Sugisaki's doubts

As a student, going back and forth between home and school every day made for a monotonous life.

But there were still changes.

"A book signing? This Sunday?"

Editor Nohara's voice came from the other end of the phone.

To be honest, ever since handing over the manuscript for Baron of the Night, Huo Lin had paid no further attention to it, aside from the monthly royalties that had freed the Yagami House from the predicament of watching its savings drain away without any money coming in.

She had not bothered with the magazine's sales or readers' reactions. Even when the novel was released as a standalone volume at readers' request after three months of serialization, Huo Lin only found out afterward. After all, that had already been included in the contract. Since the author herself showed no interest, the editor had no need to confirm it with her.

It was a signature work by Yusaku Kudo, one of her previous world's finest mystery novelists, so its performance certainly would not be too bad. As for whether it could compete with this world's top mystery writers, Huo Lin had no interest in that.

She was only after the royalties. As long as she had enough money, that was fine. Any more held little meaning; what she truly sought was the world of magic.

Yen could not buy magical materials or spellbooks. It could only cover her and Hayate's daily needs. Too little would not do, but more was useless.

"Would it be possible to cancel Sunday's book signing?"

"Huh?"

This was the first time Nohara had ever heard such a request.

Still, considering that he himself had been thrust into the job of editor, perhaps this was not uncommon among writers? Was he simply inexperienced?

Whatever the case, he had already made all the arrangements and sent out the announcement. It was his fault for not contacting her beforehand, but a signing was a good opportunity to raise her profile, after all. It was recognition of Baron of the Night's success, effectively having the editorial department pay to advertise the author.

Would an ordinary new writer turn that down?

"May I ask whether you have something important to do on Sunday?"

Did wanting a day off count?

"All right, I understand." Huo Lin also realized that being too willful would not be fair. Editor Nohara was a decent person, after all.

He had a mortgage stretching over thirty years, two children in kindergarten, and a wife who was a full-time homemaker. Just thinking about it was depressing. There was no need to make his life harder.

The next day, at the club after school.

The school term had barely started, and Tokyo's September heat was unusually fierce.

The Literature Club's funds could not yet cover an air conditioner. Only an electric fan whirred away.

"President, I think we ought to buy an air conditioner." Sugisaki Ken was drenched in sweat.

The fan was pointed at the president, not him.

"You pay for it."

"Then could I turn the fan a little?"

"Would you like to try dying once?"

"Ah, please don't say something so terrifying. Are you Hell Girl?"

"Say, didn't you used to skip club all the time? Why have you been showing up so often lately?"

As president, Huo Lin did not particularly care whether the members came. She had no intention of expanding the Literature Club into anything impressive. It was simply a place where she could write novels to supplement the household income. Even for members who never showed up, she would mark them down for full attendance whenever she could.

As long as she could hand the Literature Club over to the next president before graduating without it being disbanded, that was enough.

Sugisaki used to miss club frequently, but for some reason, he had been coming every day lately.

Sugisaki could not explain it himself.

He simply felt that something about the president had changed.

Sugisaki's goal at school was to meet more pretty girls and make friends with them.

But now he wanted to make friends with the president.

He did not believe the problem lay with him, so it had to lie with the president.

Take right now, for example. In this heat, everyone was sweating, and boys and girls had distinctly different body odors. Sugisaki could tell them apart clearly; it was an ability he could proudly boast of.

There were currently three people in the clubroom: himself, the president, and Amano, the sixth-year upperclassman.

Yet he was the only one who smelled like a boy.

"What is it, Sugisaki? Have you got nothing to do now that you're here? Can't you write something like me, or settle down with a book like Amano?"

Huo Lin did not much like the way Sugisaki was looking at her.

"No, no. Leaving you aside for now, President, Amano isn't reading a book at all. She's eating it!"

At the mention of her name, Amano Touko was tearing a corner off a page and stuffing it into her mouth.

Her father had told her not to eat books in front of other people, because they would think she was a monster. But the president was a good person, so it was fine.

As for Sugisaki, he could more or less be considered a good person too. He sometimes said baffling things, but he did not bully anyone.

Only, the book she was eating today was a little different.

"Does it taste good?" Looking at the book's cover, Huo Lin could not help asking.

She could count as this book's chef too. Even if she had not cooked it from scratch, who said reheating a ready-made dish did not make someone a chef?

"Mm..." Amano found it a little difficult to describe. "The flavor isn't bad. It's like rich German chocolate, slightly bitter, but very smooth."

It tasted expensive, but it did not quite suit her palate. A little sugar and milk would have made it better.

"So you don't like mystery novels, Amano. Why did you choose this one?"

"Well, something about the seasoning felt familiar, so I couldn't resist trying it. I heard Mr. Kudo is holding a book signing on Sunday."

Sure enough, Amano had a keen sensitivity to writing.

Other people experienced writing through its phrasing and sentence structure, while she simply ate it. Her taste buds were far more sensitive than reading alone could ever be.

Although Baron of the Night was Yusaku Kudo's book, Huo Lin certainly could not recite it from memory. She had only read it a few times in her previous life and remembered the broad outline. Apart from the central plot, the wording, sentence structure, and descriptive flourishes were all her own work. It was hardly surprising that her own writing habits showed through.

Amano was already thoroughly familiar with her writing.

That was why the upperclassman had been somewhat distracted today, glancing at the president from time to time.

"Don't bother going to the signing. There's no need to force yourself if you don't like it. How about I write you a story from a prompt instead?"

At the words "story from a prompt," Amano's eyes lit up. She set aside the unfinished copy of Baron of the Night.

"Yes, please! Sorry for the trouble, President!"

For Amano, a prompted story was like being allowed to order her own meal at a restaurant. The president was an excellent cook; she just did not usually feel like "getting into the kitchen."

Prompted writing was a Literature Club tradition. The former president had liked assigning club tasks that way, so Huo Lin had written plenty of them during her third year.

The rules were to open a dictionary to three random pages, have the person setting the prompt choose one word from each, and write a story using those words as clues.

Huo Lin flipped casually through the dictionary and let Amano pick a word from each page. The final choices were "candy," "explosion," and "rain."

They seemed rather random, but Huo Lin put pen to paper without hesitation. To her, a composition like this posed no difficulty whatsoever. She had written so much mystery fiction lately that she wanted a change of pace anyway. Casually writing seven or eight hundred words would serve as a break.

"Sugisaki, go make a pot of tea."

"Oh, sure." Sugisaki had long since grown accustomed to being ordered around by the president in the Literature Club. "Black tea?"

"Yes, Darjeeling will do. President Matsumoto should have left some before graduating."

Darjeeling, huh? The so-called champagne of black teas. President Yagami had excellent taste. Though, since the previous president had left it behind, he ought to say President Matsumoto had excellent taste.

Sugisaki had never met President Matsumoto. By the time he joined the Literature Club last term, Huo Lin Yagami was already its president.

As for why he had joined, it was entirely because the club's name sounded full of "literary girl" charm. He had hoped to spend his school days happily surrounded by gentle, refined beauties.

Instead, the Literature Club would have been disbanded if he had not joined-a club needed at least three members. There was indeed a literary girl here, but she was a book-eating monster.

As for the president, although she looked seventy or eighty percent like Hayate Yagami, the school's fourth-ranked beauty, she was a boy, after all.

She was a boy, right?

Lately, Sugisaki had begun to doubt it. In theory, the school records could not be wrong, but his keen senses for pretty girls were telling him something else entirely.