Suddenly, Sora stood up and took two deliberate steps back, arms slightly crossed over her chest.
Haruki blinked, caught completely off guard. Was she... actually taking two steps back? For real?
Is she seriously thinking I'm that kind of guy?
He stared at her, dumbfounded.
Sora must have realized how dramatic she looked, because a second later, she burst into a nervous laugh. "Aha, haha! Okay, okay—I was just joking. Forget I said anything."
She eased back into her seat, face composed again, though Haruki couldn't tell if she was actually calm or just faking it really well.
Still, the atmosphere in the room had taken a strange turn—drifting from casual to mildly chaotic, thanks to the direction Sora had taken their conversation.
Trying to shift gears, Haruki cleared his throat. "Oh, uh—here, your car key. I had a driver take us both home last night, so I ended up with it."
Sora's eyes lit up. "My car's here?"
"Yeah, it's parked out front," Haruki nodded.
She glanced outside, then tilted her head. "Thinking of driving to work in this weather?"
Haruki shrugged. "Why not?"
Without answering, Sora scanned the room. "I'm borrowing your umbrella."
She grabbed one from the umbrella stand, scooped up the key, and darted out the door.
A few minutes later, still holding the umbrella, she returned—now carrying a small overnight bag.
Haruki raised a brow. "What now?"
"Bathroom," she said simply, walking past him.
Moments later, he heard the sound of running water from the bathroom.
…Is she taking a shower? Haruki blinked. This woman… really doesn't hold back, huh?
He chuckled under his breath, then turned to the kitchen. The rain outside gave everything a slow, quiet rhythm. Feeling a little aimless, he started brewing some tea. While the water boiled, he washed up the breakfast dishes for both of them.
By the time Sora emerged from the bathroom, Haruki was already sipping tea at the table.
"You sure know how to relax," she said, towel drying the ends of her hair.
She had changed clothes—the smoky scent of grilled meat and late-night drinks now washed away. Her casual emerald skirt was replaced with a crisp white blouse tucked into a sleek black pencil skirt. She looked fresh, sharp, and ready to step into an office.
Sora helped herself to a cup of tea, took a sip, and let out a soft sigh of satisfaction.
"Mmm… this is good."
Then, her eyes lingered on the teacup in her hand. Something seemed to dawn on her.
After a long pause, she looked at Haruki and murmured, "You really are something, you know?"
"If you mean the tea, it's twenty-five yen a bag at the supermarket downstairs," Haruki replied flatly. "One bag lasts half a year. Pretty magical, yeah?"
Sora rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant. You really know how to kill the mood."
She took another sip before speaking again, more thoughtfully this time.
"We've only known each other a few weeks, right?"
"Yeah."
"But somehow… when I'm around you, I feel way less pressure." Her voice was quieter now. "There are friends I've known for years, and I still don't act this freely with them. I wouldn't crash at their place. I wouldn't use their shower without a second thought."
She glanced down at the teacup again. "That's why I said you're kind of… magical."
There was a pause.
Then, she added with a teasing grin, "Or maybe you're one of those types—y'know, the kind of guy who makes women lower their guard, gain their trust, and then completely play them?"
Haruki stared at her.
*…Is she seriously insulting me right now, but in a roundabout way?*
He opened his mouth to respond… then thought better of it, sighing instead.
The room fell into a peaceful, if slightly awkward, silence—broken only by the gentle sound of rain outside and the clinking of porcelain as Sora took another sip of tea.
---
The rain had finally stopped.
Sora, now fresh from her shower and properly dressed, gathered her things and left Haruki's apartment after thanking him. She carried her bag and umbrella, calm and composed, as if everything that happened earlier was just another casual morning.
A few minutes after she left...
Ding!
Haruki's phone buzzed.
A message popped up on LINE. It was from Sora.
> "For last night's dinner and the driver. 😊"
Attached was a payment transfer.
Haruki sighed with a small smile. She really doesn't miss a thing.
—
Without realizing it, the fifth chapter of *The Garden of Words* had already been released in the latest issue of the Inkbolt Series.
From its debut, the series had seen a rapid rise in reader votes. The first chapter debuted at third place among the serialized works. The second climbed to second. By the third chapter, The Garden of Words had taken the top spot—and it hadn't budged since.
The fourth and fifth chapters both dominated the rankings, with the fifth chapter racking up over 2,400 reader votes—more than double that of the second-ranked series, which sat at a little over 1,100.
Even compared to several titles in Sora magazine—the mainline publication with a far larger reader base—*The Garden of Words* had caught up in sheer vote count. It was a rare feat.
Naturally, it hadn't gone unnoticed.
Thanks to the new serialization, Inkbolt Series saw a 10% bump in overall sales over the last few issues. Everyone at Kurokawa Publishing knew which work was responsible.
And with that, the name Mizushiro-sensei, the creator behind *The Garden of Words*, started spreading across the editorial floors.
Writers from other magazines under the Kurokawa banner began to hear whispers too. A powerful newcomer had emerged on Inkbolt Series, and his momentum was impossible to ignore.
Kurokawa housed dozens of publications and countless serializations. But someone who could consistently top the rankings from the very beginning? That took real talent.
It wasn't just within the company.
Among students across various universities—especially high schoolers—the name Mizushiro-sensei was beginning to gain traction. Students, after all, made up the core demographic of manga readers. By high school, they had both critical taste and some pocket money to spare on magazines.
Even in Haruki's own classroom, murmurs of the manga began to surface.
"Hey Emi Kojima, don't you usually buy Inkbolt?" A classmate leaned toward the girl sitting a few rows up. "I've already finished everything on Astra. and Tenseisha publishing... totally bored. Mind lending me your copies?"
"Sure, I don't mind." Emi Kojima, a quiet and unassuming girl whose grades were average and presence lowkey—much like Haruki himself—pulled a small stack of magazines from her desk drawer.
"Here's the last few issues. Take your pick."
"There's so many... which one's actually worth reading?" the boy asked.
"Hmm... personally, I think *The Garden of Words* is the best. If you want to start that one, begin with Issue 396. That's when it first started."
Haruki, sitting at the back of the classroom with his head resting on his arms, heard their voices. A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
It made him happy, hearing someone in class discuss his work. Still, he had no plans to reveal that he was Mizushiro-sensei. That would only bring trouble.
He never set out to become famous. His only real goal had been to read more manga from other dimensions. If he could make some money on the side, even better.
The idea of being recognized on the street by fans? That didn't appeal to him at all.
No—what he wanted was solitude. A peaceful corner of the world where he could quietly draw manga in peace.
So, after just a few seconds of quiet eavesdropping, he closed his eyes and returned to his nap.
But in the front row, Kanna—one of the school's top students—was now deep in thought.
The title *The Garden of Words*... it sounded so familiar.
Within a minute, she remembered exactly why.
A month or so ago, when she'd asked Haruki to borrow some class notes, she had noticed a folded comic draft peeking out from his desk. Curious, she had peeked. A rainy pavilion. A boy. A woman. She'd read just a bit before Haruki gently snatched it back and muttered something vague about it being nothing important.
She remembered it clearly now.
Kanna turned around.
"Excuse me."
The two classmates chatting about manga turned to her in surprise.
"Could I borrow Issue 396 for a bit?" she asked politely.
"Uh, sure!" Emi Kojima replied, a little flustered.
Kanna took the magazine, flipped to the index, and quickly located the start of *The Garden of Words*.
Her eyes scanned the first page.
The familiar sight of the rainy pavilion met her again. The same poem. The same delicate pacing.
She turned her head just slightly to glance back at Haruki, still dozing at his desk.
So it really was his work.
How... did he get it published?
Her fingers tightened slightly on the pages.