It was like being called out by your full name in class after dozing off—at the sound of that sentence from Hojou, Ishida jolted upright from his previously slouched state.
His beady eyes shot wide open as he stared in disbelief at Kyousuke on the stage.
No way. No freaking way—did that guy really do this?
The thought struck him like lightning.
He remembered all the big talk he'd thrown around before the ceremony, the way he'd used the award as leverage to make his shrewish wife shut up for a few days, all the smug interviews he'd given, spouting rehearsed acceptance speeches.
And now, realizing the storm he'd face once the award ceremony ended, Ishida gripped the armrests, ready to leap up and curse that despicable brat to hell.
Sure, he had insulted him in the papers—called him a cocky upstart, said manga was for kids and he should stick to that world instead of disgracing the literary field.
But even so, this was going too far!
'If I'm going down, I'm dragging you with me! Mutual destruction!'
That was the only thought in Ishida Hidenori's mind as he tensed his legs to stand.
But on either side, the very same colleagues who had been buttering him up just moments ago—telling him his win was destiny—suddenly clamped down on his arms, holding him in place.
Just as he opened his mouth to shout, something stopped him cold.
"Ishida-san, I know you're excited that Hojou-san won, but please calm down a little. I'm sure someone as nice as him will sign something for you afterward," one of the men whispered with a smile.
"Yes, yes, he'll definitely be happy to see you're this thrilled about his success," said the other with a grin—while casually covering Ishida's mouth with a thick, folded piece of black cloth.
'Like hell I'm happy for that bastard! Die, you little punk!'
'You realize I'm your senior, don't you!? You think you can scheme against me like this?'
'If I go down, I'm taking you with me!'
The very thought of seeing Hojouwins literary prize! in bold headlines tomorrow—or even later this afternoon—while he got shoved into the corner of the feature page looking like a textbook villain... it made Ishida's liver boil with rage, as if his lungs were hemorrhaging from the sheer pressure.
No. No way. That award was supposed to be mine!
He thrashed in his seat.
Middle-aged though he was, he still had some strength in him—and even pinned between two men, he created quite the commotion.
"Sir, this is Hojou-san's moment. Please try to be quiet."
A cold, venomous voice slithered into his ear.
At the same time, something icy pressed against the small of his back, slipping through the fabric of his suit and touching skin.
A blade. That was definitely a blade.
Ishida froze, stiff as stone.
'Hojou Kyousuke, you son of a—! This is the goddamn Booksellers Grand Prize, and you pull this crap?!'
'What the hell was security doing?!'
'How did you sneak this in?! Meiji Memorial Hall, if you can't manage an event, don't host one!'
Cursing in his mind, the man shrank down like a frightened rat, completely surrounded—two on either side, one behind.
He didn't even dare breathe too loudly.
'You've got guys like this working for you, Hojou? You could've at least warned me.'
'No, wait—if you've got this kind of talent, why the hell are you writing novels? Just rob banks, for god's sake!'
But this outdated fool couldn't comprehend it.
Even now, it didn't register that someone with Kyousuke's sales numbers could make money faster than any heist.
That being a master of "plagiarism" could be more profitable than crime.
Dreaming is a kind of skill, too—not everyone gets what they want just by imagining it.
The two "colleagues" in front turned to glance back at him, slightly puzzled. Kisaki just smiled politely.
Though he wasn't officially "with the organization," his execution of this task had been flawless. Maybe they'd bring him in for proper training later.
As for the "knife"? What knife? It was just a loose piece of a chair.
The Meiji Memorial Hall would, of course, have to apologize profusely to Ishida-san later.
The man with the snake-like voice was none other than Kisaki Tetta—Hojou Kyousuke's most loyal and reliable subordinate.
To his enemies, a smile from Kisaki was scarier than a death threat.
He casually tossed the scrap of metal and cloth onto the floor, then looked back up at the stage.
Kyousuke had seen everything going on down below, but not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. He kept smiling—bright and sincere.
"Now, standing here, with flowers in hand on the Booksellers Grand Prize stage…
I have nothing to prove to those who don't wish me well.
I just want to tell all of you:
This world is neither kind nor beautiful.
But because it isn't—those beautiful things are all the more worth chasing.
That's why I write novels.
I hope you all find love.
I hope you all face life's hardships with courage.
I hope you all have the honesty to confront your true selves."
As he spoke, his gaze wandered—first to Yamauchi Sakura, then to Miyamizu Mitsuha, and then… to the one he loved.
Under the spotlight, the high-end suit woven with metallic threads shimmered like stardust—just like his eyes.
Anyone who looked into those eyes would feel as if they were receiving some kind of strength.
A reporter from Weekly Bunshun was snapping photos like crazy—but not wide shots. He focused only on Kyousuke's upper body.
The man's face wasn't classically perfect.
His jawline was too sharp, his chin a little too pointed, his eyes too gentle when he smiled, and his forehead—
—but somehow, all these "flaws" came together to form a face no sculptor could ever hope to replicate.
Masculine, yet soft. Stern, yet kind. Every praise-worthy word you could think of—somehow, they all fit him.
And then, of course, the words he was speaking fit that face perfectly too.
Reporter Hirota Yoshitoki thought so, at least.
For a moment, he felt like using this speech on this stage was wasteful.
If not the Nobel Prize, then it should've at least been the Minister of Education's Award.
Well, at least it made the editors' job easier—they didn't even need to write commentary.
Just copy and paste Hojou's speech straight into print.
As Mitsuha felt his eyes brush past her, pride swelled in her chest.
She couldn't help but glance to her left at Yamauchi Sakura, expecting a complicated expression—deep thought, something.
But there was none of that. Sakura was beaming, as if Kyousuke had just proposed to her on stage.
Mitsuha sighed helplessly.
'Honestly… is this girl just emotionally resilient, or is she completely brainless?'
Sakura, of course, had no idea what Mitsuha was thinking.
If not for the formal atmosphere, she would've been jumping up and down, dragging Shouko and Mitsuha into a happy dance to cheer Kyousuke on.
"Though spring winds may have whispered stories into my ear, The writing process still wasn't easy.
I want to thank the teacher who stood by me—Kasumi Utako.
She helped me realize that the 'difficulties' I faced weren't really that big.
What makes them seem big… is fear.
The fear of the unknown."
The moment her pen name was spoken, Utaha's crimson eyes widened in shock.
Her delicate mouth formed a perfect "O" as she gasped, then quickly covered it with her hand—trying, and failing, to hide the excitement.
Seeing the younger girl's awestruck face, Hojou Mikiko chuckled softly—and handed her the trophy she'd been holding.
"Utaha, your trophy—with Kyousuke's," Mikiko's voice rang out, crisp and clear, just like it had three years ago.
Hearing that, Utaha froze for a moment, then quickly bowed at a perfect fifteen-degree angle before taking the trophy with both hands and clutching it tightly to her chest.
That chest—famously praised by Kyousuke as "the most perfect"—now served to keep his trophy warm and safe.
The dramatic contrast between the crystal trophy and the soft, full curves outlined by her black gown was so striking that even Yukino Yukari, standing nearby, found herself stunned.
Eriri, who had heard the same comment, couldn't help but pout.
Watching Utaha completely lose her usual cool and collected demeanor in such an obvious display of excitement… it made her want to tease her.
But just as she opened her mouth, she suddenly recalled how she had once burst into tears—completely overwhelmed—when she first saw the "EGOIST·LILY" logo at the start of One Punch Man.
'Tch, that Kasumigaoka Utaha just refuses to be honest with herself.'
'She's clearly bursting with joy inside—so happy she could cry.'
'Why doesn't she just let it out?'
'If she started crying, I'd totally hand her a tissue. I'm a kind person like that.'
Wait.
What if I handed her the tissue first? She'd definitely start crying!
Just like when you're not even hungry, but the moment you pick up chopsticks, you suddenly want to eat.
That woman clearly wants to cry already—if she sees a tissue, she won't be able to hold it in.
After some very careful mental calculations, Eriri pulled a pack of tissues from her pocket and held one out toward Utaha.
Sensing movement beside her, Utaha turned her head.
She stared blankly at the white tissue for a second, then looked up at Eriri's face—which was so obviously full of mischief it might as well have had devil horns.
"…Ah, I see," Utaha said with a calm, elegant smile on her beautiful face.
Considering that Kyousuke's mother was standing nearby, she decided to show mercy—for now.
"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Children's nervous systems aren't fully developed yet, so of course you wouldn't be able to hold it. I'll have someone take you to the restroom shortly."
"...Huh?"
Eriri blinked. Once. Twice. For a moment, her brain couldn't even process what had just been said.
"…Who are you calling a child, you bitch! You'd better show some respect and cry properly already! You were clearly moved by what Kyousuke just said, weren't you!?"
If Yukinoshita Yukino had been there, she would've added silently in her heart:
Everything she's saying is clearly based on her own experiences.
But Eriri was Eriri.
Even if she cried, she'd wait until the wind picked up—
Not so the wind could hide her sobs, but so the imaginary sand it carried could take the blame for the tears.
"…Ara~"
With that trademark phrase, Utaha's furious glare suddenly snapped back.
Her deeply stirred emotions had somehow been interrupted by Eriri's antics.
She had wanted to stay in that beautiful, emotional moment while listening to Kyousuke's speech—but now, the feeling was gone. And that infuriated her.
Just hearing her say "Ara" was enough for even Yukari to realize: Eriri was about to be hit with a verbal typhoon.
And if things went as expected, Eriri wouldn't even be able to hear the rest of Kyousuke's speech.
But—unexpectedly—something interrupted.
"Hehehe~ such cute girls, all of you," said Hojou Mikiko, smiling warmly as she suddenly plopped her daughter into Eriri's arms.
After confirming Eriri had a solid grip on the child, she placed both hands gently on Utaha's shoulders.
"Now, now. Let's listen to what Kyousuke has to say, shall we?"
"Y-Yes, ma'am!"
"Y-Yes, ma'am!"
Utaha flinched as if shocked.
Eriri, now rigid as a statue with a toddler in her arms, echoed her reply in unison.
Cute, huh?
Hearing his wife say that, Hojou Ichirou clicked his tongue mentally.
'Nope,' he thought. 'I'm definitely not staying at our son's place tonight.'
Only Mikiko could find this chaotic mess adorable.
He suddenly understood old man Yagi, the neighbor, who once told him to "Run." That word now resonated deeply in his soul.
He had no idea how his son managed to get involved with so many—
He glanced to either side.
Just here, there were already four. And that wasn't even counting Sakura and the others.
Terrifying.
If he didn't think Mikiko would murder him for coming all the way to Tokyo and not staying a single night, this old man would've caught the next train back to Hokkaido.
He had to protect the last shred of sanity in their family.
Otherwise, Kyousuke wouldn't even have a place to run anymore.
Meanwhile, the soft, fitted black fabric perfectly traced the elegant curve of Utaha's shoulder.
Feeling Mikiko's hands resting there made her thoughts spiral.
'Does Kyousuke mom think I'm too fat? Too skinny? Too—'
Thankfully, Kyousuke spoke again, snapping her mind back into focus.
Just one sentence, and all the mental clutter vanished.
Her eyes were once again fixed solely on the man bathed in spotlight.
"What is the meaning of life?
It's a question with no real answer.
Some say it's about what we leave behind.
Others say it's about how people speak of us at our grave.
Still others say it's how long we live on in the hearts of those we love…
Life is full of choices. Any single fork in the road could lead to a vastly different world.
I often don't know which path to take. I hesitate at crossroads like anyone else.
Some paths are thorny, filled with pain. Others are straight, lined with gold, leading to castles.
But I'm not afraid of burning my feet on lava—
Because if the people I love are with me,
I won't hesitate, even walking barefoot on thorns.
That, to me, is the answer to life.
There are 7 billion people in this world. Our combined breath could stir a tornado.
The world is massive and overcrowded.
But we don't need to know everyone—
Just the people we love, and who love us back.
Thank you to those who stayed by my side and gave me the strength to write this book.
Thank you."
Kyousuke didn't read the acceptance speech Utaha had written for him.
He was lazy—but not that lazy.
That speech had been her summary of their journey together, something deeply personal.
He kept it close to his heart.
"But, just like cherry blossoms fall and are carried away by the wind,
Lifting this trophy means that honor already belongs to the past.
I hope both myself and my readers can face the future like the characters in my stories—calm, steady, and full of quiet determination.
Thank you to everyone who was moved by my writing.
Thank you for your support.
Thank you to everyone who voted for me—you're the reason I've made it this far.
Once again, I humbly accept the 2015 Booksellers Grand Prize.
Thank you, everyone."
Kyousuke took a step back and gave a deep, graceful bow as he spoke his final "thank you."
These weren't just ceremonial words—they came from the heart.
Just like how he thanked a chef before a meal, he thanked his readers whenever he spent his royalties.
And of course… he thanked the girls who had stood by him.
If it weren't for his dream of buying a house big enough for all of them to live in—a really big house—he never would've had the drive to write so much.
As thunderous applause filled the room, Amamiya Miki's excited voice rose above the crowd:
"Let's once again congratulate Hojou Kyousuke-san—and thank him for being here with us today!"
The applause grew even louder at her passionate announcement.
And down below, Utaha was still gently caressing the trophy in her hands—until suddenly, someone behind her grabbed her wrists and lifted both her arms into the air.
"When you're happy, show it! Don't hold back!" Hojou Mikiko cheered as she grabbed Utaha's hand—the one holding the trophy—and Yukino Yukari's hand as well, pulling them both into an impromptu celebratory sway.
"You too, Yukari-chan!"
"Yes, ma'am!" x3
'That's right—go ahead and cry, you stubborn woman!'
Eriri glanced down at the baby Kasuko in her arms, her little hands still raised high in celebration.
Remembering what Utaha had just said to her, Eriri suddenly felt a twinge of guilt—but that didn't stop the triumphant grin from spreading across her face as she opened her mouth and cheered loudly for Kyousuke.
Watching Kyousuke standing so confidently on stage, Makki Hojou couldn't help but admire his own brilliance once again.
He had known it from the moment they met—entrusting the "rampaging angel" to Kyousuke had been the right call.
Just look at the results:
Bunkyō Ward now ranked #1 in Tokyo for public safety.
Retired members of the organization had good jobs.
Those still active were studying hard, putting their excess energy into school clubs.
It was beautiful.
No doubt about it—he was a genius. All it took was one motorcycle, and he'd secured himself a second-generation boss this amazing!
The hulking man in a black suit—built like a bear—watched proudly as Hojou Kyousuke shone like a star on stage.
"Hey, hey, Ryuji!" said a very excited Eikichi Onizuka. "If I post a picture with the boss on Insta, my account is gonna blow up for sure!"
"Have you already forgotten you have a girlfriend now?" Danma Ryuji deadpanned as he flicked his childhood friend on the forehead, trying to knock some sense into him.
"Ah—crap, right!" Onizuka smacked his own forehead in realization. "I gotta ask the boss for more souvenirs to take back to Kyoko!"
"Eh? But Makki, you're single, right? You can totally post it! It really works! Back in the day, whenever I posted anything about the boss, tons of girls would DM me!"
"You moron! You think I need to do that!?" Makki delivered a sharp forehead flick of his own.
Ah… that familiar feeling.
He really had missed this.
But…
As he looked at his "second generation" boss surrounded by so many beautiful girls, even the lifelong bachelor Makki Hojou started to feel a bit self-conscious.
Even Onizuka had a girlfriend now…
"Exactly!" Ryuji chimed in. "Makki doesn't need to do stuff like that!"
"Still though… I'm kinda jealous of the boss," Onizuka said wistfully. "It's not just the number of girlfriends he has—they're all quality. Plus, he's crazy rich."
He ran a hand over his luxury suit.
It had been paid for by none other than Kasumi Utako herself.
She said it was a gift from Kyousuke to thank them for attending the awards ceremony.
So weird.
They hadn't even brought him a present yet, and they were already getting gifts in return.
"Well, duh! That's Hojou-san!" Ryuji said with reverence.
They all knew it—any success they had in life or love was thanks to the boss's guidance.
"True that."
Standing nearby were the next-gen members of the Rampaging Angels: Hatake Gorou, Mitsuhashi Ryoma, and Kuroda Kaito.
Hearing the older guys talk, Hatake's eyes lit up with admiration.
Seeing that, Kuroda immediately put on his best "pain" face.
Mitsuhashi glanced to his left at the "index finger," then to his right at the "ring finger."
As the "middle finger," he had no idea what his idiot friends were even thinking anymore.
The only reason they had time to be joking around was because Hojou Kyousuke had entered Photo Mode again.
At first it was just solo shots, but now it was turning into a mega group photo session.
Over a dozen members of the Booksellers Grand Prize Executive Committee rushed up to the stage. Each one held a copy of Kyousuke's book.
Some excited store clerks even hoisted giant cardboard recommendation boards with messages they'd written themselves.
Kyousuke smiled and agreed to autograph them and promised to take individual photos later.
A group of staff members brought in a large sign—like a traffic billboard—that read "2015 Booksellers Grand Prize", placing it proudly in front of the group.
These people really love their photos, Kyousuke thought with a wry smile.
Still, maybe he and his family should take a group picture like this too.
He vaguely remembered that Weekly Bunshun reporter was pretty good with a camera.
He'd ask him for help later.
There were even people below stage directing the scene—telling people where to stand, when to smile, how to pose…
If it weren't for the fact that he was surrounded by diehard fans, Kyousuke seriously would've considered dragging Onizuka up here to act as photographer.
With his terrifying scowl, everyone would've smiled on cue just out of fear.
And then—
His muscles suddenly tensed.
Because his right arm had just been sandwiched by two very soft, squishy somethings.
He didn't dare look up right away.
Instead, pretending not to notice, he slowly turned his head to the right.
There, with a radiant smile, stood Amamiya Miki, standing close enough to him that her curves pressed ever so lightly against his arm.
Catching his eye, the MC's smile grew even brighter.
He returned it with a stiff, forced grin, then slowly turned his gaze to the lower left section of the audience.
There sat Miyamizu Mitsuha, beaming with a smile even brighter than Amamiya's.
Kyousuke, with his maxed-out micro-expression reading skills, understood her message loud and clear—
"We'll talk when we get home."