Nia

The Heroine in Trouble? I Take Advantage, Ch 6-10

Added 2025-10-02 21:21:48 +0000 UTC

Chapter 6 — The Chief Editor Greets Him in Person

He picked up his phone and dialed the number left in the email for Sonoko Machida.

…

Fushikawa Bunko, Editing Department 3.

Sonoko Machida sat rigid at her desk, hands resting on the tabletop, back perfectly straight, her eyes fixed on the phone before her.

She was waiting.

Waiting for Prince Warakawa to call back.

Seconds bled into minutes.

Her palms had already broken into a sheen of sweat.

Her heart thumped wildly with unease.

Her mind replayed that afternoon when she’d brushed off that boy with a formulaic smile.

What if… what if he sensed my indifference, and because of it, he soured on Fushikawa Bunko?

The mere possibility made her chest seize in panic.

No! Absolutely not!

This author was her discovery.

This was the biggest opportunity of her entire career.

There was no way she was going to let him slip through her fingers.

Bzzz—!

Her phone suddenly vibrated across the desk.

The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number.

Sonoko froze, breath caught in her throat.

She fumbled for the phone, her hands clumsy with nerves, and after several slips finally managed to swipe the answer button.

“Y-Yes! Hello! Is this Prince Warakawa-sensei?!”

Her voice trembled with a mix of excitement and dread.

“It’s me.”

A calm voice, tinged with amusement, came through the receiver.

Those two words alone were enough to ease half the weight on her heart.

Thank goodness.

“Sensei! I’m Sonoko Machida from Fushikawa Bunko!” She spoke at a breakneck pace, breathless with excitement. “It’s such an honor! Your manuscript… your manuscript is the novel of the year!”

“In my ten years in this industry, I’ve never seen anything so good.”

“And your age—it’s unbelievable!”

She poured out her praise in an unending rush.

On the other end, Seiji Fujiwara listened quietly.

He almost laughed.

Editor Machida, wasn’t this a little too over the top?

But then he thought about it, and it made perfect sense.

The manuscript he’d submitted was the very definition of flawless. For an overworked wage slave editor like Sonoko, this was a career-defining miracle that had fallen straight from the sky. Of course she’d cling to it for dear life.

He let her words wash over him, his heart steady, like an old well untouched by ripples.

When she finally paused for breath, he chuckled lightly and cut in:

“How about this? Tomorrow at ten in the morning, I’ll come to Fushikawa Bunko headquarters to sign the contract.”

“Yes! Of course, no problem at all!” Sonoko bobbed her head like a woodpecker. “Would you like us to send a car? And if you have any specific requests about the contract terms, please don’t hesitate to ask! We’ll do our absolute best to meet every condition!”

Her tone was nothing like the confident editor-in-chief she was supposed to be. She sounded more like a hotel clerk terrified of offending an important guest.

“You’re far too polite, Editor Machida. I’ll come on my own,” Seiji replied, amused, brushing off the offer.

They exchanged a few more words before hanging up.

Beep… beep… beep…

Sonoko let out a long sigh of relief, sagging back in her chair.

Thank God.

He was coming to sign.

The genius who’d fallen into her lap—she’d secured him.

She clenched her fists, already seeing the editor-in-chief’s seat beckoning her forward.

And then…

The silence around her sank in.

She raised her head and found her colleagues staring at her like she’d just descended from another planet.

Only then did she realize how ridiculous she must’ve looked.

But she didn’t care.

So what if she’d gone overboard?

If any of them had landed a genius like this, they’d be twice as desperate to please.

…

The next day, 9:50 a.m.

Seiji Fujiwara arrived at the Fushikawa Bunko headquarters building.

He wore the same simple white shirt and jeans as always. Against the sleek, high-class corporate environment, his outfit looked completely out of place.

Yet standing there casually, he radiated an effortless composure that drew the attention of several passing office women.

“Right on time,” he muttered as he stepped into the lobby.

This time, he didn’t head for the anonymous submissions desk. Instead, he approached the main reception counter.

“Good morning. How can I help you?”

The receptionist, a young woman with a practiced, professional smile, greeted him warmly.

Her eyes flicked over his plain clothes and youthful face, and though her smile didn’t falter, a flicker of doubt passed beneath it.

An unfamiliar face.

Probably just a student here to visit or gawk.

“My name is Prince Warakawa. I have an appointment with Editor Sonoko Machida from Department 3.” Seiji kept his expression even, though saying his pen name out loud always felt a little embarrassing.

“Prince Warakawa…”

The receptionist didn’t so much as blink.

Years on the job had given her a high tolerance for the overblown pen names light novel authors loved.

The name tickled at her memory, but she couldn’t place it.

As she entered his information into the visitor system, she said in her sweetest professional tone: “Yes, Warakawa-sensei, I see your appointment here. Please sign in on this guest log, then wait in the lounge for a moment while I contact Editor Machida.”

Standard procedure.

But just as Seiji reached for the pen—

Ding!

The exclusive elevator to the upper floors opened with a chime.

A sharp staccato of high heels echoed rapidly across the marble floor, drawing every pair of eyes in the lobby.

“Warakawa-sensei!”

The cry rang out as Sonoko Machida—known throughout Fushikawa Bunko as the untouchable “ice queen”—came barreling out of the elevator in black stilettos.

Her sleek black hair whipped loose strands across her face.

Her usually flawless, composed features were flushed red, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. All the elegance and aloofness she was famous for had completely collapsed under her urgency.

Gasps spread through the lobby.

Without slowing, Sonoko charged straight toward Seiji and skidded to a halt one step in front of him.

And then—

Whoosh!

She bent at the waist, her hands pressed tight to her thighs, bowing a full ninety degrees before him.

Chapter 7 — Top Tier! An A-Rank Contract!

"I'm so sorry, Warukawa-sensei!"

"I should have been waiting downstairs for you, not leaving you to wait alone. This is a huge mistake on my part. Please forgive me!"

Her voice was filled with apology and humility.

For a heartbeat, it was as if someone had pressed pause on the entire lobby.

The whole place fell into a silence so sharp that the sound of a pin drop might have echoed. The air itself seemed frozen.

The receptionist who had just been about to register Seiji Fujiwara turned to stone. Her mouth hung open, pupils blown wide in sheer shock.

That was Sonoko Machida, the editor-in-chief herself.

The woman who treated everyone with strict professionalism, never breaking her cool façade. The very same role model countless young editors admired.

And she was bowing—deeply—to a boy who looked barely eighteen?

Even using the most formal honorifics?

Was she dreaming?

Not far away, a few editors from other departments carrying coffee, along with two mid-tier authors of some repute who had come to discuss contract renewals, had also witnessed the scene.

They stood frozen as if turned to stone, eyes practically popping from their sockets.

"Am I still half-asleep? Was that really Chief Editor Machida?" one young editor rubbed his eyes furiously, asking his colleague in disbelief.

"Looks like it..." the other stammered, just as stunned. "What’s Machida-san doing? Who’s that high school kid? For her to greet him like this… don’t tell me he’s the president’s secret son?"

"Idiot! Even if he was, no way she’d treat him like that!"

The two authors, meanwhile, felt their worldview collapse.

Every time they came to Fushikawa Bunko, they bowed and scraped before Machida, careful with every word, and she usually only gave them a curt nod in return.

But now this teenager—this complete nobody—had her personally welcoming him with such reverence?

What kind of sick joke was this?

The envy in their eyes burned hot enough to turn them red.

And it wasn’t over yet.

Faced with Sonoko Machida’s ninety-degree bow, Seiji Fujiwara only gave a small smile.

"You're too polite, Machida-san."

No shock, no nervous fluster.

As if her behavior was only natural.

"My apologies again! This way, please, sensei!"

Straightening up, Sonoko plastered on a smile, her usual icy composure nowhere to be seen. She hurried ahead, personally leading the way.

She even reached out and pressed the button for the VIP elevator, standing aside respectfully.

Only when the two disappeared behind the slowly closing doors did the lobby finally break free of its silence. A buzz of frantic whispers erupted all at once.

"God… just who is that kid?!"

"Someone huge. Someone way beyond what we can even imagine!"

"Dammit, when will my editor ever come downstairs to greet me like that?"

Fushikawa Bunko, Editing Department.

Ryuji Aida had already prepared his prized gyokuro tea.

When Seiji Fujiwara stepped into the office, the man who could sway the entire industry rose to his feet, beaming.

"Warukawa-sensei! Welcome to Fushikawa Bunko!"

"To be personally welcomed by the Editor-in-Chief himself… I’m honored," Seiji chuckled lightly, then cut straight to the point. "Shall we take a look at the contract?"

"Hahaha! Sensei, you don’t waste time," Ryuji said cheerfully, gesturing toward the table. "Please, have a seat. We’ve prepared tea and snacks."

Seiji took his place on the sofa.

Ryuji sat opposite, pouring tea with a broad smile.

Sonoko Machida stepped forward, placing the prepared document carefully before him.

"Warukawa-sensei, this is the A-Rank Contract we tailored specifically for you. It represents the full measure of our respect."

"That’s right," Ryuji chimed in, still smiling. "An A-Rank Contract is among the very best this industry offers. But because we believe in your talent, we made the decision to take this step."

"I appreciate the confidence."

Seiji replied casually, picking up the contract and scanning through the terms.

【Royalty: 10% (top-tier for a debut author)】

【Initial Print Run: 80,000 copies】

【Other Clauses: All adaptation rights (anime, live-action, games, etc.) give the publisher priority in development. Author receives profit-sharing and retains partial consultation rights…】

One of Seiji’s eyebrows rose slightly.

An A-Rank Contract. Ten percent royalties. An eighty-thousand-copy first print.

For a brand-new author, this was already a deal beyond imagination.

Fushikawa Bunko had shown incredible sincerity.

And yet…

Seiji Fujiwara wasn’t satisfied.

He placed the contract back on the table, lifted his teacup, and took a slow sip.

Silence.

That one small action froze the smiles on both Ryuji Aida and Sonoko Machida’s faces.

Not satisfied?

But this was already the absolute best they could offer after intense discussion!

Could it be… was Warukawa-sensei aiming for an S-Rank Contract with fifteen percent royalties?

That was legendary treatment, reserved only for industry titans with tens of millions of copies sold!

Ryuji hesitated, unease creeping into his expression.

"Warukawa-sensei…" he began cautiously, "for a newcomer, this deal is already—"

Seiji cut him off with a smile. "I understand what you mean, Editor-in-Chief."

"You know the true value of this book better than I do."

"This A-Rank Contract—I’ll accept it. However…" He paused, his eyes sharpening with quiet confidence. "Next time we sit across this table, I expect to see a truly top-tier contract."

With that, he picked up the pen and signed his name at the end.

Ryuji Aida and Sonoko Machida could only stare at him in stunned silence.

They were overwhelmed by the sheer force of his self-confidence, bordering on arrogance.

Next time… a top-tier contract?

Was he serious?

Ninety-nine percent of authors in the business would never even glimpse the threshold of such a deal in their entire lives.

But considering how young Seiji was…

"Excellent!" Ryuji suddenly slapped his thigh, grinning from ear to ear. "If Warukawa-sensei has this much confidence, then I, Ryuji Aida, will match it. Next time we sign a contract, I’ll fight with everything I have to convince the board!"

He couldn’t hide the excitement burning in his eyes at the boy’s limitless potential.

Chapter 8 — The Shocked Real Estate Agent

The contract was signed.

By the time Seiji Fujiwara stepped out of Fushikawa Bunko’s building, the sun was already high overhead.

Buzz—

Just as he turned down a quiet side street, thinking about his next move, the battered old phone in his pocket vibrated twice in a row. The screen lit up.

Two text messages from the bank.

First:

[Dear customer, your account ending in XXXX received a deposit on XX/XX at 12:03: JPY 1,000,000. Memo: Fushikawa signing bonus.]

Second:

[Dear customer, your account ending in XXXX received a deposit on XX/XX at 12:05: JPY 6,400,000. Memo: 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns advance royalties.]

(Note: 800 yen retail × 80,000 initial print run × 10% royalties = 6.4 million yen.)

Seiji stared at the numbers on the screen, and the corner of his mouth curved upward.

Altogether, that was seven million, four hundred thousand yen.

Add in the two million prize money from before, and the total climbed to nine million, four hundred thousand yen.

Almost ten million.

For the truly wealthy, it was pocket change.

For an ordinary family, though, it was a decade’s worth of savings.

"Oh ho, guess it’s time to start living a little."

Seiji whistled happily, already deciding he was going to move.

He flagged down a taxi at the curb and slid into the back seat.

"Driver, take me to Minato Ward, near Akasaka. Find me a high-end real estate agency."

The cabbie glanced at the plainly dressed teenager in the rearview mirror, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But he gave a nod and pulled into traffic.

Half an hour later, the taxi stopped along a bustling street in Akasaka, Minato Ward.

This was one of Kyoto’s luxury districts. The road was spotless, the sidewalks lined with flagship stores from designer brands.

Seiji stepped into a real estate office.

The interior was brightly lit and elegant. Several women in sleek business suits were assisting clients.

"Welcome."

One tall, striking agent quickly walked over, her professional smile warm and sweet.

But when her eyes swept over Seiji’s cheap clothes and youthful face, a faint shadow of disappointment flickered in the depths of her gaze.

Another curious kid who wandered in off the street to gawk, she thought. She’d seen plenty like him—big on curiosity, flat broke in reality.

Still, professionalism dictated that her manners remain flawless.

She inclined her head politely, her voice gentle. "Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you today? Were you just looking for information on available listings, or are you planning to rent or buy?"

Listing "information" first was her subtle way of probing.

"Renting," Seiji answered bluntly.

The agent’s disappointment deepened.

Renting? With that outfit that wasn’t worth more than ten thousand yen in total? He probably couldn’t even cover the deposit.

She kept her smile fixed in place but was already preparing to usher him out within three minutes.

"Of course. May I ask your budget range? And do you have any specific requirements for location or floor plan?" she asked smoothly, already rehearsing in her head how to gently say, We don’t have anything under two hundred thousand yen a month.

Seiji’s tone was calm.

"High security system. Strong privacy. Upper floors, open view. Fully furnished with appliances. Ready to move in immediately."

The agent listened with forced patience, still smiling. "Understood, sir. And what’s your monthly budget?"

Seiji said offhandedly, "Within five hundred thousand."

Pfft—cough, cough!

Her professional smile collapsed instantly. She nearly choked on her own saliva, face flushing red as she coughed.

Five hundred thousand?!

Was this some kind of joke?

She stared at him, half convinced she was hallucinating from overwork.

"What? You don’t have anything?" Seiji frowned slightly, a trace of impatience in his voice.

"No! No, of course we do!"

The agent snapped back to her senses. Her beautiful eyes lit up with fiery excitement.

Maybe she’d misjudged him.

This wasn’t some broke student here to gawk. This was… maybe a rich heir slumming it in cheap clothes, trying to "experience normal life"?

Who cared? Money was money.

Her entire demeanor spun a full one-eighty. The faint condescension vanished, replaced by eager deference.

"Sir!" Her smile now gleamed a hundred times brighter. "Allow me to show you our most exclusive properties. Please, this way to the VIP lounge!"

She practically jogged ahead to open the frosted glass door for him.

"Hm."

Seiji walked inside without a change in expression.

He hadn’t enjoyed this kind of treatment in his previous life, though he’d often been the one providing it to others.

Finally, in this life, he could be the customer.

He eased into the leather sofa of the VIP lounge, a twinge of emotion flickering through him.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Coffee."

"Of course. One moment, please."

She returned with a tray of high-grade coffee and a glossy property brochure.

Presenting it with both hands, she opened it directly to the most expensive listings, her voice dripping with honey.

"Sir, we have a property that perfectly matches your requirements. Located on the forty-second floor of the newly completed Sky Tower in Minato Ward. Three bedrooms, two living rooms, two hundred square meters. Designed by a renowned Italian architect in a modern minimalist style. Fully furnished with imported German kitchen and bath, plus smart home integration."

"Most importantly, it features twenty-four-hour concierge security with biometric iris scan entry. Privacy is absolutely top-tier in Kyoto."

"And from its floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, you can enjoy an unobstructed night view of the entire Minato Ward."

She pointed at the dazzling photo in the brochure, her tone reverent.

"This masterpiece of a residence has a monthly rent of… four hundred eighty thousand yen."

Her heart skipped nervously as she named the price. That was steep—even elite professionals earning six or seven hundred thousand a month wouldn’t commit two-thirds of their income to rent.

"This one," Seiji said after glancing at the page.

Just like that. No hesitation.

That decisiveness, that complete disregard for money, made her pulse race.

"Ah?!" She covered her mouth in feigned surprise, though her eyes gleamed with unrestrained delight. "Would you… like to think it over a little longer? Perhaps we could arrange a viewing first…"

"Draw up the contract," Seiji cut in.

"H-how long?" she stammered.

"A year."

A year?!

The agent felt like she’d just been knocked flat by a sack of gold.

This one deal alone would smash her sales targets for the entire year.

"Right away, sir! Please wait just a moment, I’ll prepare the contract immediately!"

Her voice trembled with excitement as she practically scrambled out the door.

Minutes later, the paperwork was set in front of him.

After confirming the numbers, Seiji signed his name in bold, sweeping strokes.

"Will you be paying by transfer or…" The agent approached reverently, holding the POS machine like it was some sacred relic.

"Card."

Seiji pulled out a plain old debit card and handed it over.

She eyed the ordinary card, doubt flickering for a final instant.

But when the machine accepted it, when the boy calmly tapped in his code and the receipt printed out with a shrill beep—payment successful, all her doubts evaporated.

He had just dropped four hundred sixty thousand yen without batting an eye.

The agent gazed at him with nothing but awe.

A boy, handsome and loaded.

If not for the age gap, she might have asked him to visit her place.

Suppressing the thought, she respectfully returned his card and offered the digital key with both hands.

Then she bowed deeply, her blouse straining tight across her chest.

"Honored Mr. Fujiwara, my name is Miyuki Kobayashi, your dedicated VIP client manager. From today onward, you may contact me twenty-four hours a day for anything you need."

Her voice dripped with sugar, full of undisguised suggestion.

Seiji accepted the key without even glancing at her.

She wasn’t unattractive, but the heavy makeup and so-so figure did nothing for him.

Besides, Utaha Kasumigaoka was next door.

He only wanted the best.

"I’m going."

He gathered the contract and walked out with brisk steps.

"I’ll see you out."

Miyuki Kobayashi could only keep her brilliant smile plastered on as she escorted Seiji Fujiwara to the door, silently lamenting but still dazzled by him.

Chapter 9 — Word-of-Mouth Explosion and Market Shock

Meanwhile—

Online, a storm was brewing around 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.

Ryuji Aida had mobilized every resource within his authority to build momentum for the book’s release. He focused their efforts on the youth demographic, targeting the busiest urban centers and the hottest online platforms.

In Kyoto’s most bustling districts—Shibuya, Shinjuku, Ikebukuro—massive outdoor LED billboards blazed with the stark poster: black background, blood-red lettering.

And that incendiary tagline: [The year’s strongest “problem novel.” Challenge your limits of perception!]

On every major online forum, light novel community, and book review site, official Fushikawa Bunko teaser threads appeared, shrouded in mystery.

[#Predict the next era’s king of the industry#]

[#How long has it been since a novel made your skin crawl?#]

The campaign worked. Curiosity spread like wildfire among readers.

Day by day, the anticipation grew.

Finally, the release date arrived.

That morning, countless veteran readers entered bookstores, curiosity and expectation written across their faces.

"Fushikawa’s being all cryptic about this one. I want to see what kind of so-called ‘problem novel’ this really is." A college student pulled a copy off the shelf.

"Nice cover design. Clean, impactful. Way more stylish than all those flashy harem covers plastered with moe girls." A bespectacled high schooler muttered to himself.

"Tch. Just another publicity stunt. Every year there’s a book they hype to the skies, and it ends up as glorified toilet paper." A jaded netizen, clearly a long-time forum dweller, sneered with distrust—yet still slipped the book into his basket. "I’ll buy it. If it’s trash, I’ll roast it to death online."

Release day. Noon.

By the time the first wave of core readers had already devoured the book from cover to cover—

The internet exploded.

On "ZaiBunko," Japan’s largest otaku community and book review site, the light novel board lit up.

A thread title detonated like a bomb, its aggressive tone and shocking content drawing thousands of clicks and replies in minutes. It was pinned by moderators and marked in blazing red—the sign of a legendary thread.

[[Breaking News! Nuclear Strike! Everyone get in here NOW!]] 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns is an absolute god-tier masterpiece!!

The OP ranted with manic energy, his words dripping with adrenaline:

"Brothers! I just finished! My hands are literally shaking as I type! I swear, I’ve never read anything this insane in my life!"

"Forget all that isekai harem garbage, all that edgy dropout-turned-god trash, all that saccharine romcom puke. Compared to this book? They’re ALL worthless!"

"They don’t even deserve to lick its boots!"

"The merciless way it tears open the darkest corners of human nature! That final twist! That ending! Holy shit! The author’s not even human—he’s a devil! No, he’s a god!"

"I won’t waste time with flowery praise. Just buy it! Buy it NOW! If you don’t, you’re betraying your own brain!!"

The post, overflowing with “holy shit”s and exclamation marks, hit the forum like a spark in a vat of oil.

The lurkers and onlookers caught fire instantly.

"Holy shit holy shit holy shit! OP, don’t hype it up like that—I was on the fence, but now I’m dying to read it!"

"Come on, really? Is it that good? OP, did Fushikawa pay you for this?"

"Shut the hell up, idiot above! I just finished too—OP’s not lying! This book is toxic! I’m blank. I can’t enjoy anything else right now!"

"Same! Warukawa-sensei, you’re my god! Please take my kneecaps!!"

By noon, Twitter, 4chan, and every light novel forum were drowning in raves for 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.

The flood of praise was unstoppable, crushing every skeptical voice under its weight.

"[Shook my mom for 100 years!] I thought this would just be a well-written grimdark piece, but Fushikawa wasn’t bluffing. This novel lives up to the hype—and goes beyond it!"

"[Nerve-shredding experience! Not a single dull moment!] My heart never dropped below 150 bpm! I binge-read the whole thing in one sitting, felt like I was drowning ten thousand meters deep! That twist at the end had me bawling on the floor!"

"[Five stars? No, SIX!] Don’t be fooled by the ‘light novel’ label! The literary quality, thematic depth, and masterful pacing destroy 99% of what’s out there. Who the hell is this guy? Some veteran resurrected from the grave?!"

Within a single day—

The word-of-mouth detonated like a nuclear blast.

Casual readers who’d been on the fence were swept away by the tidal wave of hype. Their buying impulse ignited beyond control.

"I can’t take it! I’m going to the convenience store now. Screw waiting for delivery!"

"Damn it, Kinokuniya’s site already says ‘low stock’! I need to rush to a physical store before it’s gone!"

From three o’clock onward, an unprecedented scene unfolded across Kyoto.

Crowds of young people flooded bookstores, marching straight to the light novel shelves with one target in mind: 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.

"Gone?! What do you mean gone?! I saw you restock just at noon!" A student wailed in despair at a frazzled clerk.

The staffer wiped sweat from his brow and laughed bitterly. "Sorry, kid! We didn’t expect this either. Our manager’s been in this business twenty years, and he’s never seen a debut sell like this. We’ve already begged the publisher for restocks three times today!"

Meanwhile—

Phone after phone rang at Fushikawa Bunko, the market department frantically logging every call.

"Kinokuniya Shinjuku flagship store—thirty thousand copies sold out by 4 p.m.!"

"Junkudo Ikebukuro—staff in the light novel section are collapsing from exhaustion after restocking over and over again!"

"Sanseido Jimbocho—the store manager himself just called Editor-in-Chief Aida, practically begging him to prioritize their shipments!"

The distribution department was in chaos.

Staring at the skyrocketing sales numbers on their monitors, staff felt like they were dreaming.

It had gone completely nuclear.

A phenomenon-level buying frenzy.

6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns—and its author, "Prince Warakawa"—were storming the industry with unstoppable momentum.

Chapter 10 — Utaha Kasumigaoka at the End of Her Rope

Night blanketed Kyoto.

Seiji Fujiwara stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window of his 480,000-yen-a-month luxury apartment.

The glittering city stretched beneath his feet.

In his hand was a glass of single-malt Scotch. He swirled the tulip-shaped glass slowly, the amber liquid catching the light and scattering it into a warm glow.

Luxury. Quiet. That intoxicating sense of holding the whole world in his grasp.

This—this was the life Seiji Fujiwara had always wanted.

He had no desire to even remember those twenty-odd years of being a wage slave in his previous life.

Bzzz—! Bzzz—!

The phone resting on the marble bar began to vibrate.

He turned leisurely, picked it up, and glanced at the screen—Sonoko Machida.

He slid his thumb to answer.

“Warukawa-sensei!!!”

The moment the call connected, Sonoko Machida’s excited shriek exploded through the receiver.

“We… we did it! We actually did it, Sensei!”

He could imagine her on the other end, completely losing her composure from sheer joy.

“Day one! This is just the first day of release, Sensei! 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns has already broken sixty thousand copies in real-time sales across all channels!!”

“Sixty thousand! We’ve smashed Fushikawa Bunko’s—no, the entire Japanese light novel industry’s—record for a debut work in the past ten years!”

“Every bookstore in the country is begging our distribution department for more stock! The phones haven’t stopped ringing! The editor-in-chief is so excited he’s about to have a heart attack!”

Seiji listened patiently, a faint smile on his lips.

It took Sonoko a while to calm down.

“Thank you for bringing me such good news, Machida-editor,” Seiji replied at last, his tone steady, casual.

This was nothing yet.

Just the system’s starter pack.

Only the beginning.

On the other end of the line, Sonoko froze at his calm response.

But only for a heartbeat. The next moment, admiration welled up inside her like a surging tide.

Look at him!

What composure!

As unshaken as a mountain even when the sky collapses!

As if this industry-shaking achievement were nothing more than a flick of his finger!

This was a true genius.

Sonoko drew in a deep breath, her tone turning respectful as she continued her report. “Sensei! Just now, the company held an emergency meeting—we’re printing another 100,000 copies!”

“One hundred thousand, Sensei! That’s top-tier bestseller treatment!”

“Your second advance royalty will be deposited into your account first thing tomorrow morning!”

“Oh, and Editor-in-Chief Aida asked me to check—where would you like the celebration party? He’ll find a way to book any high-end restaurant in Kyoto, no matter how impossible it is to reserve!”

Listening to Sonoko’s unstoppable stream of excitement, Seiji chuckled.

“Skip the party. I’m not fond of noisy crowds,” he cut her off. “Please handle the rest of the sales, Machida-san.”

“That’s my job,” she said quickly.

They chatted a bit more before hanging up.

Silence returned to the bar.

Seiji went back to savoring his expensive drink in peace.

…

At the same time, across Kyoto—

A hospital corridor.

The air was heavy, suffocating.

Utaha Kasumigaoka leaned numbly against the cold white wall.

Her face was pale, shrouded in despair.

Her long black hair hung slightly disheveled. That face—usually as proud and graceful as a swan—now showed nothing but sickly helplessness and fear.

In her hand, she clutched a crumpled piece of paper.

It was a notice she had just received from the attending physician.

Patient: Haruko Kasumigaoka. Post-surgery intracranial pressure abnormally elevated. CT shows acute subdural hematoma. Condition critical. A second emergency craniotomy must be performed within 24 hours to remove the hematoma or the patient’s life will be at risk.

This surgery carries an extremely high risk—success rate below 40%—and a strong likelihood of severe aftereffects.

Estimated cost for surgery and subsequent ICU care: 3 million yen.

Three million.

The number weighed on her like a mountain, crushing the breath from her lungs.

The previous operation’s 500,000 yen had already drained the last of her savings.

Where could she possibly find another three million in just 24 hours?

Borrow from relatives or friends?

Those so-called relatives had already vanished the moment they learned of her family’s situation.

She had nowhere left to turn.

Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

Suddenly—

Utaha remembered the neighbor who had approached her a few days ago—Seiji Fujiwara.