No Matter Who Forgives It, the Main Heroine Never Will

Back at his apartment, Itsuki took off his coat, sat down on his chair, and took his laptop off sleep mode. He didn’t even bother saving the non-sister practice novel he was working on to get his groove back. Instead he opened up another file. It was named “All About My Little Sister_vol7_draft1,” and there wasn’t a single word in it yet.

Now he could write. He was sure of it.

His index finger rested upon a key on the keyboard. The rest of his fingertips began to weave text, just as he thought they would. The writer’s block from before seemed like a mirage. Now, the text of All About My Little Sister—content that literally nauseated him whenever he tried to write it—was proceeding along faster than it ever did before.

Silently, he maintained a constant pace, never reaching an impasse as he kept on writing. He was almost like a machine, his fingers automatically moving where they needed to go. The talent in his soul, and the passion behind his personality, were shut away from the process. Instead, he used nothing but the techniques he had cultivated over the past six or so years of novel writing, following the plotline and piecing the sentences together.

Itsuki Hashima the person, and Itsuki Hashima the novelist, were totally separate. Whether he had a little sister or not had no bearing on this story. What the protagonist of this novel thought about his sister had no bearing on Itsuki the novelist. Thus he followed the set formula, putting the characters into action, giving them thoughts, and getting them in love. There was no empathy, no projecting himself into it. He was a professional writer; therefore, he wrote novels.

This was just a work program. There was no need to insert extra story elements from the author’s own life.

A story like this is good enough for me.

Once he came to that conclusion, the rest was simple.

Chihiro Hashima, Nayuta Kani, Miyako Shirakawa, Haruto Fuwa, Ashley Ono, Kasuka Sekigahara, Keisuke Hashima, and Ayane Mitahora—this world was full of protagonists, heroes that moved as if selected by fate. He, however, didn’t seem to be one of those. That’s why a story like this was good enough for Itsuki Hashima. He had attained the somewhat rare occupation of novelist; his work was made into anime; he even had younger writers looking up to him. For a non-chosen one, just another average guy, this was a pretty darn good performance. So forget it. He didn’t need any more dramatic developments. He’d write novels, make money, hang out with friends, drink good beer, have dinner with his family, maybe get into pottery or Gundam models as a hobby, marry the woman he loved—that kind of modest happiness. For the remaining chapters of his life, this average sort of tale was good enough.

So Itsuki kept typing away, his face contented, like a retiree enjoying his golden years. It was all so emotionless, so unmoving, so businesslike, so machinelike, so factorylike. His old fighting spirit, the drive to create the ultimate story, had disappeared. His straining desire to become a special hero was gone—and with it, something important that comprised part of Itsuki Hashima, novelist, also vanished.

There was no love, no passion, no pride—and also no trials, no tribulations, no conflict. The writing went along like a breeze, as simple and as monotonous as it could be. And then, in early December—a mere week after Itsuki began writing again—the first draft for All About My Little Sister, Vol. 7 was done.

“It’s just fine.”

That was the review offered by Kenjiro Toki when he read the draft.

You didn’t get the sense of surging talent and passion, like you did from Itsuki’s work up to now. The story had a well-devised plot and never deviated from it. Every passage made sense and contributed to the narrative. It was a “just fine” piece of work. And considering how many past readers nervously stepped away, too floored by the overflow of sister-love to keep up, this was the perfect approach to take if they wanted to hook the audience that learned about Itsuki Hashima from the anime. Truly, a fine, artisanal piece. A well-honed, industrial product.

“…But could you really call this an Itsuki Hashima work…?”

Even though something huge, something at the foundation of all his past work, was well and truly gone, if anything, it was a more balanced, more marketable book. Noticing this as he read the manuscript left Toki conflicted, so he decided to ask Itsuki himself. Was he sure he wanted to have this published?

“Of course,” he responded. “I’d like to get it out there as soon as possible.”

The calmness of the reply, as if some demon had let go of him after a long residency in his brain, only disturbed Toki further. But still he put the delayed Volume 7 of All About into the schedule, carving out an emergency slot for it. The author wanted it out there, the market wanted to see it, the product had the needed quality, and the editor had no right to unilaterally deny it to the world.

It would come out in January of next year. The cover and internal color art were already done before the delay was announced, so the rest of the illustrations should (barely) make it in time.

“Hey, I’m done with Volume 7, so how ’bout we have dinner together for a change?”

A few days after wrapping up All About, Volume 7, Itsuki called Nayuta over to his place. His real motive for the invite was to propose to her. He had a ring all set to go—Nayuta had wasted no opportunity to tell him her size, so he knew it. He thought about giving it to her on one knee in a fancy restaurant or at some scenic, romantic overlook, but most of their memories together were made in this apartment, so this seemed like the most appropriate place.

“Ooooh! Is that the Volume 7 manuscript?! Lemme read it right now, please!”

Right after she walked in, Nayuta discovered the stack of paper on his desk. Her eyes sparkled at the sight.

“Sure,” Itsuki said, watching as Nayuta joyously sidled up by the kotatsu and began reading.

…He thought he’d ask the question over some predinner drinks, but maybe it could wait until right after she finished reading. His slump was one reason he’d missed his chance to propose before now, so he was picturing a scenario where she’d read it, understand that Itsuki Hashima the writer was back in business, and then he’d say “I want to be together with you forever” and have at it. That struck him as the best timing.

So, as Nayuta read through Volume 7, he did some more work—this time on Volume 9 of Sisterly Combat, another series that ground to a halt after he hit a wall. He had been silently beavering away on that one, too, in similar machinelike fashion.

A bit under two hours later:

“…I’m all done.”

“…! Y-you are?”

Itsuki casually stood up and surreptitiously took the box with the engagement ring from his coat hanging on the wall, hiding it behind his back as he quietly sat across from her. His heart was beating like a drum roll.

“S-so, so Kani—”

He was about to say “Kanikou” but thought better of it. This was special. He wouldn’t use Kanikou, he wouldn’t use Nayuta Kani—he wanted to use her real name for this.

“Um, I mean, Kaz—”

“…What is this?”

There was a shivering chill to her voice.

“Huh…?”

Nayuta didn’t look at her confused boyfriend. Her eyes were fixated on the sheaf of papers in her hands, and the emotion in them was dark. Her face was pale, and her fingers were shaking a little.

“K-Kanikou…?”

“…What is this? This garbage?”

Nayuta looked up, her baleful stare freezing him to the bone.

“G… Garbage? Wh-what are you—?” Itsuki tried his hardest to fight back.

“How dare you!!” With a scream, she threw the stack on the floor, scattering papers everywhere.

“Wh-what…?”

“This… This isn’t any kind of novel by you! It’s not an Itsuki Hashima novel!” She had tears in her eyes as she shouted.

Itsuki was shocked. “Was it that lame to you…? I mean, I’ve only just recovered from my slump, so maybe I wasn’t on my A game…but I don’t think it’s bad at all, and the editor okayed it, so… I wouldn’t describe it as garbage…”

The defense sounded weak. Nayuta was the last person he wanted to slam his novel. Even if people said his work had too much sister-love in it, this was the first time anyone had completely trashed it. He truly believed that even if the whole world told him he was a failure, Nayuta alone would tell him she liked his writing. And now she was drilling down on him.

“…No matter how boring it was, no matter how poorly it was written, I thought I could always love your work. But… But not if it’s like this! This is just wrong! If you’re gonna make me read this soulless crap, like some AI wrote it, then you’re better off not being able to write at all!!”

“…!”

Itsuki’s mind went blank. The statement couldn’t have pierced into his soul any deeper, or with any more precision.

“Wha… Wha-what do you mean by that…?” The voice he finally summoned was shaking. “You think I’m better off not being able to write…? Are you saying you’d prefer if I was in…in that hell for the rest of my life…? Do you have any idea how painful it was…? What I went through before I was able to write that…?”

“I know you were in pain. But… But still, I—I can’t accept this.”

“…Didn’t you say you’d accept me no matter what…? Were you lying when you said that…?”

“I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t trying to. But I can’t… I just can’t. I mean, I love you, Itsuki…but I really love Itsuki Hashima, the writer!”

“…!”

“Seeing Itsuki Hashima, the writer who saved me, turn into something like this… I’ll never forgive it! No matter who forgives it, I never will!”

In order to get out of his slump, Itsuki Hashima the man had to separate himself from Itsuki Hashima the professional writer. But to Nayuta, who found salvation when she read Sister of the Apocalypse, who fell in love with the man named Itsuki Hashima, this was beyond anything she could allow.

“S… Stop giving me all that crap!!” He understood Nayuta’s anger. But he couldn’t take any more of this. “Who the hell do you think I worked so hard to overcome this slump for? Who do you think I came back as a writer for…?”

He wanted to take the woman he loved the most and make her happy, as soon as he possibly could. He’d struggled so hard for that—and this was the result? He could feel his strength abandoning him.

“…What’s the big deal…? What’s wrong with writing a banal, soulless novel…? Everybody’s the hero of their own story… I’m not special or anything. There’s no need for me to…to risk my life and soul trying to write something special. If I can write average novels, make a decent amount of money, and find a decent amount of happiness, isn’t that fine…? That… That’s the answer I’ve come to with this slump…”

“All you’re doing is deceiving yourself,” avowed Nayuta, delivering her final judgment. “You haven’t come back at all. You’re still lying prone on the ground… I can love you if you’re desperate, if you’ve been discouraged—but the one thing I can’t forgive is you making compromises and diving into this lukewarm, slapdash answer of yours like some idiot… You are a writer, Itsuki Hashima. Please keep fighting until you can become the hero you hope to be.”

Itsuki weakly shook his head. “…I can’t be the hero of your story.”

“Do it! You’re the one who saved me, who showed me dreams, who taught me about love. You’ve got an obligation to live up to that, Itsuki Hashima!”

Nayuta cried as she screamed—and Kaizu’s advice flashed back into Itsuki’s mind.

You’ve got no obligation to people like that. It’s on them for having those dreams in the first place.

Yes. He’s right…!

“I’m telling you that I can’t! Stop pushing your ideals on me! I’m not a genius like you! How can someone who cranks out these masterpieces as naturally as she breathes ever understand the pain some average person goes through?!”

“You’re a great writer, Itsuki! You’ve got a special talent like nobody else in the whole world!”

“No, I don’t! And even if I did, I lost it!”

“If you lost it, then why don’t you just find another one?!”

“I told you to stop acting like it’s so easy! You’re a genius!”

“You should stop bandying around the world ‘genius’ like that! Stop trying to use ‘genius’ to describe everything! I put in a lot of work when people aren’t looking, too! You dumbass!”

“I know! But to me, your genius is blinding! I get so jealous it drives me insane!”

“Well, what do you want me to do about that?! It’s not like I got talent because I wanted it! If I only had just enough to place in the writers contest so I could meet you, Itsuki, that would’ve been fine!”

“Wha…?! Where do you get off, acting so arrogant?! Then give me some of that talent! If you got more than you know what to do with, hand it over to me!”

“I told you already, you do have talent, Itsuki! Ugh! You shithead!”

“No I don’t, you stupid piece of crap!!”

After that final scream, Itsuki let out a defeated sigh. They were going in circles, shouting past each other. Nayuta seemed pretty exhausted, too.

“…Why don’t you understand me…?”

“…If I had talent, I wouldn’t produce ‘garbage’ in the first place…”

Itsuki morosely eyed the papers all over the floor.

“…Like, I can’t deal with this anymore. Let’s split up.”

It was the polar opposite of a marriage proposal, but it left his lips so naturally.

“…Ah-ha… Yes… Wanna do that?”

Nayuta nodded, a weakened smile on her face. And so, after the very first argument since they had become lovers—since they’d even met, for that matter—Itsuki and Nayuta were on the brink.

(End)