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[Email received]
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[Zaimokuza]: "Hachiman, it's me, Totsuka. I lost my wallet after school. Could you order some food for me? Here's the address: XXXXXX."
[Hachiman]: "Zaimokuza, are you trying to make me an idiot, or are you just naturally one?"
[Zaimokuza]: "What?! You saw through it already?! As expected of the forever-undefeated, nameless god himself! You saw right through my genius plot!
What a shame — I was going to wait for the delivery to arrive, take a photo, and send you the message: 'So, Hachiman, were you satisfied with my master plan this time?' Is this how you treat your partner-in-crime!?"
[Hachiman]: "Partner? This isn't a plan — it's witchcraft. You're trying to turn my brain into pudding through email! And if you're going to fake it, at least don't use your own address, genius!"
[Zaimokuza]: "Oh! So I slipped up, huh? Makes sense… we've been partners in darkness since the Dark Ages themselves! There's no way you'd forget the location of my lair!"
[Hachiman]: "Zaimokuza, I'm begging you — please don't do such cruel things to my phone. Do you have any idea how much psychological damage a message like that causes to an innocent device?"
[Zaimokuza]: "Hohoho! So my psychic power has evolved to the point where I can attack enemy communications through the airwaves!? How's your phone holding up? Need me to cast a healing spell?"
[Hachiman]: "It lost 1% battery. Also, for the record, I didn't remember your address. My brain refuses to store that information. I only remember where Totsuka lives."
[Zaimokuza]: "H-Hachiman! That sounds dangerously illegal! You do know stalking and breaking into someone's home are crimes, right?!"
[Hachiman]: "Relax. As long as Totsuka sincerely invites me over, remembering the route is simply… preparation for that day."
[Zaimokuza]: "Sorry, Hachiman. I have no choice but to call the cops. I don't want to, but if you commit an unforgivable crime against the House of Totsuka.
Even a man like me with a cyber criminal record would be dragged into it! Oh, and don't eat anything before they come — I've heard the pork cutlet at the police station is actually decent."
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Hachiman widened his eyes and immediately dialed.
"Hey! You idiot, you didn't actually call the cops, did you!?"
"I was just about to hit dial when you called, Hachiman. Dammit, why does the emergency number have to be three digits? Another case of bureaucratic waste!"
"It's supposed to be three digits — to stop little kids from prank-calling the police. If it were one digit, even an idiot could report an emergency."
"Ah, so that's the reason. I see, I see…"
"By the way, Zaimokuza, you ever watch Mecha Basketball Wars?"
"Of course! I've watched every single episode and even bought the Blu-ray box set! Giant robots playing basketball — it's the very essence of romance!"
"What a coincidence — I'm a fan too. Then you must know about the exclusive special edition, right?"
"Huh!?"
"They only released a limited number for select fans. Lucky me — I managed to get one."
"Let me see it!"
"This kind of treasure isn't for lending out… but—"
"Even if I have to get on my knees, I'll do it!"
"If you show up at my place with three Margherita pizzas, I might just reconsider."
"Ten minutes! I'll be there in ten!"
Thirty minutes later, a drenched, panting Zaimokuza pulled up to Hachiman's house on his bike.
"The special edition! Where is it!?"
He held out a bag containing three Margherita pizzas, his arms trembling like a samurai offering up a sacred banner after a hard-won battle.
Hachiman said nothing.
He simply took the pizzas — and slammed the door shut.
"Hahahaha! There's no special edition! I've never even seen that anime!"
A burst of manic laughter echoed from behind the door.
Just as Zaimokuza's stunned expression froze in disbelief, another, lower voice followed:
"So… were you satisfied with my master plan this time?"
Zaimokuza's eyes widened, his chubby face twisting into an expression of pure horror.
In the end, Zaimokuza still stepped inside the Hikigaya residence.
"Uuuh~ Komachi's so touched! I didn't think anyone who knows Onii-chan would actually dare come here!"
Komachi clasped one hand over her heart and wiped a fake tear with the other.
"Hey, don't make it sound like I'm some kind of radioactive monster. I wash my hands every day, thank you very much."
Hachiman tried to act casual, but his tone betrayed his awkwardness.
"Ahem! Hikigaya! Fear not — for I, the Swordmaster General, can slay even the resurrected undead with a single strike! There's no need to worry about me."
Despite his bold words, Zaimokuza refused to sit on the sofa, instead kneeling stiffly at the low table like a samurai about to perform seppuku.
His posture was rigid though with his short neck, finding a second to assist would be a real challenge.
Oh right. This guy probably hasn't visited another person's house before either…
Hachiman's dead-fish eyes shifted thoughtfully.
Watching these two weirdos talk nonsense, Komachi felt absolutely nothing.
If someone could get along with her brother, there was no way they were normal.
"Let's play a game!" Komachi announced, turning on the TV.
Hachiman and Zaimokuza exchanged a glance — and immediately looked away, blushing.
'Ugh, why the hell are you blushing?!'
Both of them were thinking the same thing.
Hachiman, however, was far more disgusted —
Why couldn't the one sitting there be Totsuka instead of Zaimokuza?
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'Ding-dong.'
Just then, the doorbell rang.
"Huh? Did Mom and Dad get off work early?" Komachi asked, glancing out the window at the dark sky.
Hachiman sighed, dragging his feet toward the door.
He was looking forward to the game, but fate clearly had other plans.
There are many kinds of doors in this world — some that keep danger out, some that keep hope out, and some that simply lock you inside.
For sixteen years, Hikigaya Hachiman had never cared about what lay beyond his door.
But from this day forward, he would cherish every knock, every chime, every opening.
Under the warm yellow light stood an angel.
Silver-gray hair shimmered with light and hope; eyes glistened with a soft, watery brilliance filled with joy and expectation—
'Damn it, Hikigaya Hachiman! Stop your filthy thoughts! Don't you dare defile this pure angel!'
"Totsuka… from now on, please make me dinner every night."
The words slipped out before he could stop them — a straight-up proposal.
"Eh? But, Hachiman, you're still underage. You can't drink yet, right?" Totsuka blinked in confusion.
"So… you mean once I'm old enough, it's okay!?"
"Uh… I can make fried chicken, salted ginkgo nuts, and boiled soybeans…" Totsuka trailed off softly, listing dishes he knew how to cook.
Not understanding why Hachiman wanted "snacks for drinking".
The thunder of pounding feet came from behind like a wild boar.
Hachiman felt hands clamp around his collar.
"Hachiman, what the hell are you doing!? Last warning — I've got a quick-dial emergency number set up!"
"Shut—up! Only Saika gets to call me 'Hachiman'!"
"Hahahaha—" Totsuka Saika's eyes curved into crescents and a bell-like laugh spilled from his lips.
Even Zaimokuza couldn't focus on correcting his friend's warped thinking now; he stared at Saika with glazed eyes.
"You idiot — your eyes have gone past the discard date. Want me to take them out for you?" Hachiman snapped, losing it for once.
Saika laughed even harder.
The commotion at the door woke Komachi, who hurried over and gaped, eyes wide.
"Wh–what? Someone normal actually came to see Onii-chan?!"
Komachi dragged Hachiman back by the cheek to suppress a retort, shoved him aside, then took Saika's hand and assumed a solemn, protective expression.
"Miss, did my brother threaten you into coming here? Does he have compromising photos? Is he blackmailing you? Don't worry — you're safe now. The Hikigaya household does not shelter criminals!"
"Hey—why are you assuming I'm a criminal?" Hachiman protested.
"Huh? I'm just Hachiman's friend. Zaimokuza invited me over to hang out," Saika answered honestly.
That clear, bright voice healed something in Hachiman; sixteen years of small, meaningless pains seemed to melt away.
He felt like everything up until this moment had led to opening this one door.
"No! No way… could it be my brother threatened you? Like—if you told anyone he'd do something worse…?"
"Oi, oi, Komachi — have you lost faith in your brother?!" Hachiman cried.
"Sorry, Onii-chan. Your score with Komachi just dropped a lot." Komachi stuck out her tongue cutely, but her smile was ice-cold.
Saika laughed even more at the siblings' antics.
After a bit of teasing, Komachi finally accepted that this apparently angelic girl — no, wait, boy? no, angels have no gender was actually her brother's friend.
Even if she didn't wholly believe it, she stopped resisting.
"K—Komachi is so moved. Onii-chan is trying so hard to be normal."
Komachi started tearing up again.
"Stop it…" Hachiman turned his face away.
It turned out Zaimokuza had worked hard to hype Mecha Basketball Wars to Saika, and when he found out his buddy actually owned a special collectible.
He blurted that news to Saika too.
To protect any remaining dignity in front of Saika, Hachiman reluctantly signed a few humiliating "pacts" to keep Zaimokuza from spilling more.
"Ahem! So… were you satisfied with my master plan this time?" Zaimokuza crowed with smug triumph.
The four of them migrated to the living room, played video games, and ate pizza.
There wasn't any special edition disc after all, but they had nothing to be bored about — the conversation rolled straight into Hojou Kyousuke and his new novel.
Night passed in a blink.
And the next morning, Kyousuke, the self-styled literary celebrity, was nowhere to be seen in Class 1-F at Sobu High.
As the lead, Kyousuke was scheduled to do three book signings that day — one in the morning, one at lunch, and one in the evening.
Queues formed predictably, and his signings made a decent appearance in the evening news.
The hype around his new release didn't fizzle with the launch; it intensified.
The book itself was genuinely well-crafted: for a mystery novel it offered three cleverly conceived tricks, each exquisitely designed.
Mystery fans were delighted and flooded the web with praise.
As popular fiction it hit every satisfying beat.
The workplace loser's rise, injustice and bloody revenge, and a big, cathartic ending — readers who just wanted to feel good about the story were thrilled.
So were casual readers and onlookers.
Kyousuke's work openly referenced The Devotion of Suspect X: though it's a mystery, the puzzles aren't the sole focus; the core is the complexity of human nature and social issues — standard social-issue mystery territory.
Take, for example, Jirai Nimi's review in the Asahi.
Yes — the newspaper quarrel between the outlets continued.
If Kyousuke's book hadn't been this hot, both sides might have pretended nothing happened.
But with the book's momentum, they naturally tried to ride the wave.
"…In The Devotion of Suspect X, why is Ishigami Tetsuya's trick so devastating? Is it because the trick was flawless?
No — it's because the trick itself was built on a love so heavy it suffocated the reader.
In Hojou-sensei's new work, the writer K's three murder puzzles are unquestionably brilliant.
More importantly, however, each time he utters, 'So, are you satisfied with my trick this time?' he's screaming at a sick society, venting his own bitterness and rebellion…," wrote Jirai, a literature professor at Todai.
Whose critique parsed the novel's core with professional insight even as he scolded.
Pop fiction that satisfies? Everyone loves it.
But Hojou cleverly layered social critique and masterful puzzles onto that framework, elevating the book above shallow comfort reads.
You get to enjoy the thrill and pretend you're reading something highbrow — who wouldn't like that?
On the other side, Matsumoto Motohiro at the Sankei still refused to back down.
He attacked Kyousuke from another angle: the book failed to convey appropriate values.
Yes, the protagonist faces injustice while vying for awards — the judges behave badly — but does suffering justify crime? Why not seek legal justice?
Why does the culprit escape punishment in the end?
Matsumoto, gifted at tugging on pain points, immediately drew a sizable following.
In truth, during drafting Hojou Kyousuke had considered having the protagonist get caught.
But he realized that would wreck the whole tone. Besides — where does he even set the story? Japan: a place that even trolls can get published.
Are you seriously telling me villains always face proper retribution here?
My protagonist kills villains. He's an anti-hero!
Kill, kill, kill — and then it's done.