— Fuji Hall
The heavy brown wooden doors stood open, and several display boards were set up at the entrance.
Showing the name of the Honya Taisho (Japan Booksellers' Award) and its sponsors.
Each of the ten nominated books had its own display, but naturally, the one that drew the most attention belonged to Hojou Kyousuke.
The Devotion of Suspect X had already been published in three different editions, each with a distinct cover.
One was entirely black, with the title running vertically in small print—The Devotion of Suspect X—where the X stood out in a bright red script.
Another had "Hojou Kyousuke" prominently displayed in bold, while the title took a backseat.
The version on display now was the third edition: a light blue background, with the silhouette of a man in a black suit facing away.
Below him, the title was printed in clean, understated text.
Naturally, the figure in the image was Kyousuke himself.
This special collector's edition was created specifically as a—well, let's say a "thank-you gift" to his fans.
Even though the novel's protagonist, Ishigami, was described as plain and unremarkable in appearance, that didn't stop readers from imagining him in Kyousuke's image.
A man of ordinary—or even below-average—looks matched the tragic circumstances of Ishigami in the story and the way Miss Yasuko treated him.
On the other hand, a man so perfectly handsome it felt almost unreal fit the readers' romanticized image of the character: a mathematical genius, the architect of the perfect crime, the proud and brooding Ishigami.
A man willing to sacrifice everything for love—his passion so deep it could suffocate.
A love so pure, so all-consuming, it bordered on obsession.
What kind of man could that possibly be?
Just like how Kasumigaoka Utaha had once misunderstood, anyone who saw Kyousuke and knew even a little about him would naturally project him onto Ishigami Tetsuya.
"That's perfect," Sakura said with satisfaction as she gazed at the display. "For your next manga, just model the main character after Kyousuke himself.
That way when it gets adapted into an anime, Eriri will definitely be more motivated to draw."
She'd already made up her mind to pack up the poster and bring it home after the event.
'To send it to Aunt Mikiko~'
"Let's not do that," Kyousuke replied casually. "That'd be bad luck."
The banquet hall had only one entrance, no back doors.
Kyousuke lifted his foot to step inside when—
"Hey! Are you seriously planning to show up in front of the bride like that?
That's way too rude! The groom's changing room isn't over there, you know!" Osaka Gou grabbed him by the arm.
Whoa there, buddy. You're really getting into this role.
Kyousuke chuckled, realizing he still had something important to do.
As the main character of today's event, he needed to wear a boutonnière.
In fact, all ten authors nominated for the Honya Taisho would be wearing one.
"I'm not really the type to share a dressing room. Why don't you try the women's changing room, Osaka-san?"
He said this while turning his head slightly and lowering his voice.
With their rapport, this kind of joke was fine between them—but if overheard by a lady, it might sound a bit too flirty.
"Oh my, I didn't know you felt that way about me, Hojou-san" Osaka Gou replied with a loud laugh, flashing a flowery smile.
"Alright then, Sakura, you and the others go inside with Editor Shimomura and the team," Kyousuke said, turning back to the girls.
The guests' seats were further back in the hall.
"Mhm~ Pick the brightest, most vibrant flower, okay~?" Sakura chimed.
"Got it."
With a wave goodbye to Kyousuke, Sakura and the group followed the two editors into the venue.
Before entering, Sakura had thought it was just the angle that made the hall seem dark from the outside.
But once inside, she realized—it was incredibly dim.
If not for the fluorescent guide strips on the floor, she might've tripped before her eyes adjusted.
Fuji Hall got its name from the ukiyo-e paintings of Mount Fuji that adorned its walls—much like the famous Kingkei style.
But right now, in the low light, they were barely visible.
The only source of light came from the ceremonial stage at the front of the hall.
The stage, raised about a meter above ground level, glowed under a golden spotlight.
The polished wooden floor beneath it shimmered in a dark amber hue.
At the center of the stage sat a square object covered entirely in golden silk.
No one needed to be told—everyone knew that beneath that cloth was the award-winning book.
Once the host announced the winner, the staff would pull the cloth away.
Behind the stage, the backdrop was silver-gray, divided into several rectangular sections by golden rays.
A massive projection screen hung in the center, one that made Sakura feel oddly at home.
On it was the emblem of the Honya Taisho.
Atop a golden crown were three lines of bold, comic-style text:
————————————————————————
[Chosen by bookstore clerks nationwide]
[The No. 1]
[Book they want to sell]
————————————————————————
Below that, in large white font:
————————————————————————
[2015 Honya Taisho]
[Award Ceremony]
————————————————————————
In such a dark room, anyone who dared to take out their phone would instantly become the center of attention.
That brief moment of social pressure was enough to turn their faces hot with shame—and since it was too quiet to properly apologize, the only way to show remorse would be a full-on dogeza (prostration).
By Sakura-sama's logic, it meant: if you don't want to end up in a dogeza, you'd better just sit there and quietly stare at the screen.
It left everyone silently praying for the ceremony to start quickly—for that golden cloth to be pulled away, and for the winner to step onto the stage.
In the end, ritual was important.
Without it, the audience might have already lost patience and demanded the event get on with it.
"It's kind of like a movie premiere, right, Shouko?" Sakura whispered.
But her comment was met with silence.
Uh-oh. Don't tell me… Shouko got lost?!
Sakura froze.
She hadn't taught Shouko what to do if she got lost—and especially not to cry out loud.
"She actually went with Kyousuke to the changing room," Mitsuha whispered.
"Ohh~~ Naughty Shou-chan~" Sakura blinked, then chuckled.
————————————————————————
Meanwhile, Kyousuke and Osaka followed Amamiya to the men's changing room.
Since this hall was originally designed for weddings, the dressing room was labeled "Groom's Room" on the map.
Of course, it wasn't used for actual changing today—just for adjusting outfits.
Boutonnières, gloves, accessories.
Amamiya Miki had been wondering why Miss Nishimiya hadn't taken her seat in the hall.
But the moment she stepped into the dressing room, she saw Shouko silently walking toward the table of boutonnières.
Tags read things like: "For Nominee" / "For Winner"…
Different flowers had been prepared for different people—blue hydrangeas, white lilies, bright red blooms so vivid their species were hard to identify.
Shouko glanced around, recalling what Sakura had told her.
Ignoring the organizers' recommendations, she picked the one she liked most: a bright red tachibana daylily—a flower that looked like a blend between a lily and a zephyranthes.
Its petals were slender and elegant, clustered like a rose.
Holding the flower, she stepped in front of Kyousuke.
She didn't use the pin the staff had provided, either. Instead, she took out one she had brought herself—just like back then.
When she'd pulled scissors from her pocket and snatched the shirt button from Kyousuke before Sakura could.
All four girls had chosen ponytails for today's hairstyles.
As Shouko tilted her head up and focused on pinning the flower to Kyousuke's chest, her brown ponytail slid gently down her pale neck, making her skin seem even more porcelain-like by contrast.
From his taller vantage point, Kyousuke's view was partly blocked by Shouko's adorable face—but he could still clearly see the smooth, snowy expanse of skin across her collarbone and chest…
"Time really flies, doesn't it?"
As Shouko gently adjusted the fabric on his chest, Kyousuke's thoughts drifted back to their elementary school graduation.
Back then, Shouko had been just about the same height as him.
Now, he had grown taller—and she had grown up too.
"Not too fast, not too slow. Just right~" Shouko smiled softly as she carefully smoothed out his shirt.
"Let's go. Time to accept the award."
With that, Kyousuke naturally took Shouko's hand and started walking toward the exit.
Huh?!
You're not even going to wait for me?!
Did you two forget we're supposed to be on the same team?!
Osaka stared in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth agape, as the pair strolled out like they were off on a relaxing date in the countryside.
His gut felt like it was corroding from sheer jealousy.
A staff member stood in front of him, helping him pin on a boutonnière.
The man was taller and more muscular than he was, only making Osaka feel more deflated.
He glanced over at Amamiya, radiant in her silver suit.
She too was frozen in place, staring at Kyousuke's retreating back in utter disbelief.
That at least gave the old man a bit of comfort.
But just a second later, he watched in shock as Amamiya-san, in her five-centimeter heels, suddenly picked up her pace and jogged after Kyousuke with a crisp click-clack of elegance.
"…So, Osaka-san, how does that feel?" the staffer asked politely.
"…Indescribable," Osaka muttered.
"I'm terribly sorry! I'll adjust it right away," the attendant replied, flustered, and resumed fiddling with the flower on Osaka's chest.
"..."
Osaka looked up—and realized that even the man pinning the boutonnière on him, while leaning down, was still taller than he was.
His mood only plummeted further.
Shouko's hand was warm, soft, and fit perfectly in his.
Holding it, Kyousuke felt like he was walking on clouds.
If Amamiya-san weren't following along behind them, he might've really taken Shouko on a stroll downstairs to check out the wedding hall before returning.
Surely the newlyweds wouldn't have minded, right?
They walked in silence for a while, the atmosphere as solemn and serene as if they were walking down the sacred path to a shrine.
Shouko's expression wasn't as serious as a bride's, though—she wore a peaceful, gentle smile.
"Kyousuke-kun, good luck!"
Just before they reached the door and had to part ways, Shouko struck an adorably enthusiastic pose and gave him a cheerful send-off.
Then, with a bounce in her step, she ran toward the guest seating area at the back of the hall.
"This way, Hojou-san."
Amamiya Miki gestured with a graceful hand.
Instead of approaching from the front of the ceremonial stage, they circled around to the prep room behind the backdrop.
The front row seats weren't for the nominees or the executive committee—they were reserved for cameras and reporters.
When Kyousuke emerged from a small side door onto the stage, the more sharp-eyed photographers immediately lifted their cameras and began snapping away.
He was grateful none of them used flash—likely to avoid being shamed into a public apology.
Wait...
Without flash, how are you even going to get a decent shot in this lighting?!
Do you people have any professional standards at all?!
Now he understood where those unflattering tabloid shots—like "XXX loses major award, face twisted in despair"—came from.
Lost in thought, he made his way to his seat.
Amamiya had already told him where to go.
Not that it mattered—he and Osaka were basically the last ones to arrive anyway.
"Hojou-san, you sure made us wait," came a voice from nearby.
It was Mashiro Masashi, whom Hojou had met at a previous reception, greeting him with a smile.
"You just don't get it, Mashiro-san," Misaki cut in. "If Hojou-san arrived too early, we'd all have to rack our brains thinking of ways to congratulate him, and he'd have to awkwardly act humble.
But by showing up fashionably late, he spares us all the trouble. It's a win-win!"
Misaki's nominated work was Death Comes to My House, where a grim reaper visits people who are about to die and asks them absurd questions—like whether they prefer Coke or Pepsi, or if they'd rather have their corpse eaten by cats or rats.
(Of course, the reaper in the novel repeatedly insists that your answers don't affect your fate. Supposedly.)
"I see… I completely failed to grasp Hojou-san's thoughtful consideration," Mashiro said with mock solemnity. "I'll punish myself with three shots at the afterparty."
"You two are great at this," Kyousuke chuckled. "Forget writing novels—go become manzai comedians. I'll send flowers to your debut."
He sat down with a grin, but before he could continue chatting, he felt a piercing, uncomfortable gaze from across the room.
Ishida Hidenori.
"Wait, seriously? That guy's wearing that red suit again today? Is that all he owns?" someone whispered in disbelief.
"You didn't hear?" Mashiro Masashi said, surprised.
"You mean the prank on Ishida Hidenori?" Hojou asked.
"Yeah. It's part of a larger joke. That deep red suit—doesn't it look kind of like a clown outfit?" Misaki added with a mischievous grin.
With a vivid imagination, Kyousuke suddenly pictured Ishida's yellowish, pasty face painted white with a big red clown nose.
"Who did this to him? That's some seriously…" He paused, then finished, "...elaborate planning."
"No idea. Just that someone who really didn't like him set it up. If Osaka-san hadn't told us, we'd be in the dark too," Mashiro said.
Perhaps noticing the stares from Hojou and the others, Ishida—brimming with self-confidence—turned toward them mid-conversation.
Unlike the flustered man they'd seen before, he now exuded the smug air of a winner.
He raised his chin high and smiled, flashing a mess of uneven teeth in their direction.
"..."
The three of them were completely speechless.
Kyousuke gave him a slight nod, a faint smile of pity forming on his lips.
Huh?
Ishida Hidenori blinked in surprise.
He hadn't expected the once-proud Kyousuke to bow his head to him.
"Ahahaha! See that? Even these so-called boy geniuses show their true colors once the tide turns. Even Hojou Kyousuke has to bow to me!"
Ishida had picked up a trace of a victor's smile—but none of the grace that should come with it.
He shot Kyousuke one last triumphant look before turning back to brag loudly to those around him.
"Exactly, exactly! Don't even mention the Honya Taisho—if I'd written a mystery novel, I would've won the Edogawa Rampo Prize ages ago!" a sycophant beside him chimed in.
"Hahahaha—!"
Reporters crouched near the front row turned around at the sound of that obnoxious laugh, curious to see who dared to look down on Kyousuke.
Did this guy not know the Honya Taisho winner had basically already been decided?
Apparently, those weren't the only people wondering the same thing.
But Kyousuke had already flipped the mental switch—he was now firmly in spectator mode.
Ishida had clearly crossed the wrong person, and someone had meticulously set up an elaborate series of traps just for him.
First, someone from the Honya Taisho Executive Committee "leaked" a tip to him—whispering that he would win the award.
Then, yesterday, when Hojou Kyousuke was invited to confirm his selection for the prize bonus, they'd even hired actors to help stage the illusion.
And even today, someone had briefed Ishida Hidenori on the details of how to walk on stage to accept the award.
"This is masterful."
Kyousuke didn't know who orchestrated this elaborate setup, but right now, he really wanted to throw Ishida's old words back in his face—"I can't wait to see his expression when he's standing on the stage."
"Yeah, if I'd been the one caught in the prank, I'd probably owe an apology to everyone taking the subway tomorrow morning." Mashiro Masashi added dryly.
"Oh, don't be so negative," Misaki said with a sly grin. "Some poor overworked salarymen might actually be grateful you gave them a reason to be late.
Dying for the cause, really. It's a noble sacrifice, Mashiro-san!"
"Good point."
Mashiro chuckled, then looked up to see Osaka approaching.
"Osaka-san! You're awfully late!" he called out.
"Well, excuse me for not having a cute girl pin my boutonnière for me. Some of us have to take care of things ourselves," Osaka replied grumpily, plopping into the seat to Kyousuke's left.
"Define 'cute girl,'" Misaki said in a mock-serious tone.
"Oh? Don't tell me you've never heard of Tokyo's newest literary legend?" Osaka Gou asked mysteriously.
"Den... se... tsu?"
The moment he said the magic word both Misaki and Mashiro perked up like kids hearing the ice cream truck. No person could resist a good legend story.
"Heisei Wind and Grace."
Osaka Gou pronounced the four characters slowly and dramatically, like a master storyteller unveiling a long-lost secret.
"That's Hojou Kyousuke's title in the Tokyo literary world."
"'Wind and Grace'…?"
"Exactly. Now, gentlemen, direct your gaze that way."
Osaka pointed casually across the room without further explanation—he knew full well they'd understand the moment they looked.
Sure enough, Misaki and Mashiro turned and immediately spotted them: in the dimly lit back-left corner of the hall stood four stunning girls, glowing like fireflies in the dark.
"Wind and Grace!?"
The two men whipped their heads around to stare at Kyousuke in unison, demanding an explanation.
But the man in question only gave a modest, knowing smile.
Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words.
"Mashiro-san, have you ever heard of someone hiring a cheer squad for an award ceremony?" Misaki asked, genuinely baffled.
"Never. And if someone really did do that, I might have to fight you for the first spot on tomorrow's train tracks." Mashiro replied, equally stunned.
"Oh, you think that's the end of it?"
Osaka Gou gave the two self-deceiving fools a cold, pitying smile.
"There's more?"
Misaki Megaku broke into applause.
"Amazing. Truly legendary!"
Meanwhile, seated one row behind them, Kisaki, who'd been listening in on their conversation about Ishida, showed a look of hesitation—like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.