Kuroha Akira finished rinsing his mouth and turned to Shinomiya with a thoughtful expression.
"One more thing, Shion. If you have time today, could you please help look after Toshiro-san?"
He had multiple reasons for this request.
First, Toshiro-san was the only young woman at Kobayashi. Shinomiya, having suspended her studies, had no female friends her age to interact with—no one for girl talk, no one to share those things that weren't convenient to discuss with men. Over time, that isolation would negatively affect her mental and emotional health. Toshiro-san could be an excellent confidante.
(Granny Kobayashi didn't count. The generation gap was simply too vast.)
Second, Toshiro-san's makeup skills were genuinely valuable. Level 4 proficiency wasn't something to ignore—it would be criminal not to utilize such talent.
If Shinomiya eventually decided to show her face publicly as a voice actress, Toshiro-san could handle her makeup. Shinomiya already possessed a naturally stunning face; enhanced by professional makeup, she'd likely create an unprecedented spectacle of "beauty that literally takes one's breath away."
Kuroha Akira had always considered exaggerated descriptors like "country-toppling," "fish-sinking, geese-alighting," and "national beauty, heavenly fragrance" to be hyperbolic. How beautiful could someone actually be? Even famous celebrities hadn't moved him to become Heart-Eyes Tom.
But Shinomiya had genuinely redefined his perception of beauty. There was a specific kind of beautiful: the kind everyone agreed was beautiful. That was genuine—it represented the popular aesthetic of an entire era.
Third, Kuroha Akira felt increasingly uncertain about serving as Shinomiya's sole manager. Idol-manager scandals were real concerns that could damage her career. Plus, he was still a student—he couldn't be by her side twenty-four hours a day.
For now, it was fine. But once Shinomiya debuted, this would become urgent. He needed to arrange trustworthy people to assist her.
Toshiro-san fit that role perfectly.
Coincidentally, Toshiro-san was deeply dissatisfied with her current job. With the right salary offer, she could definitely be brought over to their side.
Kuroha Akira felt his arrangement was simply perfect.
"Okay..."
Shinomiya's response, however, lacked enthusiasm.
She hadn't actually met Toshiro-san yet. Passing by the bathroom earlier, she'd only caught a glimpse of a disheveled woman hugging the toilet bowl in undignified surrender to alcohol.
But more importantly—this was the woman who'd prevented Akira-kun from returning to their room last night. Shinomiya had developed a slight... opinion about Toshiro-san because of that.
Noticing her reluctance, Kuroha Akira continued listing Toshiro-san's virtues.
"Speaking of which, Toshiro-san is also excellent at massage. If you ever have any aches or pains, Shion, you could ask her to help—"
"I don't want to!"
Shinomiya's resistance was immediate and sharp, like a startled kitten puffing up at an unexpected cucumber.
"Hmm?"
"What I mean is..." She composed herself, though her cheeks colored slightly. "I'll just continue letting Akira-kun massage me. That's fine, right?"
"Well... I don't mind..."
Being allowed to freely touch a beautiful girl's stocking-clad legs and feet? He was naturally quite happy about that arrangement.
But Kuroha Akira noted Shinomiya's apparent discomfort with strangers. She'd only offered Hijikata-san a polite greeting earlier, and now she was actively expressing reluctance to interact with Toshiro-san.
Her social skills definitely needed work.
If she became a public figure someday, she'd inevitably face situations requiring interaction with many people—fans, colleagues, industry professionals. Avoiding everyone wasn't a viable long-term strategy.
"Toshiro-san is trustworthy," he said firmly. "If you trust me, then please try to get along with her."
"I understand..." Shinomiya nodded slowly. "If Akira-kun says so, I will."
She would always obey the things Kuroha Akira instructed her to do.
After they finished washing up, Shinomiya went to visit Toshiro-san in the living room.
Tashiro Kurenai had just emptied the entire contents of her stomach and appeared utterly depleted. Granny Kobayashi had helped her to the living room sofa, where she now slumped bonelessly, eyes half-open, expression dazed and distant.
Shinomiya approached cautiously.
"Toshiro-san... Hello. My name is Shinomiya Shion. I'm the new person who started staying here yesterday..."
Tashiro Kurenai's eyes snapped fully open.
For a moment, she genuinely thought she'd died and gone to heaven.
"!" She pushed herself forward with the last dregs of energy in her alcohol-saturated body, lunging at Shinomiya and latching onto her hips. "What a beautiful angel...!"
"Toshiro-san, please don't—I'm not an angel—"
"You ARE an angel!" Tashiro Kurenai insisted, her voice dreamy and reverent. "Angel-san has finally descended upon me!"
The alcohol's lingering effects had clearly returned. She was babbling again.
"Ugh..."
Shinomiya felt momentarily flustered, caught in this unexpected embrace. But then she remembered—Akira-kun had probably been entangled exactly like this last night. The thought brought an unexpected sense of... ease.
Toshiro-san was an adult, yes. But mentally, she didn't seem very mature at all.
An idea formed in Shinomiya's mind.
If she could make Toshiro-san listen to her... perhaps she wouldn't have to worry about Akira-kun being "stolen away" like last night anymore.
Shinomiya summoned her gentlest smile to date. Using the warm, soothing senior voice she'd practiced last night, she began stroking Tashiro Kurenai's hair.
"There, there. I know you drank so much because you were feeling down. But it's okay—just think of it as relaxation. Nothing bad will happen."
"Waaah, waaah, waaah..." Tashiro Kurenai buried her face against Shinomiya's lower abdomen. "Angel-san... please take me with you... Angel-sama...!"
"Don't be afraid." Shinomiya's voice was pure honey. "I'll always be by your side. Rest well now, and when you wake up, everything will be fine. Okay?"
"Mm...!"
Shinomiya Shion had, in approximately ninety seconds, successfully tamed Tashiro Kurenai.
When Kuroha Akira finished washing up and came downstairs to check on them, he stopped dead in the doorway.
Was this the same Toshiro-san who'd been hugging him earlier, radiating mature older sister charm?
Roles had completely reversed. Shinomiya had become the gentle older sister, while Toshiro-san had transformed into a crybaby seeking comfort.
Though Shinomiya's chest couldn't compete in sheer volume, she possessed something arguably equally impressive: peach buttocks that could rival giant breasts in their own way.
And currently, Toshiro-san was holding those peach buttocks, her face pressed against Shinomiya's lower abdomen, perilously close to her secret garden...
One could only say Toshiro-san had excellent taste. Presumably, the sensation there was no less divine than the facial cleanser experience he'd enjoyed earlier.
Unfortunately, that particular area was the dangerous triangle Kuroha Akira was not qualified to explore. He could only watch enviously for a moment before retreating upstairs.
The scene was objectively strange—a twenty-four-year-old office lady being comforted like a child by a fifteen-year-old high school girl. But if it meant Shinomiya successfully befriending Toshiro-san, Kuroha Akira was willing to accept this bizarre reality.
Before leaving for school, he stopped by Hijikata-san's room. He needed to print the novel outline he'd written last night.
Hijikata-san's room contained both a printer and a fax machine—convenient amenities that saved Kuroha Akira a trip to the convenience store and the associated printing costs.
As an aside, Hijikata-san had been in a state of frantic work since nine last night and hadn't noticed any commotion outside his room. The man's focus was almost frightening.
Outline in hand, Kuroha Akira could now maintain his creative flow even during class. He'd continue writing the main body of the novel while pretending to take notes.
Class? What class?
Who actually went to school to study anymore?
School was for writing novels!
Exams? He'd just guess enough multiple-choice questions correctly to scrape together thirty points. That would be enough to pass and avoid repeating a grade.
Actually, even repeating a grade wouldn't matter!
Sure, Teacher Kobayakawa might be disappointed... but graduation certificates were ultimately unnecessary. What did a piece of paper matter when you were planning to earn enough money to lie flat for a lifetime?
If his novel succeeded, this high school thing could go right out the window. He'd happily quit and never look back.
Priorities.