Hikigaya Hachiman was certain that the cunning fox of a strategist behind all this had already seen through the malice hidden in that article.
Though he was no longer the lonely observer he used to be, getting to witness such chaos firsthand, still thrilled him to no end.
They were all just sixteen- or seventeen-year-old high schoolers.
While most of their classmates were busy sneaking peeks under skirts from the stairwell railings, mugging kids for pocket change in dark alleys, or running from the disciplinary teacher to protect their precious hairstyles.
These guys were reading an article that completely trashed their boss—on a national newspaper no less.
What a bizarre, almost divine feeling that was.
And not just any newspaper—this was one of the biggest publishing groups in the country, with a claid circulation of over two million copies.
As soone with a little paperboy experience, Hachiman could swear they were absolutely lying through their teeth about that number.
Of course, if the boss was making headlines, that was his problem.
For the rest of them, it was just another bragging right.
Now they could hit on girls with lines like, "You know Hojou-sensei? He's my big bro. Beats up every day."
That golden pick-up line ca from the legendary Onizuka-senpai himself, a proven expert in the art of seduction—guaranteed to work every ti.
Well… almost every ti.
The risk, of course, was that their boss was way too dazzling.
Once the girls laid eyes on him, it was ga over.
The next thing you'd hear was, "Yeah, yeah, Hojou-sensei's amazing—but what can you do?"
Hachiman had a friend who'd learned that lesson the hard way.
A cute girl from another school had approached him out of nowhere, they hit it off instantly, and he was convinced his springti of youth had finally arrived.
Just when he was ready to embrace his new romantic destiny—bam.
She asked if he could introduce her to one of his handso classmates.
That day, Hachiman learned a painful but valuable truth: "A movie only has one lead actor."
Life's the sa way.
But he didn't see that as a bad thing.
In fact, too many protagonists ruin a story.
The lead gets the glory, sure—but also all the burden.
If the film flops, it's the lead's fault. If critics tear it apart, still the lead's fault.
But the supporting role?
Even if the movie's a total dumpster fire, there's always soone who'll say, "The only good thing in that movie was the supporting actor."
Yes, this was what Hikigaya Hachiman wanted to praise—the art of being a supporting role!
The quiet ones, who don't shine as brightly as the main character, who barely get any lines—but still chase their dreams in their own way.
Being a side character ans never having to carry the weight of the story.
Whether the movie bombs or breaks records, no one blas the supporting cast.
And that ans the supporting role has endless freedom!
"I'll do the dirty work the protagonist can't! Break the laws he's too scared to break! Step into the traps he avoids, take the hits he dodges!"
Even if people call the supporting role cruel, the first one they'll bla is always the main character.
The one in the shadows? He gets the last laugh.
Ahem. Of course, Hachiman wasn't actually going to go that far.
He knew that their strategist, Kisaki Tetta, would handle all the underhanded tactics just fine.
Kisaki would be the right-hand man of their great leader, and Hachiman—he'd be the right hand of the right-hand man!
Because being the supporting role's supporting role… was pure bliss.
But in all seriousness—
This was war.
The enemy had revealed themselves and launched a full-scale assault on their boss.
There was no way they could just sit back and do nothing.
Even a cool-headed realist like Hachiman felt furious after reading that article—so he could only imagine how the hot-headed idiots in their gang were reacting.
And as one of the neurons in the brain of Rampaging Angels, he would play a crucial role in this battle.
Even Onizuka-senpai's legendary flirting line could evolve for warti: from "He beats up every day," to "When my boss got attacked, I fought to protect him with everything I had."
If you can't beco a legend, then beco part of one.
He set the newspaper aside, grabbed his phone, and opened the Rampaging Angels group chat.
As expected, everyone was already blowing up in rage.
Then he checked their boss's official site—perfect.
Traffic had spiked, and discussions about the scandal were everywhere.
A few level-headed users praised Matsumoto Motohiro, the writer behind the attack, calling him a brave author with "a sense of social responsibility."
But most of the comnts were pure fury.
After all, that site was basically Hojou Kyousuke's ho turf—a fortress of devoted fans and chaotic internet gremlins.
Switching over to other platforms, like the Sankei News site, he saw Matsumoto firing off blog posts one after another—analyzing Hojou Kyousuke's "dangerous influence" on Japan, on the world, on the planet.
Sure, the site's traffic was nothing compared to Twitter or Instagram, but its niche userbase was fiercely loyal.
And loyalty ant plenty of people there agreed with him.
Extremists were already chanting in unison, calling Hojou Kyousuke a fa-hungry clown who relied on cheap stunts for attention.
So vowed to boycott his books, even burn the ones they already owned.
anwhile, certain celebrities who had been leeching off Hojou's popularity saw the tide turning—and decided to switch sides for their own gain.
Take Kamiki Hikaru, for instance—a stage actor who'd once tried to ride the wave by promoting his new play alongside Hojou's na.
But the internet didn't bite.
Fans roasted him alive, calling his acting disgusting and telling him to just disappear.
"You're not even worthy to lick Hojou-sensei's shoes," they said.
Kamiki didn't take it to heart. "Negative fa is still fa," he told himself.
He issued a public apology, promising to work harder and beco a "better version" of himself.
But the internet wasn't having it.
Soone even comnted, "You're worse than the cheating husband in The Devotion of Suspect X. At least that guy had the decency to die."
Kamiki couldn't understand it.
Why did Hojou Kyousuke who openly juggled multiple girlfriends—get treated like a rockstar, while he, a supposedly "refined actor" who simply had a few breakups, got crucified?
He said nothing.
But deep down, he seethed.
And now, finally, the winds had changed.
Soone had dared to expose Hojou Kyousuke's true nature, and Kamiki saw his chance.
He stepped forward, waving the flag of righteousness.
He shared his story of being cyberbullied by Hojou's fans, condemned the toxic online environnt, and sighed dramatically about how just a few posters and comics could make people lose their minds.
Then he ended with a solemn plea— "Everyone, please… stop being such idiots."
Turns out, Kamiki Hikaru wasn't alone in his jealousy—there were plenty of people who envied Hojou Kyousuke's fa.
His rant on X (forrly Twitter) instantly attracted thirty thousand new followers, and his replies were flooded with bitter comnts from others eager to vent their own frustrations.
But the best part?
The famous author Matsumoto Motohiro, the sa one who had publicly attacked Hojou—actually followed him back and even liked his post.
"Hah! So, Hojou Kyousuke, think you're hot stuff? I don't need to ride your coattails to make connections in the literary world. Watch as your grand tower rises, your banquets overflow with guests… and then watch it all co crashing down."
Kamiki thought triumphantly, his heart swelling with smug excitent.
He quickly replied to the flood of new fans, announcing that this whole "drama" had inspired him deeply.
Soon, he said, he'd be collaborating with none other than Matsumoto Motohiro on a brand-new stage play exploring "the chaos of the online age."
"Please look forward to it," he wrote dramatically.
Hikigaya Hachiman frowned so hard his face could've cracked.
Disgusted, he slamd the report button on Kamiki's profile.
Then even logged into his father's account just to leave a few choice insults.
Only then did his anger finally cool.
'Unbelievable… I haven't even gotten on this hype train yet, and this clown's already trying to steal the spotlight? You're digging your own grave, pal.'
He closed the tab and opened another chatroom.
This one was small—only twenty-three mbers but these twenty-three people were the brains of the Rampaging Angels.
The ssages were flying fast, no less heated than the main group chat with hundreds of mbers.
Scanning through, Hachiman saw that the information he'd just been reading had already been summarized into reports by their intelligence team.
There were detailed dossiers, too—sales figures from Sankei News, background info on writer Matsumoto Motohiro and actor Kamiki Hikaru, plus lists of every minor gossip outlet joining the sar campaign.
Data flowed in like a river, all gathered neatly into this exclusive twenty-three-person chatroom.
Small in number, maybe—but their influence was enormous.
Beyond the Rampaging Angels' own hundreds-strong core team—capable of turning Tokyo into chaos on a whim.
They had alliances with nurous smaller groups and loyal fan circles. And then, of course, there was the massive Hojou Kyousuke fanbase.
Even without marketing tricks, that kind of power ant one thing: whenever Hojou released a book, it was guaranteed to hit the bestseller list.
The chatroom didn't have an official na, which annoyed Hachiman a little.
But in his heart, he called it The 23 Brains—the collective mind steering the massive machine that was the Rampaging Angels.
Every ti soone ca online, the system sent a ping.
The mont Hachiman entered, he was greeted by several mbers, and he replied cheerfully.
He was about to ask what today's mission was when the group's leader Kisaki Tetta appeared.
His ssage contained an image: the sa newspaper article Hachiman had seen earlier.
It was from Asahi Daily, Japan's second-largest daily paper, with a reported circulation of eight million copies.
And as soone who'd once delivered newspapers, Hachiman could confirm—yeah, there's definitely so exaggeration there.
But at least Asahi's numbers were more believable than Sankei's two million claim.
It was another op-ed, bold and dramatic headline:
———————————————————————
"Hojou Kyousuke"
[Title]: "The Sincerity of a Writer"
———————————————————————
Kisaki's ssage followed:
———————————————————————
"Read this carefully. Our next operation will revolve around this."
———————————————————————
The replies ca in imdiately—one after another:
———————————————————————
"Got it."
"Understood."
"Roger that."
———————————————————————
Hachiman typed the sa.
The author's na caught his eye: Futami Jiraiya. Hachiman's family didn't subscribe to Asahi Daily, so the na didn't ring a bell. He googled it.
Whoa. Compared to that hack Matsumoto Motohiro, this Futami guy had credentials.
Tokyo University professor, bestselling author, translator of international classics—this was the real deal.
Matsumoto's works were mostly "serious literature"—pretentious, poorly selling, and often defended by claims like "ordinary people just lack the sophistication to understand it."
Futami, on the other hand, was both popular and respected.
Judging by the article's title and Kisaki's tone, Hachiman imdiately guessed this writer was on their side.
He adjusted his sitting position, leaned back comfortably on the sofa, and began reading.
The article opened casually, much like Matsumoto's, but in a friendlier tone.
Futami described wandering into a bookstore "in search of inspiration" when he spotted a poster for Hojou Kyousuke's new novel, The Dream and Death of Writer K.—and was instantly struck by its brilliance.
Asahi Daily, like Yomiuri News, had a long tradition of featuring serialized novels and artistic illustrations in its papers.
Unlike the tabloids, it managed to balance sophistication and accessibility—earning the loyalty of both the working class and intellectual elites.
Its subscribers tended to have the highest average inco and education level of any newspaper in Japan, which ant Asahi could easily out-earn its competitors through advertising alone.
And having contributors like Futami Jiraiya an academic, bestselling author, and literary translator—was exactly why Asahi held that reputation.
His social comntary pieces were insightful yet readable, polished yet human.
Then ca the visuals.
Three full-sized poster illustrations, bright and detailed—not the tiny thumbnail kind, but large enough to see every brushstroke.
Hachiman sucked in a sharp breath.
'Damn… the strategist really went all out this ti.'
Such massive ad space in Asahi must have cost a fortune.
'If only that money went to ,' Hachiman thought. 'I could plaster Hojou-sensei's face all over Tokyo!'
He read on.
Futami's analysis of the artwork was sharp and elegant:
"...The only source of light in the entire piece is the figure of a man lying on the ground—fragile, helpless, yet serene, like a lamb awaiting its fate..."
Unlike the quick comnt he'd once made outside a bookstore, Futami's written analysis was ticulous—filled with art references and comparisons to famous paintings around the world.
It was part critique, part masterclass in aesthetics.
Hachiman was in awe.
As a core mber of Rampaging Angels, and soone who planned to retire peacefully in the "Tansai Company" soday.
He already knew who had designed those posters.
And at that sa mont, in the dorms of the Ruyi, Eriri had beco the center of attention.
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