Chapter 16: Last Spurt

“...That sure was something,” said Nanaka.

“...Yeah,” Kai concurred.

Street lights dotted the path forward as the pair walked side by side through the hot summer night, made more uncomfortable by the dampness of their sweat. In both of Kai’s hands, he carried convenience store bags containing provisions for their impending all-nighter. Nanaka had suggested a snack party for everyone to make up, so the bags were packed tight with treats and drinks.

Just a moment ago (though, honestly, it had been so long that the sun had set), the entire team had had their minds boggled.

Eru couldn’t exactly have been described as “quiet,” given that she’d continued to wail like an injured beast. However, she had slowly calmed down into a normal bawl, then into a softer sob, then to a sort of sniffling hiccup, and finally she’d simply pressed her eyes against Nanaka’s shoulder. That entire time, Nanaka had been rubbing and patting Eru on the back. Her gentle demeanor had made it seem like she was going to hum a quiet lullaby.

It had been a serene scene which Kai had felt like he could watch forever. The one to shatter it into pieces had been none other than Kuroba Eru, herself.

“Now, then.” Eru’s face had suddenly popped up from Nanaka’s shoulder, like a robot who’d received a jolt of electricity. Her voice may have been somewhat hoarse, but there was something else mixed into it...

Spirit, Kai had wondered? Gravitas? To put it simply, Eru had sounded menacing.

The voice in her ear had caused Nanaka to uneasily ask, “E-Eru...?” as the girl in question pushed herself off of Nanaka’s shoulders in order to stand up.

Crossing her arms and standing with her feet a shoulder-width apart, Eru had towered over them commandingly and glared at everyone with puffy red eyes. “Nanaka fixed the illustration,” she said accusingly. “Aina did the voice work, Aya handled the rest, and Kai directed the entire thing... Am I right, dear?”

She was, for the most part, so Kai had responded with a nod.

Eru heaved a deep sigh and then exploded. Pointing at Nanaka, she’d exclaimed, “Both your linework and color selection are terrible! It’s not even close!”

Then, pointing at Aya, she yelled, “Your work is sloppy!”

Pointing at Aina next, Eru went on to say, “Your characterization is weak! You’re terrible!”

And finally, her finger pointed to Kai as she concluded with, “And it’s your job to point all of this out!”

Having barked at each of them, Eru then exhaled contentedly. But, of course... Whether or not her accusations of “You suck!” and “Your work is sloppy!” were true to any extent wasn’t the real issue, as neither Aya nor Aina were the type to back off when there was someone picking a fight.

“Huuuh?!!!” The faux-angel’s raven silk and the eccentric junkie’s blonde twintails bent out of shape in sync with one another. They were perfectly in unison down to the enraged inflection of their voices, which shot up like a flare to signal the beginnings of war.

“Hey, what did you just say?” Aina demanded to know. “My characterization is weak? My characterization? You’re telling me my acting is weak?”

“...Tch, I forgot you were so stupid that I needed to repeat myself,” Eru observed mockingly.

“Ooooookay,” Aina drawled back. “For the first time in my life, I just heard the sound of something snapping in the back of my head, so don’t screw with me! What do you mean, ‘weak?!’ This character was based off of me to begin with! It’s me from middle school!”

“Huh?! My dear, you must be screwing with me!” Eru declared. “In the first place, this girl’s name is Ai, and she has nothing to do with you!”

“You obviously just took the first half of ‘Aina!’”

“Ai would never say something like that!”

“She would! Even I can say, ‘I’m sorry!’”

“Ai would only say, ‘Sorry!’”

“That’s only one word off!”

“Which makes all the difference in the world when it comes to characterization!” Eru crowed exultantly. “Dear me, you suck!”

“Oh! My! God! You said it again...!” screamed Aina, who was about to burst with anger.

“No, hold on,” Aya spoke up. “None of that really matters, okay? What’d you say? My work, sloppy? Huh? You better save the sleep talk for when you’re in bed. I didn’t mishear you, did I?”

Aina resumed, “Aya? I knooow you didn’t. I knoooooow you didn’t just say that what she said about me doesn’t matter. Right?”

Whoa, it spread, thought Kai. Once the ball began rolling, it wasn’t going to stop until it reached the bottom of the proverbial hill. It’d be a different story if there was someone willing to catch it, but when the ball was as thorny as these three were, it wasn’t something to get excited over. Even when the proverbial ball reached the bottom, it wasn’t like the spikes on it were going to disappear. Therefore, it was probably best to leave it alone.

He and Nanaka sighed together as if on cue and, after exchanging looks, left the room. Even after they’d quietly shut the door behind them, they could still hear the livid shouting match going on, as Aina, Eru, and Aya were completely oblivious to the fact that they’d slipped out.

“This looks like it might be an all-nighter,” Nanaka said, but couldn’t quite contain the happiness in her voice.

All-nighters weren’t exactly something to welcome with open arms, but Kai found himself smiling back and responding, “Yeah, it does.”

Before Kai and Nanaka left, they’d informed the latter’s mother (who was preparing dinner) of the circumstances upstairs, and that was actually only a moment ago. The room they’d left was probably still a war zone of insults.

“A long time ago, Eru told me this,” Nanaka began. Kai turned to his side to see her tilting her head up longingly at the stars. With nostalgia in her voice, she continued on to say, “She said that she names every single one of the characters she draws. They’re like her family... or maybe her kids, I think. Whatever they are, they’re all priceless treasures for her... So, I’m sure it must have been shocking for her... and incredibly so.”

Kai wanted to say something, but unable to find the right words, he turned to the sky, as well. The summer night was a black so dark that it seemed like a hole with no bottom.

Eru may have been able to cry today. She may have been able to smile today. But either way, she wasn’t going to forget what happened on that day, which wasn’t going to disappear. Kai knew all of this about Eru because he was the same way. He was sure that the regret would sink to the bottom of her heart and hide away in a dim corner of her soul.

“But still...” As he spoke, Kai felt as if he was asking himself, But still... what? “But still... We have to press forward, even if we have to drag her along with us.”

“...Yeah.” Nanaka spoke softly as she repeated, “Yeah, you’re right.” Suddenly, she quickened her pace and stepped out in front of him with a soft, pure-hearted smile. “By the way, Kai-kun. Did you notice?”

“...Huh? Notice what?”

“Eru called everyone by their names for the first time,” she observed.

Oh. Now that you mention it... “Ha ha,” Kai laughed lightly as Nanaka returned to his side, and then glanced over at her to find that she happened to be doing the same. They continued walking without a word, but eventually could no longer hold it in and broke out into genial laughter as they strolled home.

They couldn’t help themselves—it was too funny.

◇

They had less than a week before the day of the Summit results conference, and their daily schedule felt like every day was a club bootcamp. At first, they’d been meeting up at the clubroom in the morning and sticking around for as long as the school’s scheduled club hours allowed. After leaving campus, everyone who could keep going would head to Kai’s house. That said, other than Aina (who had missed a handful of days in order to help her grandmother), everyone was always present.

At some point in the middle of this lifestyle, Kai had noticed something. He noticed something, but couldn’t say it out loud because it would shake the very foundation of ‘club activity.’

However, there was now someone in the social game club who wouldn’t hesitate to simply question her doubts out loud. “Hey, hold on. Do we even need to go to the clubroom? Can’t we just start at Kai-kun’s? Aren’t we wasting our time on the train?” One day, as the gang exited the clubroom and stepped into the still-hot evening air, Aina flapped the hood of her jacket in the wind and brought up the untouchable topic. Kai could see her white collarbone peeking out from underneath her blouse and turned away, feeling like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have.

Aina had probably made her statement just because she was hot. Kai had previously suggested that she remove the jacket she was wearing, but apparently it was important for avoiding sunlight and making sweater paws. Kai didn’t understand the relevance of the second point, but according to Aina, it was of great importance.

“Kai-kun, if you don’t mind...” Nanaka meekly asked, “Can we?”

That was unfair, he’d thought. Whether she was laughing or crying, his answer wouldn’t change, but the way she’d asked hadn’t left him any room to say no.

And so, now their days began with everyone coming to Kai’s apartment in the morning and going home at night. They didn’t have enough computers, so they all worked together to lug Eru’s work PC out of the clubroom, which was Kai’s main exercise for the summer.

However, there was still an issue with using Kai’s house—or more accurately, an ‘issue’ currently visiting it.

“What’s with the new character?!” Misako had asked, kicking the front door open to literally tumble inside while listlessly groaning about the heat. She’d begun shouting as soon as she hopped back up, although saying she’d ‘hopped’ up might be an overstatement, as she’d really gotten up onto her hands and knees in order to arch her back.

Misako’s statement had been directed toward Aina, and the indescribable look of pure disdain in her eyes as she’d looked down on his sister burned itself into Kai’s memory.

Still, this was within expectations; in fact, Kai had been counting on it. To make a long story short, he wanted to enlist Misako’s help: not as ‘Shiraseki Kai’s sister,’ but as ‘Shiraseki Misako, the novelist.’

However, Misako instantly shook her head, saying, “Nope, not happening.”

“Wh-Why?” he’d asked.

“I’m not trying to be mean,” she’d told him. “Kai, let me put it this way: the work of ‘Shiraseki Kai’ isn’t just the best for this situation, it’s a must. After all, I’m guessing this is your plan, right?”

“Yeah...?”

“Then that settles it. Don’t get in my waaaaaaaaaaay!!!” shouting at the top of her lungs, Misako sprawled out onto the floor next to where Nanaka, Aya, Eru, and Aina were working and took a deep breath. “A nice smell plus a nice smell plus a nice smell plus a nice smell equals the tastiest breath I’ve ever breeeaaathed!!!”

This may seem redundant, but Aina’s glare was, again, cold beyond what words can express. Misako seemed to sense this gaze, as she blinked once and leapt to her feet. Aina then suddenly returned to her senses, but didn’t bother putting on her cutesy mask. Perhaps she’d given up, Kai reflected, because it was too late.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady,” his sister said. “I’m Misako, Kai’s older sister. My thanks for your stimulating gaze.”

“...You’re welcome. I’m Yozakura Aina. And this is... Kai-kun’s sister?”

“Yes, indeed!” Misako exclaimed. “I’m also Nanaka-chan, Aya-chan, and Eru-chan’s older sister in my heart! I can be your older sister, too, if you so please!”

“...Um, Aina-san,” Kai said meekly. “Even if you look at me like that, I can’t do anything about her.”

“You ought to train your beast better,” spat Aina.

“That’s right, I’m a beast!” Misako agreed enthusiastically. “A poor beast, craving Aina-chan’s love! Oh! I ask of you! Won’t you call me ‘onee-chan’ just once?!”

“...Um, Aina-san,” Kai said meekly again. “Like I said, um, even if you look at me like that...”

“Hey,” Aina said with a massive sigh. “Does this brute know any tricks?”

“Tricks?” he questioned.

“Other than writing novels,” Aina clarified.

“............I guess maybe the fact that she’s even louder and more of a nuisance than you’d think?” said Kai, hazarding a guess.

“Kaaaaaaaaai?!” Misako protested, “Aren’t you going a bit too far?! There’re other things you could’ve said there, like the fact that I always show up when it counts to hint at important advice!”

“So basically, you’re a nuisance?” Aina pressed.

“Well, she’s definitely loud,” Aya chimed in. “Oh, by the way, hi! I’m Oushima Aya. This is the first time we’ve met.”

“I find this incredibly vexing, but I agree with you,” Eru noted. “...Also, I’m Kuroba Eru.”

“How rude of me...!” Misako apologized. “I looked at the swimsuit photo so many times, I’d completely forgotten that we’ve never met! I won’t mind if you shower your new sister with adoration—Aina-chan? Why are we holding hands? Where are we going? That’s the front door, you know? Are we going shopping? A walk? Are we playing outside now?”

“Hey, Misako-san?” Aina asked menacingly. “Would you get mad if someone started singing an indecipherable song through a loudspeaker while you were trying to focus on a novel?”

“W-Well, I mean... yes?”

“Alright, then,” said Aina, dragging Misako by the hand toward the front door.

She was going to send her right back through the exit, Kai realized. There was only one thought in his mind, which was: absolutely superb.

In a fit of ecstasy, Misako muttered, “Ah, her fingers are so soft and slender, and yet so strong... M-My heart won’t stop throbbing...!” Kai couldn’t help but to hope that his sister would legitimately get herself hurled out the door.

They were three steps away. Three steps away from the front door, Misako returned to her senses and slammed on the brakes while screaming, “Stoooooop!!!”

“No way, ♪” Aina purred without a shred of sympathy.

“L-Let’s talk it out!” Misako begged. “Aina-chan...!”

Outstanding, thought Kai, who had never seen his sister so overwhelmed in his life. Nanaka must have felt the same way, as she was watching the scene unfold with her mouth agape.

Mustering every gram of willpower in her body, Misako jumped... and prostrated herself on the floor. “I-I beg of you, please, wait...!”

“What?” asked Aina, through the smile plastered on her face.

“There be...” Misako uttered, her face still buried into the floor.

“‘There be’?”

“As wretched as ye may find me, there be a use for one such as I—Shiraseki Misako—to better the lives of every soul present!” Misako declared dramatically.

“You can help everyone?” Aina clarified.

“And that be... cooking!” announced Misako, springing back to both her life and her feet. “Japanese, Western, Chinese, Indian curries, and even the home-cooked taste of every mother in this country! I can do it all! I really can, I promise! So please, allow me the lowest seat of this banquet, here in this hidden paradise...!”

Misako openly displayed her exaggerated crocodile tears. Seeing the oldest person in the room wail this pathetically managed to kill Aina’s sense of hostility, and she gave way by saying, “Well... I guess if it tastes good...”

“But nee-san,” Kai couldn’t help but to interject, “isn’t that a little... hopeless?”

“Hopeless?” Misako asked.

“Your cooking,” he specified.

“Hehe,” she chuckled with an infuriatingly smug look on her face. “Don’t underestimate your big sister.”

Kai could already see how things were about to pan out: Misako would pull up her sleeves (never mind the fact that she was wearing a t-shirt, because she’d still do the motion), and dash outside. All the while, she’d be shouting about securing ingredients. After a while, she’d return, drenched in sweat. The bags in her hands would be from the convenience store instead of the supermarket, and they’d be jam packed with cup noodles... or at least, that was how it was meant to go.

Kai’s prediction had been right, up to the part where Misako left for groceries. Everything past that had been wrong in every way. The dinner Misako made them was nothing short of perfection.

“Thank you for the food! It tasted great!” said Nanaka, with a huge grin.

“I... could make... this...” Aina muttered, unable to accept the way things had played out.

“Pheeew, that was delicious,” Aya remarked blissfully.

“That was... satisfactory.” Despite her curt reaction, Eru had eaten the most out of them all.

“Kai,” Misako called. Kai had lost a round of rock-paper-scissors and was now washing dishes, writhing in discomfort as he surveyed the opinions of the room. His sister walked over to him and continued, “If I wasn’t able to write novels, I’m sure this would have been my calling...”

“Your calling?” he asked suspiciously.

“A trivial job: I’d cook, deliver, and serve food to those four for the rest of my life...” Misako said happily.

“...I see.”

“Hm? Did you not like the food, Kai?”

“No, that’s not... Honestly, it was shockingly good.” In truth, Kai was undoubtedly the most surprised out of everyone. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have a good reason to think Misako’s cooking skills were subpar. In all the time he’d spent with her since moving to Niigata, she hadn’t cooked for him a single time. She’d always found some excuse to eat out or grab a bento box.

Thus, Kai had assumed she couldn’t cook. But upon pressing for an explanation, all he received was a declaration of laziness: “It was just too much work! ☆” Misako proclaimed with a wink and peace sign.

Apparently, Misako had previously needed culinary experience to write out the details of a cooking scene. She had been able to taste the food in question by going out to eat, but that didn’t help her all that much when it came to writing about the process behind making it in the first place. So, she had decided to cook it herself.

Since then, Misako did the same anytime she had a cooking scene, and at some point she’d come to be remarkably skilled. At this point, she was capable of making pretty much anything.

“Let me give you a hand,” offered Misako, reaching for a dirty dish.

“It’s fine,” Kai replied. “It’s cramped over here.”

“But you’re not satisfied with my answer, right?” There was a small clattering sound as she began washing plates beside him. Misako didn’t turn his way, but it seemed that she’d seen right through him.

“...Do you not want to get involved because you’re a professional?” Kai ventured.

“That’s not it,” she demurred.

“Then, why?” he demanded, knowing that as the team had worked on the application which they were now slated to turn in for Summit, they had run into one major problem: the script.

Breaking the project down into simple terms, it was basically an app where the user was to read a story as they communicated with a character. It was going to be simple conversational phrases like you’d see on LIME, but they still needed some form of script.

In the world of social game management, larger teams (like the LW team at Tsukigase) often employed writers to exclusively work on scripts and dialogue. However, smaller social games frequently saw the planner doubling up as the scriptwriter.

The majority of the content currently being released in Meikun High’s Miracle Stage had been written by one of Nanaka’s friends in the literature club. Kai and Nanaka had taken charge of the flavor text and whatnot for all the miscellaneous items, but they didn’t have any experience when it came to writing out a proper story. During his time managing Rondo at Tsukigase, Kai had relied on his team’s writers for both the main and event stories, and never once did it himself.

“It’s not like I want you to write it for us,” Kai pleaded. “I just want you to look it over and make sure it’s not too bad.” As a matter of fact, that was the extent of what he could ask for. Whether the script was prose or software, it didn’t change the fact that a direct contribution from an outsider was against Summit rules.

“You want me to point out typos for you?” Misako offered.

“No, I can just look that up,” Kai refuted.

“Then there’s nothing I can do.”

“...If it’s because we’re just a bunch of kids—”

“That’s not it.” Like a mother reading a picture book, she repeated, “That’s not it, Kai.” Then, Misako chuckled playfully.

“This isn’t a joke,” chastised Kai.

“Alright, how about I give you the answer instead of a hint this time?”

“The answer?”

“Kai, you have to be the one to write it. That’s the only answer here,” Misako told him plainly. “It’s not for me to supervise you, and it’s definitely not for anyone else to write it.”

“I don’t understand,” Kai muttered.

After finishing off her last plate, Misako wiped her hands down with a towel and placed them on her hips. “I’m not saying this as a joke,” she lectured. “You showed me your project plan. And now, this is my genuine opinion—not as your older sister, but as another creator.”

“...Can you explain what you mean?”

“You’re right in thinking that passing it through me will improve the structure and delivery—the overall quality of the writing,” she clarified. “I have confidence in my skills. But in all probability, that isn’t what’s needed here.” Misako’s hand slipped from her hips and extended out to pat Kai on the head, where it messily ran back and forth through his hair.

“Hey, what are you—”

“Your feelings, Kai. As long as your feelings are in it, it’ll be alright. Put your faith in your sister every now and again.”

Kai knew straight away that she wasn’t messing with him this time. That much was easy to tell; they were siblings, after all. That fact had caused him legitimate stress at points, but... when it came down to it, he always sincerely trusted her.

But... “Just so you know... I’m a planner, myself, so... I always put my feelings into my work,” he told her.

Kai’s retort begot a rare sight: Misako’s eyes went wide with surprise, and then she smiled happily. “I see. That’s fair. I apologize for suggesting otherwise, Kai.”

“...Kai-kun, do you have a sister complex?”

“Whoa!”

“‘Whoa’? Aww, that’s mean! ♪” Aina hummed. “Don’t treat me like a spooky ghost!” She’d appeared right behind Kai from out of nowhere, and for whatever reason, she was now back to her dainty persona.

“That’s right!” Misako announced, “Kai is incurably sick with a severe case of sister complex!”

“You shouldn’t,” Kai growled, slapping away the hand that had been left atop his head, “lie through your teeth like that!”

“I lied?” Misako protested.

“You did...”

“Really?”

Already sick of this exchange, Kai decided to ignore the teary, puppy-dog eyes his sister was making.

“So, Kai-kun, you’re writing the script?” Aina asked.

“...I am now,” he said.

“I see... Okay, I’ll pat your head, too. ♪”

“Wha—” With no time to duck away, Aina’s right hand made its way above his head. A feathery sense of weight rested on his skull as her fingers slipped through strands of his hair.

“Hey, Kai-kun...?” she said.

The hand on Kai’s head effectively meant he couldn’t move. He couldn’t turn away from Aina. Her large eyes and the long lashes that bordered them were clearer than usual. If he set his mind to it, he could probably count how many she had.

Even though he knew she was only pretending to be a sweet angel, her faint, gentle expression threatened to melt his heart away. With a soft smile, she told him, “If you’re adding voice lines, there’s a lot of work on my end, too. ♪ C’mon, if you’ve got time to think perverted things about me, then hurry up and finish the script. Got it?”

“............Y-Yes ma’am...” At some point, the hand in his hair had begun squeezing. The dichotomy between her faux-innocent face and her real-vicious words could only be described in one word: terrifying.