge crab all by itself, though? You like

snow crab that much?”
“N-no, not really!” Itsuki exclaimed, his own face now reddening. “It
just…you know, looked really cool, so I wound up buying it. It’s got, like, a
shell and claws and everything.”
“It looked ‘cool’…?” Chihiro rolled his eyes as he took the carcass out of
the fridge. “Oof, it’s heavy. Wow, I have no idea what to do with this… You
got anything in particular you want me to make out of this?”
“Crab paste is good.”
“…In…?”
“Whatever.”
“…Okay.”
Chihiro sighed a bit as he laid the crab on the kitchen counter. “Hmm…
What to do,” he murmured, a light smile spreading across his lips as he
loomed over the body, ablaze with excitement over this find.
Itsuki was about to return to his desk, leaving the kitchen to his brother,
when he stopped.
“Oh, right.”
“What?”
“I got something else.” He opened the fridge again, taking out a vacuum-
sealed package of something black in color.
“What’s that?”
“Chiraga.”
“‘Chiraga’…? Agh!”
The moment he peered into the package, he let out a scream like a
kindergarten girl.
The bag in Itsuki’s hands, purchased in Okinawa, contained chiraga—the
skin from a pig’s face. The nose was largely intact, as was the overall facial
shape, and at first glance it looked like a decapitated head. Real horror-film
stuff.
“Uh, wh-wh-what is that?”
“Chiraga. From a pig.”
“I think I saw that on TV once… It’s some famous thing from Okinawa,
right?”
“Yeah, that’s where I bought it. I tried a little, and it was actually pretty
good.”
“Uh?” Chihiro gave Itsuki a blank stare. “When were you in Okinawa?”

“A week ago.”
“Why?!”
“Ooh, well, my heater broke, and it was cold, so…”
Another odd look from Chihiro. “Just because of that? You could’ve
come back to our place. It would’ve been a lot closer.”
“Yeah… Yeah, I guess I could’ve, huh?”
It wasn’t that the thought had never occurred to him. In fact, he had made
a conscious decision not to.
“C’mon…,” Chihiro lightly sighed. He was a smart kid. He probably
knew that his big brother was playing dumb with him. But thankfully, he
didn’t take it any further.
“So this…chiraga?” he said, turning up his nose as he stared at the plastic
bag. “How do you eat it?”
“It was cut up into really thin slices when I tried it.”
“Oh, yeah, you can do the same thing with pig ears, right? Maybe I can
just do this up like that? Hmm, and that crab, too…” His eyes turned from the
pig skin in front of him to the crab lying on the counter as he thought about
this. “Crab and pork, huh…? Hmm…”
“You don’t have to use ’em both right now. The pork’ll keep for a while.”
“…Well, I’ll figure something out. You can go do work or something.”
“All right…”
Itsuki handed the pig’s face over to his suddenly impassioned brother and
left the kitchen.
An hour later, once Chihiro was all done, the two of them laid out what
turned out to be a pretty expansive dinner on the kotatsu and got to work. The
final menu: chiraga sliced with lettuce and tomatoes; a salad seasoned with
tangy ponzu sauce and lavished with crab legs; two types of spring rolls
stuffed with finely sliced crab and pork skin; jellied crab and pork; and crab-
and-pork fried rice.
Chihiro, apparently, had been on a mission to make sure every dish used
both types of meat, instead of separating them. And every one of them

worked. They tasted great—especially the spring rolls. The grease from the
pork and the juices from the crab matched perfectly, creating an intense
flavor explosion lurking underneath the crispy skin. Not only did it taste good
—the meaty crab and firmly textured chiraga made for a remarkably fulfilling
eating experience. Itsuki practically inhaled them, huffing steam out from his
mouth and nose as he did.
“This is incredible… The miraculous harmony of the far north and far
south of Japan… We’re gonna have to name this. South… Southern Cross…
North… Northern Cross… Southern-Northern… Sou-Nor… Nor-Sou… How
’bout ‘North-Meets-South Spring Rolls’?”
He was trying to come up with a snappier name, like the ones cooking-
oriented manga came up with all the time, but nothing sounded right, so he
compromised a bit.
“You like them?”
“A lot,” Itsuki replied, nodding. Chihiro answered with an embarrassed
smile.
“Did you go with Setsuna to Okinawa, too, by the way?”
“No, that was with Miyako and Kanikou.”
Chihiro’s eyebrows twitched. “Oh? Wow. A trip to Okinawa with two
women?”
“…Something wrong with that?”
“Nah, nah… It’s just like…wow, you’re finally growing up, Bro.”
The appraisal sounded more like criticism to Itsuki’s ears and made him
feel awkward.
“It… It’s not like traveling with them is some huge deal. It’s just a quick
plane trip to Okinawa. Okay, maybe not that quick, but still, like, three hours
or so. It’s just like visiting Grandma up in Gifu Prefecture. You’ve taken girls
out before, too, haven’t you?”
“I…”
The phone in Chihiro’s pocket began ringing. He took it out and tapped
on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Ooh, hey, Chi-hee?” a peppy-sounding female voice said.
“Um, one second,” Chihiro said as he hurriedly stood up and half jogged
into the kitchen.
“I swear, you people with your good looks,” Itsuki muttered as he saw

him go. Chihiro had no girlfriend at the moment, but when Itsuki had taken a
few glances at the address book on his phone, the screen had been filled with
women’s names. Completely different from how his phone had been during
high school. He’d barely spoken to women at all in school, much less
received messages from them. Or men, for that matter. He had been kind of a
loner.
He distracted himself with another North-Meets-South Spring Roll.
Recalling the darker days of high school was bringing him down.
Chihiro came back in a few more moments.
“Was that your lady, Chi-hee?” Itsuki asked, somewhat maliciously. The
question made Chihiro’s face instantly redden.
“I told you, I don’t have a lady,” he protested. Itsuki declined to take it
any further, and the rest of dinner was spent discussing the aquarium in
Okinawa, the fish they’d enjoyed in Hokkaido, and so on.
After they finished, Chihiro put the leftovers in the fridge, washed and
dried the dishes, cleaned the bath and toilet, wiped down the floor with a
mop, wiped the desk, separated out the garbage, and left Itsuki’s apartment.
“See you later, Itsuki. Come visit home sometime, okay?”
“…Sure. When I feel like it.”
“……”
Chihiro gave him a less-than-enthusiastic look for this before walking off.
“Oh, wait,” Itsuki said, returning to his room. There was a bag of
souvenirs on the desk, and he fetched it for Chihiro. “Here’s some gifts for
the family. Some awamori booze from Okinawa and Shiroi Koibito cookies
from Hokkaido. I got a key chain, too, if you need it.”
Taking the bag, Chihiro fished the key chain out of it. A cartoony
rendition of a whale shark dangled from the ring.
“I can have this?”
“Yeah.”
He sheepishly looked up at his big brother.
“Um, th-thanks…”
“No prob.”
“I guess we’ll both have whale-shark key chains, then,” Chihiro said. It
was a little cute of him. Sweet, one could almost say. For some reason, it
made Itsuki’s heart skip a beat.

Valentine’s Day
A week after North-Meets-South Spring Rolls were invented, the calendar

read February 14—Valentine’s Day. Haruto Fuwa, the Heartthrob Novelist,
was at Itsuki’s front door.
“Hey. I got some chocolate.”
“…Why do I have to take chocolate from you?”
Haruto breezed past the peeved-looking Itsuki, opening the fridge and
sticking several bottles of dark-colored beer inside.
“More Belgians?”
“Nah, these are Japanese.”
“Wow…that’s rare for you.”
Haruto generally brought nothing but imported beer (mostly from
Belgium), almost never a domestic choice.
“It’s kind of like Valentine’s Day beer, y’know? It’s a big Japanese
tradition to give chocolate on Valentine’s, and I guess this brewery’s trying it
with beer, too.”
“Huh,” Itsuki said, picking up a bottle out of curiosity. It was the Imperial
Chocolate Stout from the Sankt Gallen Brewery, southwest of Tokyo.
“…This has chocolate in it?”
“No, it’s got roasted malt in it, which gives it a chocolate kind of flavor,”
Haruto explained. “It’s a darker beer, and they only make it around this time
of year. It’s gooood. You want some?”
“…Y-yeah,” Itsuki replied, swallowing in anticipation. Haruto gave him a
sadistic smile.
“Heh-heh-heh… Someone’s sure being greedy today, huh?”
“Pfft, come on…! I am not…”
“Yeah? Then why are you holding on to it so tightly?”
“…! Ngh, argh, just lemme drink it!”

“Whoa, whoa, don’t you know you’re supposed to ask nicely? Come on.
Beg for it.”
“Why would I have to beg you for this…?”
“Oh, quit hiding it. You want this so bad right now, don’t you? This big
black bottle? You can’t wait to fill your mouth with the thick, viscous liquid
inside, right?”
“I… No, I…!”
“…What are you people doing?”
The two of them froze, then turned around. Nayuta was there by the front
door.
“Practicing my sadism,” Haruto cheerfully explained. “I figured girls
would like a character like that.”
“Really…?” a shocked Itsuki said. He’d had no idea.
“…I have no interest in whatever kind of act you’re pulling, Prince
Manwhore, but it was neat seeing Itsuki cower before you like that… Maybe
I should act a lot more aggressive with him, too.”
“Look, don’t start coming up with any stupid ideas, Kanikou…”
Nayuta’s face was serene as she went inside, ignoring Itsuki’s obvious
alarm. In another moment, all three were at the kotatsu, Haruto popping open
a bottle and pouring the beer out into glasses for him and Itsuki. The
chocolate-brown liquid built an attractive head in the glass, filling the air with
seductive fragrances.
“Hey, that smells good. I wish I could have some.”
“You can have some root beer.”
“I think I will,” Nayuta sharply replied as she took a can of exactly that
out of her backpack and poured it out. It looked a bit like the chocolate beer
at first sight, letting out a uniquely medicinal smell in its glass that made
Haruto and Itsuki wince.
“Damn, it smells like a wet washcloth…”
“…You actually brought that with you?” Itsuki asked.
“Mm-hmm. I bought a whole box off of Amazon.”
Root beer like this, naturally carbonated and made with a mix of real
herbs and spices, was uncommon in Japan outside of Okinawa, where the
local A&W chain had made it a regional favorite. Its singular taste and smell
meant you forever loved it or hated it, with some people comparing it to a
drinkable menthol pain-relief patch. Miyako had made it through only half

her drink at A&W, saying it tasted as if someone had poured maple syrup on
a box of pain-relief patches. Itsuki had made it all the way; he’d said, “It’s
kind of like Dr Pepper with a bunch of medicine in it—I don’t mind it, but I’d
rather just have a Dr Pepper.” Nayuta, meanwhile, had helped herself to four
free refills—“What is this stuff? It’s awesome!”—and completely destroyed
her stomach.
“Oh, lemme take a pic before you drink it.”
Haruto lined up his and Itsuki’s glasses, with the beer bottle in front of his
drinking partner, making the peace sign with his right hand and framing the
shot so as not to include Itsuki’s face. He then tweeted it with the comment
“It’s Valentine’s Day, so I’m enjoying some chocolate beer with Itsuki!
(*^_^*) ”
“…Still going with that gay persona, huh?” a stunned Itsuki asked.
“Yeah, it’s working a lot more than I thought it would. I think I’m gonna
stick with it until the anime’s first run wraps up. See? I’m already getting
replies.”
His smartphone’s screen was alive with messages like “You guys sure are
in love, huh?” and “Have a blast!” and “ ,” a Japanese emoticon that,
in this context, was akin to tweeting “GAAAAAAAAAY” back at him.
“…I really couldn’t care less about Prince Manwhore’s attempt to play
LGBT for his own ends, but aren’t these fans gonna harass the hell out of
Itsuki once him ’n’ me get married?”
“Ahh, I think it’s fine. All these people know it’s just a fun little act,
probably.”
As Haruto addressed Nayuta’s concerns, Itsuki said “You don’t have to
worry about that happening” with a groan and squinted as he took a drink.
“Ooh…?”
Despite having “chocolate” on the label, it wasn’t very sweet at all. A
vivid bitterness spread across his mouth, reminiscent of cacao. It surprised
him.
“This is… I think something sweet would go great with it.”
“You’re right. It feels kind of like coffee to me, so I think it’d work well,”
Haruto said after sampling it for himself.
“I picked up some chocolate truffles in Hokkaido. Let’s do that,” Itsuki
said, standing up before Nayuta stopped him.

“W-wait a minute, Itsuki! Why do you have chocolate for yourself at a
time like this?”
“…What’s the big deal? Not like having chocolate around is a bad thing.”
Writing a novel was a tremendous mental challenge. Ensuring your brain
retained proper glucose levels was vital, and an empty stomach was a
fiendish villain when it came to maintaining concentration. Chocolate was the
perfect drug for both maladies. Itsuki always kept a supply on hand.
“Did you bring some for him, Nayu?”
“Of course… I was just waiting for the right opportunity to present it. So
much for that,” Nayuta sniffed.
“All right. Why don’t you have hers, Itsuki? I’ll take the truffles.”
“…Kanikou’s chocolate…?” A look of genuine concern arose on his face.
“Hopefully you didn’t spike it with anything.”
“I bought it from a store,” Nayuta snapped back, removing two gift-
wrapped boxes from her pack and offering them to Itsuki.
“…Two?”
“Myaa got you some, too, just to be nice.”
“Oh.”
“…I really wanted to make my own and infuse it with my love nectar, but
Myaa said that’d be a bad idea, so I went with store-bought instead.”
“…You did good, Miyako.” Itsuki thanked her from the bottom of his
heart.
Both packages were from Godiva—Nayuta’s a special Valentine’s edition
in a heart-shaped box, Miyako’s a regular old bar. Itsuki popped a piece into
his mouth after taking another swig of chocolate beer. A pleasant sort of
sweetness swelled across his mouth, buoyed by the remaining bitterness on
his tongue. It didn’t banish the umami from the beer—if anything, it
expanded upon it. A perfect pairing. Haruto did the same with his own, not
forgetting to tweet a pic with the caption “I got chocolate from Itsuki >///>”
first.
The first bottle didn’t last long after that. The second one was another
Sankt Gallen special, a Sweet Vanilla Stout. The vanilla made this one
notably sweeter, but it still worked just as well with the chocolate. The three
of them enjoyed a round of the card game Dominion as Itsuki and Haruto
polished it off; they then turned to Godiva’s homeland of Belgium for further
inspiration—Gouden Carolus Christmas and Winterkoninkske, two very

sweet beers—and the drinking session formally began in earnest.
It was just about time for dinner, and they decided to enjoy it with a mac-
and-cheese gratin and some beef stew Chihiro had made yesterday. The meat
in the stew was still nice and soft after a day, providing a deep, creamy sort
of taste.
“Whoa! Your brother rocks at cooking, doesn’t he? He could seriously
run a restaurant.” Haruto’s high praise was 100 percent sincere.
“Hff… I like it,” Nayuta added as she blew on the soup. “Just what I’d
expect from my future brother-in-law.”
Itsuki ignored Nayuta’s flight of fancy. “…You know, I think he used
some chocolate in this as a seasoning. He said something about polyphenols
affecting the taste of the meat, I think.”
And I’m sure he’s getting crap-tons of chocolate from all the girls today,
he added silently.
The doorbell rang as they ate. Itsuki grumpily got up and looked through
the peephole. Outside was Kenjiro Toki, his editor.
“Oh, crap! It’s the editor! Run!” Itsuki called over his shoulder.
Haruto kept drinking his beer, unaffected. Nayuta promptly dived under
the table. Just as Itsuki was reaching out to lock the door, it opened.
“…Well. Looks like someone’s having fun.”
Toki’s face was expressionless, his cheeks hollow. The rings under his
eyes were remarkably deep, completely hiding his usual tough-guy visage.
“Wh-what did you need…? I don’t have any new proposal yet,” Itsuki
ventured.
Toki wearily sighed. “…I don’t wanna talk about work for the rest of the
night.”
“…No? So what brings you here, then?”
“I got your Valentine’s Day chocolate. Haruto said he was with you on
Twitter, so I’m dropping his off, too.”
“Ooh! I’ve been waiting for that!” Itsuki’s face grew notably brighter.
“…Well, here I am,” Toki replied as he stepped in.
“Good to see you, sir!” Haruto said with a smile.
“Yeah, thanks… And I know you’re here, Nayuta—I saw your shoes by
the front door.”
“You must have the wrong person,” Nayuta said, wriggling out from
under the kotatsu. “My name is Kanikou Hashima. I’m Itsuki’s wife. Thanks

for taking such good care of my husband all the time.”
Toki rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna tell on you. I’m not even your
editor.”
“Ooh, nice! You’re always so understanding!” Nayuta picked up Haruto’s
freshly emptied glass, refilled it with beer, and offered it to Toki. “Here!”
“…All right. Just one, though.”
Toki slugged it down like a can of juice.
“Pfahhh!”
“…That beer didn’t come cheap…,” Haruto complained, too quietly for
Toki to hear.
“Right. Your chocolate. And here’s Haruto’s.”
He handed them a pair of boxes wrapped in paper. Itsuki’s was much
larger and heavier than his friend’s.
“Thank you very much!”
“Heh-heh-heh… More gifts from my fans, huh?”
They both opened the boxes and laid out the contents on the table. Haruto
had received about ten different packages, but Itsuki had too many to fit on
the small surface.
“Hah-hah-hah! You see that, Haruto? This is a sign of my true strength!
I’m so popular, I feel like I could save the world right now! Heh-heh-heh…
Ahh-ha-ha-ha-ha, cough, cough!”
Haruto kept his usual smile painted on his face as Itsuki choked on his
own laughter. A little crestfallen, he commented, “…It’s not exactly for you.
It’s chocolate for the characters in your work.”
“Exactly! It’s not like you’re popular yourself, Itsuki. I’m the only one
who truly loves you.”
“Hah-hah-hah! Say whatever you will, losers! How’s it feel, huh?! How’s
it feel for the Heartthrob Novelist to lose out so badly to the likes of me?!”
“Ugh,” Haruto replied, beginning to highly resent this.
Every year around Valentine’s, readers would send great heaps of
chocolate and other snacks to the editorial office. Some of it, a very small
amount, would be addressed to the writers themselves, but most of it had the
names of their fictional characters written on the gift tags.
Surprisingly enough, despite the difference in sales numbers, Itsuki’s
fictional creations always received far more of these treats than Nayuta’s or
Haruto’s. This was understandable in Haruto’s case, Chevalier of the

Absolute World’s audience being around 95 percent male. Nayuta’s
Landscape series featured a large cast of realistic, flawed young men and
women, many of whom were in relationships with each other, and Nayuta
herself was female, so she had a lot of women fans. However, her work just
wasn’t the kind that drove people to send real-life chocolate to their favorite
characters.
Itsuki, meanwhile—although recently plumbing the boundaries of sanity
with his devotion to the little-sister stereotype—still had a remarkably robust
female audience, thanks to the plethora of studly, beyond-reality male
characters that populated his novels. It helped that Genesis Sisters of the New
World, his second work, reined the sister worship in a little—this was back
when Itsuki mostly listened to what his editor told him. The adjustment
worked perfectly with Puriketsu’s art; it turned out he did just as expert a job
on macho male characters as he did on young girls and their asses. The series
was over, yes, but its characters still had their die-hard fans.
All this meant that, while Itsuki often fostered an inferiority complex over
the handsome Haruto and the utterly perfect Chihiro, Valentine’s was the one
day of the year when he got to lord his victory over them with utter abandon.
“Heh-heh-heh… Time to chow down on these offerings from my teeming
millions!”
Despite his imperious tone, he took pains to neatly unwrap each box and
try a piece from them all, clearly savoring them more than the high-grade
chocolate Nayuta and Miyako had provided. Nayuta attempted to kill him
with the power of her stare as he did.
In due time, Toki got tanked, completely forgot about his “just one” promise,
and started haranguing Haruto and Nayuta.
“Harutoooo, how come yer always so goddamn smoooooth with yer work,
huhh? So on tiiiiime?”
“Er, yes, um… Thank you.”
“I wish summa the other asshole writers and illustrators we got would
learn a lesson ’r two from ya!”

“Well, that’s kind of…”
“Nayuduhhh!!”
“Y-yes?”
“You gotta do some work for us, lady! You gotta stick to yer deadlines!
’Cause you’re, like, one’a our headlining authors! You and Puriketsu, too…
How come it’s, like, the more creative you are, the less you work?!”
“…I will be sure to think about that,” Nayuta deadpanned, “and do my
best to bring into consideration what I can and cannot do about the
feedback.”
“Yeah, we probably better get home, Itsuki…”
“…Right. Keep up the good work.”
“Whoa, wait! Don’t abandon me here!”
With Nayuta and Haruto gone, Itsuki was now the sole recipient of Toki’s
whining.
A week ago, once Toki had finally figured out that Setsuna “Puriketsu”
Ena was in Hokkaido, he’d traveled up there himself, computer and tablet
setup in hand. He’d successfully accosted him in the middle of the Snow
Festival and locked him up in a Sapporo hotel room until he finished his
assigned artwork. He had finally made it back to Tokyo this morning, and he
looked deeply exhausted, body and soul.
“So how d’you like that? I go all the way up to freakin’ Hokkaido, and
I’m stuck in the goddamn hotel the whole time. No sightseein’, nothin’ good
to eat, no hittin’ the red-light district… Nothin’! I mean…fuuuuuuck…”
“…Yeah, that does sound pretty rough. Y’know, I just happen to have
some Royce’ chocolate here. You want some?”
“Ooh… Thank you… This is so, so great… Mm, chocolate…”
Toki cried as he savored the treat, fell backward, and conked out on the
floor, snoring. He didn’t move again until morning, when he staggered off to
his office with a blistering headache. His boss didn’t take him to task for it.
This sort of thing happened to editors all the time.

Valentine’s Day EX (feat. Haruto Fuwa and
His Hard-to-Read Sister)
Night had fallen on February 14. Haruto, having chosen to flee Itsuki’s place
rather than deal with Kenjiro Toki’s drunken tirades, arrived home to find a
sweet smell emanating from the kitchen. Chocolate, just like what he’d
smelled over at Itsuki’s.
“…?”
It made him raise an eyebrow as he headed over, only to find his sister
working on something.
“Hee-hee! This is perfect! Just a bit of cocoa powder, and—”
“…What’re you up to?”
“Hyagh?!”
His sister twirled toward him, clearly flustered. The apron she was
wearing sported a couple of dark stains. There was a bit of it on one cheek as
well.
“Wha…wha…what’re you doing?!” she shouted, said cheeks now ablaze
in red. “Coming home at a time like this! I hate you!”
“Hmm? I’m free to come home whenever I want to.”
“No you’re not, dumbass! You were drinking at your friend’s place,
weren’t you?! You shouldn’t be home for a while yet!”
“Yeah, yeah… Is it bad for me to be home right now or something?”
“Wha—?! No, not really! I just hate it when you’re around, is all!”
“Oh, really? Guess I’ll have to go apartment hunting soon,” an
exasperated Haruto said. This only further set his sister off.
“What?! You—you know you can’t do that, dumbass! Not like you’d ever
be able to live by yourself!”
“Sure I can.”

“You can’t, all right? Plus, if you leave, who’s gonna do my homework
for me? Who’s gonna run over to the convenience store to pick stuff up for
me? Huh?!”
“You should really do your own homework, at least…”
He knew from previous experience that arguing further about his living
alone would be fruitless. So he decided to shift the topic to her studies. He
turned his eyes toward the kitchen counter as he did, behind his sister. There
were several small, rounded pieces of chocolate lined up in a row, along with
a bag of cocoa powder and a bowl with melted chocolate sticking to the sides.
“…Are you making chocolate truffles?”
“Y-yeah. Is that a problem?!”
“No, but… Why’re you making chocolate right now? Valentine’s Day
was today.”
He had a point—she was a good day late at getting started on this.
“It—it’s not like I meant to give this on Valentine’s Day or anything! I
just saw it on TV, and some of my friends were giving these out, and I
wanted to eat some chocolate, too! That’s all!”
“Uh-huh.”
Haruto could understand the urge, if she had seen someone else with
chocolate. He didn’t understand why it had to be handmade, but still.
“…Well, hope it turns out good. Pretty hard to screw up chocolate
truffles, at least.”
“Of course it is! It’s not like I’d keep messing up the recipe for these, of
all things! It’s gonna be the best damn chocolate ever!”
She turned her gaze down a bit.
“And, um, I suppose you could maybe have a couple of them, too.”
“Ahh, I’m fine, thanks. I got my own.”
He lifted the bag of chocolate he’d received while at Itsuki’s place to
demonstrate. His sister’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets.
“Wh-who gave you those?!”
“My fans,” he replied, a bit proud. “They sent them to my editor.”
His sister rolled her eyes and groaned, exposing her canines. “W-well, my
chocolate’s gonna taste better!” she practically screamed, grabbing the cocoa
powder bag and violently dumping it all over the chocolate on the counter.
“H-hey—agh?!”
Then she picked up one chocolate and stuffed it into the concerned

Haruto’s mouth. Given few other options, he broke it up with his teeth,
licking at it with his tongue.
“Well?!”
“…It’s okay, I guess,” Haruto replied. It was his honest opinion. It also
made his sister sulk as she threw her apron to the floor.
“I can’t believe what a world-class dumbass you are, Bro! Now I don’t
even want to eat these anymore! This is your fault, so you should eat all of
’em instead!”
“Huh?!”
“Listen to me! You have to eat every single one!”
Haruto had no time to protest this shoddy treatment, because his sister
then marched right out of the kitchen. Still peeved, he looked at the chocolate
on the counter and helped himself to one more piece. It was…just okay.
There were still around ten chocolate truffles there, now thoroughly drowned
in cocoa powder. It looked like his fans would have to wait until at least
tomorrow for their gifts to be enjoyed.
And as he silently ate the chocolates, Haruto mused all over again, There
is absolutely nothing good about having a little sister.

Concerning Nayuta Kani as a Literary
Writer
“Novels are written and read, I feel, as an act of defiance against the
fact that we have but one life to live.” These immortal words came
from writer Kaoru Kitamura, but in this regard—the knack novels have
of allowing readers to live a life besides their own—Nayuta Kani’s
Landscape series has no equal. Its world is based on modern-day
Japan, and while it has its quirks, there is nothing that unique about it,
and the story itself proceeds in fairly orthodox fashion. The characters
are none of the eminent heroes that find popularity in light novels;
many of them are notable primarily for their many flaws. However, the
reader finds themselves somehow enthralled with them, projecting
their own persona onto each one as they become lost in the novels—
as if by magic. The expressive tale is told using phraseology so
unique fans refer to it as “Kani-ese,” and while that may play a great
part in the attraction, one must chalk it up to more than simple words
strung together. All the components that make up a novel, from the
way the characters are molded and positioned to the settings and
expressiveness, come together to form an immaculate balance,
conjuring up a force powerful enough to defy analysis. Even if
someone took apart the Landscape series and attempted to rebuild it
themselves, they could never duplicate the magic at the core of it all.
The fact that it has yet to be adapted into a manga, anime, or live-
action drama, despite its exceptional sales figures, is likely linked to
this. It is fair to say that reading the Landscape series is akin to living
out another lifetime—an experience that can only be gained through
reading Nayuta Kani’s work. (By Ikeda)

“This ain’t gonna work.”
The editor in chief tossed Ikeda’s printout back on his desk.
This was the main office of Leonardo, a monthly newsmagazine, and
Ikeda—still one of the new faces on the staff, having joined just over a year
ago—managed the novel-review section.
“…It won’t?” the discouraged Ikeda asked, sizing up his manager.
“I mean, I think I kind of get what you’re trying to say, though.”
“Right?”
“…But this is all written from your perspective. All you’re saying is
‘Wow, this novel’s like magic. It’s totally awesome.’ And you’re just
guessing at why it hasn’t been adapted into anything, aren’t you? So yeah, I
know what you’re trying to say,” he repeated, “but try again. You’d need to
have already read Landscape to understand your point here. We’re supposed
to be introducing books to people in this section. What makes this book
good? What’s the attraction? Write it so people can pick up on that kind of
thing… I know how tough that can be sometimes, though.”
“Yeah, it is,” Ikeda said, hanging his head down as he turned back toward
his desk. Then he turned to the editor in chief again.
“…By the way, sir, do you think they’re ever gonna try to adapt
Landscape into anything?”
“I haven’t heard about anything getting the green light yet. They must’ve
gotten a ton of offers by now.”
“Yeah, no doubt about it.”
“…Though I agree with you: It’s got something you can’t duplicate in any
other media. You might’ve actually hit upon something there.”
A long while back, just after the second book in the Landscape series was
published, Nayuta Kani was informed by her editor, Yamagata, that the offers
for so-called “media mix” campaigns were already starting to roll in. Comic
versions, TV anime series, first-run anime films, stage shows, live-action TV
dramas and movies—multiple offers for each type of media. And these
weren’t fly-by-night opportunists, either—some of the talent involved

included name-brand anime studios behind long strings of hits or film
directors with a shelf full of major awards on their résumés.
“I think we should really consider at least a few of these media launches,”
Yamagata suggested.
“Mmm. If I say yes to that, is that gonna make me a lot busier?” Nayuta
answered, looking as spaced out as always.
“Well… There’ll be some storyboards and scripts to read through. You’ll
probably have more interview requests, too.”
“That’s okay, then, thanks.”
“Whoa, don’t rush it! This is your chance to get the word out even more
about your work.”
Nayuta blushed a little at the flustered Yamagata. “But if I get any
busier…then I won’t have as much time to be with Itsuki, will I?”
Yamagata spent most of the next hour attempting to convince Nayuta
otherwise, but she never budged. He could tell that the more tactics he tried
to employ, the more it simply rankled Nayuta, and creating unnecessary
tension between her and the publisher would bring nothing but harm to both
sides. Plus, even Yamagata believed that the appeal of the Landscape series
wasn’t easily translated to other formats.
It’s not, but it still seems like such a waste, Yamagata thought as he
watched Nayuta skip out of the office and toward Itsuki’s place. It was a
chance to boost recognition for both the series and Nayuta herself, and she
was tossing it away because it might interfere with her time spent chasing
men around? Especially a man like Itsuki Hashima? Why did that sister-
obsessed ’s deranged library of smut novels even have to exist? …And,
of course, they did have to exist, or else Nayuta would’ve never become a
writer.
Ah, why did the heavens have to grant such astonishing literary talent to
such an insatiably horny young woman? Something about the world
Yamagata lived in seemed to guarantee that he never got everything he
wanted. If I’d had the kind of talent Nayuta has, Yamagata (a former writer)
wailed to himself, I could’ve set off a revolution in the literary world.
Then he realized, It’s times like this when it’s perfect to read a Nayuta
Kani novel. You want to turn to people just like yourself, lost in the face of
such weighty, inscrutable matters, and live in their lives for a while. It gives
you a fresh outlook on life.

Die in a Fire, Tax Returns
Being a writer, in general, is a sole proprietorship. This means that writers are
responsible for self-reporting all their income and expenditures, from January
1 to December 31 of each year, in order to determine the income tax they
owe.
This is done in Japan by filing what’s known as a “final tax return”
sometime between February 16 and March 15 of the following year; delaying
it beyond this exposes you to penalties.
For a writer, a certain percentage of any payment received from a
publisher is generally withheld for income tax—around 10 percent for the
first million yen and around 20 percent beyond that. As a result, if you’re
honest in your final return (and aren’t a massively bestselling author raking in
royalties hand over fist), you can generally expect to receive a refund for any
excess tax withheld.
This means that, as annoying as they are to fill out, filing a complete final
tax return is vital if you want to rescue your withholdings. That doesn’t
change the fact, however, that keeping track of all income and expenditures
for an entire year is a huge pain in the ass. It is possible by yourself, as long
as you really keep on top of things, but for most, borrowing the services of a
professional is the easiest, most reliable way of handling matters. In other
words, a licensed tax accountant.
It was a sunny day in late February when a woman paid a visit to Itsuki
Hashima’s apartment. She looked young—like a child, in fact. Maybe fifteen
years old at the most. Her skin was lightly tinted, a worthy canvas for her

blond hair, blue eyes, and frilly, childish crimson-red dress. Nothing could’ve
looked more touchingly sweet, but her eyes glinted with an unmistakable
sharpness, and her smile was somehow sadistic.
This was Ashley Ono, exact age unknown. Her job:
“Ashley Ono, tax accountant. Are you Itsuki Hashima, my client?”
“Um… Y-yeah. Thanks for coming…”
Itsuki found Ashley’s haughty self-introduction a little nerve-racking as
she stood there at the front door, running her eyes up and down his body.
After three years of writing, this would be the fourth final tax return he
filed but the first year he hired someone to help him with it. His first return
came not long after his debut; he’d had only one book published by then, and
he hadn’t bothered saving any of his receipts, so there wasn’t much to fill out.
He managed to cobble together the second and third returns following
tutorials on the Net, but he wound up having to file revised reports both years
after discovering a couple of math errors.
It was extensive work for a relatively small refund, and Itsuki was sick of
it. “Why do I have to do all this crap every single year?” he’d said with a
groan. “I’d make a ton more money if I just used the time to write!” So he’d
asked Haruto for a tax-accountant reference, and Ashley Ono was the name
he’d received.
The conversation had gone a bit like this:
“Hey, Haruto, you know any good tax accountants?”
“…By ‘good,’ do you mean ‘high quality’?”
“Um… Yeah, what else would I mean?”
“…Never mind. I’ve got the perfect one for you. She’s incredibly
talented, and you can totally rely on her. I kind of think she’d like you, too.”
Haruto was clearly hinting at something, but Itsuki didn’t let it bother
him.
Among self-employed people, authors were kind of unique, and there
weren’t many of them. Even a seasoned tax accountant might not have a lot
of experience handling them. Along those lines, Ashley Ono was apparently
fairly well known in publishing circles for her strengths with creative types.
Now Ashley had invited herself to sit down in the fancy office chair Itsuki
used for work. “Hmph. Pretty clean-looking place for some kid living by
himself,” she said as she looked around the place.
“Oh, thanks,” Itsuki replied, unsure where he was supposed to sit.

“All right. Shall we get started, then? Can I see your payment records?”
“…Um, sure.”
The pay stubs from his publisher, as well as his receipts and credit-card
statements, were all inside a plastic file folder divided into months. He
handed it over to her.
“…Hmm. You actually organized your receipts by month? You’re a lot
more detail oriented than I thought,” Ashley said, almost looking
disappointed. The organizational work was all thanks to Chihiro, but Itsuki
didn’t feel that was important to mention. “My…,” she continued as she
fished out a pay stub from the folder. “You’re making quite a lot, aren’t
you?”
“…Yeah, it’s been an okay year, I guess,” Itsuki replied, still forced to
stand up.
“Oh, you can sit wherever you want.”
“…Oh. Okay.”
So he knelt on the floor Japanese-style. It was tremendously unsatisfying,
but there was no place else handy.
“Hmm… Copies of your old final tax returns, too? Hmmm… Pretty
steady earnings, for an author… No point smoothing these over with the
average taxation rate, but not quite enough to bother incorporating with,
either…”
Itsuki nervously watched as Ashley continued to mutter to herself. She
seemed to take a sheer sense of joy from it.
“…By the way, is this your registered place of residence?” she suddenly
asked.
“…No, I’m still registered back at home.”
He hadn’t bothered to switch it out after moving, since the family home
was in the same city anyway.
“Is it close to here?”
“…Maybe about twenty minutes by car.”
“Ah. Good. In that case, we’ll declare this apartment to be your office.
That way, we can claim ninety percent of your rent as business expenses.”
“Ninety percent…?!”
“You use this place as a dedicated workspace. At night, you return to your
family’s residence and sleep there, and then you commute here for work.
Right?”

Itsuki found Ashley’s preresolved decisions a tad unnerving.
“Well, I mean, I live here, pretty much… I got a bed and everything…”
“Oh, that’s just for the occasional nap.”
“Umm, well, if we’re calling it that, those’re some pretty long naps,
ma’am…”
“It’s just for the occasional nap,” she repeated, accepting zero differences
of opinion.
Itsuki gave up. “…It’s just for the occasional nap, and I sleep at my
parents’ place at night.”
“Mm.” Ashley nodded. “Did you make any high-end purchases last year?
Like a car?”
“…I don’t own a car. That chair’s from the year before… Oh, I did buy
that laptop last year.”
“Aw. Too bad you didn’t splurge a little and buy a fancy import car or
something.”
“That’d be crazy, ma’am,” Itsuki countered. “I don’t even have a license.”
“Oh, just joking,” Ashley retorted with a smile. “I think you can get away
with spending a bit more of your money. Writing novels, as self-employed
careers go, usually don’t involve a lot of necessary expenses. You know what
I mean?”
“…I suppose, yeah.”
He understood what she was getting at. A butcher needed to spend money
on meat to turn a profit on processed goods; they’d have running costs to
keep the store open and the freezers operational, and having employees
meant having salaries to pay out. Manga artists needed to regularly purchase
pens, ink, and paper, or maybe scanners, tablets, and a computer powerful
enough to run image-editing software if they had made the leap to digital.
Hiring assistants, if they were at that level, would be the greatest expense of
all. Novelists, meanwhile, didn’t need much besides a PC to write on. If you
could bang text into an editor, you were good, so even a cheap one from
several generations ago would function just fine for years on end. You
generally didn’t need to hire anyone else, either. In terms of outlay to get
started, there were fewer cheaper careers to take up than writing novels.
“It’s my job as a tax accountant to find as many government-approved
ways of increasing your required expenses as possible. You’ve been reporting
the cost of your books as research costs up to now, right?”

“Right.”
There was very, very little investment required to write novels, but that
didn’t mean (most of the time, anyway) that you needed nothing else. A
creative endeavor like this basically involved taking what was inside your
brain and outputting it to some form of media, but (most of the time) you
needed something to output first. Simply cobbling together what you’d
personally experienced over the years might let you write one or two
volumes, but (most of the time) that wouldn’t be enough to produce a
constant stream of commercially viable content. So—most of the time—you
needed some input before you could start outputting.
An easy-to-understand example of this is collecting books on some
historical figure so you could write about them or listening to someone
lecture about a specialized piece of technology so you could insert it into
your work. Or traveling to certain locations for use as story settings.
These sorts of directly connected resources could easily be reported as
necessary business expenses, but there were other not-so-direct things that
also counted. For a writer, novels in general all counted as “research
material.” You needed to read novels to know how to write novels, and
people generally understood that logic—regardless of how well it described
you, personally, as an author. This also applied, for the most part, to things
like manga, magazines, and other books on specialized subjects that weren’t
directly relevant to your work.
The tricky part was how to classify nonbook entertainment—CDs, DVDs
and Blu-rays, movie tickets, action figures and models, travel to places not
directly connected to your books, and so on. If the tax office asked you “How
did you take advantage of this in your work?” and you could provide a
concrete answer, then that absolutely counted as an expense. But if the
connection was weak or overly vague or you spent money sheerly for the
sake of pleasure, what then?
“So how did you report nonbook items up to now?”
“Well, with the stuff I bought for my novels, I reported all of that as
research materials.”
“Ooh. Good lad.” Ashley snickered. “…I love taking good lads like you and exposing
them to the face of evil.”
“Um, pardon?”

“Oh, nothing,” Ashley said, shaking her head as she stood up and walked
toward the shelf lined with figures and models of anime robots. “I’ve done
some research into your writings,” she said as she marveled at them. “You
like little sisters, hmm?”
“I love them.”
“Hmm.” Ignoring Itsuki’s immediate announcement, Ashley pointed at
one of the figures on the shelf. “I think I’ve seen this girl before.”
“That’s Kirino Kousaka, the main heroine of Oreimo and the hero’s little
sister. What a goddess! Wow, even tax accountants know about her…”
“And who’re these two little girls in the cat ears and the swimsuits?”
“That’s Kobato Hasegawa, the goddess who’s the little sister of the hero
in Haganai, and her fellow goddess Maria Takayama.”
“…I think I read a synopsis of the movie version of that once. The
heroines were these little girls, though…? Ah, not that it matters. And who’s
this woman with the rather well-developed chest?”
“Suguha Kirigaya, the main heroine of Sword Art Online and one goddess
of a little sister to the protagonist.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard of that Sword…whatever through my publisher
contacts. They’re stuck inside a video-game world or something, yes? And
this is one of them?”
“Oh, um, that’s her in the real world, yeah.”
“Hmm. So the heroine was this buxom in real life?”
“Yep.”
Sadly, there was nobody in the room to yell “No! The main heroine of
SAO is another girl!” at them.
“…And this lady in the school uniform?”
“Ui Hirasawa. She’s the godly main heroine of K-On! and the
protagonist’s little sister.”
“…That title’s famous enough that I know a little about it, but I don’t
remember her playing the role of the main heroine… And this one?”
“Elpeo Ple. The godlike star heroine of Mobile Suit Gundam ZZ and the
protagonist’s little sister.”
“All right. So is this robot that looks like a moth someone’s little sister,
too?”
Ashley was pointing at a pair of red-and-black Gundam robots lined up
next to each other.

“Those are the Qubeley Mk-II models piloted by Ple and her godlike little
sister Ple Two. They’re classified as mobile suits, but they aren’t Gundams.”
“Well, if it’s a robot in an anime, it’s all Gundam to me.” She turned
around, apparently getting sick of asking about every single piece in the
collection. “…So what you’re saying is that every figure on this shelf is a
little-sister character of one sort or another?”
“Yeah.” Itsuki nodded.
“Hmm. I think it wouldn’t be a problem to count all of this as research
material.”
“No!”
Ashley arched her eyebrows at the bark of denial.
“…No what?”
“The robot models are one thing, but these girls aren’t ‘materials’! I
bought them all because I felt a pure love for them! I can’t put them into a
category as cold and unfeeling as ‘materials’!”
“…Materials, then?”
“N-no…” Itsuki shook his head, flinching at the cold, unfeeling eyes
staring at him.
“Look, do you want to pay less taxes or not?”
“I do…but I can’t sully the good name of my little sisters like that!”
“If we classify these as research materials, you can use the money you’ll
save to buy more little-sister figures.”
Itsuki’s eyes bugged out, as if he’d been struck by lightning. His face was
serene.
“…These figures are genuine, authentic research materials. I use them
fully in all my work. Thank you.”
“Tee-hee-hee…” Ashley nodded. “You are in good hands.” Then she
turned her attention to the rows of anime Blu-rays and video games on the
shelf. “Hmm… You have quite a game collection. And what kind of game is
this? The one called The Little Sister Who Loved Her Brother So Much, She
Wore His Boxers on Her Head as She Pleasured Herself Daily?”
“…It’s a game featuring a girl who loves her brother so much, she wears
his boxers on her head as she pleasures herself daily,” Itsuki replied, blushing
all the way to his ears.
“All right. And how about this one: No, Big Bro, We’re Siblings!:
Beautiful Sister-Wife Caught in Forbidden Relationship?”

“It’s a game about a beautiful sister-wife caught in a forbidden
relationship.”
“What’s a ‘sister-wife’?”
“A sister who’s your wife, ma’am.”
“Seems like a rather complex concept to me. Let’s see here… Big
Brother’s Counterattack: One Year Since a Giant Anteater Killed My
Sister?”
“Oh, that game sucks. There was no sister in it at all,” Itsuki spat.
“But it says on the box that an anteater killed her, doesn’t it…? What
about this one, Boink-Sis?”
“It’s a game where you boink your sis. The ending makes you cry so
much, I swear.”
“And I’m Your Sister—It’s Not Weird to Eat Your Poo at All, Big Bro! …
It’s not?”
“It is. That’s what makes it so good.”
“…I’m impressed by your decisiveness.”
Completing her rounds, Ashley sat back in her chair and began checking
the credit-card statements. Itsuki returned to the floor and watched her.
“Hmm… Certainly use Amazon a lot, don’t you? I’ll compare these with
your receipts when I return to the office, but… All these four-hundred-yen
and six-hundred-yen purchases. Were these all e-books?”
“Yeah. I think all of the smaller charges are gonna be those.”
“Did you print out the receipts for these books?”
“Huh? No…”
“I imagine not, no… I doubt anyone would bring up expenses this small,
but we might need receipts for them anyway, so prepare for that if need be.”
“…All right.”

“There’s a lot of charges to the iTunes Store, too, I see. Is this music?”
“Um, yeah. That kind of thing.”
Ashley gave Itsuki a sharp look for his sudden vagueness. “…You’re
spending nearly ten thousand yen here, all told. Albums don’t cost that much,
do they?”
“…There was music, and I maybe bought just a few Magic Stones, too,”
Itsuki sheepishly admitted, turning his eyes aside.
“Magic Stones?”
“Yeah. You buy them so you can open loot boxes in mobile games.”
“Ah, yes…I believe several of the clients I’m advising have engaged in
that.”
The term mobile game is a little difficult to define succinctly, so let’s just
go with “games playable on smartphones.” Many of these games utilize
simpler gameplay systems than their grown-up relatives that are played on
consoles. A large number of them have a “loot box” or similar reward that,
when opened, earns players a random chance at new cards, items, or
characters. Loot boxes can often be purchased with in-game items (called
“Magic Stones,” “Spirit Stones,” and other names, depending on the game),
and charging real-life cash for these items is how many games make their
money.
“What kind of games were you playing?”
“…LS Legion… It’s short for Little Sister Legion.”
“I think the title’s already told me everything I need to know about this
game.”
“…You’re probably right.”
LS Legion was a mobile game that, as the name suggested, featured a
large number of little-sister characters. Buying loot boxes let you obtain more
sisters, some of whom were a lot rarer and more valuable than the others. The
only way to obtain them was with a little luck and a lot of Magic Stone
purchases. The gameplay was so simple, it barely qualified as a game. There
was almost no real story to speak of—just a few lines of background and
dialogue for each sister.
…Even Itsuki knew that LS Legion wasn’t exactly Game of the Year
material. A lot of mobile games, like Puzzle & Dragons or Chain Chronicle,
were starting to challenge console games in quality, and he fully knew
playing them would be a far better use of his free time.

He knew it full well, and yet…
“…You’re plowing quite a bit of money into this game, aren’t you?”
“…Yeah. I mean, there’s no turning back now,” Itsuki offered, eyes
glazing over as Ashley thumbed through the statements. When he first started
playing this game, he wound up spending the equivalent of several thousand
dollars on loot boxes so he could obtain the little-sister characters he wanted.
If he quit playing, that would all go to waste. So he kept going.
“…Do… Do you think those Magic Stones could count as business
expenses, too? Maybe?” a hopeful Itsuki asked.
“Are you using the game in your own work?”
“…” Itsuki thought it over for a few seconds. “I can positively tell you,”
he gravely droned, “that I haven’t at all. There’s no story, and all the sisters
have are a few lines of dialogue and a couple sentences of backstory, so it’s
not like I have any attachment to them. It… It’s just a big JPEG folder with
the word sister attached to it…”
He raised a shaky fist into the air.
“Ah,” Ashley drily answered. “Well, start using it.”
“Well, yeah, but how…?”
“What’s your next book going to be about?”
“…? It’s Volume Five of Sisterly Combat,” a bewildered Itsuki replied.
“Ah.” Ashley thought for a moment. “The last volume ended with the
hero surrounded by enemy forces, yes? At the end of their rope?”
“You read my stuff?!”
“I read everything my clients have released in the past year. I started with
Volume Three, though, so I didn’t understand most of the little details,”
Ashley listlessly reported. “But let’s talk about how we can make Magic
Stones into business expenses. Your hero is facing desperate times. I want
you to have him say in the next volume, ‘Heh! Guess we don’t have much of
a chance. The odds of surviving this are about the same as getting a rare
character out of a loot box in a mobile game…’”
“W-wait a second!” Itsuki begged. “The protagonist of Sisterly Combat is
a coolheaded dark knight who threw away everything he had to fight in the
Dark World and save his only sister!”
“Well, if he likes his sister, then even better. Let’s make it ‘The odds of
surviving this are about the same as drawing a rare sister from an LS Legion
loot box.’ Even more perfect.”

“That would mess up everything! I told you, he’s a coolheaded dark
knight battling in the Dark World!”
“A coolheaded dark knight battling in the Dark World can play games on
his phone, can’t he?”
“No! And if he’s making a mobile-game metaphor when he’s surrounded
by foes and seconds away from death, what kind of demented loot-box addict
would that even make him?!”
“Oh? I think it’d be nice, having that kind of unexpected side to your
unflappable dark knight.”
“…I mean, yeah, it’s a pretty conventional tactic to take a cool, composed
character and give him some kind of unexpected quirk to riff off of, but…
hmm…”
They continued to debate the issue, to no avail.
“I can’t do it! I just can’t see any appeal to a protagonist who wastes tons
of money on little-sister-themed mobile games!”
“All right, well, let’s not make it the protagonist, then. He has a nemesis
in the story, too, yes? Whenever they fight, why not have him say ‘Pfft… The
only things in the world that excite me this much are fighting you and playing
cell phone games.’”
“Great, so you want me to destroy the main villain instead of the
protagonist?! What kind of shallow life has this guy even been living?! And
after four volumes of the hero struggling against him? He’s gonna look like
such a wuss!”
“You’re being rather selfish, you know. If you’re going to be that way,
then fine. Just find a way to shoehorn mobile-phone games into your story.”
“I can’t! And I know I forgot to mention this until now, but Sisterly
Combat’s set in a fantasy world! Bringing up smartphones would ruin the
entire setting instantly!”
“Well, what’s wrong with ruining it a little?”
“What’s not wrong with it?!”
“…Look, what’s more important to you: an intricately woven story world
or saving money on your taxes?”
“The story world!”
“Ugh!” Ashley shrugged, dejected. “You writers, I swear…”
“Oh, now I’m the bad guy…”
“Well, so be it. I’ll make up some justification for the Magic Stones.”

“Why didn’t you just do that from the start?!” Itsuki shouted, practically
at the top of his lungs.
The questions about his credit-card statements and receipts continued for a
while, and Ashley took great pains to read out the title and content of all the
porn videos Itsuki had purchased for download before finally taking her
leave.
“…I’m exhausted,” he groaned before lying his head on the kotatsu. And
he was. To him, it was even more grueling than filling out the tax return by
himself. If possible, he wanted to do nothing else for the rest of the day.
I’m never gonna go to that tax accountant again, he swore in his heart.
Then, three days later, Ashley sent an e-mail with an estimate of how
much his tax refund would be. It made Itsuki jump out of his chair. The
estimate was nearly three times the rebate he’d earned last year.
Now Itsuki understood what Haruto had meant. “She’s incredibly
talented, and you can totally rely on her.” He was right, and Itsuki thought he
knew what he was trying to hint at, too. She was talented and reliable, but
Ashley Ono was also an unrepentant sadist.
…Unrepentant…but reliable. She read her clients’ work and asked about
the content of the games they bought, and—Itsuki was pretty sure—that
wasn’t just so she could watch other people stew in their own juices.
Hopefully.
“…Ugh…!”
Talk to you next year!
Having written that sentence at the end of his reply, Itsuki pressed the
“Send” button. There were a lot of little-sister porn games and figures he
could buy with that refund.

Chronica Chronicle (Part 1)
“…I wanna play a tabletop RPG.”

Such were the words that suddenly left Haruto’s mouth one night at
Itsuki’s place as he sat at the kotatsu drinking beer and reading a volume in
the Clan Crest Replay series.
“An RPG?” Itsuki asked from his work desk.
“Have you ever played one, Itsuki?”
“I know about them, but no, not really.”
The concept was familiar enough. Tabletop RPGs involved people talking
to each other, throwing dice, and checking for this and that statistic as they
proceeded through a story, no game system required. Players took the roles of
adventurers, knights, kings, detectives, police officers, and more as they
attempted to reach the end of a story scenario alive. The main flow was
devised in advance by a person deemed the “gamemaster,” but depending on
the players’ decisions, the story could proceed in unpredictable directions.
Players literally crafted the story as they went (though it depended somewhat
on the discretion of the gamemaster), so each RPG offered massive freedom
and a true you-are-there feeling to the story.
“I was part of an RPG club in college, you know,” Haruto said, eyes fixed
on some faraway point.
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
Based on his prejudices, Itsuki would have guessed Haruto was in the
tennis club or something.
“…I got into reading for fun back when I read replay books in middle
school, so I always wanted to play one for myself. That was why I joined up
the moment I was admitted.”
The “replay books” he mentioned were transcripts of RPG gameplay
sessions put into book form for the entertainment of readers. These are a

common sight in Japanese bookstores, often featuring anime-style
illustrations similar to the ones in light novels. All the best ones feature three
elements—talented gamemasters, talented players, and totally unpredictable
dice rolls. The stories woven by the chemical reactions of all these uncertain
elements often create drama that outclasses the most intricately devised of
novels, so many readers enjoy reading replays as much as light novels, even
if they’ve never played an RPG in their life.
Haruto was currently in the middle of Clan Crest Replay: Fantasia
Factory, a replay book that featured eight popular writers and illustrators
playing in a single game. Given the creativity each one brought to their
characters, the resulting story was remarkably exciting.
“So you went from gamemastering to writing, too, huh?” Itsuki asked. A
gamemaster needed a lot of talents at their disposal—the technical skill to
craft an interesting scenario, the ability to guide players in the desired
direction smoothly and naturally, and the improvisational chops to handle
unexpected developments. It was said that many authors currently working
professionally in the field honed their storytelling skills as RPG gamemasters,
and Itsuki figured Haruto must’ve been one of them.
“Nah…I left before the year was out, so…”
“…Is this gonna be a long story?”
Haruto’s wry grin and snicker drove Itsuki to strongly suggest that he
wasn’t interested in hearing it.
“It’s not, okay? Just hear me out. So I joined the club, and things were
okay for about half a year. We’d have a session almost every week, and I
GM’d a bunch of times. I even ignored my classes to build scenarios and
original rules and stuff. It was incredibly fun. There were around ten people
in the club, and I was the only freshman, but everyone else was really
friendly to me. So there was one woman in the club, too. Really pretty and
big breasted, too.”
“I have to hear all of this?”
“All of it… So a lot of dudes in the club liked her, or I guess you could
say nearly all the dudes in the club, but she never dated any of them. They all
knew they were going after the same girl, and there was kind of this
unwritten rule that nobody would just come out and say ‘I love you—let’s
start dating’ to her. ’Cause otherwise it’d make the club all awkward, you
know? But then one day, not long after summer break ended—”

“You can stop. I know how this ends.”
“—she told me she had feelings for me.”
“See? I knew it!”
“…I turned her down. RPGs were more fun to me than messing around
with girls, and I didn’t want our relationship to ruin the thing we had going in
the club. But when I told her no, she started asking out pretty much
everybody else there, one after the other. Like, she’d date two or three of
them at once, and it completely screwed things up between us. You could just
feel the tension during our game sessions, and whoever she dumped would
leave the club. By the time she finally quit, too, it was only me and the club
president, but neither of us wanted to keep the thing going. I still remember
him telling me ‘That was all your fault’ the last time me met. It sucked.”
He refilled his glass and emptied it in a single gulp. Itsuki rewarded the
story with a sleepy-eyed glare.
“…Okay, so now that you’ve told me the tale of yet another college club
crashing and burning, what do you want from me now? You want me to call
you Kodaka from Haganai from now on?”
“That’s too lofty an honor for the likes of me. At least Kodaka kept the
Neighbors’ Club together through it all, unlike me. I just got reminded of all
that, reading my first RPG replay in a while, so I kinda wanted to talk about
it.”
“Talk about it, huh?”
Itsuki’s cheeks began to convulse as he pointed squarely at Haruto.
“Haruto, you’ve pissed me off for no good reason at all. For that, I hereby
sentence you to being the GM for our game!”
“Huh?”
“I’ve been wanting to try one for a while now, too. If you’ve GM’d
before, that’s all we need. Make this fun for me, okay?”
“Um, I’m kind of busy. They’re putting anime work on me, too!”
“I don’t care. If you got the time to drink in my workplace and tell stupid
stories from your past, it can’t be that bad.”
“…Ughh… You got me there, I guess.” Haruto sighed and let out a short
laugh. “Well, guess I’m doing it! Who’re you gonna invite?”

“How many people do we need for a session?”
“It’s easiest with four players, I suppose.”
“Okay. I know Kanikou’ll show up…and no way we’ll make contact with
Setsuna, so… Can I invite some nonwriters?”
“Sure.”
“All right, I’ll try reaching out to Miyako and my brother.”
“Great. Have they ever played an RPG before?”
“I’ve never asked, but I’m sure they’re both beginners.”
“Fair enough. I’m sure Nayu is, too… Well, I think I’ll head home and
come up with a scenario, then. I am so busy these days.”
Haruto sighed as he got up, the smile on his face more pure and childlike
than the breezy grin he usually had on.
Later, on a Sunday in early March, Itsuki Hashima, Haruto Fuwa, Nayuta

Kani, Miyako Shirakawa, and Chihiro Hashima were all gathered at Itsuki’s
place. Haruto, as gamemaster, was seated windowside at the kotatsu, Chihiro
faced him from the kitchen side, Miyako was to Chihiro’s right, and on his
left were Itsuki and Nayuta.
“…Are you sure I’m okay to play this, Bro?” Chihiro asked in a tiny
voice.
Nayuta smiled. “Oh, there’s no reason to be so nervous about it! I’ve
always wanted to play a game with my future brother-in-law anyway.”
“…Ah. I look forward to it,” Chihiro bluntly replied.
“And not to jump the gun too much, but you can feel free to call me your
sister right now, if you like.”
“…I’ll reserve that right for later, thanks.”
“Hey, something got you down? Did you slap the salami this morning?”
“Slap the…? We don’t have any salami in the house…”
“I mean, did you masturbate this morning?”
“Ma…?! N-no, of course not!”
Itsuki stared at the now cherry-red Chihiro.
“Could you stop sexually harassing my brother, please?”

“Oh, what’s the big deal? He’ll be my brother soon, too.”
“No he won’t!”
“No I won’t!”
Chihiro and Itsuki had played games together in the past, but this was the
first time Itsuki had brought some of his own friends into the fray. Chihiro
had come to know Nayuta, Miyako, and Haruto through their encounters at
his brother’s apartment, but he usually left quickly afterward, so they never
had any deep conversations. Miyako and Haruto, meanwhile, had never met
before, but Itsuki didn’t see that as a problem—the two of them and Chihiro
had enough communication skills that they were bound to get along fine.
After they all exchanged a few more pleasantries, Haruto decided it was
time to formally kick things off.
“Well,” he began, “thank you all for coming today. We’re going to be
playing a game that I created using another game as a reference. Since you’re
all beginners, I tried to keep the gameplay system relatively simple, but I’ll
do my best to let you guys do whatever you feel like as it goes on, so don’t be
afraid to make any suggestions that come to mind.”
“’Kay.”
“All righty!”
“Gotcha.”
“Understood.”
The party of four all nodded and gave their consent.
“…The game will be set in your basic sword-and-sorcery kind of fantasy
world. This world is composed of several continents, and in this game, we’ll
be focusing on one of them—the land of Chronica. The nations that call
Chronica home have not engaged in any major wars with each other for the
past several decades, and we’ll begin this story on the western edge of the
continent, in the kingdom of Gagagia.”
“Gagaga?”
“The kingdom of Gagagia,” Haruto said, correcting Itsuki. “…The
territory comprising this kingdom contains a great deal of ruins and caverns.
Many are the intrepid adventurers who venture into these forbidden zones.
Perhaps they explore the ruins in search of treasure or plumb the depths of
caves for monster teeth and claws to craft into weapons. Such are the kind of
people who flock to the land of Gagaga—um, Gagagia, and your party of
four is just one of many working in this realm. So let’s start by creating your

characters.”
“We make our own?” Miyako asked.
“Well, I’ve already worked out all the numerical stats and parameters for
your characters, but I’d like you to use that as a base and customize them any
way you want. The first character is a knight. Knights have very high offense
and defense skills, and his job is to stand at the forefront and attack enemies
or defend the party against them. The second is a thief; they’re fast, nimble,
and they use bows and knives in battle. They can also detect traps and unlock
treasure chests and doors. Third is the monk, who’s got magical healing and
offensive skills; they’re also second only to the knight in offense and defense,
so they can fight up front, too. Lastly is the wizard, with powerful magical
spells, some of which can strike multiple enemies at once.”
“Pretty well-balanced party,” Nayuta observed. “I like doing stuff like
finishing the game with a party of four monks or four gadabouts.”
“Sure, yeah, it’s fun to play with an off-kilter party like that, but let’s try
to keep it more standard this time around. Plus, with a video game, you can
experiment with your party all you want if you build your EXP enough, but
with a tabletop RPG, you only get one chance. Playing recklessly can get
pretty risky.”
“So could we die while playing, maybe?” Miyako asked.
“Oh, if you’re unlucky enough, sure,” Haruto replied with a grin. “And if
you die… Well, I’ll figure something out if it comes to it.”
“Hmm… I’ll be the knight, then,” Itsuki interjected. “That’s probably the
least likely to die.”
“That’s the only reason…?” Chihiro said, grinning.
“I think I’ll take the wizard,” added Miyako.
“Which one do you want, Chihiro?” Nayuta asked. “I’ll let my brother
decide.”
“…I’m not your brother, so you go first.”
“All right. Your future big sister picks the monk.”
“…”
With everyone’s job settled, Haruto handed each player a character sheet.
These sheets contained a profile of your in-game persona, along with all
the relevant stats. For this game, the skills and items each character already
had in their possession were filled in. Things like name, age, gender, personal
history, hobbies, likes, and dislikes were left blank.

“Okay, you guys can fill in the blanks to create your own character now.”
“We can choose our gender, too…?” Chihiro wondered.
“Sure. You could make your character close to yourself in real life, or you
can play as someone completely different. Or you could pretend you’re just
playing yourself, flung into this world by some freak occurrence.”
“…”
Chihiro peered intently at his character sheet, then gave Itsuki a quick
glance. Itsuki was too busy jotting away at his sheet to notice.
“…What kind of character are you going with?”
“Her name’s Tsukiko, she’s seventeen years old, and she’s a beautiful
swordswoman with long, flowing black hair.”
“You’re gender swapping?” Nayuta said, clearly excited.
“It’s not gender swapping! If a game lets me pick my sex, I always go
with female.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, when you’re playing a game, you’re looking at your own character
most of the time, so… I just think it’s more fun if you’re looking at a pretty
girl instead of some dude.”
“Yeah,” Haruto said. “The equipment for women in Monster Hunter and
Toukiden is a lot cuter, too.”
“I see… So you’re a female knight… I bet some tentacles or orc hordes
would look great on top of you…,” Nayuta commented with a glance at
Haruto.
“…Well, this is a fantasy world anyway, so I’m sure you’ll see monsters
like that,” he offered.
“I look forward to it,” she replied with an evil grin.
“…If my brother’s playing a girl, maybe I should, too… Could I be
Tsukiko’s little sister, maybe?”
“Little sister?!”
Itsuki always overreacted to that term. He gave Chihiro’s face a long, hard
look. “You playing my sister… Well, um, fine by me, I guess.”
Nayuta’s face soured at this ambivalence. “In that case, I’m gonna be his
little sister, too! I’m ten years old! My hobby is having sex with my older
sister! My main like is sex!”
“““You can’t have a ten-year-old do that!””” all three other players
shouted in unison.

“…I can’t?”
“…I mean, it’s not that you can’t, but… All right. Do whatever you
want.” Haruto rolled his eyes and threw in the towel.
“Hmm… If the other three party members are all sisters, I guess it’d be
more natural if I joined the family, too.” Miyako thought for a bit. “How
about I be the oldest of them? I’ll make her twenty, like my real age.”
“Myaa the big sister, huh? Hee-hee-hee…” Nayuta giggled bashfully.
“Wait, so…if Miyako’s the oldest one, does that mean…I’m your…little
sister?!”
“Guess so.”
“Wow… I’m a little sister…”
“Sounds like the perfect role for you, Itsuki.”
“Well, hang on. I like little sisters, but that doesn’t mean I necessarily
want to be one.”
“…I could lower my age a little, then,” Miyako said. “I—I mean, I’d be
happy to be your little sister, if you want…”
“Hmm………… Hmmm………… Hmmmmmmm…………”
The other players wondered whether Itsuki had ever thought harder about
anything else in his life.
“…Well, let’s just go with this.”
“So it is possible… You can be a little sister, too…”
“Yep. I’m countin’ on ya, Big Sis.”
“You better not start bossing us around, Itsuki! You aren’t the oldest,
even…”
And so the party consisted of four sisters.
“Great. Now we’ll distribute your bonus points. You can each put five
extra points into any parameter you like.”
“What are these ‘2d’ and ‘3d’ numbers next to the stats for strength and
stuff?” Chihiro asked.
“The d stands for dice, and the number before it is how many dice you
need to roll. So if it’s 2d, that means you roll two dice.”
“What difference does the number of dice make?”
“Well, for example, let’s say you’re attacked by someone. If the number
for your enemy’s accuracy is lower than the number for your evasion skill,
you’ll be able to dodge the attack, but you have to roll the dice first to see
what number you get.”

“So the more dice you get to roll, the better?”
“Pretty much, yeah. So basically you work with individual dice. Every
time your base stat passes a multiple of six, you get one more die to roll. If
your strength is six, you’ll get to roll two dice; if it’s twelve, you’ll get to roll
three.”
“All right… So my Dexterity is eleven; does that mean I can roll three
dice if I add one more point to it?”
“Right, right. You’ll be rolling dice to do all sorts of things, like gathering
information, opening chests, and lots of other stuff besides battles, so your
dice rolls are super important. If you can hit a multiple of six with one or two
more points, it’s worth trying to raise that stat.”
Haruto gave them some time to ponder where to assign their bonus points
before he continued. “Okay,” he then said, “finally, I’m gonna have each of
you create a unique skill for yourself.”
“A unique skill?” Itsuki asked.
“Sure. It can be anything. You can give yourself a really powerful attack
or the ability to transform into something or walk through walls or whatever.
Just tell me what you’re picturing, and I’ll work it into the gameplay system.
But if it’s too strong or helpful, I’ll attach some penalties to it or restrict when
you’re allowed to use it, just to keep things balanced.”
“A powerful attack?” Miyako said. “I’ll go with a rail gun, then.”
Haruto scowled. “A rail gun?”
“Oh, haven’t you heard of that? It’s this skill from the novel A Certain
Magical Index that’s used by Mikoto Misaka. It lets her fire off coins at high
speed with electrical currents and stuff, and I like her a lot, so…”
“…Oh, I know it. Any light novel writer would.”
“Okay, I’ll go with that, then!” Miyako answered contentedly.
“Um, all right…,” Haruto nervously replied.
“…You sure?” Itsuki protested.
“…Ah, it oughta be all right. It’s not like we’re going to publish the
transcript of this as a replay or anything.”
“Hey, that’s actually a good idea,” Chihiro suddenly said. Haruto turned
toward him, expecting the worst.
“I wanna have the Imagine Breaker!”
“Whoa! Shameless!”
“It’s a skill the hero from A Certain Magical Index has. It lets him cancel

out any supernatural skills with the touch of his right hand.”
“…Again, any light novel writer would know that.”
“That’s what I’ll go with, then,” he chirped.
“…Okay.” Haruto began to look visibly nervous.
“Ooh, the Imagine Breaker’s a nice idea,” Miyako said, oblivious to this.
“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice if I’m playing a thief with a lot of Agility.”
“And you’re actually thinking strategically about it, too…!” Haruto said,
his voice a mix of admiration and deep misgivings.
Suddenly, Nayuta raised her hand. “I got it! I want an ability where I can
boost Itsuki’s stats when I have sex with his character!”
“Sure, all right.”
“…I didn’t think you’d just agree to it like that.”
“Well, compared to risking a copyright-infringement lawsuit like these
two guys, a little X-rated action is nothing…,” the resigned Haruto told the
surprised Nayuta.
“Haruto,” Itsuki interjected, “I think I wanna get a little risky with mine,
too.”
“…You’re the boss.”
“Great!” he said, a childlike twinkle in his eyes. “I call it Unlimited Blade
Works!”
“You ‘call’ it?” Haruto said, hand to his head. “You dumbass.”
Once Haruto figured out how to work these unique skills into the game,
he gave one final check of each completed character. For the sake of keeping
things at least somewhat original, he made them change their custom skills’
names to something else.

With the player characters complete, Haruto, as gamemaster, played a piece
of music (the opening theme from a certain well-known RPG) on his
smartphone as he read out the prologue. Thus the tale of this adventuring
sister quartet began.
Gamemaster (GM): Gagagia is a small kingdom located on the western

edge of the land of Chronica. The four of you have just arrived at the town of
Aegis, a three-day walk from Gagagia’s royal capital. Your party consists of
four women, all sisters, and all born to powerful nobility in a foreign nation.
You have fled your own family, disgusted by the brazen power struggles of
your family and their vassals, and now you’ve taken up new work as
adventurers… Right, so let’s start by having all of you introduce your
characters.
Tsukiko (Itsuki): I am Tsukiko, second oldest of the four Midfield sisters, a
beautiful fighter with long black hair. I stole this impressive sword and silver
armor and shield from my family when I left them, and I have one blue eye
and one red one. I’m protected in the chest, shoulder, and hip area by my
armor, but otherwise my equipment is light. My pale skin is exposed in the
stomach area, as well as in the upper arms and the thighs. My main hobby is
doing web searches under my own name. My likes are little sisters, my fans,
Belgian beer, shrimp, whale sharks, owls, deep-sea fish, grilled salmon, and
spring rolls. My dislikes are stupid pricks who think Amazon reviews give
them total freedom of speech; the Itsuki Hashima thread on 2ch; aggregate
sites and all the people they feed off of; assholes who start bitching about
“light novels these days” and the idiots who believe them; light novels with
full nude scenes that aren’t illustrated; unclear rankings that change the
weight they give to websites, test readers, and contributors every time and
never announce how they weigh the votes (along with the ignorant general
public who take these rankings like they’re the word of God and the brazen
publishers who use them in their advertising). There’s more to my backstory,
but I ran out of writing space.
GM: Pretty long, dude! Also, your hobbies, likes, and dislikes are all pretty
much your own, aren’t they?
Tsukiko: Something wrong with that?
GM: No, but… I mean, it’s important that you’re comfortable with the role

you’re playing, I guess… Anyway, Miyako, you go next.
Miyako (Miyako): …I didn’t go into quite as much detail as Itsuki, but…
Well, I’m the oldest sister, and I’m going by Miyako with this character, too.
I guess I can cast offensive spells and stuff. I look pretty much like Mikoto
from A Certain Magical Index.
Deathmask (Nayuta): Your character’s aged twenty, right, Myaa? Because
I’m pretty sure Mikoto’s supposed to be in middle school…
Miyako: Oh, um, I mean, it’s just the inspiration for her, okay? No big deal.
Sen (Chihiro): Okay, I’ll go next… My name’s Sen, and I’m the third oldest.
My job is a thief, and I look…I dunno, like a cute girl. Like, with a ribbon in
my hair and everything. That’s all.
Deathmask: And I am Deathmask, a monk and the youngest one of all. I’ve
got silver hair and kind of a Lolita look, although my boobs are pretty big,
too… Is it just us four sisters, by the way? We don’t have any brothers or
anything?
GM: You can decide on that for yourselves if you like. Pretty freaky name,
by the way.
Miyako: Given that they named their last kid “Deathmask,” I guess our
parents might not have much affection for us.
Tsukiko: Maybe we had some more brothers, and the family only treated us
girls as fodder for strategic weddings or something.
Miyako: Yeah, the…Midfield family, right? Good thing we ran away from
’em.
GM: Okay, with that settled, let’s move on. Lemme switch the music to a
town theme real quick… There. So the four of you made good your escape
from your noble family, but it’s been a long journey that brought you here,
and you’ve already gone through all your traveling funds. In other words,
you’re broke. Not even enough money to stay at an inn for the night, much
less continue your adventure. So what’ll you guys do?
Deathmask: There’s only one solution… We need something to take our
minds off our plight. How about a quick lay to make us feel better, Itsu—I
mean, Tsukiko?
Tsukiko: Shut up… Hey, stop clinging to my arm like that!
Sen: You sure live for the moment, huh, Deathmask? …So what time is it
now?
GM: Around the early afternoon.

Sen: Okay, so we’ve got time to make enough money to get a place for the
night.
Deathmask: Ooh, smart thinking, Sen. Just what I’d expect from my big sis
and future brother.
Miyako: How’ll we find work?
GM: You’ll find work notices inside the taverns and such. As adventurers,
you’ve got the ability to find treasure in ruins and trade in things you find on
defeated monsters for cash.
Sen: We’d probably have better luck taking a job from somebody for now.
Deathmask: I dunno. I’m the type of girl who just goes out there and keeps
slashing away until we’re all dead or we accomplish something.
GM: Well, doing that in an RPG like this could lead to permadeath,
remember… Uh, but as you’re all discussing plans with each other, you’re
approached by a group of four men who, judging by their looks, seem to be
adventurers as well. It appears they’ve been drinking, and their gait is
noticeably unsteady. “Geh-heh-heh! Hey, you girls are pretty cute. Wanna
share a drink or two?”
Tsukiko: Hmm. I’m definitely a day drinker myself, so…
GM: “Geh-heh-heh! Glad to see we’re cut from the same cloth. How ’bout
it? Just a quick one at the tavern over there.”
Tsukiko: We’re kind of broke…but if this is kind of a medieval European
setting, I bet they’ve got some local ale in the taverns. That’d be nice to try…
GM: “You’re right! The ale around here is second to none, lady! You’re
gonna regret it if you don’t get a snootful while you’re here. And it’s our
treat, too, so don’t you worry your pretty heads about that.”
Tsukiko: Whoa, really?!
GM: “For you, babe, anything, geh-heh-heh…”
Tsukiko: Well, if we can drink on their dime, I don’t see any reason to turn
them down. Let’s do it.
GM: “Hee-hee! Yeah, go ahead and drink all ya want!” Then another guy
pipes up: “We’re gonna give you the darkest ale we can find!”
Tsukiko: Ooh… Let’s do it.
Sen: Whoa, wait a sec, Bro—I mean, Sis!
Miyako: You can’t just follow them right in! They’ve obviously got some
ulterior motive!
Tsukiko: Wh-what? Really?!

GM: I think it’s fair to say these men have ideas of their own, yes. You really
didn’t notice…? Man, what an easy target…
Deathmask: Good thing Itsuki isn’t really a girl. You almost got tricked into
drinking Prince Manwhore’s baby gravy! Which…wouldn’t be so bad,
actually…
Tsukiko: How dare you trick me with your nefarious words! It’s time to
punish you!
GM: I’m amazed how much you sound like a female warrior from a porn
game… Um, the men flash vulgar smiles as they taunt you, saying things like
“Ooh, you wanna go, little girl?”
Miyako: Of course we will! I wanna whip their asses!
Sen: I’m not sure we should be fighting needlessly right now…but I bet
they’d have some money if we defeated them. They had to if they were gonna
buy us drinks.
GM: Pretty hard-boiled thief there, sizing people up based on the valuables
they’re carrying. So, all right, shall we fight this band of drunken
adventurers?
With all players nodding their agreement, Haruto switched his smartphone to
a battle theme and took a sheet of paper and a set of person-shaped
miniatures from his bag. Each figure was a fantasy character, wearing armor
or robes and wielding swords and staffs, and Haruto positioned them atop the
ten-by-ten grid printed on the paper.

“This is Tsukiko,” he said, pointing at the armored knight (a brawny
man). “This is Sen”—he placed a lightly armored young woman (with oddly
heavyset looks) wielding a bowgun on the grid. “This is Miyako”—a
magical-looking woman figure (with a chiseled face). “And this is
Deathmask”—a rugged-looking man in a priest’s robe, mace held high in the
air.
“Um, that’s a guy, isn’t it?”
“This priest is supposed to be a young girl…? He looks like Mozgus from
Berserk.”
Haruto gave the complaining players a wry smile. “Hey, cut me a break.
These are from a non-Japanese RPG series… So here are your enemies.”
Four miniatures, men holding swords and bows, were placed face-to-face
with the party.
“We’ll be fighting on this ten-by-ten grid. Starting with the characters that
have the highest Agility, each person will conduct a movement phase and an
action phase. We’ll keep cycling through them all until one side wins. The
action phase is where you use the actions written on your character sheets to
attack or use items to heal yourselves, and the movement phase is where you
move your character around to get in and out of range of the enemy. You can
move as many squares as the number in your Movement stat, and you’re free
to perform your action first before moving, like maybe punching someone
and then running away from him.”
“Kind of like a strategy game,” Nayuta observed, “like Fire Emblem or
Tactics Ogre or something.”
Haruto nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”
GM: All right, so… The men begin to give you vulgar smiles as they ready
their weapons. “Heh-heh-heh! It’s time to give you girls a dose of reality!” It
sounds like they’re ready for combat, too. Man A and Man C here are
wielding swords, B has a knife, and D has a bow in his hands.
Tsukiko: You’re going down, you dirty bastards!
GM: So the turn order begins with the guy who has the most Agility. That
means we’ll start with Sen. Then it’ll go Tsukiko, Man B, Deathmask, Man
A, Man C, Man D, and Miyako.
Sen: Oh? Okay, I’ll move a little bit and attack Man B with an Arrow, since

he’s the most agile of them.
GM: The accuracy of your Arrow is determined by your Dexterity. Roll three
dice for me.
Sen: Okay… Fourteen.
GM: Then we apply the modifier for that skill. For Arrow, that’s plus five for
a total of nineteen. Let’s see if Man B can evade that.
Haruto then propped up a piece of cardboard in front of him that was shaped
like a rectangle but folded in at both edges. Like this:
“What’s that?” Miyako asked.
“This is called a gamemaster’s screen,” Haruto explained as he began
rolling dice behind it. “I use this so I can hide the dice rolls I make for
enemies from you, along with the other gamemaster data I have.”
GM: ’Kay, Man B can’t evade that, so that’s a hit for Sen’s Arrow… They’re
all drunk, by the way, so they got negative modifiers for their evasion and
accuracy.
Deathmask: Wow, they’re like sitting ducks.
GM: Now we’ll calculate the Arrow’s damage.
Sen: I roll one die for that, right? … Plus five, for nine.
GM: “Gah!” The man lets out a painful scream, but he’s still on his feet and
ready for action.
Deathmask: Do we know how much HP he has left?
GM: You can tell by looking at him how much the attack affected him or
whether he’s weakened or not, but the exact numbers are a secret.
Tsukiko: Oh, okay… I’m up next. I go up to Man B and attack with Flowing
Slash. For accuracy, I roll… Plus eight for twenty-one. Die,
bastard!
GM: Oof, twenty-one… Yeah, that’s a hit. Roll for damage.
Tsukiko: … Plus five for fourteen. Is he dead?!
GM: Sadly, not quite yet.
Deathmask: But that was such a perfect hit, too!
GM: Now it’s Man B’s turn. He slashes at Tsukiko, who’s right in front of
him. I’ll roll for his accuracy, so…Tsukiko, you’ll roll the dice to try to evade

him.
Tsukiko: …Aw, c’mon!
GM: The man strikes Tsukiko, and he deals… Ooh, nice roll. But Tsukiko’s
got cutting resistance, so I multiply the damage by 0.7… Seven damage,
total. Take seven off your HP on your character sheet for me.
Tsukiko: Ugh! I can’t let this faze me…!
GM: After attacking, Man B flees in the opposite direction. That ends his
turn, so Deathmask is up next.
Deathmask: Mmh, now I can’t attack that guy. In that case, I’ll plunge my
hot Heal rays deep into my beloved Tsukiko from behind. Hee-hee… Just
relax, Big Sis. I’ll be gentle on you.
Tsukiko: You make it sound so pervy!
Deathmask: Just lie down, count the stains on the ceiling, and it’ll be over
before you know it. Here goes… Oof! Fap, fap, fap…! …Umm, that’s a
plus five for nine points of healing.
Tsukiko: Ergh. I’ve healed up to max, but I feel like I’ve lost something
along the way…
GM: Okay, now A, C, and D have their turns. Think you can hold out against
them?
All three of them decided to attack Tsukiko.

“Gah! What are you lowlifes doing?!”
Tsukiko managed to dodge Man A’s slash but was unfortunate enough to
fall victim to Man C’s sword and Man D’s arrow. Her resistances to cutting
and piercing blunted the damage to some extent, but at the end of it, Itsuki
had only half of his HP left.
GM: “Geh-heh-heh! If you wanna surrender, you better do it fast, lady!”

Tsukiko: Pfft! I’m not out of this yet! I can’t go down in a place like this…
Deathmask: …Ooh, this is usually when the noncon happens in porn games.
Can’t wait to see how this works out!
Miyako: So it’s finally my turn. I wonder what spell I should use…
GM: The enemies are all gathered around Tsukiko, so you could damage all
of them with a Fireball.
Miyako: All right, let’s do that!

Ka-blam!
The Fireball Miyako unleashed exploded right where the three men stood,
roasting them for major damage.
“Woo-hoo!”
“Well done, Big Sister!” Deathmask called.
“You’re pretty good in a pinch,” Tsukiko marveled. But the attack
brought all the men to attention. Now they realized this wasn’t a quartet of
sisters they could take lightly.
“Oww… Now you’ve done it!”
“We’re playin’ for keeps now!”
GM: And now it’s Sen’s turn again. That round of attacking sobered up all
the men, so there are no negative modifiers on them any longer.
Sen: I go up to my sister and use a Potion to heal her.
Tsukiko: I’ll need it.
Sen: The potion heals 2d+6 damage, so…
GM: But the moment you put your hand on the potion bottle, it shatters into
a million pieces.
Sen: Huh?!
GM: Your Imagine—um, I mean, your “Jaldabaoth” skill cancels any magic
that you touch, and a Potion is a magical elixir, so…there you go.
Sen: Just touching the bottle does that?
GM: …Let’s just say these bottles need to have a magical treatment applied
to them to keep the elixirs inside fresh.
Deathmask: Pretty cruel, Prince Manwhore…
GM: Well, that’s a really powerful skill, so it’s gotta have some
disadvantage. You’re done moving and taking action, Sen, so we move on to
Tsukiko’s turn.
Sen: Sorry, Sis…
Tsukiko: No worries. We’ll just wipe ’em out before they can do us in!
Tsukiko used Shield Bash to send Man A reeling backward—a damaging

blow, but still not a lethal one. Man B behind her attempted to sidle up and
slash her, but Tsukiko managed to block the attack with her shield.
“Well done, Sis!” Deathmask shouted as she cast another Heal spell,

refilling most of Tsukiko’s HP.
Then Men A, C, and D advanced once more. Man A attempted to take out
his frustrations on Tsukiko, only to have his strike deflected by her sword.
“Damn you! In that case, I’ll aim for the girl next to you with the lighter
armor!”
Man C swung his sword at Sen, who was now standing next to Tsukiko—
a heavy strike but a slow one. The agile Sen should’ve easily dodged it.
But…
GM: …Ooh. I rolled a critical.

Sen: A critical?
GM: If I roll a natural with at least two of my accuracy dice, that counts
as a critical hit. That means it always hits, regardless of what you roll for
evasion.
Sen: Whaa—?!
GM: At least it wasn’t a damage roll. If you get a crit on that, you earn a
damage bonus based on your level.
Sen: …

GM: So Man C lands a hit on Sen, for… Well, not to be the bearer of bad
news, but that was for eleven damage. I’m rolling pretty good today… Sorry.
Sen: E-eleven…? My HP is seventeen, so…that leaves me with six…
Miyako: Another hit like that and you’re gonna die, I bet…
GM: And following that… Showing the weakened Sen no mercy, Man D
readies his bowgun. Roll for evasion with your Agility stat.
Sen: … for eight…! Hope that works…
GM: Ahh, sorry, but that’s a hit.
Sen: No way…
GM: Now, Tsukiko.
Tsukiko: Hmm?
GM: You’ve got the Protect action, remember, which lets you take damage
applied to someone on an adjacent square. What will you do?
Tsukiko: …! I’m gonna Protect her, of course! I’ve got my little sister’s
back!
GM: Right. So Tsukiko covers Sen and takes four damage.
Tsukiko: Good. Nothing worth losing sleep over. You okay, Sen?
Sen: Um, thanks, Bro…
Tsukiko: Hey, it’s any brother’s job to protect his little sister… Oh, right,
I’m a sister, too.
Miyako: Okay, my turn. I’ll use a Potion to heal Chihiro.
Using the Potion fully healed Sen’s HP.

On the next turn, Sen wheeled behind Itsuki and fired an Arrow at Man A.
“Graahhh!”
With a final roar, the man thudded to the ground.
“There’s one, finally,” Itsuki said as he healed himself with a Potion—
only to have Man B damage him again in the next turn.
Deathmask: Hmm… We’re just gonna get whittled down like this. I think
our only option is to use some more-powerful magic to kill them all at once.
Miyako: Can we do that? I know I can attack multiple foes, but I don’t know
if I can kill them in one go.
Deathmask: Not with normal spells. But if we power them up, we can.
Miyako: Power them up?

Deathmask: My unique skill, Lilim’s Kiss, could make you a lot stronger.
Miyako: Well, hang on! You aren’t gonna power me up by doing
something…gross, are you?
Deathmask: C’mon, Sis, it’s the only way…!
Miyako: You can act as serious as you want, but you won’t fool me! There’s
got to be something else we can do!
Deathmask: There’s not. We have to screw to survive, Myaa.
Miyako: You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?!
Deathmask: Well, I made this unique skill and all. It’d be a shame if I didn’t
try it out.
Miyako: All right, I’m gonna use my rail gun! I’m bound to kill one of ’em
with it, at least!
GM: Sadly, your rail gun—I mean, your Thor’s Bullet skill—requires one
mithril piece per shot.
Miyako: Mithril?
GM: Yes. These are coins made of mithril. They’re extremely valuable, and
you guys don’t have any.
Miyako: Aw, man…
Deathmask: Sex is the only answer! Please, you need to accept the truth!
Miyako: N-no! I’m saving myself for my true love…!
Deathmask: Oh, don’t give me that innocent act. What happened to the real
Myaa, preying on the opposite sex left and right?
Miyako: Stop spreading lies about me! I thought you loved Itsuki anyway!
You think he’s okay with that?!
Deathmask: I’m not the purehearted maiden I usually am, who blushes at the
sensation of a single finger upon my skin. I’m the red-hot licentious Loli
Deathmask, who does it with anyone, hetero or not!
GM: …Let me add that Lilim’s Kiss works via mucus contact, so a kiss is
just fine, really.
Deathmask: It… It is…?! Since when did that get written in…?!
GM: We’ve got children under eighteen in the room. I have to.
Deathmask: Ugh… Like you ever cared about that before, Prince
Manwhore… Well, all right, Miyako. Pucker up.
Miyako: …Well, a…a kiss ought to be all right…and I’m in the game world
anyway, so we’re not really doing it…
Deathmask: Good. So I go up to Myaa and cast Lilim’s Kiss. She’s agreed

to it, so it automatically succeeds. Here we go! Smooch.
Miyako: Whoa! I said we didn’t have to really do it!
Deathmask: Just kidding… The ten-year-old girl’s waifish tongue penetrates
the soft, pert lips of the twenty-year-old grown woman. Their tongues
intertwine in the most obscene of ways, their spit freely exchanged with each
other. Mfff… The others can hear loud smacking sounds, along with Miyako
losing all control and panting out of the corners of her mouth. “Nnh… Ah,
ahhh… !”
Miyako: H-hey, don’t cook up my reactions for me!
Deathmask: I say, “Hee-hee, you’re so cute, Big Sis… ” as I indulge
myself with Miyako’s tongue. Soon, I nimbly remove the tassel keeping her
robe together. It silently slips off her and falls to the ground, exposing her
young and supple skin to the world. She removes her lips from mine, a single
string of spit connecting us. “Agh! No! Oh, I’m so embarrassed,” she
exclaims as her cheeks begin to redden. “We can’t let ourselves do this,” she
says, attempting to push my small body away from her. But she’s only
putting a bare minimum of force into it. I snicker at her. “That’s what your
mouth might be saying,” I say as I flash a devilish grin at her, “but you’re
anticipating this as much as I am, aren’t you, Sister?” I extend a hand to
Miyako’s undergarments, nimbly using it to remove both her bra and her
shorts. She is now stark naked, her shame and anticipation making her visibly
shake. I give her a satisfied look as I remove my own garments, applying my
lips to one of her nipples and playing with the edge of it with my tongue.
“Ahhh!” Miyako gasps. “Hee-hee-hee! Are you feeling it?” I say, applying
more force. “What a dirty big sister you are!” My fingers trace complex paths
across Miyako’s body in assorted places, making her wince and groan with
each stop they make. In another moment, they reach inside the most sensitive
place on her entire body. “You’re melting in my hands, Sis,” I say. “How
blissfully deviant.” Miyako is panting, in a state of pure ecstasy, slack-jawed
as she begs me to go on. “Ooh, I can’t take any more… ”
Miyako: I can’t take any more of this!
Smack!
Miyako, face red as a tomato, gave Nayuta a slap to the head.
“…That hurt, Myaa,” Nayuta blithely reported, her cheek a bit flushed.

“Nngh… I told you I only wanted a kiss…” Miyako moaned, tears in her
eyes.
Nayuta gave an impish smile. “Well, it’s your fault for having such a dirty
mind… I wish someone could’ve stopped me. I’m terrible at figuring out how
those sorts of things should end.”
Chihiro had his head pointed at the floor, just as tomato-like as Miyako.
Itsuki and Haruto were flushed as well, paying rapt attention to the
proceedings.
“I’m amazed you can just whip out an erotic story like that from nothing,
too…”
“Oh, any writer can do that,” Nayuta deadpanned. “I didn’t exactly make
an effort on the prose, either.”
“…Really?” Miyako asked, looking at Itsuki and Haruto.
“…If you’re asking whether I can do that or not,” Itsuki replied, “then
yeah, I can.”
Haruto snickered. “I wouldn’t read it out loud to somebody else, though.”
“…You writers are so weird,” Miyako said with a sigh, her frustration and
awe both evident in it.

* * *
GM: Umm… So Deathmask’s Lilim’s Kiss is now in effect. Her MP’s set to
zero, and she can’t move in the next turn. Miyako’s resistances and stats got a
major boost, but there’s no need to calculate them.
Miyako: Oh?
GM: That’s because after that salacious little scene between you and
Deathmask, the men stopped fighting and started staring right at you. Now
you hear the sharp sound of a whistle as a group of around ten men—they
look like soldiers to you—make their way through the crowd of onlookers
toward you. “We’re the military police! Stop fighting at once—” Then they
notice the stark-naked Miyako and Deathmask in each other’s arms. It stuns
them into silence for a moment, then one of them clears his throat. “…Ahem!
I hereby place you two under arrest for public indecency!”
Miyako: What? No way!
Deathmask: Hang on. All I was doing was having a hot, steamy make-out
session in the middle of the street with my sister.
GM: “We call that public indecency around here, little girl.”
Deathmask: Yeah, I guess so, huh?
Miyako: I didn’t do anything!
GM: The men you were fighting leave the scene in a hurry, shouting “Well,
we’re off” as they do. You’re the only ones left.
Sen: Great… Should we run, too?
GM: The military police have already surrounded you. I wouldn’t like your
chances.
Tsukiko: So we’ll have to fight our way out!
Sen: Um, do you think that’s okay?
GM: You might be able to defeat the police in combat, but then you’ll all be
wanted by the kingdom, probably. What’ll you do?
Tsukiko: Hmm…
Deathmask: I think we’ll just have to let ’em take us away. We can explain
ourselves later.
Miyako: What are you being so calm about? This is all your fault!
Deathmask: You should probably get your clothes back on first, Sis. I

already have mine on.
Miyako: Huh?! That’s not fair!
GM: “Just pipe down and come with us, girls…”
Tsukiko: Pfft! Whatever!
Deathmask: Come on, officers! We were just faking it anyway!
Tsukiko: …?
GM: …The MPs are too devoted to their duty to notice as they take you
away to a dungeon on the outskirts of town. Now all four of you are in a cell,
stripped of your weapons. “You sex-starved animals can cool down here for
the night,” the guard says.
Miyako: I’m not a sex-starved animal! Aww… I never imagined I’d get
arrested for public indecency sometime in my life…
GM: Well, you did cause quite a ruckus in the middle of town. That’s what
they arrested you for.
Miyako: There’s a big difference between causing a ruckus and having sex
in public!
Tsukiko: …So now what, though? Are we gonna break out of here?
Deathmask: Myaa’s been powered up by our sex, remember. I bet she could
destroy the jail door with her magic, no problem!
Miyako: …Could I? ’Cause otherwise, I’m totally a victim here…
Sen: They’re gonna let us out tomorrow, it sounds like. Maybe we could just
spend the night here?
GM: As the four of you talk over matters in the dungeon, you hear a voice
say “Hello?” from outside your cell.
Tsukiko: Oh?
GM: The voice belongs to a blond-haired, blue-eyed little girl. She’s in a
dress that looks completely out of place in this jail.
Deathmask: Ah… Is she the chief warden, maybe? Like, a total sadist who
looks all sweet and innocent but secretly likes to torture her prisoners?
Tsukiko: Gah! I refuse to submit to torture!
GM: “…I’m not the head warden, and I’d never do something as horrible as
torture you. My name is Sylvia, and I am the Aegis town lord’s daughter. I
was hoping I could make a request of you all.”
Tsukiko: …Wait. Why are you asking a favor of a bunch of perverted
women arrested for indecent exposure?
Miyako: I’m not perverted!

Deathmask: Not that I have room to talk, but is Sylvia blind or something?
GM: “I just… I like the look in your eyes, is all. You four women, traveling
alone… You must be very gifted indeed.”
Tsukiko: You’re just seeing what you want to see, twisting things to suit you
better. And you have no idea how ugly it makes you look, either… I hate
people like you.
GM: “That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone you’ve just met, now is
it…? Could you at least tell me what brought you here?”
Sen: We might as well hear her out.
GM: “…Thank you. I suppose you’re the easiest one here to deal with. So
it’s like this—”
Vrrrrm!
Just as Haruto was about to regale the party with Sylvia’s story, the
smartphone playing his RPG background music began to vibrate and play a
ringtone.
“Oops! Sorry, that’s from my editor. One sec.”
Haruto leaped away from the table, walked into the kitchen, and pressed
the “Accept” button. “Hi, this is Fuwa,” he said softly.
“Hello. This is Kawabe from Editorial. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“I’m out at the moment, so…is it an emergency?”
“Oh, not really. I just wanted to confirm something with you. We asked
you to submit an afterword for the first manga volume by yesterday, but have
you sent that in yet? We haven’t received it, so I thought maybe you were
having some e-mail issues.”
“Uh…! I—I’m sorry, I forgot all about it! I’ll send it to you today!”
“Ah, all right. That ought to be fine, but…it’s pretty uncommon for you to
forget about work like that, Fuwa. Did something happen?”
“No, I, um… I was just focused on something else, so…”
“Oh?”
“But I’m gonna make this my top priority! I’m super sorry about this!”
Haruto trudged back to the kotatsu after the call ended. “…Sorry, guys,
but there’s this rush assignment I gotta do, so I’m gonna have to end the
session.”
“Aw, really? We were just getting into the meat of the story, too!”

“…I’m really sorry.” Haruto lowered his head at the sight of the pouting
Itsuki.
“…Well, all right. We’ll pick this up later on.”
“Sure,” Miyako said.
“I look forward to it,” Chihiro added.
“…You want to keep playing?” Haruto hesitantly asked. The four players
instantly gave him a matching set of “what a stupid question” faces.
“I’m not exactly thrilled with the way Nayu treated me,” Miyako
observed, “but this game’s pretty fun.”
Chihiro, for his part, flashed a soft smile. “I didn’t know there was a game
like this before now. Thanks a lot, gamemaster!”
“I swear I’m gonna get intimate with Tsukiko next time.”
“Like hell you are. I don’t need your trashy magic spells.”
“Hopefully you’ll have the right sort of sexy situation cooked up for Itsuki
next session, Prince Manwhore. Maybe something with orcs or tentacles or
slimes.”
Haruto laughed, although it sounded more than a bit like sobbing. Itsuki
took the opportunity to whisper something to him, unnoticed.
“…Did that help wipe away some of that goofy trauma?”
“…I think so. Thanks, Itsuki.”
That night, at the Hashima residence, a twenty-minute bus ride from Itsuki’s
apartment, Chihiro Hashima soaked in the bathtub and reflected on the day’s
RPG session. Man, that was a lot of fun, he thought. I never thought I’d get to
play a game with all my brother’s friends. Pretty interesting people, too,
although I’m not really into that “future brother” stuff.
Plus…
“I’ve got my little sister’s back!”
“Hee-hee…”
Whenever he replayed Itsuki’s in-game declaration in his mind, it always
managed to both make him smile and send a pang of something or other
racing across his chest.

Little sister, huh…?
He looked down at his own naked body. And while it was a little (okay, a
lot) smaller than the average for people of this gender, the curvature to
Chihiro’s chest area was clearly feminine in nature.

Chihiro Hashima was a girl. And Itsuki, her brother, still didn’t know.
A sister was all he needed—but he had none. How would the story
change, though, the moment the truth turned Itsuki Hashima’s world upside
down?
It was impossible for anyone to say yet.
(The End)

Afterword
In the manga Space Brothers, there’s an episode where the protagonist is

utterly amazed that he’s able to discuss incredibly esoteric outer-space-
related topics with the astronauts around him, even though none of his friends
were interested in space when he tried talking about it as a kid. But when I go
up to my writer friends and talk about novels, manga, anime, games, or other
types of entertainment, I sometimes feel the same rush that this protagonist
does. Discussing characters’ insides, or what the author’s trying to say
through the work, or the shouts and murmurs in this or that sentence or scene,
or how awesome the character setups for this-or-that description is, or
whether a priest should “bless” something or “offer prayers,” or whether the
term should be original concept or original story, or whether it’d be better to
use the term crap or shit. Or saying, “I think it’d be sillier if I used the term
purty li’l panties in the novel that kicks off this story, but do you think that
could work in terms of the vocabulary Itsuki would use?” Not to mention
discussing whether nudes or clothed photos are sexier or saying “Here’s this
new servant I just thought up” or “What if I was summoned to another world
to serve as its hero?” All this utter nonsense being tossed around by grown
men and women. Nobody ever says anything like “It’s only a light novel” or
“It’s only manga” or “Why are you getting so worked up over these works of
fiction?” It can get so heated that it actually leads to fistfights, and even as I
type this into the keyboard, there are bloodstains on my knuckles. Why don’t
they understand that nude wins every time, that it’s only natural that a woman
in her most natural of states would be sexiest of all?
It’s often said that you shouldn’t get a job doing the thing you love, lest
you lose the ability to enjoy it. That makes sense to me. This job isn’t easy,
and it’s not all fun and hilarity nonstop, and sometimes it becomes hard to
enjoy a lighthearted comedy novel if you find out the author was coughing up

blood throughout the writing process. But making this your job gives you
access to new perspectives, and discussing these hardships with friends
working from the same perspective is the most fun thing in the world.
Whether it’s novels or outer space, encountering something you truly love
and being able to work in it may have some bad elements, but I think it
ultimately leads to happiness. The fact that I still have my head above water
in this world, even after all the struggles I’ve had to face in this reality of
mine, isn’t just because I like light novels. It’s in large part because I like the
people I met in this world, people I could never have met otherwise.
Spending time with the screwy yet incredibly fascinating people who like
getting all worked up about fiction—fully taking in the bravery, the justice,
the love, the lust, the friendship, the dreams, the hopes, and the kindness
within them—is bliss to me, and that’s why I want to keep treating all this
fiction seriously. That’s what led to A Sister’s All You Need., a very personal,
very absurd love letter that extends out to tens of thousands of words. It’s a
work of fiction, of course, and it really doesn’t have anything to do with any
real person or group, but in terms of my feelings, it’s the unvarnished truth. If
you enjoyed it at all, nothing could make me happier.
Finally, I would like to profusely thank my illustrator, Kantoku; my editor
Iwaasa; everyone else involved with producing this book; everyone who
provided comments for it; and most of all, the people who reached out for
this book and the other ones I’ve written. Also, to everyone I’ve played with,
drank with, and worked with—I’d be too embarrassed to say this anywhere
else, but thanks for getting yourselves involved in my life. Let’s keep it
going.
L-O-V-E!
Yomi Hirasaka, Silver-Haired Nude Lolita Writer
* Note! Refrain from going extremely lowbrow or sexually harassing your

fellow players during an RPG session. Game aggressively, but keep it fun
and in moderation!

Afterword

Thank you very much for reading all the way to the end. This is
Kantoku, the illustrator for this novel.
The chemical reactions that make up this tale, a mix of true-to-life
writer situations and the kind of non-geeky developments that would
never happen in reality, are a remarkable joy to read. I feel as if this is
the kind of creative life I’ve been striving for all this time… Plus, I love
sexual innuendo, so reading this was a total laugh for me.
Designing the characters for this book was quite a task. Chihiro in
particular took a lot of doing. When I first saw the title, I hadn’t drawn
for any series that had little-sister characters in them. I thought to
myself, Hee-hee, I know exactly what kind of balance to strike, but
really, none of the characters here are as easy to understand as all of
that. Thinking in terms of a standard template like that makes me
cringe now!
Now that I’m done with Volume 1, though, I think I’ve finally got a
decent image of the overall work. Talk to you soon!

Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Yen On.
To get news about the latest manga, graphic novels, and light novels from
Yen Press, along with special offers and exclusive content, sign up for the
Yen Press newsletter-
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A Sister’s All You Need.

Translation by Kevin Gifford

IMOTO SAE IREBA II. Vol. 1

English translation © 2018 by Yen Press, LLC

Visit us at yenpress.com • facebook.com/yenpress • twitter.com/yenpress •

First Yen On eBook Edition: June 2019

Yen On is an imprint of Yen Press, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

The Novelist Is a Little-Sister-Obsessed

“C’mon, Bro, time to get up, up, uuuup…”

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“What in the hell is this?!”

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Itsuki Hashima’s apartment was on the second floor of a three-story building

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“Hellooo! It’s your hot friend.”

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“The unrefined content plays host to a wealth of issues, and we’re

“A very expertly put-together piece, obviously from someone well versed

Which review applied to which author should be obvious.

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Talent, money, social status, prestige, looks, character, dreams, hopes,

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