Night had fallen.
The lights in Seiji Fujiwara's study glowed brightly.
"Phew—"
With a satisfied exhale, Seiji stretched his arms wide. His spine cracked pleasantly, joints popping one after another.
On the computer screen, a cursor blinked at the very end of a finished manuscript.
After School.
The original After School had already been a flawless jewel. Now, after a round of meticulous polishing, its brilliance had reached another level entirely—a gem worthy of being passed down for generations.
"Money's already taken care of. Next… it's time to aim for prestige."
Seiji muttered to himself, eyes unfocused.
Awards—undeniably the fastest path to fame for an ordinary person.
And once he draped himself in that golden cloak of prestige, his status in Japanese society would skyrocket. No matter where he went, he'd be welcomed as an honored guest.
No exaggeration—
Even if he killed someone in broad daylight, he could wave a psychiatrist's note or a doctor's certificate and walk out with a lighter sentence and medical parole.
The so-called law? To him, it would feel like nothing more than a breeze brushing past.
"…I should give Machida a heads-up. She's still my editor, after all."
A genius of light novels suddenly switching to write a full-on mystery?
Yeah, he'd have to explain himself.
He picked up his phone and dialed Sonoko Machida.
The line clicked open instantly. At this hour, she was still grinding away, the very picture of an overworked wage slave.
"Warukawa-sensei! Good evening! Have you decided where to hold the victory party?" Her voice rang out, brimming with reverence.
With first-day sales of 130,000 copies—breaking a twenty-year light novel record—it was only natural to celebrate. And a party could double as a marketing hook, stoking the flames for even more sales.
"No rush on the party," Seiji said with a small laugh. "Machida-san, there's something I want to discuss with you and Aida-san."
"Of course! Anything!"
"I'm planning to write a mystery novel. And I intend to go for the Edogawa Ranpo Prize."
"…."
Silence slammed down on the other end.
After a long pause, Machida's stunned voice finally broke through.
"W-Warukawa-sensei… you're joking, right?"
"Nope. Dead serious."
"N-no, you can't! Absolutely not!" Her voice shot up an octave, panic seeping in. "Sensei, light novels and mystery fiction are completely different worlds! The Ranpo Prize judges are all crusty old literary fossils. They despise light novels more than anything!"
"You're on fire in the light novel scene right now—why walk into humiliation?"
Another voice cut in, steady yet just as urgent.
Machida had put the call on speaker. It was Ryuji Aida.
"Warukawa-sensei, Machida's right. You must be careful." His tone was tight with worry. "The literary establishment's prejudices run deeper than you imagine. If you aim high and fail, the media will swarm you, branding you reckless and arrogant. It'll destroy your reputation."
But as their frantic pleas filled the line, Seiji only smiled faintly, amused by their overreaction.
Their raised voices even drew Utaha from the living room. She stepped in, brows furrowed.
"What's going on?" she whispered.
Nothing.
Seiji waved her off, still on the call.
"I know you're worried about me." His smile deepened. "But the manuscript's already pretty much done."
"What?!" Machida and Aida both gasped.
"That's right," Seiji drawled. "So… whether it's fit for the Ranpo Prize or not, why don't you come see for yourselves? If you still think it's impossible after reading it, we'll drop the whole idea. But if you agree it's good enough… then how about Fushikawa backing me for the prize?"
Beside him, Utaha's eyes widened. Disbelief flickered across her face.
Go for the Edogawa Ranpo Prize?
What the hell did that mean?
This scumbag wasn't satisfied with conquering the light novel world—he wanted to storm the mystery genre too?
And not just dabble—he was aiming straight for its highest honor!
Was that even possible?
She frowned, watching him closely, shaken by the audacity in his voice.
"…You really finished it already?" From the phone came twin intakes of breath—Machida and Aida again.
He'd just wrapped up A Certain Magical Index volume two. That was only half a month ago.
How could his creative energy still be burning this fiercely?
"…All right," Aida finally said, carefully measured. "Since the manuscript is complete, we'll come to your place tomorrow and take a look. After we've read it, we'll talk."
They couldn't argue with him once he'd already written the whole thing.
Everything would depend on the manuscript itself.
"No problem. I'll be waiting," Seiji said cheerfully.