"Holy crap! It's real! I'm shaking so hard I dropped my phone! Who still dares say light novel readers have no taste?!"
"The times have changed, old man! Seiji Fujiwara is the god of a new era!"
"Let's be rational—talent has nothing to do with format. If he could build the massive world of A Certain Magical Index, writing a classic mystery like After School must've been easy for him!"
"Exactly. Real geniuses shine no matter what genre they touch!"
"When the book drops, I'm buying ten copies!"
But on the other side of the internet, the traditional literary elite—critics, professors, and self-proclaimed "serious readers"—were fuming.
They felt insulted.
And their outrage flooded in like a tidal wave.
"The decline of civilization is complete. A gaudy showman has stepped into the sacred hall of literature! I pity the old masters who guarded its gates."
"This has to be corruption! Kodansha and Fushikawa Bunko must've struck a dirty deal!"
"Pathetic! For the sake of hype and clicks, they've trashed a hundred years of prestige!"
"Ugh! From now on, just rename the Ranpo Prize the 'Toilet Paper Award'! I've read that guy's light novels—childish drivel! If he can write a mystery, I'll eat my keyboard!"
"Have the judges gone senile? He won because he's handsome? What's next, idols winning literary awards? Japanese literature is dead!"
"Ridiculous. Light novels are disposable fast food; proper mysteries demand logic and precision. I'll never accept this result!"
"Same here. I'm not buying After School—ever."
Amid the storm of public outrage, three figures emerged as the vanguard of the counterattack—
Tetsuya Nishio, Professor Watanabe, and Editor Onizuka.
Their defeat was inevitable.
But none of them could accept it.
If they could drag both "Seiji Fujiwara" and the "Edogawa Ranpo Prize" down together—
turn this whole event into a scandal—
then they could transform from losers into "heroes defending the purity of literature."
They met in secret and moved quickly.
The next morning, Tetsuya Nishio updated his social blog.
He didn't attack Seiji directly.
Instead, he posted a long entry titled "Confession of an Idealist at Fifteen."
Every word dripped with sorrow and resentment.
"Last night, I couldn't sleep. It's not that I can't accept failure—I just can't understand how the sacred realm of mystery fiction, which I've devoted ten years of my life to, feels so alien to me now."
"I still remember what Professor Watanabe once taught me: true literature requires time, introspection, and reverence for language itself. I've lived by that belief."
"But maybe… I was wrong."
"In this age where popularity reigns supreme, ten years of hard work can't compete with one well-crafted marketing campaign. I'm tired. Exhausted. I don't know if I still have the courage to keep writing for an 'ideal' that no longer exists…"
The post struck a chord.
He painted himself as a martyr for literature—earning a flood of sympathy from traditional readers.
"Nishio-sensei, don't cry! We're with you!"
"You're not the problem—it's this filthy era! That trashy light novelist doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you!"
"The judges must be blind! Sacrificing a real author like you to promote some pretty-boy idol—what a disgrace to literature!"
"Please don't give up, Nishio-sensei! You're the true, uncrowned king in our hearts!"
While Nishio's post stirred up waves of sympathy, his mentor, Professor Watanabe, appeared on TVS Television for an interview.
Speaking as a supposedly "neutral academic," he launched into a scathing critique.
Host: "Professor Watanabe, do you think a light novel author could produce a great mystery novel?"
Professor Watanabe (solemnly): "Absolutely not. Lowbrow commercial entertainment can't be compared to serious literature."
He looked straight into the camera.
"The thought process behind the two genres is entirely different.
Light novels chase instant emotional gratification and rely on shallow, archetypal characters.
True mysteries demand logical precision and cleverly crafted tricks—it's a completely different kind of mind."
"Then there's knowledge. A good mystery writer must understand forensics, psychology, criminology.
Light novel writers spend their time pandering to market tastes—do they really have the time or ability for that?"
"I'm not attacking Seiji Fujiwara personally," he concluded. "But as a scholar, I have to question whether this year's result was influenced by factors outside literature."
His "professional" analysis was dangerously persuasive.
For countless skeptics, it provided the academic justification they'd been waiting for.
The final blow came from Editor Onizuka.
Using his credentials as a "senior mystery editor at Harukawa Publishing," he posted on the country's largest mystery forum, Mystery Gate.
"As a twenty-year veteran of the field, I'm shocked by this year's Ranpo Prize results."
"I respect every judge on the panel, but I also believe in the integrity of this industry. Everyone knows Kodansha is the Ranpo Prize's designated publisher—yet the winner, Seiji Fujiwara, is signed with Fushikawa Bunko."
"We all know the corporations behind Fushikawa and Kodansha have strong business ties… Could there be an undisclosed financial arrangement behind this?"
"I won't speculate further. I simply ask the committee to release the full details of the selection process—to prove their fairness."
That post hit harder than any artistic critique.
Money scandals always did.
The entire publishing industry buzzed with suspicion, and public opinion swung sharply against Seiji.
But Fushikawa Bunko wasn't going to stay silent.
Their first counterattack targeted Professor Watanabe's "academic criticism."
At a press conference, Professor Munakata, chairman of the judging committee, spoke before a room packed with reporters.
"I've heard Watanabe's remarks," he said. "They sound logical—but his entire premise is wrong."
"He treats literature as if it could be defined by formula."
His voice rang out like steel.
"Talent cannot be measured by rules. True genius exists to break them."
"Enough talk!" He scanned the reporters like a blade.
"The Edogawa Ranpo Prize has stood for sixty years. We guarantee with our reputation that After School deserves the honor.
Don't believe us? Wait for publication."
His words hit the news cycle like thunder.
Meanwhile, Kodansha held its own emergency press conference.
The spokesperson faced a barrage of cameras and questions, smiling calmly.
"Kodansha is a commercial company," she said. "Our goal is simple: to deliver the best works to readers—and profit from them."
"The reason we chose After School is simple—it deserves it."
"We believe this book will bring us returns far greater than what we invested."
"The market will prove us right."
That confidence was disarming—and contagious.
Then came Fushikawa Bunko's turn.
They didn't argue. They posted.
On their official account, they uploaded a single image.
Two book covers side by side.
On the left—Kodansha's After School.
On the right—Fushikawa's A Certain Magical Index, Volume 2.
Below them, a single, arrogant line of text:
"Did the era choose the genius, or did the genius create the era?"
"—The era of Seiji Fujiwara has only just begun."
Pity Nishio's tragic fall? Doubt Seiji's talent?
Forget it.
This man didn't care about their doubts.
His sheer confidence—bordering on arrogance—ignited something deep in the Japanese psyche.
Even conspiracy theorists began to quiet down.
Fushikawa's bold move completely reversed the tide.
But the clash only grew fiercer.
Supporters and critics now stood on opposite ends of a widening gulf.
All arguments, all tension, condensed into one question:
How good is After School, really?
Two weeks later—
Under immense anticipation, the 61st Edogawa Ranpo Prize winner, After School, finally hit the shelves nationwide through Kodansha.
The entire literary world—and the country's readers—exploded.
By sunrise, lines already stretched outside every major bookstore.
Outside Kinokuniya in Shinjuku—
Diehard fans waved homemade signs: "Seiji Fujiwara—Forever Our God!"
"Brothers! Today's the holy war!"
"Three copies minimum! Ten if you can!"
"Let's bury those old fossils with sales! The god's talent can't be stained by prejudice!"
"Ohhhhh!!" the crowd roared.
A few cynics smirked from the line.
"Idiots, all of them. Totally brainwashed."
"I just wanna see how bad this overhyped 'Toilet Paper King' really is."
"Yeah, I've got my 2ch post drafted already—title: 'After School: The Great Literary Delusion.' I'm gonna roast him alive."
They were there to hate.
Then there were the curious bystanders.
"Hey, who do you think's gonna win this?"
"No clue. But either way, this is gonna be fun."
At 10 a.m. sharp, the doors opened.
The crowd surged in like a wave.
Front and center, After School gleamed under the lights.
The title was bold and powerful, the author's name—Seiji Fujiwara—engraved beneath.
Fans, haters, and casual readers all opened their copies at once.
And then—silence.
"Whoa… this opening feels so real! Totally unlike a light novel."
"No way. This prose—it's sharp, clean, surgical. Are we sure that guy wrote this?"
"Holy crap! The trick! I thought I had it figured out halfway through, but the twist—he was five layers ahead!"
"The ending twist gave me chills. My heart's still racing!"
Even the loudest hater froze at the last page, trembling.
"This… can't be… this can't be real…"
His entire hate-filled speech evaporated.
You couldn't mock something that good.
His friend nudged him. "Hey, weren't you gonna post that thread?"
The hater twitched.
"Post my ass! How the hell am I supposed to roast this?!"
Praise spread like wildfire.
On 2ch, the very same debate thread turned into a flood of apologies.
"I was wrong. I'm sorry."
"Seiji-sensei, I take everything back!"
"My deepest apologies for doubting you—you're a true genius!"
"This isn't just the best mystery of the decade—it's the best in twenty years!"
"Hey, Watanabe's disciples, how's your 'theory of creation' holding up now?"
And once the tide turned, retribution followed.
At TVS Television, Professor Watanabe sat in the lounge before his next interview when his assistant burst in.
"Professor! Bad news! Your Twitter's been flooded! TVS's website crashed!"
"What?!"
He snatched up his phone—and froze.
Thousands of furious comments flooded his feed.
"@WatanabeOldDog Where's your 'theory of creativity' now, huh?!"
"You corrupt hack! You sided with that failed student for money?!"
"TVS should investigate how much Nishio paid this old fossil!"
"I've already filed a complaint to Kyoto University's ethics board. Enjoy unemployment, grandpa!"
His phone rang again—Kyoto University President.
"President, I—"
"Professor Watanabe," the voice sighed, "your recent comments have damaged the university's reputation.
Effective next semester, all your research funding and graduate supervision privileges are revoked."
Click.
The call ended.
He sat frozen, phone slipping from his fingers.
Without funding or students, he was finished—just another lecturer.
He slumped into his chair, suddenly decades older.
Meanwhile, Tetsuya Nishio's blog—once filled with sympathy—turned into a storm of rage.
"Fraud! Your 'idealism' was just bullying a genius to boost yourself!"
"Your Cry of the Void isn't fit to polish After School's shoes!"
"Quit the industry already! You're done!"
The insults piled endlessly.
Crushed by the backlash, Nishio deleted all his accounts that very day—and disappeared without a trace.
The era of Seiji Fujiwara had truly begun.
====
You can read up to chapter 90 on patreon.com/NiaXD.