Childhood Friend (1)
The girl before my eyes had silver hair swaying gently, her eyes sparkling brightly. None other than the original story's heroine, the Saintess, was gripping my hand tightly.
I stared blankly at the hand she held.
...Isn't this a total character collapse?
After all, the Saintess in the novel was originally the ultra-shy type who barely spoke, the ironclad fortress where even holding hands with the male lead took three whole chapters.
But what the hell was this situation?
Did she drink some kind of potion or something?
As the romance fantasy heroine, she was fated to endure all sorts of unfair backlash. Things like being scorned for coming from an enemy nation of the empire, assassination attempts, or eating brownies someone gave her only to find out they were laced with drugs—
But that was all later in the story. The first scenario hadn't even started yet, so there was no way something like that could happen now.
Whether she knew about my inner turmoil or not, Arina opened her mouth excitedly.
"I really love that essay collection too! Especially the scene in the third chapter where the narrator monologues while looking out at the rainy window—it's got that unique style of Professor Hampton's...!"
Ah, I know this one. I got hit with it at the newspaper office not long ago.
'Ahh! That work is! A! Mas! Ter! Piece!' Otaku mode activated.
And the cause?
"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. This is the first edition, isn't it? How did you even get this? And it's even got Professor Hampton's autograph! Ah, so that's why you went straight to his office—to get it signed?"
The book in my hand was just a novel I'd brought for print quality inspection.
"I really love that essay collection too! Especially the scene in the third chapter where the narrator monologues while looking out at the rainy window—it's got that unique style of Professor Hampton's...!"
In other words, thanks to the book by Professor Hampton in my hand, she'd perfectly misunderstood that I was a huge fan of the professor and had brought it along carefully to get it signed.
"Um, Saintess. That's a misunderstand—"
"And you know about this one, right? That transitional style from his early works to mid-period! You know it too, don't you, Ian Ashy? That point where the tone subtly gets colder!"
Every time I tried to interject, the Saintess overwhelmed my excuses with an explosive burst of fandom energy.
Did the Saintess have this kind of energy?
Well, yeah, sort of. In the latter half, she goes full lovey-dovey mode with the crown prince, ramping up the tension. The problem is, it's male lead exclusive.
Then.
—Whoosh.
Arina suddenly yanked the hand I was holding toward her, cupping it preciously against her stomach.
"The rough breathing in the early works is nice, but I prefer the mid-period and later. The way he restrains emotions with measured prose is just so beautiful. Especially when dealing with loss. He doesn't make you cry directly—he leaves behind the silence after the tears. It's just..."
And with an enraptured expression, she started slowly raising her hands higher. You know, that gesture when you're moved, cupping your hands near your chest.
The problem was that my hand, caught in hers, was inching upward too.
No.
It can't go any higher—
—Squish.
Before I knew it, my hand was wedged between her two hands gathered at her chest.
"Ahh. It's truly a holy work."
Your chest is holy too.
"No!"
...Get it together, Ian Ashy! This isn't the time to admire someone else's chest.
As I took a deep breath, the second blow landed.
"I'm just so happy to have a friend I can talk about this stuff with..."
Her silver hair glowed softly in the sunlight. Her eyes, a bit red from crying, curved into a bright smile. The Saintess's poignant smile was heartbreaking, sacred, and beautiful all at once. A heroine-level beauty that could really make your head go blank.
Honestly, she was stunningly gorgeous. A silver-haired beauty with a holy aura holding my hand to her chest and smiling radiantly at me—who could resist that?
But.
At the same time, massive alarm bells started blaring in my brain.
This woman was the political fiancée of that psycho tyrant crown prince, Leonhardt Bell—the guy who'd declared he wouldn't let a shady book author like me get away!
Sorry, but for the sake of my peaceful extra survival life, I had to cut this off coldly.
"Um, Saintess."
"Yes, Ian Ashy?"
"Could you let go of my hand first?"
At my cold, firm voice, Arina's shoulders flinched.
"Eh...? Ah....... Eeeee?!"
Only then did she seem to realize she'd grabbed a strange guy's hand and pressed it to her chest—her pure white face flushed tomato-red in an instant.
Arina recoiled in shock, flinging my hand away like it was hot.
"S-So... sorry!"
"No, not at all. I enjoyed it. Especially the feel."
...I almost said.
Especially with her face beet-red and eyes brimming with tears as she apologized—it was so irresistibly cute I could barely refuse. Probably 99% of the empire's men would fall here.
"No way, Lady. It was an honor."
They'd spout something like that. But I know how this novel ends.
"I don't even know who Professor Hampton is, and this is the first time I've seen this novel today."
I calmly, simply, and clearly drove the facts home to the flustered Arina.
"Wha...? B-But that book..."
"Sorry, but it seems like a misunderstanding. I just brought it along because I needed a pot stand."
"A p-pot stand? B-But your story, Ian Ashy, clearly—it resembled Professor Hampton's style. Like it had evolved his style one step further—"
"Sorry, Saintess."
With that, I bowed my head politely to her—just enough for her to feel that we were mere first-time acquaintances with no real connection, polite and courteous.
"I'm not as great a person as you think. Don't the cadets call me the 'art beggar'? You've probably heard it plenty."
"That's—"
I straightened my collar and nodded curtly.
"Whereas you, Saintess, are truly remarkable. Well then."
"W-Wait—"
I heard her mutter something, but I turned away coldly.
No way was I letting a romance flag get planted.
Heading to the academy library was a pretty solid choice.
First, hardly any people. Second, great environment for plotting ero-manga stories. Third, low chance of main characters popping up out of nowhere.
I plopped down in a corner seat and flipped open my notebook.
—Squishy soft.
I shook my head to dispel the tactile memory floating in my mind. Focus on work.
The childhood friend story I'd improvised in class had gotten a better reaction than expected.
'Picking up from right after the point I mentioned in class would be good.'
Touching hearts with literature, corrupting with manga. Perfect plan.
"Heh."
Beautifully efficient. Couldn't help but grin.
"In that case, like this—"
Scratch scratch.
A rough storyline etched itself onto the notebook.
A boy and girl who shared the pain of loss, becoming each other's sole comfort. But in the end, they couldn't become lovers and remained awkward 'friends.' In other words, wrapping up Part 1 with a bittersweet sad ending that leaves readers' hearts heavy and aching. That was the literary part.
Then one day. Part 2 begins.
The heroine, casually coming and going from the male lead's room under the guise of 'friends,' happens to glimpse something dangling like a sly rascal from the oblivious hero fresh out of the shower.
—'Wh-What the heck is that...?'
The heroine, who'd never seen her childhood friend as anything but platonic her whole life. But after witnessing that overwhelming thing, she starts involuntarily recalling its massive silhouette in everyday moments.
Her curiosity about the unknown realm of the male organ grows, and eventually, her repressed desires explode, leading her through a slow but certain 'female corruption'—a deadly storyline!
"Heh heh heh..."
I tapped the desk with my pen, admiring the perfect plot structure.
Nothing maximizes tension between a man and woman like this spice.
I was sketching roughs in a trance when—
"Excuse me."
I looked up to see a woman in a sleek suit standing there. Instant vibe: career woman. No wasted movement in her steps, sharp rhythm in her speech like a busy person's.
"Are you author Ian Ashy?"
"Not an author."
"Pardon?"
"Precisely, I'm a cadet."
The woman froze in brief confusion, then quickly recomposed herself.
"Someone Professor Hampton praised so highly is still just a student and not yet an author...?"
Ha. That slit-eyed professor. What the hell did he package me as?
I furrowed my brow involuntarily, and she misinterpreted my expression, bowing her head.
"Ah, sorry. No intention to belittle. You're just younger than I expected. I'm an editor with Salon Valenti. I have a request regarding the contest."
Salon. A gathering where nobles enjoy culture and arts.
Salon Valenti? Rings a bell, kinda.
"Go ahead."
"I heard from Professor Hampton. Your work—er, cadet—definitely has competitive edge. But to enter the contest, it needs a minimum length. It might be tough, but could you expand the story a bit more?"
Ah, that? The editor looked cautious, but I shrugged nonchalantly.
"Not hard."
"...Pardon?"
"Plotting's the hard part; padding length is easy."
The editor's face visibly shook.
"R-Really?"
"Yes."
Length control was routine even after becoming a pro webtoon (ecchi) artist.
The editor's eyes went wide in shock.
"Th-That's... not an easy task."
"Gotta fit the rules for the prize money. But you'll need to give me some time."
"Ah, of course. Plenty of time... How long do you think?"
"Three days?"
"Right? At least three weeks... Pardon? Did you just say three days?"
Her voice nearly broke the library's quiet rule.
Aah. Never underestimate Korea's all-nighter culture. I already experienced ad nauseam in my past life how deadlines turn people into monsters.
"In...credible."
The editor jotted notes with a dazed look, bowing repeatedly.
"Then I'll come back in three days."
"Sure."
As she left, the library fell quiet again. Good. Back to work—
"What's Ian Ashy doing in the library?"
A familiar voice rang out.
"Hitting on girls?"
I turned to see Lena Youngston standing there, arms full of books.
"Do I look like that kinda guy?"
"Nah. More like a total nerd who can't even make eye contact and just pants internally like a desperate virgin."
Her merciless data-driven fact bomb slammed my solar plexus.
At this rate, she's not a childhood friend—she's a ball-buster friend.
Well, that's the vibe between Ian and Lena.
"Hey, childhood friend. Ease up on the fact bombs. Hurts."
"So? How'd you snag that girl earlier?"
Lena pulled out the chair next to me and sat, slyly probing. She usually plays iron wall like I'm not a romantic interest, but another girl shows up and suddenly she's paying attention.
"Didn't snag her. She's an editor from Salon Valenti. Came with a request for the contest."
"...What?"
Lena's eyes widened.
"An editor from Salon Valenti? Why would that mega-salon want you?"
"That big a deal?"
At my apathetic reaction, Lena leaned in dramatically, eyes sparkling.
"Duh! One of the Big Three Salons! Flower of the imperial nobility social scene, totally dominates trends in theater, arts, literature! Just an invite to their official gathering is like a socialite certification! Symbol of trendsetters!"
Gone was her usual dead-fish stare; her eyes were glittering.
Huh. So she's that big-time? Might be a hassle getting tangled up.
But can't pass on 10 million krone.
"Sigh..."
A small sigh escaped me involuntarily.
"Ack!"
Suddenly, a sharp smack hit my back.
"Bad luck! You've loved sighing since we were kids!"
"Ow. Are you my mom or something...?"
I grumbled, rubbing my back, then suddenly stared at Lena.
Thinking about it, it's kinda weird. She nitpicks the useless second son of a fallen noble like me with facts, but barges into my dorm to wake me, even worries about my career path.
Come to think of it, why does she take care of me like this?
Nags but cares, insults but helps, rushes over first thing in the morning if I'm gonna be late. Total emotionless childhood friend vibe, but it makes me curious.
As I stared, Lena's eyes flickered.
And then.
—Flick.
A perfect knuckle rap to my forehead.
"Ow!"
That actually hurts? Swallowing tears, I looked up to see Lena smirking.
"Am I that pretty? Stop staring. You'll wear out my looks."
"What kinda nonsense—"
"Whatever. Let's get to class."
"Huh? Class?"
What, there's class now? As I blinked blankly, Lena clicked her tongue.
"Sigh, knew it. Forgot again? Magic Fundamentals. Required for newbies."
Was that the setting? Gotta snag a schedule quick.
I stood, asking, "Who's teaching?"
Lena answered casually. "The Tower Master himself."
"...What?"
My feet froze. Fragments of the shattered crystal orb and those sharp eyes glaring down from the podium flashed through my mind.