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The streetlights hummed overhead, casting long, stretching shadows against the pavement as Leo and Utaha walked toward the station. The adrenaline of the negotiation had faded, leaving behind the cool, quiet fatigue of the evening. Neither of them lived in Bunkyo Ward, and the train ride home was looming, a twenty-minute buffer between the business world and their private lives.
"Want to find a place to grab a drink?" Leo asked, breaking the rhythmic silence of their footsteps. He caught her side-eye and added with a grin, "Juice, of course. I'm not trying to corrupt a minor."
Utaha blinked, surprised. "You just turned down a kaiseki dinner with an Editor-in-Chief—a meal that probably costs more than my monthly allowance—and now you want juice?"
"I don't like eating with strangers," Leo said, shrugging his hands into his pockets. "Call it a quirk. I'm a lonely ghost in the crowd, Utaha. An observer, not a participant. Forcing polite conversation over raw fish with a man I barely know? That's my definition of indigestion."
Utaha stopped walking. She looked at him, really looked at him, and a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She understood that feeling intimately. It was the writer's curse—the desire to be in the world but not of it.
"I get it," she said softly. "The forced smiles. The bowing. It's exhausting."
She adjusted her bag, slinging it over one shoulder with a rough, uncharacteristically masculine gesture that radiated a casual, 'off-the-clock' nonchalance.
"I know a place," she said. "It's a yakitori joint. Nothing fancy, but the food is honest. It's not far."
"Lead the way, Senior," Leo said.
Utaha turned, taking a step backward so she could face him, her hair swaying with the movement. "Are you still going to call me 'Senior'?"
Leo raised an eyebrow. "You prefer 'Utaha-senpai'? Or just 'Utaha'?"
"It's fine," she said, turning back around to walk beside him, their shoulders brushing lightly. "Although it's not the answer I was looking for, it's better than the stiff formality everyone else uses."
They turned off the main thoroughfare and ducked into a narrow, dimly lit alley. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The neon glare of modern Tokyo vanished, replaced by the warm, yellow glow of paper lanterns. It felt like stepping through a time warp into the late Showa era—the 1980s, frozen in amber and charcoal smoke.
Utaha stopped in front of a weathered wooden sliding door. The scent of grilled chicken and savory tare sauce wafted out, thick and mouth-watering. She slid the door open with practiced ease.
"Welcome!"
The voice belonged to an elderly woman behind the counter. She was in her sixties, plump and well-groomed, with round spectacles perched on her nose. She radiated the kind of warmth that made you want to tell her your problems.
"Oh, it's Shiyu-chan!" the old lady beamed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Long time no see! And you brought a handsome boy? Finally got a boyfriend?"
Utaha froze, a rare flush rising from her neck to her cheeks. "No, Obaa-chan. This is my... junior. He's a writer, like me."
"Is that so?" The landlady chuckled, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses as she looked Leo up and down. "Well, you two look good together. Sure you don't want to give it a try, young man?"
Leo smiled, bowing politely. "I'm working on it, Obaa-chan."
Utaha shot him a sharp glare, but she didn't deny it further. She just marched to the far end of the wooden counter and sat down.
The shop was small, decorated with fading movie posters from forty years ago and wooden plaques listing the menu items in calligraphy. It was cozy, the kind of place where time moved slower.
Leo sat next to her. He scanned the menu—everything was priced in the hundreds of yen. Affordable, unpretentious, delicious.
"Two mango juices," Utaha ordered, recovering her composure. "And the usual set. Plus whatever he wants."
"I'll have the same," Leo said.
When the drinks arrived, the ice clinking softly against the glass, Utaha raised hers.
"Congratulations, Leo-kun," she said, her voice low and serious. "Welcome to the battlefield of the light novel world."
Leo raised his glass, the condensation cool against his palm. He clinked it gently against hers. "Cheers. It's a cruel battlefield, but I see why people fight to get in."
"It's lucrative," Utaha admitted, taking a sip. "Even a 'failure' like Love Metronome earned me more than most salarymen make in years. I don't have to deal with office politics. I don't have to go to mandatory drinking parties and pour beer for a boss I hate. I can work in my pajamas and create worlds. That's the dream, isn't it?"
"Freedom," Leo agreed. "That's the only currency that matters. I write to avoid people I dislike. Simple as that."
The landlady placed a platter of skewers in front of them. The chicken skin was crispy and golden, the meat glistening with glaze. Leo took a bite. It was perfect—smoky, salty, sweet, and tender.
"Delicious," Leo murmured.
He turned to look at Utaha. She was eating a skewer of grilled onion and chicken, her movements delicate despite the casual setting. She brushed a strand of long, raven hair behind her ear, her neck exposed to the soft, yellow light of the shop.
In that moment, she looked less like the "Ice Queen" of Toyonosaki and more like a work of art.
Internal Monologue: The 3D world really can't compare, Leo thought, admiring the curve of her jawline and the intelligence in her eyes. In my old world, 'beauties' were filtered and photoshopped. But here? In this 2D-turned-3D reality? She's flawless. She's a drawing come to life.
"What?" Utaha asked, catching him staring.
"Nothing," Leo said, taking another sip of his juice. "Just thinking that the view here is better than any Michelin star restaurant."
Utaha rolled her eyes, but she couldn't suppress the small, pleased smile that tugged at her lips. "Drink your juice, Leo-kun. Flattery won't get you a discount on the bill."