After Kyousuke had just stepped off the stage, intending to et up with his friends and family, a staff mber stopped him and guided him out of the venue.
What? They're even reclaiming the flower bouquets now?
He followed the staff toward the groom's dressing room they'd used earlier.
"Truly impressive, Hojou-sensei! Even your acceptance speech was so moving. We might have to get the publishing rights and turn it into a standalone collection," said Hamamoto Shigeru, laughing heartily as he approached from down the hall.
Kyousuke returned the smile and shook his hand.
"You flatter , Chairman Hamamoto. I just said a few shallow words, that's all."
"Nonsense! I'm already looking forward to hearing your speech when you win the Mystery Writers' Award. I'll make sure to grab a photo with you then!"
Hamamoto had finally witnessed the extent of Kyousuke's popularity.
While their own prize was no small honor, it had never drawn this much dia attention.
He was eager to establish a closer relationship with Kyousuke—maybe even invite him to hold a launch event at a bookstore affiliated with their committee.
But from what his staff told him, Kyousuke had brought quite a large group of friends and family, and likely couldn't wait to share the mont with them.
"I won't keep you any longer, Hojou-sensei. Your prizes are in the dressing room. If they're inconvenient to carry, we can have them delivered to your ho."
Oh, right—the prizes.
Kyousuke had almost forgotten.
The oversized, illustrated boards used on stage were just for show. He hadn't actually received the real prizes yet.
But still...
A 100,000-yen bookstore gift card and a set of stationery? That's what you're handing out?
Forget the million-yen reward from the Edogawa Rampo Prize—even the Mystery Writers' Award ca with a gold watch and 500,000 yen in cash.
And here they were, offering vouchers that could only be used at their own bookstore.
"Well, once again, thank you to Chairman Hamamoto and the hardworking bookstore staff. Wishing the Bookstore Grand Prize continued success!"
With a polite laugh, he waved goodbye and headed into the dressing room.
Hamamoto Shigeru lingered for a mont, watching Kyousuke's back as he disappeared inside.
Once the door closed, he turned to head back to the hall.
While the ceremony was over, the mont they cleared the chairs, the space would beco a banquet hall—perfect for mingling.
But just as he turned around, a figure strode quickly past him.
Hm?
Wasn't that Kasumi Utako, the author from Fushikawa Bookstore?
He hadn't t her in person before, but anyone who could pull strings to bring over a dozen guests to the ceremony clearly wasn't just any writer.
Her na was one he'd made a ntal note of.
Hamamoto was debating whether to ask her what she was doing here when he saw her—dressed in a sleek black dress, ten-centiter heels clicking against the floor, walking with determined elegance.
Her skirt fluttered at the ankles, and she didn't so much as hesitate before pushing forward—
Straight into the n's dressing room.
Hamamoto blinked.
His first instinct was to stop her before she accidentally startled Hojou-sensei.
After all, it wasn't impossible he might be in the middle of changing.
Weren't there people who, overwheld by the pressure of winning, stripped naked after stepping offstage to relieve the stress?
Writers were weird that way—normal behavior was the exception.
He raised his foot to follow her—
But then suddenly froze.
Wait a second.
That kind of eccentricity was rare.
In fact, wasn't it far more likely that, if a writer were going to strip down after winning, it'd be because they were jumping into bed with a beautiful woman?
He recalled a friend from the Mystery Writers' Association ntioning that Osaka Gou, who was reportedly close to Kyousuke, had talked quite a bit about his... romantic exploits.
And what if that girl who just walked in? That stunning figure?
Is the one Kyousuke had introduced on stage as his "family"
Hamamoto's thoughts finally clicked into place.
Still... wasn't this a bit too urgent?
Couldn't they at least wait until they got ho? What if soone else walked in?
Ah, the joys of youth...
Hamamoto let out a knowing chuckle and stood still for a mont, then pulled out his phone to ssage a staffer.
He needed soone to stand by the door and tell others not to enter.
Once the ssage was sent, he turned away from the dressing room door and smiled to himself, shaking his head as he made his way back to the banquet hall.
Even if he wasn't the star of the event, plenty of people were still waiting to speak with him.
Except—just as he turned again, another figure brushed past him.
"…?"
A question mark practically popped above his head.
This hallway didn't lead to the first floor or the restrooms. The only destination was the groom's dressing room.
So why were so many people headed there?
He raised a hand to stop the newcor, his mouth halfway open—
But then he recognized her.
Another girl who treated him like air—wearing a plain white hoodie and gray sweatpants, her long hair tied in a ponytail.
He'd seen her na on the list of related parties that Hojou-sensei had submitted.
He'd personally reviewed all that info.
If the girl in the black dress was like a seductive night-blooming rose, this new one was like a magnolia freshly blossod under the moonlight—elegant, pure, and quietly radiant.
Either of them alone could've been the idealized "first love" of every boy at school.
The kind of girl that, twenty years later, just hearing she was attending a reunion would make guys rent the best suit they could afford, just for one chance to see her again.
And now, one after another, they had both entered the dressing room—
Where only Kyousuke was inside.
…Wow.
Incredible. No wonder he's called the "Casanova of the Modern era."
While his heart clapped in admiration, Hamamoto found himself rooted in place.
Because both Kasumi Utako and the second girl—Miyamizu Mitsuha, if he recalled correctly—had walked right in without hesitation.
Clearly, the first one hadn't locked the door.
Too young… too reckless, Hojou-sensei.
Being young and romantic is fine, but one wrong move and these "romantic tales" will beco front-page tabloid gossip.
He sent another ssage, urging the staffer to hurry.
But the banquet hall was still buzzing with post-event logistics. No one was coming anyti soon.
Hamamoto glanced at the bright-red lacquered door to the dressing room, feeling his throat go dry.
He patted his pockets.
No cigarettes.
"Damn. This is just cruel to a middle-aged man."
With nothing to smoke, he pulled out his phone and decided to check how today's Bookstore Awards were trending online.
He opened the hopage—
Blank.
Signal full. He refreshed. Still nothing.
"…Huh?"
Though he didn't know much about tech, Hamamoto Shigeru opened his contacts list to ask soone about the website.
But before he could tap anyone's na, a girl in a light blue party dress walked right past him again.
This ti, she didn't treat him like air—but she didn't recognize him either.
Her clear sapphire-blue eyes were filled with sympathy.
The kind you'd give to soone who didn't win the Bookstore Award.
Wait a minute. Your eyes might be pretty, but they shouldn't be able to speak that loudly—and so clearly!
Hamamoto froze. He had definitely never seen this girl before. He raised a hand, ready to fulfill his impromptu role as hallway guard and stop the cute little lady.
But she didn't stop for even a second.
Her legs, clad in white tights, carried her gracefully forward.
Her polished leather shoes thumped against the wood floor in a brisk rhythm.
Without hesitation, she pushed open the door to the dressing room.
'Three…? THREE!?'
Hamamoto's eyes widened in disbelief.
He stared as the heavy wooden door slowly swung shut behind her, soft-closing on its hinge.
He strained to listen, hoping to catch sothing.
Sure enough, three completely different feminine voices could be heard from inside. But before he could make out what they were saying—
'BANG.'
Soone inside slamd the door shut.
What the hell…
The awards ceremony hadn't even officially ended, and here in the morial hall, three stunningly beautiful girls—each unforgettable in her own right—were already in the middle of so kind of private celebration.
Forget modern writers—even if Yukio Mishima or Dazai Osamu were still alive, they'd probably sit down and humbly ask Hojou-sensei for tips.
Hamamoto stared at the dressing room door and instinctively reached for his pocket, wanting a cigarette.
Damn it. A mont like this demands a smoke.
He didn't even have a strong nicotine habit, but right now, standing still was making him squirm. His leather shoes scraped anxiously against the wood flooring.
He completely forgot about the whole website issue.
Finally, after what felt like forever, a staff mber ca to relieve him of his door duty.
"Wait—Amiya? Why is it you? I asked for Taeko," Hamamoto said, blinking in surprise.
Standing in front of him was Amiya Miki.
If there were any woman at the venue who could almost rival the girls inside the dressing room, it would be her.
Maybe she was a tier below, but still—the kind of woman who, after an awards show, might find herself in a one-night fling with a writer who admired her.
That sort of thing was practically routine in the Japanese literary world.
With her status, you could apply a ntal beauty filter and give her a solid 1 Charm buff.
Wait, what am I even thinking?
Sure, Amiya liked Hojou-sensei a lot, but there were already four people in there now. There's no way it's turning into that kind of situation.
"Taeko's busy with sothing else, so I volunteered to help instead," Amiya Miki said with a bright smile.
A total lie.
If anyone had a reason to be busy right now, it was her—as the event MC.
Just a few minutes ago, several reporters had tried to interview her after she played double duty at the ceremony, awarding Hojou Kyousuke in two different roles.
They were hoping to dig up so scandalous gossip.
But the mont she overheard Taeko mumbling under her breath about the "situation" in the dressing room, she had eagerly stepped up to "help" the chairman handle things.
"I see. Well, I'll leave it to you, then. Hojou-sensei is resting inside. Just keep anyone else from going in," Hamamoto instructed.
He checked the ti.
The venue couldn't be left unattended for too long, not with so many guests still mingling. After a quick handoff, he turned to head back to the hall.
"Understood. Leave it to , Chairman," Amiya replied, her radiant smile revealing a perfect row of white teeth.
The kind of smile that made people feel at ease just looking at her.
"Mm."
He nodded in acknowledgnt and turned to leave. But just as he took his first step—
He stopped, out of habit.
Good. No one else walking past him. Finally.
He let out a slightly neurotic chuckle and started walking again.
But then—at the corner of the hallway—he caught sothing in the corner of his eye.
'Wait… no way. Amiya, you didn't just… read my mind, right?'
'I'm gone now! No one's watching the door! You will rember to lock it, right?'
Because what he saw next was nearly identical to the earlier scenes.
Amiya Miki stood in front of the dressing room door, knocked a few tis, said sothing with a bright smile—
And then walked right in.
'No way… seriously!?'
Hamamoto stopped mid-step and turned back, staring at the door slowly swinging closed once more.
Wait a minute.
Was Amiya Miki… trying to create a scandal? For publicity?
He stood frozen at the T-junction of the hallway, unsure whether he should call a paparazzi reporter— Or just return to his post and play doorman again.
Because the truth was, as much as it pained him to admit it, a headline like
"Hojou Kyousuke Wins Bookstore Grand Prize, Breaks Three Records!"
might inspire a few gasps and praise from fans of literature… but the buzz would fade in a day.
After all, genius felt too distant for most people to relate to.
What the public really loved were headlines like:
"New Literary Star's Secret Affairs Revealed!"
"Open-Hearted! Sharing His Prize With Everyone!"
Now those stories had legs.
Even housewives who'd never heard of Hojou Kyousuke or the Bookstore Prize would end up gossiping about it over vegetables at the morning market.
And the dia? They'd go wild.
So here was Hamamoto Shigeru, executive chairman of the Bookstore Grand Prize committee, trapped in moral crisis.
"Chairman?"
A voice pulled him back to reality. He turned, startled, and saw his secretary standing there.
Ah. Had he already brought the reporters?
Hamamoto instinctively glanced behind the man—
What? No?
Can't this guy read the room at all!?
"What is it?" he asked.
"Well, about that scheduled interview—Mr. Higuchi from Asahi Shimbun is still waiting for you, and so are the editors from Fushikawa Bookstore and Eishuusha... everyone's still waiting," the secretary said, bowing politely.
Seriously—he only went to say hi to Hojou-sensei.
How long had it been? He wasn't picking up his phone, either. The guy better be careful, or he'll get ousted next year.
Hamamoto looked at his secretary and gave a small nod to show he understood.
Then, after one last glance at the dressing room door from the corner of his eye—
He decided to be the good guy.
Let god decide what happens next.
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