Chapter 230: Liar

More important than the Newcomer Award?

Mashiro’s gaze and words nearly made Himekoji choke for a second.

His heartbeat was fast—faster than usual!

Himekoji flinched backward, looking away.

Danger!

As a Pervert, his self-protection instincts warned him like this.

Alarms screamed in his mind nonstop.

“R-Really?”

Faced with Mashiro’s seriousness, Himekoji could only brush it aside vaguely.

“Um, yes.”

Mashiro nodded. Her clear, determined eyes stayed firmly locked on him.

“Akito, I will get it next time.”

Get what?

The Newcomer Award, or…?

He couldn’t even think about it. Nervously, Himekoji broke out in a sweat on his forehead.

“I will get it with my own effort, with my own real ability.”

Luckily, Mashiro’s next sentence slightly eased Himekoji’s worries.

Phew—

Man, he must have been overthinking it, right?

Mashiro had really just meant the Newcomer Award all along.

Probably, definitely, only that.

…

“Yeah… I know.”

Himekoji stayed silent for a moment before finally nodding. He accepted this outcome.

He gave up. Mashiro gave up. Neither of them had won.

Right.

He had naively thought that returning the prize that should have been Mashiro’s would make her happy.

But that wasn’t the case.

What Mashiro wanted, she would get using her own effort. Not because someone gave up or took pity on her.

If she failed once, she’d try the next time.

Effort and persistence were Mashiro’s, the genius, greatest talent.

…

“Akito.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really hungry.”

“Gurgle—”

Mashiro slumped on the floor, her stomach rumbling loudly.

“Serves you right for not eating all day.”

Himekoji was completely helpless against Mashiro like this.

“Starving… feels like dying.”

“So then go eat something.”

“Too hungry… can’t get up.”

“Oh for…”

Himekoji carefully moved around the scattered drafts covering the floor. He crouched down in front of Mashiro.

Just as he was going to help her up, Mashiro’s phone suddenly rang.

“Akito, get it for me.”

Mashiro weakly lifted her arm, showing she couldn’t muster any strength.

“You really have me doing everything for you…”

Himekoji muttered a not particularly serious complaint. He fished the phone out from a pile of drafts and handed it to Mashiro.

It was Ayano, Mashiro’s editor, calling.

Probably calling to persuade her.

After all, the Newcomer Award’s importance to aspiring manga artists went without saying.

Anyone giving it up that easily was either an idiot, or a bigger idiot.

“Mmhm.”

Mashiro answered the phone with a completely flat tone.

She answered “Yes,” “Yes,” a few times like that. Then, instantly, a look of surprise flashed in her eyes.

A little later, Mashiro hung up. Her arm dropped limply back down.

“What did she say?”

Himekoji asked, feeling a bit concerned.

Mashiro’s gaze drifted over the piles of drafts several times. It took quite a while before she finally looked at him.

She looked directly at him and blinked a few times.

“Akito.”

Mashiro seemed like she was in a daze.

“Are you okay?”

Himekoji started to say this—

Suddenly, without any warning, Mashiro threw herself at him!

So sudden that Himekoji had zero time to react. He got knocked over, Mashiro’s two arms wrapping around his neck…

Just then, a gust of wind blew in through the window. The heavy curtains rustled noisily.

The thin moonlight scattered, mixing with swirling fine dust. The dust skimmed against the window glass, clicking lightly.

Comic drafts flew everywhere, drifting slowly down from the air.

Half sprawled, Himekoji felt Mashiro’s body warmth upon him. In this slowly flowing moment, he watched this unbelievable sight unfold.

He felt Mashiro’s heartbeat against him.

The smell of shampoo mixed with sweat stung his nose just a little.

It felt oddly like being cozy under a thick blanket in an air-conditioned room, yet also tangled with restless tension.

He wanted to make a sound. He opened his mouth but couldn’t produce any words.

He didn’t know how much time had passed—

“Shiina?”

The name, long used to calling out, slipped unconsciously from his lips.

Only now did Himekoji realize it: Mashiro’s hands, gripping him tightly, trembled slightly as if holding something back.

It was a kind of trembling he didn’t understand—not caused by fear or cold.

And definitely not regret…

Then why?

What other reasons make a person tremble?

“Akito…”

“What is it?”

Mashiro’s voice was so faint that Himekoji responded desperately in a gentle tone.

“It was Ayano calling.”

“I know.”

Himekoji had already seen the call info on her phone screen.

“Ayano said… she got it wrong earlier. There was a reason I didn’t win an award…”

Mashiro’s voice trembled, a rare occurrence.

“Because?”

“Because… the publisher plans to run my manga straight in next month’s magazine issue.”

“Straight run?”

“An author got sick. That left a gap in the manuscripts… so they needed a manga to fill it…”

“Really? That’s amazing!”

He knew it! How could Mashiro possibly get rejected?

So the truth was—Mashiro had jumped ahead, bypassing the winners entirely.

He felt thrilled, excited, overjoyed for Mashiro. His own hands were practically shouting and leaping with delight. On impulse, he wanted to hold Mashiro close.

But—

Mashiro really was an idiot…

She cared so much about the Newcomer Award. She was so desperate to prove herself with a debut. Yet earlier, when that honorable mention award was right there for the taking, she just… gave it up.

“Akito… Ayano said… Your withdrawal from judging wasn’t accepted… You still get the Gold Prize… That’s great…”

Mashiro, pressed against Himekoji, buried her face deep in his chest.

Wait!

Could it be…

The reason Mashiro was so joyful and moved… was actually because…

Himekoji froze.

His heart pounded so hard it hurt.

…

“I think… I’m acting strange.”

“Why?”

He could tell by her slightly stuffy-nose voice, but he wanted her to finish, so Himekoji asked anyway.

“I feel… so happy… yet I’m crying.”

“That’s just how humans are.”

Mashiro lifted herself to sit up on the toppled Himekoji’s waist. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Her face showed no change, yet tears flowed uncontrollably.

“Congratulations,” Himekoji said sincerely, watching her.

The girl’s clear, glistening tears fell drop by drop onto Himekoji.

“And… and congratulations to you too, Akito.”

Maybe struggling to form words, the crying Mashiro pieced the sentence together in halting fragments.

“If… If Akito lost the Gold Prize because of me… I’d feel… so guilty.”

“What are you saying? It’s not your fault at all, idiot.”

It was never his to begin with anyway.

Himekoji tilted his head back. His eyes lost focus, looking emptily at the ceiling.

He couldn’t write novels. He couldn’t draw manga.

In truth… he was just a Pervert, a thief, and…

A liar.

…

Until her tears finally stopped, Mashiro stayed like that—right on top of Himekoji.

…