Chapter 13
The campus of Toyonoki Academy looked especially empty in the evening.
The sunset had completely fallen below the horizon, leaving only the last dark red afterglow in the sky. Most of the lights in the school building were off. In the club building, only a few windows from activities were still lit. A few students from the track club were running their last lap on the playground. From the distant streets came the sound of passing trams.
Eriri pushed her bicycle and slowly walked home from school. She wasn't riding it—just holding the handlebars, letting the wheels make their usual clicking sound on the asphalt.
Genji floated beside her, still maintaining his "invisible" state. But Eriri knew he was there—she could feel that subtle presence, as if the density of the air had changed.
"Aren't you going to ride it?" Genji's voice sounded in her ear, only she could hear it.
"I'm tired," Eriri answered shortly.
It was true. After saying what she had said, she felt as if she had run a marathon—physically and mentally drained. It wasn't physical fatigue—the effect of Reverse Cursed Technique was still holding up, and her body was in good enough shape to draw ten more pages of manuscript—but mental exhaustion.
She didn't know if her words had been too harsh.
She didn't know if Tomoya would actually give up.
She didn't know what kind of plan he would bring to her in a week—or if he would come at all.
"You're worried about him," Genji said. It wasn't a question—it was a statement.
"Who's worried about him?!" Eriri instinctively denied, but her voice was weak. "I'm just… I'm just annoyed. Every time, he acts on impulse without caring about other people's time and effort."
"But you gave him a week," Genji observed.
Eriri was silent for a few seconds, then muttered quietly, "That's because… if I refused outright, he'd just keep pestering me. Give him a deadline, and at least he'll stop for a week."
"Is that really true?"
"Of course it is!" Eriri looked up and stared at the air beside her—although she couldn't see Genji, she could roughly gauge his position. "What else could it be? Do you think I'm so soft-hearted that I'd agree to anyone who asks me for help?"
"I think," Genji said, a smile in his voice, "that you are a kind person."
Eriri's footsteps stopped.
She stood there, the front wheel of her bicycle gently touching her toes. The evening wind lifted her golden hair, and a few strands stuck to her slightly flushed cheeks.
"You… what nonsense are you talking about?" Her voice was quiet, like a mosquito's murmur. "Where am I kind? What I just said was so ugly. Utaha-senpai left, and Tomoya must have been hurt by me…"
"But you gave him a chance," Genji floated in front of her and appeared for a moment—long enough for Eriri to see his clear expression—then disappeared again. "You said, 'If you can come up with a qualified proposal within a week, I'll seriously consider it.' That sentence, translated, means: 'As long as he can come up with a qualified proposal, you'll join.'"
Eriri opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out.
"You clearly don't have enough time," Genji continued, his voice very soft, as if he were stating an obvious fact. "Between chasing manuscript deadlines, going to class, maintaining your social image, and now dealing with me as an 'uninvited guest.' But even so, you're still willing to give a friend a chance. Even though that kid is unreliable, even though you speak harshly, you still leave room."
He paused and added, "That is kindness, Eriri. Beneath your arrogant words and sharp criticisms, there is real kindness."
Eriri's face turned completely red.
Not from shyness, but from the unwillingness to be seen through, and from being… touched by that understanding.
She bit her lower lip and pushed her bicycle forward. Her steps were a little faster than before, as if she were running away from something.
"Shut up," she said darkly, but there wasn't much anger in her voice. "What does a thousand-year-old antique know about kindness?"
"That thousand-year-old antique has also seen many people," Genji followed her, the smile in his voice growing stronger. "The noble ladies of the Heian period spoke much more subtly than you, but they had ten times more ulterior motives. You're really the first person I've met who's so sharp-tongued yet so soft-hearted."
"Who's soft-hearted?! I'm just… I just think that if he can actually get serious, maybe this game… maybe he can actually make something of it."
Her voice grew quieter and quieter as she spoke, until it was barely audible.
But Genji heard it.
He didn't tease her anymore, just silently accompanied her forward. The last of the sunset disappeared from the sky. The streetlights turned on one by one, casting warm halos onto the asphalt.
As they approached an uphill slope, Eriri pushed a little harder. Her bicycle was a women's model not suited for climbing, and she was in a bad mood today, her hands lacking strength.
Genji reached out—though Eriri couldn't see it—and gently lifted the back of the bicycle.
The weight suddenly decreased.
Eriri was momentarily stunned and looked back. The bicycle seemed to be pushed by an invisible force, easily reaching the top of the slope. She knew Genji was helping, but she didn't say anything—just pressed her lips together and continued walking forward.
When she reached the top of the slope, she stopped and turned to look at the campus behind her.
Toyonoki Academy stood quietly in the twilight. The outlines of the school building and the club building looked soft in the dimming light. In the few windows that were still lit, she could see the silhouettes of students—those still in club activities, or those who had stayed behind to study.
One of those windows was on the third floor of the club activity building. Room 307.
Eriri stared at that window for a long time.
Genji followed her gaze. "Worried that he's still there?"
"…No," Eriri looked away. "I'm just looking at the scenery."
"The scenery is beautiful," Genji said, as smooth as a stream.
Eriri glared at him but didn't say anything more. She pushed her bicycle back and headed toward home.
This time, her steps were a little lighter.
After walking a few minutes, she suddenly said, "Do you think one week will be enough?"
"For what?"
"The plan," Eriri said, looking at the bricks on the sidewalk ahead. "Is one week enough to put together a qualified proposal?"
Genji thought for a moment. "I don't know much about modern game production. But looking at the military strategy books or engineering plans from my time, one week is enough to put together a decent plan—provided the person writing it knows what they're doing and is willing to put all their energy into it."
"Tomoya…" Eriri paused. "He's very smart. If he really gets serious, he should be able to do it."
"Then you'll accept the results in a week," Genji said. "If he can do it, then he's worth your time to help. If he can't…"
He didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear.
Eriri nodded and was silent from then on.