"You can't treat the limits of your vision as your own limits. If you do, you'll never truly grow."
Her bloodshot eyes had lost their usual sparkle.
There was sothing fierce in her gaze now determined, almost intimidating.
And when those powerful words left her cherry lips, Machida Sonoko could feel the weight of her resolve.
"Sigh... Shi-chan, honestly, would it kill you to talk to before deleting it? At least keep a copy for reference!" Machida stood up and gave both her cheeks a firm slap to shake herself out of her ntal fog.
"I'm sorry, Machida-san. I wasted all your hard work too," Kasumigaoka said, her eyes filled with genuine regret.
The manuscript she'd deleted hadn't just been her own labor of love, Machida had also poured just as much ti and energy into it.
"Well, I guess that's just the kind of author I ended up with," Machida muttered with a helpless smile.
She bent down and gave Kasumigaoka's cheek a gentle pinch, still soft and springy despite the days of sleepless nights.
These young ones... they really didn't know how hard it was to keep up at her age.
"I'll make us so late-night snacks. We'll need fuel if we're going to keep fighting." She straightened up, took off her grey blazer, and stretched with a groan.
Feeling nothing tear or pop, she cast a quick glance at her still-uniford author, just a bit envious.
"Shi-chan, how about taking a quick shower while I'm at it?" she suggested.
Utaha had been hauled straight to the computer after school on Friday and hadn't had a mont to change.
She'd even taken her naps in that sa uniform.
Now both she and the outfit looked thoroughly worn out.
"Um..."
Utaha glanced at the laptop, then touched her thigh-high stockings.
They still felt smooth, but... sothing about them seed off—maybe a little greasy?
She wasn't sure if it was just her imagination or the lack of hand-washing.
If she hadn't been laser-focused on her writing earlier, she would've lost her mind.
Still, the surge of inspiration she felt now made her reluctant to step away from the keyboard.
"That kind of mindset isn't how you break limits," Machida declared, pulling the red-eyed girl up by the hand.
She didn't have much strength left either, so the two of them nearly collapsed.
"Machida-san, you should rest too. Cup noodles are fine for a midnight snack," Kasumigaoka said.
It's not like the apartnt had only one bathroom.
"Haha, you didn't really think I was about to whip up a gourt al, did you? I was always planning on cup noodles!" Machida laughed.
"...Is that so?" Utaha rolled her eyes lightly and walked to the closet, pulling out a set of pajamas and so fresh underwear.
Without saying another word, the two won entered separate bathrooms, clothes in hand.
She ran the bath first, letting the tub fill while she began peeling off the stockings she'd been wearing for two whole days.
Lifting her pleated skirt and grabbing the edge of the nylon, she slowly slid them down.
Normally smooth to the touch, they now felt oddly slippery either due to how long she'd worn them or the ntal image in her head.
As she bent down and eased the stockings off, her round, shapely hips were the first to be freed.
The pose accentuated her curves—taut, firm, and youthful. One leg, then the other, and she stood barefoot on the cold white tiles.
Kasumigaoka frowned as she looked at the crumpled stockings in her hand.
Her deep red eyes narrowed with hesitation.
Slowly, as if performing a scientific experint, she brought them close to her nose.
The bathroom filled with warm steam. The light turned hazy. Her serious expression made it seem like sothing monuntal was about to happen.
...Phew. No sweat sll.
'As expected of a perfect beauty like , my body doesn't even sweat.'
Relieved, she smiled with a hint of smugness and quickly pulled the "wounded black fabric" away from her face.
Into the trash they went. She had no intention of washing and reusing them.
Off ca the skirt, blouse, and black lingerie. She left the underwear to wash later and tossed the rest in the laundry.
She turned on the shower, letting the warm water cascade down her body.
As she lathered up with foam, she sat on a small stool and carefully scrubbed every inch.
By the ti she finished, the bathtub was nearly full.
She added a sachet of bath salts and dipped her toes in to test the temperature.
Her hips swayed as she lifted one leg, and her toned thighs and sculpted backside tensed in all the right places.
Her body, built through quiet discipline, reflected a perfect balance of softness and strength.
Without consistent training, she wouldn't have a waistline that flawless—or thighs that full and tempting.
After confirming the water was just right, she slowly stepped into the tub, bracing herself with one hand on the side.
"Ahhh..."
As her hips sank into the hot water and her back rested against the tub's perfectly ergonomic slope, a soft moan escaped her lips one that could stir even the calst heart.
She soaked a towel, wrung it out slightly, and placed it over her face.
Then she stretched her legs out, easing the stiffness from sitting at a computer for two days straight.
Her aching body lted into the warmth, just like the ads for the bath salts had promised: "Your own private hot spring—soothe your pain, smooth your skin, and restore your energy."
The bathroom grew quiet. Through the misty warmth and the towel over her face, her anxious heart finally began to calm.
From the other side of the wall ca the faint sound of Machida-san humming an old children's song from Wakou City.
'Heh... Machida-san, honestly. That woman's way too old to be this childish.'
Utaha shook her head, amused. She took the now-cool towel off her face and set it on the nearby window ledge.
Tilting her head back, she watched the rising steam swirl toward the ceiling.
Maybe it was the hot compress, or just the bath itself, but the redness in her eyes had eased.
Her wine-colored irises sparkled once more, vibrant and alive.
"Hojou Kyousuke..."
Her lips moved ever so slightly, barely forming the na.
The na of the person who had driven her to delete the manuscript she'd poured her heart into.
Through the mist, Kasumigaoka Utaha could almost see the figure of that boy from the last comic convention, passionately calling out to custors on behalf of Kashiwagi Eri.
She wished.....truly wished that one day, her own work would be sothing he'd hold high with pride, sothing he'd shout about to the crowd around him.
Even though Kashiwagi Eri was just a girl who looked like an elentary schooler, Utaha couldn't help but feel jealous... She had been working so hard.
And when Kyousuke-kun had broken down her writing techniques online, pointing out her thods one by one along with his heartfelt impressions.
She knew she was on the right path. Even without pouring in true emotion, she had created a story capable of captivating hearts.
That's why she rewrote an already "perfect" outline, using an even more refined prose style, and produced a sequel so good that even Machida-san had called it flawless.
But today, when she saw the article about Kyousuke-kun in Weekly Bunshun, her first reaction wasn't shock at his success.
No, it was sothing warr.
Like a sunlit afternoon when a window opens suddenly, and a rose is tossed inside.
It was the pride and joy of seeing soone you admire succeed. A shared happiness in his accomplishnt.
She had always known he would succeed. Even stepping into the world of creators, he was still brilliant.
The boy she had set her eyes on was slowly beginning to show the world just how amazing he truly was.
But then, when she saw the bold, red text—"500,000 copies sold"—she realized: with a story like hers, she'd never catch up to him.
Kyousuke-kun was fearlessly showcasing his talents. Girls like Kashiwagi Eri would keep gathering around him, drawn in like bees to pollen.
She had to keep going. No matter who the rival was, she wouldn't let anyone take him away from her.
Still, no matter how strong her writing techniques were, she was just a third-year middle schooler.
Lacking real-life experience, no amount of fancy vocabulary could cover the emotional gap.
The only people who'd cry over her stories or be obsessed with them were... well, fools.
So she deleted the novel. And then, a bold, daring idea blood in her mind, one she'd never considered before.
She would write herself and Kyousuke-kun into this story.
Before, she'd written the character Sayuka as a reflection of herself, but that was only a surface-level imitation, a shadow with her personality traits but none of her true feelings.
This ti, she would pour her heart into it. She would beco Sayuka—her thoughts, her feelings, her passion.
And the male lead, Naoto, who had just been a convenient plot device to showcase Sayuka's character—he would beco more.
She would give him charm, make him worthy of being the true protagonist.
In her heart, she held an idea so daring and embarrassing, she couldn't help but blush. But she was going to make it real—through this story.
"Shi-chan, are you still in the bath? The instant noodles are ready! Hurry up and eat so we can get back to fighting!"
Her thoughts were cut off by the voice from outside the bathroom.
'Ugh, seriously. Why doesn't Machida-san enjoy the bath a little longer? Doesn't she care about wrinkled skin?'
"Okay, I'm coming out now," Utaha called back with a sigh.
She stood up in the bathtub, water trickling down her skin in delicate streams, flowing along the smooth curves of her body every arch and dip, every firm, shapely line of her figure.
———————————————————————
anwhile, on the other side of town...
Having just finished her phone call with Kyousuke, Okudera Miki was about to return to the living room when her phone rang again. It was her friend, Hiratsuka Shizuka.
"Miki, Miki, did you see Weekly Bunshun today?"Her friend's voice was as breathless as ever.
While Hiratsuka Shizuka was always a bit high-strung, Okudera was still surprised that a gossip magazine had her this worked up.
After all, she'd co ho for serious family business and this wasn't the ti to be obsessing over celebrity rumors.
"Nope. You know —I'm not really into that kind of thing." It was true.
Though she used to be a bit of a gyaru, Okudera had been laser-focused on becoming a great chef lately.
She didn't follow the entertainnt world at all.
In contrast, her tomboyish friend Shizuka had always had a weird interest in celebrity gossip.
Okudera used to tease her, saying she must be projecting her feelings onto idols, waiting for a scandal to finally start dating soone herself.
Naturally, Shizuka had denied it every ti.
"I'm sending you sothing right now. Look at it and tell doesn't that guy look like your high school boyfriend?"
"For the hundredth ti, He and I aren't dating—"
Before she could finish, the call was cut off.
Miki sighed and looked down at her phone, waiting for the incoming ssage.
'Ping.'
"Image — from Shizuka-chan"
She tapped on it.
The pen na EGOIST didn't imdiately ring a bell, but the mont she saw One Punch Man listed, she knew.
There was no mistake that was Kyousuke.
Still, sothing was off.
The article claid he was a middle school student.
But Kyousuke had told her he was in high school. Before she could dwell on it, her phone rang again.
"That's him, right? Hojou Kyousuke, your little boyfriend!"
"It's definitely him, but he's not my—"
"Didn't he say he was in high school? Why does the article say he's in middle school?"
Okudera looked up at the starry sky, thinking for a mont.
"Maybe Bunshun just made a mistake."
"Kyousuke-kun goes to a school that has both junior and senior high divisions, right? It's not unusual for a gossip mag to ss sothing like that up."
"Hmm... yeah, I guess that makes sense," Shizuka replied. Compared to a gossip column, her friend's word was more trustworthy anyway.
"Still, I can't believe that kid turned out to be such a big deal."
"Hah, Kyousuke-kun told you he was aiming high, didn't he?"
They chatted for a little while longer before Miki ended the call.
She wanted to call Kyousuke and warn him about the magazine's misinformation, but after a mont of thought, she decided to search his na online instead.
She didn't expect much. But to her surprise, tons of forums were already talking about him.
Even his photos were all over the place. But just like she'd guessed, none of them said he was in middle school only that he attended "Higashi."
Of course.
Kyousuke was too reliable, too mature, to be just a junior high student.
Whenever they talked, Okudera often forgot how young he looked because the way he carried himself always felt more like a dependable senior than a teenage boy.
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