"Sagiri will definitely want to focus on drawing rather than contracts or any other communication," Yukima Azuma said calmly, his voice warm and confident.
"Besides," he added, eyes softening as he looked at her, "even if we do sign a collaboration contract, I'll make sure Sagiri keeps her freedom. She'll only draw what she truly wants to draw."
Those words weren't just comforting—they were temptations wrapped in gentle sincerity.
Sagiri's heart swayed. She hadn't expected the conversation to go this way. Yukima Azuma wasn't pushing. He wasn't coercing. He was… inviting. And she saw him not as a corporate figure, but as a friend. As someone who had cooked a warm, delicious meal just for her.
She mulled over it for a long while, eyes lowered.
Finally, her voice floated out like a whisper:
"…If you really mean it… and the contract is like you say… then… okay."
Yukima Azuma smiled. It wasn't triumphant—it was soft. Understanding.
He had won her over, and he didn't need to gloat.
When Sagiri finished her food, a satisfied little hum escaping her lips, it was time for him to leave. He rose, picked up the empty dishes with practiced grace, and turned to go.
But then—
"You… when will you bring the contract?"
Her voice stopped him in his tracks.
He turned, surprised at the hopeful tone in her question. Her eyes—big, bright, and just a bit unsure—met his. She was small. Too small for the burdens she carried.
Since that incident, she hadn't stepped outside. Not even once. She didn't interact with people. Only her strict, hard-to-approach aunt remained in her life. So this—this new bond—they had formed? It meant everything to her.
Yukima Azuma saw that clearly.
So he smiled gently, took out his phone, and gave it a little wave.
"Sagiri has my Line, right? Just message me when it's convenient. We can arrange a time that works."
He paused for a beat, then added with lighthearted solemnity, "Besides, we're friends now. Even if it's midnight and raining buckets outside—if you need me, just call. I'll be there."
That made her eyes go wide.
Because the scariest thing in life isn't loneliness. It's finding something warm after being alone for so long—and not knowing what to do with it.
But now, Sagiri had found a place to lean on.
Her heart pounded.
"I… I understand."
Yukima Azuma gave a teasing nod. "Umu, umu. I look forward to working with you, Eromanga-sensei."
"Don't call me that!" she cried, cheeks pink.
He laughed. Bright, clear, and annoyingly happy.
She shoved him toward the door.
Later, after cleaning up and stacking the dishes with care, Yukima Azuma changed his shoes at the entrance. Before leaving, his eyes lingered on a framed photo by the door.
Then he opened the front door and stepped outside.
But just a few steps out, something tugged at him.
He turned—and sure enough, at the second-floor window, he spotted a tuft of silver hair peeking out.
Sagiri.
Their eyes met. She froze, then ducked under the window in panic. A few seconds passed, and then—curiosity won over embarrassment—she peeked out again.
Yukima Azuma hadn't moved.
He pointed his fingers at her like a toy gun.
"Bang."
She gasped and ducked again.
When she peeked out a third time, he was already walking away, his silhouette slowly retreating under the orange hue of the setting sun.
Sagiri's heart fluttered.
She raised her hand, mimicking his gun gesture with her pinky extended.
"Bang."
She hit his back—at least in her heart.
And just like that, the heavy fog of isolation she'd lived with for so long… scattered.
Back in her room, Sagiri dove onto her bed, hugged her pillow tight, and rolled around like a happy little hamster.
On her face bloomed the brightest, most genuine smile she had worn in an entire year.
Meanwhile…
Back in his own home, Yukima Azuma's mind was already racing with his next steps.
The Bunny Girl Senpai movie was progressing steadily. No issues there.
As for Mommy Guardian—Kurokawa Akane—her adolescence syndrome symptoms had almost completely disappeared.
And that was from the light novel alone.
In retrospect, maybe he had over-prepared. He assumed the novel alone wouldn't be enough to heal hearts or alter the narrative. That's why he also arranged the movie version to reach a broader audience.
But maybe… maybe the novel was enough.
Because adolescence syndrome wasn't about objective facts—it was about the heart. Healing didn't require rewriting history. Just offering warmth.
Still, the upcoming film would help. It would boost Akane's public image. It would promote the Youth series. And as a Laplace-signed artist, Akane was now the ideal spokesperson for the brand.
Two volumes were already published.
Sales of the upcoming ones were bound to explode.
This was a win-win. No complaints.
So—what's next?
Yukima Azuma's thoughts drifted toward a more cosmic concern: the comet.
Charlotte.
The fragments had crashed into Gifu Prefecture. But there'd been little to no updates. Either the fragments were quietly collected for research… or they were still submerged at the bottom of a newly formed inland lake.
Should he go investigate?
He considered it.
But then shook his head.
He didn't need whatever power those fragments might offer. He already had the system—a guaranteed path to supernatural abilities.
Better to focus on building the future.
Laplace Corporation was growing rapidly, but still far from the old-money elites that had ruled for centuries. These families had wealth, land, bloodlines.
But they lacked vision.
And that—vision—was where Azuma had them beat.
AI. IoT. Advanced networks.
"Let's build a short video platform," he said aloud, tapping the table.
It was the perfect market.
Short videos consumed less time, drew more engagement, and encouraged immersive content cycles. And in Japan? Existing video platforms like Niconico were stuck in the past. Some still ran on floppy disk storage.
Floppy disks.
He chuckled.
Laplace already had the tech. The data models. The trained personnel. Japan's politicians and traditionalists wouldn't even realize what hit them.
If he launched early, he'd control the new era of expression.
Monetization, cultural sway, political weight—he'd seize all of it.
And come next year, Laplace's funding would skyrocket.
No risk was too big.
The short video platform would become Laplace's cornerstone.
He sketched out the basic strategy, planning to hand it over to Yukino in the morning.
Then, with a stretch and a sigh, he turned to his cats, scooped them up, and took a long, slow inhale.
"Ahhh… the good stuff," he murmured, high on the scent of his fluffballs.
"I'm still just in high school. There's no need to rush. Time is on my side."
He closed his eyes.
The future was long.
Even Shimonoya Gan'an had only begun to dominate in his fifties.
Azuma? He hadn't even turned twenty.
With a faint smile, he let sleep take him.
But—
When he opened his eyes again, everything had changed.
A strange ceiling.
A different room.
And a confused voice echoing in his mind:
"…Is this really happening? A second Isekai? Without even getting to enjoy the first one?"
"…Did I just raise a death flag?"