"So, Takashi-kun, are you feeling okay? You look kind of pale and, uh..." Shiina Hiyori looked at him with doubt written all over her face, her brows furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line of concern.
Takashi sat in the seat of the library, his back slumped against the chair, his head tilted back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling with utter, absolute exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
Of course he was fucking exhausted.
After breeding Kei into unconsciousness in her dormitory—multiple rounds, multiple positions, multiple screaming orgasms—he'd barely had time to recover before Arisu dragged him into a threesome with Honami. His body was still solid. Still functional. Bull-level stamina, thanks to the System's enhancements.
But his mind?
His mind was pure shit right now.
The kind of depleted, hollowed-out exhaustion that came not from physical exertion but from managing three women's emotional needs, desires, and jealousies simultaneously. Kei wanted reassurance. Arisu wanted dominance. Honami wanted attention. All of them wanted his cum. All of them wanted his time.
And he'd given it. All of it.
Now he was running on fumes and library silence.
He turned his attention to the cute girl before him and forced a grin—the kind that looked easy but cost effort.
"Not really," he admitted, chuckling low. "I just experienced what it means to be in heaven and hell at the same time, Shiina-chan."
Hiyori blinked, clearly not understanding the double meaning. Good. That was the point.
"Speaking of which," Takashi continued, shifting the conversation before she could probe deeper, "since you like books so much... have you ever thought about writing one yourself?"
He was genuinely curious. In his past life, simps worshipped Hiyori for her book hobby and her quiet intelligence. But how smart was she really? Could she actually craft a story? Handle characters, plot structure, long-format pacing? Because that was the line. That was what separated ordinary mortals from the GOATs.
Was she just another reader? Or was she something more?
Takashi wanted to find out.
Hiyori thought for a moment, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the book in front of her.
When she spoke, her voice was softer than before.
"Actually... I did. Write something, I mean. But I never published it. And I never finished it."
She paused, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
"I'm confident in my writing ability. Or at least, I think I am. But finishing is... hard. Even now, I can't write a single word on that blank page. I just stare at it. And the longer I stare, the heavier it gets." She let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I don't want to disappoint anyone. Especially myself."
"Ah." Takashi leaned back, a knowing grin spreading across his exhausted face. "So you're burned out."
"You could say that."
"I can relate."
Shiina laughed awkwardly, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Sorry to disappoint you, Takashi-kun. I know you were hoping for a different answer. But I think I'll just settle for reading as my hobby. Writing is just... too hard. Too much pressure."
"Well, yeah." Takashi shrugged. "Honestly? My disappointment is immeasurable."
Hiyori's face fell slightly.
"But not for the reason you think," he continued. "I'm not disappointed that you stopped writing. I'm disappointed that you stopped because of fear. Those aren't the same thing."
She looked up, puzzled.
He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"I can tell you this, Shiina-chan. It's not the writing itself that's making you hesitate. It's not the difficulty of the craft or the complexity of the story. It's fear. Plain and simple. Fear of imperfection. Fear of your own flaws being exposed. Fear of not meeting your own expectations."
"You're overthinking everything before you even put a single word on the page. You're imagining failure so vividly that you've convinced yourself it's inevitable."
He leaned back, crossing his arms.
"That's why you think writing is hard. Not because it actually is hard, but because you've made it hard in your own mind. Am I correct?"
Shiina was silent for a long moment, her fingers still, her expression thoughtful.
"I don't know if you're correct, Takashi-kun," she said finally, her voice soft and uncertain. "But I think... I think you're right about most of it. I've read so many high-end books. Masterpieces. Works of genius. And when I look at my own flawed writing, when I compare it to the greats..."
She sighed. "It just doesn't measure up. It doesn't meet my expectations at all. Maybe I am overthinking. Maybe I should just commit instead of analyzing everything to death."
Takashi grinned, wide and genuine. "Welcome to the suffering club, then, Shiina. We have jackets. And existential dread. And a truly unreasonable amount of caffeine dependency."
Shiina pouted, her cheeks puffing out adorably. "Humph. I'm ignoring you now, Takashi-kun. I thought you were going to offer a solution or something helpful. Not just diagnose my problems and leave me hanging."
She turned her head away, crossing her arms over her chest. "Bad Takashi. Very bad."
Takashi laughed. "I think you already know the answer, Shiina-chan. So why ask again? Don't you already have it figured out?"
He leaned forward, his tired eyes sharp and focused. "What's holding you back isn't burnout. It never was. Burnout is just a myth. A polite, convenient lie that every creative industry uses to cover up the real problem."
Shiina blinked, caught off guard by his directness.
"Human beings can still work," Takashi continued, his voice low and intense. "They can push themselves to their limits, even in their hardest and darkest moments, even when everything inside them is screaming to stop. So why, in modern times, do so many creative professionals suffer from so-called burnout?"
He paused, letting the question hang in the air.
"It's fear, Shiina. The only thing we need to fear is fear itself. Fear of moving forward. Fear of making changes. Fear of taking action. Fear is what holds us back. Not exhaustion. Not lack of talent. Not the difficulty of the work. Just fear. Plain and simple."
Shiina's eyes widened, her expression shifting from doubt to something closer to wonder.
"Is that what FDR said during the Great Depression, Takashi-kun?" She blinked again, feeling genuinely impressed. "You actually remember that quote. I don't even remember it, and I've read more books than most people will read in a lifetime. But you're right. Most of us forget. We forget that what we need to fear isn't our imperfections, isn't our failures, isn't the judgment of others. It's fear itself."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper.
"Fear is the most beautiful tool for survival we have. It kept our ancestors alive in the wilderness, kept them alert, kept them breathing. But it's also the most destructive engine in human history. It's destroyed more dreams, more ambitions, more potential masterpieces than anything else in existence."
She smiled at him, warm and genuine and completely without her usual shy reserve.
"I like you more and more, Takashi-kun. You're not just smart. You understand something fundamental about what holds us back most of the time. Fear. And that understanding doesn't just come from reading many books. It comes from comprehending them. From truly absorbing the wisdom inside them."
She held no back over her compliments, because every word was true.
This was the first time she had ever encountered someone who could talk with her fluently about so many different fields, who could engage with her on the level she craved, who didn't just nod along pretending to understand.
And she enjoyed it very much.
Especially when it came to her favorite hobby in the entire world: books.
Takashi opened his mouth to respond—
And the bell rang.
The shrill sound cut through the library's quiet like a blade. Lunch period was over.
Shiina's expression fell.
Her shoulders slumped.
Her lips pressed together in a thin, upset line.
This was the first time in her life she had ever felt genuinely disappointed, genuinely upset, about a class bell ringing.
She wanted to stay. She wanted to keep talking. She wanted to hear more of what Takashi had to say.
Takashi rose from his seat. He stepped around the table and placed a hand on her shoulder—firm, warm, grounding.
"Once upon a time," he said, his voice quieter now, "I had the same problem. I called it burnout. I blamed my health. I blamed my failing discipline. I blamed my body for not being strong enough to keep writing."
He squeezed her shoulder gently.
"But I was wrong. It was fear. Fear of imperfection. Fear of writing something that didn't match the vision in my head. Fear of failing to meet my own standards."
He looked down at her, his exhausted face carrying something almost gentle.
"When I finally understood that—when I knew the real answer—I felt invincible. The solution was no longer impossible. Now I can write whatever I want, whenever I want, however I want. Nothing holds me back anymore."
He released her shoulder and stepped toward the door.
"So yeah. Good luck on your journey, Shiina-chan. I hope you find your way back to writing."
He was halfway to the exit when her hand shot out and caught his.
"Takashi-kun..."
He turned.
Hiyori was looking up at him with a mixture of frustration and reluctant admiration.
"You're very bad at this, you know."
"Bad at what?"
"You still haven't offered a real solution. You told me what the problem is—fear. But eliminating fear is just as hard as writing itself. Maybe harder." She pouted slightly. "It's easy to say 'just don't be afraid.' Actually doing it? That's the impossible part."
Takashi grinned.
That sharp, knowing grin.
"Fair point. You want a practical method? Here."
He held up one finger.
"Adrenaline. Do something that makes your heart race. Something intense. Run in place until you're panting. Pace back and forth without purpose. Sing to yourself like a madman. Talk to yourself out loud—full conversations, no filter. Let your body move and your voice fill the space until the restless energy burns itself out."
He held up a second finger.
"Then find a quiet spot. Go outside if you can. Stargaze. Look at the universe and remember how small you are. How small your fears are. Let your mind clear. Let the calm settle in."
Third finger.
"Then go back to your desk. Your black box. Your blank page. And write what came to you in that quiet moment. Don't edit. Don't judge. Just write. Then repeat. Every day. Until the fear gets bored and leaves."
Hiyori furrowed her brows, processing. "That sounds... very complicated. And time-consuming. Is there a simpler way?"
Takashi leaned in close—close enough that she could feel his breath against her ear.
"Sex," he whispered.
Hiyori's face detonated into crimson.
"You—!"
She spun around, ready to smack him, to scold him, to say something—
But Takashi was already gone.
The library door swung shut behind him, leaving Hiyori standing alone, her face burning, her heart pounding, her mind spinning in a dozen directions at once.
Is sex really a solution for writer's block? She thought, half-horrified, half-curious.
That can't be right. That sounds completely made up. That sounds like something a pervert would say just to—
But then she paused.
Takashi had been right about everything else.
His analysis of fear versus burnout was sharper than any self-help book she'd ever read.
His first method—the adrenaline, the stargazing, the calm—sounded genuinely professional, more authentic than all those fake scammers who promoted their stupid apps to lock social media and charge monthly fees for nothing.
If his first method was that sound...
Could the second method have merit too?
She shook her head violently, her silvery-blue hair whipping around her face.
No. Absolutely not. Forget about the second method. The first method is enough. The first method is safe.
She gathered her books, pressing them against her chest.
But even as she walked out of the library, even as she headed toward her next class, a tiny, traitorous part of her mind kept whispering:
He said sex.
He whispered it in your ear.
His breath was warm.
What would that even be like?
She slapped her own cheeks—lightly, but firmly—and kept walking.
Focus, Hiyori. Focus. First method. Adrenaline. Stargazing. Writing. That's it. That's the plan.
The plan.
Just the plan.
Nothing else.
What possibly could go wrong?
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