As she promised, Yukinoshita Haruno kept her mouth shut. However, she continued cradling her face in her hands, staring unblinkingly at Kyousuke.
When his gaze met hers, she didn't look away—instead, her big eyes sparkled like she was trying to shoot beams at him.
Thankfully, Kyousuke was well aware of his own charm.
When their eyes met, he simply smiled confidently, refusing to back down.
Two socially intimidating people, grinning at each other like it was a duel—until the bizarre standoff was broken by the arrival of Okudera.
Dressed in a white one-piece that flattered her graceful figure, she walked in from the kitchen carrying a wooden tray piled high with sushi.
Her elegant, swaying movements checked every box of Kyousuke's mental image of the perfect wife.
"Wow, I could already smell the aroma from here," Haruno said cheerfully, turning her head.
"Hehe, Haruno, you're exaggerating. Sushi is cold food, you know," Okudera chuckled softly as she carefully placed the tray on the table.
"I'm not! I could seriously smell the salmon!" Just moments ago, she had the poise of a traditional Yamato Nadeshiko, but now she was pouting like a spoiled child.
'This woman...'
She's amazing, Kyousuke thought with admiration.
It was like she wore a hundred different masks, switching between them effortlessly depending on the situation.
No matter what came her way, she handled it with grace.
"I'll go clear the dishes over there," Okudera said, after refilling their glasses.
She headed toward the table where Kyousuke had eaten earlier.
"Hehehe, were you and Okudera-senpai having a romantic candlelit meal just now?" Haruno teased like a gossip-hungry best friend.
"It's still morning, Yukinoshita-san." Kyousuke might not be able to switch expressions as easily as she could, but he could win a staring contest with a puppy for five minutes straight without blinking!
"Ehh, stingy~ Stingy men like you won't be popular with the ladies, you know, Kyousuke-san."
Smile.
While Kyousuke was handling the overly enthusiastic older woman, someone else arrived just outside the restaurant—Hiratsuka Shizuka.
"It's just up ahead. I'm telling you, Okudera's cooking will blow your mind!" Still wearing her signature white trench coat over a plain shirt, Shizuka had come straight from school.
"Hehe, then I better make sure to eat a lot," said the gentle voice of the colleague accompanying her.
"Yes! You definitely should! Since Okudera opened this place, we can have dinner here every night now…"
As the two chatted, they reached the entrance and peered inside through the glass door. They saw two people already chatting.
"Uh, I just remembered I left something at school. Shizuka, could you come with me to get it?" her colleague said suddenly.
"Huh? Can't it wait until after we eat? I'm starving," Shizuka mumbled, clutching her stomach.
"Pretty please, Shizuka~" the colleague pleaded, hands clasped like a child, her voice soft and sweet.
"Agh, fine, fine... But we'll have to apologize to Okudera later," Shizuka said, scratching her head with a sigh.
"Ehehe, let's go!"
And just like that, the two who had just arrived hurried off.
"Huh?" Haruno tilted her head and looked at the door behind Kyousuke.
"I could've sworn I saw Shizuka just now…"
Seeing no trace of her target, Haruno sat back down.
She popped a finger she'd used to grab sushi into her mouth and slowly licked it clean with her soft pink tongue.
When she noticed Kyousuke watching her, she gave a belated gasp and covered her mouth.
"Oh my, how improper of me," she said, though her large, faintly flushed eyes were still locked on Kyousuke's face, as if trying to read his expression.
'Sure, your glossy salmon-kissed lips are quite the sight,' Kyousuke thought.
But I'm not your average guy.
The image of Yukari nibbling his fingers when he fed her sushi flashed in his mind—that moment of lips brushing skin and teeth—way more seductive than anything Haruno was pulling right now.
"Boss!"
"Boss!"
"Boss!" xN
Suddenly, a rowdy group of people swarmed the restaurant entrance.
"Eek! Scary! Are we being ambushed by delinquents?!" Haruno squealed, scooting over next to Kyousuke despite there being an empty chair between them.
"…You really are dramatic," Kyousuke muttered, side-eyeing the theatrical woman.
From her reactions so far, he was sure Haruno knew those people were here for him.
Especially since they were holding congratulatory flower wreaths for the grand opening.
In Japan, it's customary to send wreaths—those circular arrangements of flowers—on occasions like shop openings or birthdays.
Think of them like garlands, but more formal.
Kyousuke stood up to greet the newcomers on behalf of Okudera.
"Why so many people?" he asked the man in front—Kisaki Tetta.
Knowing that new businesses needed good publicity, Kyousuke had called in some help to hand out flyers.
He paid them, of course.
These were the kind of guys who didn't mind reselling concert tickets for extra cash—doing some promotional work was nothing.
"We're here to eat, obviously," Tetta grinned, placing the wreath by an empty table.
This was a restaurant funded by their boss, after all.
Once Kyousuke confirmed that everyone had eaten lunch already, he handed out the flyers he'd prepared.
As he watched them disperse to school gates around town, full of energy and purpose, he felt a strong sense of pride.
He was even solving his crew's side-job problems.
He really was becoming a proper boss.
Hearing the noise, Okudera came out from the kitchen and smiled at the familiar faces like Hatake Gorou, who had helped earlier.
After a brief greeting, she turned to head back in and continue serving dishes.
"I'll handle the customers. You go chat with your kouhai," Kyousuke said, stopping her.
He made his way to the kitchen instead.
Tetta, Gorou, and the others found a table on the side and sat down, their eyes shining with anticipation at the thought of being served by their boss himself.
Meanwhile, Haruno had cozied up to Okudera, chatting away like an old friend.
She didn't ask about Kyousuke's connection to the earlier group—just teased them like a girlfriend would over a budding romance.
Although it was still technically vacation time, the school term was about to begin, and many students were already back in town.
Plus, the restaurant was located in a bustling shopping district near the station.
By dinnertime, business was booming, and Okudera had changed into more practical clothes for cooking.
She hadn't expected such a turnout and hadn't hired any staff yet, so Kyousuke jumped into the kitchen to help.
Haruno volunteered to be a makeshift waitress, flitting between tables in her high-end designer clothes without a care in the world.
She took orders with a smile and handed them off to Kyousuke's subordinates, who were acting as runners.
As night fell, the shopping street lit up in a rainbow of colors, and Tokyo's nightlife officially began.
But for Entei, their day was winding down.
"Ahh~ Business was booming! Okudera, your dream finally came true!" Hiratsuka Shizuka cheered, thumping her leg like a drum as she collapsed into a chair, satisfied with her role as today's 'disciplinary officer.'
That girl finally showed up at the restaurant in the afternoon.
She devoured a huge meal, and when customers started arriving, she was so stuffed she could barely move.
She managed to bring out one dish before clutching her stomach and yelling about a stomachache.
With no other choice, Okudera had to lead her upstairs to let her rest.
"Mm!" Okudera looked up from wiping the table and exchanged a smile with Kyousuke, who was mopping the floor.
For a moment, it felt just like the old days back at the Garden of Words.
"Hey, Shizuka, can you walk Haruno home for me?"
"Huh? But the cleaning's not done yet," Haruno replied, still wiping down the tables.
Despite working all day, she somehow looked less tired than Shizuka.
"Don't worry about it—you worked hard today. I'll treat everyone to a feast another day," Okudera said, taking off her gloves and heading into the kitchen.
She returned with a box full of snacks she had prepared in advance and handed it to Haruno and Shizuka.
"Let's go, Haruno! Kyousuke can handle the rest here," Shizuka said cheerfully, grabbing the snack box and pulling the still-reluctant Haruno out the door.
Jeez, it's a special day—you'd think she'd realize people still have things to do!
Haruno really doesn't get social cues.
'I guess I didn't teach her well enough.'
If not for all the chaos earlier in the day, something heartwarming or even exciting might've happened tonight. But as it stood…
After accompany Okudera to her home, Kyousuke returned, still hearing her parting words echo in his head: "You have to come to Entei every week!"
With more than a week left before the new semester started, Kyousuke took Kisaki Tetta out shopping.
Not to buy a big house or anything—this trip was to pick out graduation gifts for Makki Kyousuke, Eikichi Onizuka, and the others.
Back when Kyousuke was still stressing over meals, they gave him a luxury car worth four million yen.
Later, they even helped him land an easy part-time job.
With Kyousuke's belief in repaying kindness, there was no way he was going to brush it off with just a trip or vacation—especially since money wasn't exactly a problem for him anymore.
He'd paid attention during their previous trip, noticing that Makki Kyousuke always rented Lexus cars—clearly a favorite.
So Kyousuke picked out a Lexus for him.
As for Onizuka and the others, he bought them new motorcycles.
It's not that he didn't want to gift them cars—they just couldn't afford to maintain them.
Kisaki Tetta had done all the research. When it came to stuff like this, Tetta was basically like a super-efficient digital assistant.
All in all, the gifts cost around 25 million yen, which barely made a dent in Kyousuke's finances.
By now, he had published eight volumes of One Punch Man, with a total of five million copies sold.
Each volume sold over 600,000 copies, placing him among the top-tier manga artists in Japan.
Just from royalties alone, he had earned around 250 million yen—half of which he split with Eriri, leaving him with well over 100 million yen.
On top of that, he had four volumes of Attack on Titan published, with two million copies printed, bringing in another 100 million yen in royalties.
Then there were the licensing fees from One Punch Man's anime adaptation, plus merchandise sales.
Even after spending 12 million yen on an apartment and 25 million yen on gifts, Kyousuke's bank account still had nine digits.
He didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt when spending money, in fact he felt a strange urge, like a kid in a candy shop with coins burning a hole in his pocket.
If Kisaki Tetta hadn't reined him in, he probably would've gone even more overboard with the gifts.
Really, it was Sakura and the others being too modest—he had more money than he knew what to do with.
After the Okinawa trip, the former members of the Rampaging Angels had reunited once more.
Today was the entrance ceremony for the University of Tokyo, and they were all gathered in front of the iconic Red Gate to surprise Makki Kyousuke.
Dressed in sleek black casual wear, Makki stood proudly before Todai's Red Gate, filled with ambition.
He adjusted his clothes, ready to step through the gates and begin his new life.
'Beep beep!'
An excited Onizuka laid on the horn twice, drawing everyone's attention with the obnoxious sound.
"Makki! One more ride for old time's sake!"
———————————————————————
April 3rd—Higashi Middle School started its new semester.
Most students were hunkering down to study, and club activities were on pause.
But for Kyousuke, the only change was that he suddenly had more free time.
He occasionally visited the Kendo Club to offer guidance, making sure that even after the massive roster overhaul, Higashi would keep dominating the kendo tournaments.
With his schedule wide open, Kyousuke started thinking about picking up a side project.
After all, he couldn't let Okudera's reward go to waste.
"Artistic talent." Just hearing it sounded vague as hell.
Like, how broad was this "talent" supposed to be?
But after trying it out, Kyousuke wanted to summon the damn and slash it three thousand times with a Kesa-giri.
'Artistic talent, huh? So singing doesn't count as art!?'
He had recorded himself singing and confidently sent it to Sakura—only to get a sixty-second reply of pure, uncontrollable laughter.
Even Shouko was doubled over, and Naoka didn't hold back at all:
"Kyousuke, haven't you always said not to force yourself?"
Still, music aside, Kyousuke did eventually figure out how the talent worked.
Just like how the kendo talent got stronger the more he practiced, this new artistic talent developed in the same way.
To unlock its potential, he had to constantly expose himself to works in the same field.
Because of his work with Eriri, he had already been immersed in anime, manga, and games.
As a result, memories of these things from his past life started resurfacing, and his understanding of illustration techniques began to deepen.
If he wanted to write novels, he'd need to read more novels.
Through reading, he could absorb writing techniques and revive dormant memories.
Sure, it sounded like common advice—"read more to write better"—but this was different.
Just like with the kendo talent, someone without the gift could practice all day and night and never get better, aside from ruining their arms.
Talent was a canyon, an impassable divide. No matter how hard they worked, those without it would never cross.
Still, Kyousuke couldn't help but feel that this "artistic talent" was kind of a scam.
Even though it covered a wide range of skills, it didn't seem as powerful as the single-focused kendo talent.
If his science talent gave him enough time to uncover the secrets of the universe, then the art talent was like needing ten times that effort just to achieve something similar—and even then, it had limits.
Of course, to actually reach that level, Kyousuke might need an "immortality" reward or something.
Thankfully, he could at least start pursuing his original dream of writing.
Before, he had to waste time studying Japanese just to keep up.
But now, even with a "weakened" version of the talent, handling school exams was a breeze.
As for what to write, Kyousuke decided to steer away from his earlier idea—"This May Be a Game, But It's No Joke."
Instead of going for another light novel, he wanted to try writing "literary fiction."
Money wasn't an issue anymore, and he had already made a name for himself as a manga artist, but that alone didn't do much for his social standing.
After all, the social hierarchy is everywhere—especially in the world of literature.
Serious literary fiction looks down on commercial fiction, and commercial fiction looks down on trashy pulp.
No matter how good a light novel author is, they'll still be seen as just that—a light novel author.
Their works are inherently created to be "easy to read," which places them firmly at the bottom of Japan's literary food chain.
But mystery novels, despite also being a type of genre fiction, were a whole different story.
Even someone like Shiro would know that in Japanese society, mystery authors were considered top-tier—they earned the esteemed title of sensei, or "teacher."
Sure, manga artists were also commonly called sensei, but within the art world in Japan, they were subtly excluded from that honor.
People might not say it outright, but there was always that unspoken attitude: "I might not earn as much as you, but my work has artistic value."
Kyousuke decided to try his hand at mystery novels not only because of this general understanding, but also after doing some research into the various literary awards in Japan.
Even the prestigious Akutagawa and Naoki Prizes combined couldn't hold a candle to the Edogawa Rampo Prize—the holy grail of mystery fiction.
Since 1992, that prize had offered a whopping ten million yen as its reward.
If he kept drawing manga and writing light novels, then when the day came that he had to meet his girlfriend's parents, especially if they were from a higher social class, the conversation might go something like:
"Oh, you draw manga?"
"Yeah! Kyousuke is amazing—he can earn a hundred million yen from just one series!"
"Oh... so you draw manga."
...Yeah. That.
Of course, none of the girls around Kyousuke now seemed to have parents like that.
Still, a wise man prepares for every possibility.
Social standing wasn't just some vague, abstract thing—it had real-world perks.
In Tokyo's swankier neighborhoods, some high-end apartments weren't even for sale—they were rental-only, and only available to people of "acceptable" social stature.
Some were so extreme they even required pedigree papers for your dog.
So yeah, adding "mystery novelist" to his list of titles could be a game-changer.
Plus, mystery novels could make serious money, often appealing to a wider audience than light novels.
Sitting at his low table in the living room, Kyousuke felt like he was back at the beginning of his plagiarism-powered literary career.
He'd scribbled title after title on a piece of scrap paper.
"Journey Under the Midnight Sun,"
"The Devotion of Suspect X,"
"The Miracles of the Namiya General Store"
He chuckled.
Writers might come and go, but Keigo Higashino was eternal.
Every transmigrator's favorite author—Kyousuke had read plenty of his work in his past life.
"Unnatural,"
"Your Turn to Kill"—TV dramas, but hey, he needed to be adaptable.
"Detective Conan"
He ripped up the draft paper and tossed it into the trash, grabbed his coat, and headed out.
Now that he had a direction, the next step was simple: find a pile of mystery novels and binge-read them to awaken those past-life memories and absorb their writing techniques.
Sure, he'd studied every one of Kasumigaoka-senpai's novels to learn how she wrote—but analysis alone wasn't enough.
Anyone with decent language skills could do that.
Applying what you'd learned was the real challenge.
What, was he supposed to keep a notebook of writing tips open next to him while writing, and reference it line by line?
He didn't bring his bike. None of the nearby bookstores had quite what he was looking for, so he wandered on foot.
It was cherry blossom season again, and as he walked, he saw plenty of people wearing masks.
Ah, poor souls with pollen allergies.
Thankfully, Kyousuke had no such issues.
He even had the leisure to hold out his hand and catch one of the soft pink petals drifting down in the spring breeze.
He strolled aimlessly, stopping at bookstores here and there, but none of them had a decent mystery section—just the latest trendy titles.
There were plenty of manga and cram school workbooks, but not enough variety in mystery novels to satisfy him.
"Feels like I've wandered off course," he muttered.
Looking around, he realized he'd strayed far from the commercial area and was now in a quiet residential neighborhood.
Two-story homes lined the street in all directions.
As he pulled out his phone to use GPS, he spotted something strange at the corner: a black cat.
"BLACK CAT"
The oversized white sign had those words written in black English letters, alongside a cartoon drawing of a black cat using its tail to flip a book page.
The storefront was a white wooden-framed glass door, only one half of which was open near the register.
Outside sat a white wicker table with chairs and a big blue umbrella.
The color scheme instantly reminded Kyousuke of his favorite rooftop lunch spot at school.
He looked around again—yep, still nothing but residential houses. And right here, tucked between two homes, was this magical little bookstore.
Was this it?
Was Kyousuke's fantasy story finally kicking off on the first weekend of April?
Grinning to himself, he adjusted the oil-paper umbrella slung over his shoulder and walked confidently toward the store.
Springtime in Tokyo also meant the start of the rainy season, and ever since school started, Sakura had been nagging him to always bring his "Sakura Drop."
If it weren't for the fact that carrying such a big umbrella on the sidewalk was super inconvenient, that idiot would probably have made him act out the full romantic "Sakura drop" scene.
'Ding-a-ling~~'
As the half-open door creaked inward, the sleepy shopkeeper stirred.
"Welcome," came a warm voice.
The owner was an elderly lady with silver-white hair.
Even though he'd clearly interrupted her nap, she smiled gently, her wrinkled face radiating kindness.
Kyousuke returned the smile and stepped inside.
The shop was small, but the ceiling was at least four meters high—a rarity in Japanese storefronts.
Soft lighting, a smart layout, and pale wallpaper made the space feel cozy and open.
The red wooden bookshelves had neat category labels, and Kyousuke found the mystery section in no time.
"Whoa, this is amazing," he whispered, staring in awe at a full shelf dedicated to mystery novels.
It was a glorious sight.
Maybe the old lady was a diehard mystery fan?
A retired honorary chairwoman of some secret mystery lovers' society?
"Hehe," the shopkeeper chuckled, appearing at the end of the aisle while switching on a brighter light.
"We have a customer who's a big fan of mysteries, so we started stocking more of them."
Ah, niche marketing.
Not bad, obaa-san. Kyousuke gave her a respectful nod.
He picked out twenty-three books—all award winners from recent years.
He brought them to the counter and gently stacked them into three piles.
The combined height of the books was taller than the shopkeeper herself.
Patiently, he waited while the old lady calculated the total.
Then he pulled out his wallet, ready to pay.
"Would you like book covers for them?" she asked with a smile, not reaching for a bag but instead holding up a sheet of blue cardstock.
'Book covers?'
Kyousuke blinked, then realized what she meant when she picked up the colored paper.
In his previous life, book covers were something you'd only see in elementary school.
But in Japan, it's still a common practice in many bookstores.
Partly, it reflects the more reserved nature of Japanese people—though calling it "reserved" might be too strong.
For example, if you're reading an adult novel on the subway, those strange titles and covers can draw some awkward looks.
But if your book is wrapped, no one knows what you're reading, and the problem disappears.
Book wrapping is also a free service, often used by bookstores as a subtle form of advertising.
Some people even collect the wraps like stamps.
Take now, for instance—Kyousuke's compulsive tendencies were itching just looking at the colorful wraps the old lady was holding, each one featuring an adorable cartoon black cat.
Just imagine: every book wrapped in black-cat-themed paper, neatly lined up on a shelf, with a sliver of each cover visible, forming a perfect little parade of black cats.
Wouldn't that be beautiful?
Calm down, Kyousuke.
Stay cool! Wrapping twenty books would take at least twenty minutes!
"Thank you, but no need," he smiled politely and declined.
"Are you sure?" the old woman asked in a gentle tone.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"But the covers help protect the books."
"I'll take good care of them," he reassured her.
"Books are the best nourishment for the mind. They help us explore unfamiliar ideas and teach us life's truths..."
Her silver hair was neatly tied back, and she spoke with the calm, kind voice of someone who's seen a lot of life.
"Well, I'll leave it in your hands then."
'Sigh.'
This is exactly why he hated dealing with elderly people, women, and children—they were impossible to resist.
"If you don't mind waiting a bit, you can have a seat outside to rest." Her voice was still as gentle as ever.
So Kyousuke took a seat in one of the white wicker chairs outside.
He was just about to pull out his phone to kill time when the old lady came out, carrying a pot of tea and a plate of cookies.
Startled, he quickly stood up.
"If you don't mind, please help yourself."
"Thank you—that's very kind of you." So running this bookstore really was more of a hobby, huh?
The tea was jasmine.
The cookies were simple butter cookies.
But just after taking a bite, Kyousuke sighed and stood up again not because the cookies weren't good, but because he couldn't sit there munching away while she worked so hard wrapping his books.
"Hmm? Can't wait?" The old lady opened her eyes a little wider, a rare shift in her usual expression.
"No, no." Kyousuke shook his head. "I just realized… books really do deserve to be treated with more care."
"Hehe." The old lady chuckled, then lowered her head and began showing him how to wrap the books.
Her wrinkled hands moved slowly, but every motion was precise and deliberate.
"My name is Asami. Come again anytime."
"I'm Hojou Kyousuke. I'll be back once I finish reading these." He bowed in thanks.
When he got home, he neatly arranged the books in the cabinet he'd cleared out to use as a bookshelf.
Looking at the row of adorable little black cats on the spines, Kyousuke began to wonder—once he bought a big house in high school, should he get a cat?
No, no. That would be chaos.
It would drive his OCD insane.
Unless it was a cat with a personality like Shouko's, there was no way.
Eight months later, the early promotional work for One Punch Man was done.
As the original creator and writer, Kyousuke was invited to take part in some PR.
Encouraged (and teased) by Eriri and Sakura, he went with the production team to a TV station.
It wasn't a major network—the videos were mainly meant for online release.
"There have been rumors online that EGOIST-sensei is just as powerful in real life, and that Saitama was literally modeled after him. Is that true?" the host asked.
"It is! EGOIST-sensei is a two-time national kendo champion!" the show's director chimed in.
"Would you give us a demonstration?"
"Sure," Kyousuke nodded. It was part of the plan.
Soon, the staff wheeled out a cutting stand—a roll of straw mats used for test cutting.
Kyousuke picked up the katana provided by the show.
Without any prep, he drew the blade in a smooth iaido strike.
The flash of silver barely registered, and then four evenly sliced sections of straw fell through the air.
For a moment, the studio audience was dead silent—maybe stunned, maybe just underpaid.
It wasn't until the host gasped that the crowd erupted in applause.
"Sugoi! Absolutely incredible! Ryouko-san, I think he only made one swing, didn't he?" the male host said, picking up the pieces to show the camera.
"Yes, just one! That was unreal! Like something straight out of an anime!" the female host gushed, even lifting Kyousuke's arm to examine the sword.
"Amazing! Saitama really was based on you! EGOIST-sensei, can you slice through space and enter the One Punch Man world? You'd be an S-Class hero for sure!"
Just like every Japanese variety show—hyped-up energy and over-the-top antics.
"Well, I'm not quite there yet," Kyousuke replied with a humble smile.
"Sugoi! So maybe one day?" she played along.
"But if your skill is in kendo, why does Saitama fight with his fists?"
...Because the unemployed Saitama couldn't afford kendo lessons?
That question definitely wasn't on the script. Can I just... not answer?
"Kendo is far too refined for casual use. Saitama has trained himself into a living sword, one that can cut through anything without a blade," Kyousuke improvised.
...
After the recording, Kyousuke predictably got a call from Eriri, who wasted no time mocking him.
Over the phone, the cheerful girl did her best impression of his dramatic lines from the show.