— — — — — —
Inside a high-end apartment.
Utaha Kasumigaoka in a thin camisole nightdress sat at her desk, her slender, bare feet resting lightly against the floor. In her hands was a light novel titled Your Lie in April.
"Man, that was seriously hard to find…"
She leaned forward, rubbing her smooth, jade-like ankle. She'd gone to four or five different bookstores just to get this one copy.
In Chiyoda Ward, readers practically worshipped the award-winning titles from Dengeki Bunko. As a result, Your Lie in April was sold out almost everywhere.
"Isn't this supposed to be a feel-good story? Why does the cover look kind of sad…?"
She murmured to herself, though she didn't dwell on it for long before opening the book and starting to read.
"That autumn, when I was eleven, I lost the ability to play the piano."
"Two years later, in April, a girl named Kaori Miyazono appeared in my world."
"My name is Kousei Arima. I'm composing in the piano room. Everything started when a baseball hit me. Maybe that was the beginning of my good luck."
As she read, Utaha's expression kept shifting.
A slight frown. A soft smile. A thoughtful pause. A small shake of her head.
The words on the page pulled her in completely. Without even noticing, she kept turning page after page… until there were no more pages left to turn.
The final lines read. "If it's Kaori… then even the pitch-black depths of the sea might still be pierced by rays of light. Kousei Arima gathered his courage and stood behind the piano once more, raising his hands to begin again."
After checking several times to make sure there really wasn't another page, Utaha let out a long breath and closed the book.
Then she pulled her feet up onto the chair, wrapped her arms around her knees, and tilted her head against them.
She stayed like that for a long time.
"…I really can't compare to Oikawa-kun."
"Actually… I'm not even close. Not even a little."
There was a hint of dejection in her voice. No matter how she looked at it, Your Lie in April was leagues ahead of her own work, Koisuru Metronome.
Time slipped quietly through her fingers. By now, the sun had already set.
She lifted her head.
Looking at the thin crescent of the moon just peeking out in the sky, she smiled again.
"Well… Oikawa is older than me. It's only natural he'd be better."
It sounded like she'd finally found a reason she could accept, making peace with herself.
After hesitating for a bit, she flopped onto her bed, pulled out her phone, and sent a message. "You must be pretty proud of yourself, Oikawa-kun, writing something this good."
"I'll allow it—but don't get too full of yourself. I'll catch up to you soon!"
The reply came quickly.
"By 'soon,' do you mean next lifetime?"
"Face it. There are lots of geniuses in this world—but only one like me."
"..."
Four or five seconds passed.
Then Utaha sat up, grabbed the copy of Your Lie in April from the desk, and opened it back to the first page.
Just now, she'd been reading it as a reader.
Now, she was reading it as a writer.
…
…
Around seven or eight that evening, most people who had bought Your Lie in April that day had already finished reading it.
It was only about a hundred thousand words. If you did nothing else, you could finish it in a few hours.
And so, posts about the novel began flooding the internet.
"This is the best light novel I've read in years. As expected of Dengeki Bunko. As expected of a grand prize winner."
"Damn it, why does it just stop like that?! I was totally into it!"
"??? Author, are you serious right now? Who gave you permission to cut it off there?! I need to know why Kaori didn't compete, and whether Kousei overcame his trauma!!!"
"Ok, all I can say is: this is freaking amazing!"
"Author, release the next volume! It's summer break—you've got time!"
Countless posts urging for updates appeared across Twitter and Facebook.
Even in a small group chat that included members from the Service Club and the Literature Club, the discussion exploded.
"Did everyone buy Your Lie in April? It's insanely good!"
Zaimokuza—hardcore light novel fanatic—started the conversation.
"Oikawa, Hachiman, did you guys get it? If not, I can lend you read with me."
What the hell.
How can one book be shared between three people?! What about my sales?
Oikawa felt an inexplicable surge of irritation when he saw that message.
"I bought it. Just finished reading." Hachiman posted a photo, then added, "It's way better than I expected. But it doesn't really feel like a healing story. Some of the wording feels… off."
Hachiman Hikigaya was still Hachiman Hikigaya.
His literary sense was sharp. Some passages seemed normal at first glance, but were actually filled with subtle pessimism.
Of course, it wasn't a healing story.
It was one of the most heart-wrenching in history, sure to bring the world to tears.
.
.
.