"Ding, ding, ding." Hashimoto Arina's phone buzzed in her uniform pocket, cutting through the charming atmosphere between the two. She pulled it out, a fleeting look of worry crossing her face as she glanced at Shirakawa Natsu, then quickly masked it with a smile. "Let's go on a date tomorrow."
"Date?" Shirakawa Natsu's eyes widened. Arina's sudden boldness caught him off guard, making him uneasy.
"Of course! We're dating~" Arina Hashimoto stretched out a hand and gently tapped his forehead. "Look forward to it."
She winked mischievously at Shirakawa Natsu before leaving the ward.
Shirakawa Natsu watched her go. The innocent aura she'd had moments ago had vanished. He wasn't an eighteen-year-old boy who'd never left a hospital bed—his life experience told him that love never came without reason. Arina had stopped him from confessing that morning and now, suddenly, she'd confessed herself. Something had happened in between that he didn't know about.
He pulled out his phone. Favorability on the app was still at ninety-five. He tapped the screen—there was no option to end the task. The system judged that he hadn't "attacked" Arina during her confession.
"There's just too little information," Shirakawa Natsu muttered. Tomorrow's date would be key—he needed more intel.
Sitting up, he gathered his sketches and brushes from the bedside table. Many games in this world mirrored those from his previous life, but manga and light novels were completely different. He'd already published works: Death and Naruto. Both had been consistently interrupted at climactic points—Death froze the moment Aizen dropped his glasses; Hokage fell apart when Orochimaru tore off his face and stuck out his tongue.
The result? His reputation in the industry had suffered. Along with readers' resentment, there were voices of doubt, claiming he couldn't handle large-scale climaxes. Some naive fans thought it was a pursuit of perfection, a "spirit of craftsmanship."
"Forget their so-called craftsmanship," Shirakawa Natsu muttered. Now he had a second chance at life; he couldn't just stop. The stories had begun—they needed to continue until more people read and shared them. He would draw them to the climax from his previous life and then stop, earning income while avoiding the infamy of an unfinished work. As long as he didn't reveal the ending, there'd be no bad conclusion.
Suddenly, his chest throbbed. He clutched it, dizziness clouding his mind. Taking deep breaths, he muttered, "Palpitations seem to be getting more frequent."
He shook his head and focused on drawing, letting concentration distract him from his body's complaints.
Meanwhile, Hashimoto Arina returned to the office, her earlier bright smile gone. She stared at her phone, finger hovering over the call button before pulling back. Picking up a test report, she read it carefully, then dialed again.
"Sorry, Auntie. I was with Natsu just now.""The physical exam report came in this afternoon.""Yes, even with a successful heart transplant, survival rates at 1, 3, 5, and 10 years are only 79.4%, 71.9%, 65.2%, and 45.8%.""The surgery is very painful. Natsu's body is frail, the success rate under 10%, and he faces post-op rejection. We do not recommend it."
A sob came through on the other end.
"Depending on the individual, progression to late-stage heart failure can vary, but it's still roughly two to three months.""Auntie, don't worry. I've always regarded him as my… brother."
Arina hung up, propping her forehead with both hands, slumping over the desk. She stayed like that until night fell, her arms going numb, body protesting the position. She leaned back in her chair, picking up the report with Shirakawa Natsu's name on it, checking every value meticulously. Her professional mind knew there were no miracles.
Beneath the report lay the manuscript Shirakawa Natsu had brought in that morning. She picked it up, leafing carefully through the pages. Tears fell slowly, and she hastily shielded the manuscript from getting wet. Uncontrollably, more tears streamed down.
"I want to be mature… but I'm still so inadequate." Arina whispered, wiping her face. "I can't cry. I have a date tomorrow, and I can't let Natsu see."
The next day, before anyone had risen, Shirakawa Natsu changed out of his hospital gown into a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. He looked presentable—handsome enough that a girl might ask for his number—but his body still appeared slightly weak. Arina Hashimoto, his attending doctor, had already been greeted in advance.
He walked out of the hospital, about a hundred meters to the intersection, checking his watch. He was fifteen minutes early. Suddenly, a hand covered his eyes.
"Caught a handsome wild guy," a voice whispered.
"Sister Youcai." Shirakawa Natsu took her hand, turning to see Arina dressed in an off-white top, plaid skirt, and low heels. Her look was warm, like the gentle next-door sister—but her heavier makeup today made her seem more mature, almost glamorous.
"Hee hee, Natsu can recognize me just by my voice," she said with a smirk. "Could it be someone recorded it secretly and listened repeatedly?"
"Sister Youcai, that's pretty perverted thinking," he replied, shrugging. He didn't need the voice to recognize her anyway.
"What's wrong with a perverted woman~" she teased, taking his hand and scanning their surroundings. "Let's go, don't let anyone see us."
"Right."
Hand in hand, they headed to the tram stop. Natsu had expected the first date to be a bit awkward, but with Arina's playful tricks, the mood felt relaxed.
"Where are we going today, Sister Youcai?" he asked. Boarding the tram, he noticed passengers in elaborate costumes—cosplay, this early in the morning.
"Of course, Akihabara," Arina replied. "There's a big event today. Come see it with me."
"Uh…" He scratched his head, unsure if Arina genuinely enjoyed these ACG events or was indulging him as a manga artist. The tram was crowded. Someone bumped him from behind, forcing the pair closer together.
"The doors are about to close," an announcement blared.
"I'll protect you, Sister Youcai," he said, standing straight to make space. But another push came from behind, sending him face-first into her chest. The tram shook as it moved, and their bodies pressed together. Arina's hands cradled his head, whispering, "It's okay, I'll protect you."
He stayed silent, his face buried against her chest, trying not to make things more awkward.
Finally, the tram doors opened, easing the squeeze.
"Let's go," Arina said, taking his arm. They looked every bit like a real couple.
"Wow… so many people," Shirakawa Natsu marveled, as if stepping into another world. Posters, cosplayers, and activity signs filled the station.
"That's a super famous croquette!" Arina grabbed his hand, guiding him to the shop.
"Ah, only one left?" he pouted.
"You can only take one bite," she teased, pressing it to his lips.
"Understood." Natsu obeyed, recognizing her gentle method of controlling his intake.
They moved on to eat squid yakiniku.
"If you don't want to be eaten by others, don't look so delicious!" Arina laughed, handing him food, still only letting him take small bites.
At the Akihabara venue, chaos reigned—cosplay, side events, and even adult book stalls.
"Sister Youcai, have you ever tried cosplay?" he asked, laughing.
"Yes, with Ren Nanase," she said, winking mischievously. Natsu shrugged, not recognizing the name.
They eventually found a teahouse.
"So tired," Arina sighed, sinking into a chair. "Two bottles of water, please."
Shirakawa Natsu barely noticed her fatigue—she was still taking care of him.
"We're just like an ordinary couple now," she said, laughing.