**Okabara Kyogumichi's Pov**
Saturday's sunlight spilled through the curtain gaps, casting golden streaks across my dorm room floor. My bookshelf looked increasingly barren, prompting me to head out for new manga volumes. The system panel indicated that *Shiroyama-sensei*'s latest releases from a major publisher were out. As a fan, I wanted to visit a physical bookstore to soak in the atmosphere and gauge readers' reactions firsthand.
I slipped into casual clothes, tossed my wallet and phone into a canvas bag, and avoided my usual chain bookstore. Instead, I chose an independent shop in a quiet alley, far enough to avoid familiar faces—perfect for discreet observation. The autumn breeze carried the faint scent of kinmokusei, blending with the aroma of fresh bread from a nearby café. The weekend streets buzzed with a relaxed energy.
Passing a park, I overheard students animatedly discussing manga. A girl clutched *Erased*, gushing, "Shiroyama-sensei's paneling is unreal! The final chapters always make me cry!" I slowed my pace, a grin tugging at my lips, but quickly played it off as a passerby hurrying along. Hearing strangers' genuine praise felt more rewarding than any system notification.
The bookstore, *Shoseki no Kaori*, was tucked in an old alley, its wooden sign adorned with elegant calligraphy. A wind chime tinkled as I entered, and the clerk greeted me warmly, "Welcome!" The air held the nostalgic scent of old books mingled with fresh ink. Sunlight poured through a skylight, dust motes dancing over the shelves.
"Is the manga section this way?" I asked, keeping my tone casual.
"Straight back, then left—all the new releases are in the recommendation area," the clerk replied cheerfully.
There, a display showcased Shiroyama-sensei's works in a pyramid arrangement: *Parasyte* and *Kimi no Na wa* front and center, with a poster proclaiming, "Shiroyama-sensei's Bestselling Series!" I picked up *Horimiya*, flipping to the title page and noticing a minor printing flaw in the corner. I'd need to flag that for the publisher's quality team later.
As I compared the physical copy to my mental image of the digital manuscript, a familiar voice spoke behind me: "I didn't expect this place to have Shiroyama-sensei's new work too…" My heart skipped. That voice—why did it sound so familiar?
**Kasumigaoka Utaha's Pov**
After submitting my final draft, I craved a break. My editor had recommended an independent bookstore near my apartment, so I packed my laptop into a tote bag, swapped my usual attire for a cozy knitted cardigan and canvas shoes, and stepped into the autumn sunshine.
Three sleepless nights finishing my essay *Walking with Light* had left me drained, but now I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in books—especially Shiroyama-sensei's latest manga volume. Last week's essay had earned surprising praise, with the editorial department suggesting a series of creative talks, all thanks to the inspiration I'd drawn from dissecting Shiroyama-sensei's works. That enigmatic creator felt like a silent mentor, guiding me through their stories.
At a flower shop, I bought a small bundle of chamomile, wrapped simply in kraft paper. Its subtle fragrance eased my mind further. The bookstore exceeded expectations—handwritten labels adorned each shelf, and I even spotted rare, out-of-print manga. The clerk noticed my flowers and smiled, "Spend over a certain amount, and you'll get a free bookmark that matches those perfectly." I thanked her politely and headed straight for the manga section, knowing Shiroyama-sensei's new volume dropped today.
From afar, I saw the pyramid display, *Parasyte*'s cover gleaming in the sunlight. As I reached for a copy, my fingers brushed another hand. I looked up to apologize, only to freeze—it was Okabara Kyogumichi, that elusive guy from the literature department. What was he doing here?
"Sorry," he said quickly, pulling his hand back, his expression slightly stiff.
"No problem," I replied, maintaining my composure, though I wondered if he was a Shiroyama-sensei fan too. He'd mentioned liking realistic stories at the last literature salon, so it wasn't surprising. My eyes landed on *Horimiya* in his hand. "I didn't expect this place to stock Shiroyama-sensei's new work," I said. "The paneling's a step up from the serialized version."
He paused, then nodded. "The printing quality's solid too."
"You're a fan of Shiroyama-sensei?" I asked, noting his neat fingers as he flipped through the book.
"Sort of. The stories are engaging," he said vaguely, his gaze drifting, as if reluctant to dive deeper.
I was about to ask his thoughts on the ending when the wind chimes rang, followed by a familiar, slightly haughty voice: "Ugh, am I too late? The recommendation shelf's nearly empty…"
**Sawamura Spencer Eriri's Pov**
Mama's nagging—"You'll turn into a moldy hermit if you stay in your studio all day!"—forced me out to buy art supplies and clear my head. I stuffed my wallet into a Lolita-style mini shoulder bag, dawdling before heading out, my mind fixed on one thing: Shiroyama-sensei's new manga was out, and I *needed* the first edition.
Last night's livestream had me promising fans I'd compare the volume and web versions. I chose *Shoseki no Kaori*, the farthest bookstore from home, to avoid anyone spotting me buying a rival's work. Clomping through the alley in my platform boots, I spotted the shop's sign and prayed they had copies in stock.
Pushing open the door, the wind chimes jingled, and my eyes locked onto the recommendation section—thankfully, a few copies of *Horimiya* remained! But as I hurried over, I froze. Okabara Kyogumichi from the literature department? And standing next to him—Kasumigaoka Utaha-senpai? What were *they* doing here?
"Ugh, am I too late? The recommendation shelf's nearly empty…" I blurted, then clapped a hand over my mouth. Busted!
Kasumigaoka-senpai turned, her smile graceful. "Sawamura-san? What a coincidence."
Okabara-san glanced over, looking awkward. Worst of all, I was clutching a draft of my latest doujinshi. Panicking, I shoved it into my bag, cheeks burning—please, don't let them see my ecchi sketches!
"I-I'm here for reference materials!" I stammered, then deflected, eyes on the manga in Okabara-san's hand. "Is that Shiroyama-sensei's new work? I heard the paneling's amazing!"
"It's impressive," Kasumigaoka-senpai nodded, grabbing the last copy. "The narrative rhythm and emotional depth are more refined than his earlier works. The portrayal of youth is surprisingly nuanced."
"The line work's incredible too!" I chimed in, forgetting my embarrassment. "The action scenes use stark black-and-white contrast for tension—way better than artists who just slap on screentones!"
Once I started geeking out, I couldn't stop, oblivious to Okabara-san's increasingly odd expression.
"You both know Shiroyama-sensei's work well," he said, his tone carrying a strange edge.
"Obviously!" Kasumigaoka-senpai and I said in unison, exchanging a quick smile.
Sunlight streamed through the skylight, bathing the bookshelf in a warm glow. The Shiroyama-sensei series sat quietly between us. Unnoticed, Okabara-san's grip on his manga tightened, a faint flush creeping up his ears. The wind chimes sang again as another customer entered.