All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

Utaha Kasumigaoka didn’t attend school today—yet another absence.

She had become quite skilled at asking for leave.

At first, the teachers might have grumbled a bit, but eventually, they stopped bothering. People say that in university, professors stop caring whether you show up—but truth be told, high school isn’t much different, especially after entering second year. Teachers naturally focus more on the students with strong grades or obvious potential. As for those who didn’t perform well or rarely attended class...

As long as they didn’t cause trouble or disrupt lessons, the teachers would usually turn a blind eye. After all, it’s the students—not the teachers—who have to take the college entrance exams.

With limited time and energy, teachers inevitably gave up on certain students by the time they reached second or third year.

Utaha Kasumigaoka, of course, enjoyed this freedom.

She wasn’t a bad student. She simply couldn’t attend school regularly due to her work as a novelist. She often had to take time off to meet deadlines, and one absence could last one or two weeks.

Thankfully, while her school attendance barely scraped the minimum each semester, her midterm and final exam scores never fell short. With her grades alone, getting into a top university wouldn’t be an issue.

Because of this, the teachers of Class 2-B eventually became accustomed to her constant absences.

Yesterday, after submitting her leave request, Utaha told herself she’d wake up early today—start writing at 5 a.m. and dedicate the whole day to working on her novel!

And the result?

Last night, she ended up binge-watching a drama while munching on chips until 2 a.m. When she finally woke up this morning, it was already close to 10.

Despite her passionate resolve just the night before, her goal of getting up at 5 to write had vanished—she had slept straight through until mid-morning. Now she felt guilty for wasting so much time. After washing up and eating breakfast, she immediately sat in front of her laptop and began typing furiously.

”Tsk... I thought I could slack off for a few days at the start of the month—just a little ’gugu gugu’ and it’d be fine. But somehow it’s already mid-month! Which means the end of the month is right around the corner!”

”Ughhhh! I haven’t even finished the short story for Volume 3 yet, and I’ve only written the prologue of the main story. There’s still over 100,000 words to go!”

”If I hadn’t already submitted the outline, I could’ve cut a few scenes and postponed the rest to Volume 4 a few months later. But I handed in the entire Volume 3 outline to Sonoko already—she’s probably memorized it by heart by now.”

”If she finds out a huge chunk of the story is missing from the manuscript, she’ll lock me in a dark room until I finish!”

Utaha wailed dramatically, her face twisted in regret. If she had known, she wouldn’t have crammed so much content into Volume 3!

She could’ve broken it up with some slice-of-life filler and stretched it into two volumes. Wouldn’t that have been better?

One outline, two volumes of profit—how perfect!

Even while she whined, her fingers never stopped flying over the keyboard. In fact, she typed even faster. Her goal for the day: finish the short story and write at least 40% of Chapter 1 in Volume 3’s main story.

An hour later.

Utaha let out a short breath and took a sip of now-cold coffee at her side. Then she opened a new document, planning to take a short break before starting Chapter 1.

Just as she set the cup down, her phone—tossed carelessly on the bed—began to ring.

”Ah... I forgot to turn it off,” Utaha muttered, lazily ruffling her beautiful black hair.

She had a habit of turning off her phone while writing, since even the tiniest sound could break her concentration and slow her progress.

She decided to answer this one call—then shut her phone off.

She answered the call, and before she could even ask who it was, a voice said on the other end, ”Hello, this is the delivery company. We have a package for you. Would you like to come down to get it, or should we leave it at the pickup point?”

Utaha was about to instinctively say to leave it at the pickup point, but then she remembered getting a text from the delivery company yesterday—something about a package arriving from Kyoto.

She had recently ordered a new mouse online, but Amazon still hadn’t marked it as shipped. So what package could this be?

Thinking for a moment, she quickly zeroed in on the most likely sender: Kotomi. After all, Kotomi was in Kyoto these past few days. If someone sent her a package from there, it was probably Kotomi.

Once she considered that, Utaha thought for a second and then replied, ”Ah, alright. Please wait—I’ll come down to get it.”

She casually threw on a pair of pants and a jacket, grabbed her keys, and headed downstairs to pick up the delivery.

After signing for it, she returned home with a medium-sized package in hand. It had some weight to it.

And sure enough, just as she suspected—the sender listed on the shipping label was Kotomi Izumi.

Utaha set her writing aside, grabbed a pair of scissors, and began opening the box and its foam padding. Inside was a Kiyomizu-yaki teacup and a letter.

”Kiyomizu-yaki, the famous Kyoto ceramic... I’ve heard of it. But what’s this envelope? Don’t tell me—my adorable little Kotomi kouhai wrote me a love letter?”

Entertaining the possibility, Utaha’s eyes lit up. It wasn’t unheard of—tucking a love letter into a gift box to surprise the recipient. Maybe it was her confession? She eagerly and gently took out the letter, opening the envelope with great care.

”Wow... it really is a letter from Kotomi! Not only did she buy me a gift, she even wrote me a personal letter. Could it be that Kotomi actually likes me?” Utaha raised her eyebrow, her amused smirk giving her the air of a mischievous enchantress.

”Oh? Bragging about your three days off? This little cutie must not know that your senpai can take days off whenever she pleases, hmph.”

Utaha chuckled to herself. Kotomi’s tone in the letter was like that of an excited younger sister, proudly showing off her new toy to an older sister who had long since grown indifferent.

It was a little silly—but Kotomi’s charm made it adorable.

She continued reading line by line, and when she reached the end, she flipped the letter over to check the back—only to find it blank. She pouted.

Just as she was getting into it, the letter abruptly ended.

Utaha now felt like charging over to Kotomi and shaking her by the shoulders, yelling, ”Why didn’t you write more?! Give me at least 10,000 words!!!”

After reading, she very carefully placed the letter back into its envelope, then sealed it inside a self-locking bag for preservation. She found a good spot on her bookshelf to store it.

”A handwritten letter from Kotomi... hehe, just thinking about it makes me happy. When I see Mai later, I’m definitely going to brag about this—show her how much Kotomi thinks about me. Not only did she send me a gift, she even wrote a letter just for me.”

Utaha grinned, then picked up the Kiyomizu-yaki cup, examined it for a moment, and recalling what Kotomi had written, decided to make herself a proper cup of tea.

But upon entering the kitchen, she realized she had no tea leaves at all—nor any teaware.

She didn’t usually drink tea. And when she did, it was the bottled kind from convenience stores.

So she rinsed the Kiyomizu-yaki cup with hot water several times, then poured some chilled tea from the fridge into it.

Cold tea was still tea!

Afterward, Utaha logged onto Amazon and ordered a teapot and a box of tea leaves.

She didn’t know anything about tea, so she just went with the most expensive option, clicking checkout without hesitation.

After placing the order, Utaha couldn’t help but mutter:

...

”6,000 yen for 120 grams of tea... was this tea grown from gold seeds, or silver ones?”

When the package containing Kotomi’s gift and letter for Mashiro arrived, Chihiro Sengoku had no choice but to sign for it with a confused look.

Seeing the sender listed as Kotomi Izumi and the recipient as Mashiro Shiina, Chihiro couldn’t help but wonder what kind of new game this little couple was playing.

After bringing the package home, Chihiro was tempted to open it out of curiosity. But in the end, she resisted. ”What you don’t see won’t trouble you,” she muttered, placing the package neatly on Mashiro’s desk.

The couriers in Chiba City were lightning fast. Within half a day, all the packages Kotomi had sent out from Kyoto were delivered.

Kisara Tendou had just finished practicing kendo and was about to change out of her uniform for a hot shower when she received a call from the delivery company.

After signing for the package and returning to the dojo, Kisara glanced at the label and smiled slightly when she saw Kotomi’s name. Without hesitation, she picked up her black-handled katana and, with a smooth motion, used it to slice through the tape sealing the box.

”A set of kodachi?! And... a letter? Kotomi actually wrote me a letter?” she exclaimed, her mouth parting slightly in surprise.

Receiving a gift from Kotomi wasn’t all that shocking—and a sword, of all things, wasn’t strange either. In fact, it was the kind of gift she loved most. But a letter tucked in with it? That caught Kisara completely off guard.

To be honest, it was the first handwritten letter she had ever received from someone.

She held the envelope in her hand, her mood hard to describe—subtle and complex.

Opening it, she began to read... and before she knew it, she had reached the final line.

When she saw that Kotomi had written how, in the quiet of night when she couldn’t sleep, the first person she thought of was her—Kisara couldn’t help but smile. Then she forced herself to scoff, just a bit shyly.

”Tch, that brat only knows how to sweet-talk.”

When she read the part about the two of them walking side by side down a cherry blossom-lined path, her heart involuntarily fluttered.

Kotomi’s writing truly had a vivid quality—it made Kisara feel as if she were no longer in her dojo, but actually walking with Kotomi down a cherry blossom path in Kyoto’s spring.

When she read Kotomi’s final wish to travel to Kyoto together, Kisara made up her mind then and there:

Next spring, when the sakura are in full bloom—she and Kotomi would go to Kyoto.

She set the letter down and picked up the two kodachi. As the blades were drawn, a flash of cold steel seemed to cut through the air.

”A fine pair of blades,” she muttered, giving the highest praise in her own simple way.

Both the swords and the letter, she stored away carefully. She was already planning how to show off to Utaha Kasumigaoka and Mai Sakurajima.

Kotomi gave me a gift and wrote me a letter—bet you didn’t get one, huh? Heh, go ahead and be jealous. I love seeing those jealous looks on your faces!

At Phantom Sea Agency.

Mai Sakurajima sat face-to-face with a striking, strong-willed woman—her mother, Shiori Sakurajima.

Mother and daughter were eating lunch together. It should have been a heartwarming scene. But between the two, there was no warmth to be seen.

They sat quietly, each eating in silence. Not a word was exchanged. They didn’t even glance at each other.

Shiori’s pace was steady, not particularly slow. Even now, she didn’t eat any slower just because she was having a rare lunch with her daughter. It was as if, once she finished, she would get up and leave without saying another word.

”You don’t have any current filming commitments. Spend some time focusing on your studies at school.

”’Ring’s’ box office performance was a major success. Your on-screen image has successfully transitioned once again. Though it was a bit of a gamble, I have to admit—the strategy worked. Never letting your image become stagnant.”

”By getting typecast. Even if you can’t fully specialize, putting all your eggs in one basket is just as dangerous.”

”You’re Phantom Sea Agency’s pillar. I don’t want to see that happen.”

After taking a sip of cabbage, tofu, and shrimp soup, Shiori Sakurajima spoke in her usual cold tone. Her words always centered around work—never a trace of personal care. It was hard to tell if she was talking to her daughter or to a business associate.

”Okay. I understand.”

Mai Sakurajima had long since grown used to her mother’s indifference. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had felt any semblance of motherly love. Honestly, Mai sometimes wondered if her mother had ever loved her at all.

In fact, in her phone contacts, she didn’t have her mother listed as ”Mom” or even by name—but as the cold and impersonal ”Manager.”

Besides sharing blood, what else did they have that truly defined a mother-daughter relationship?

”I threw out all the sweets you had in your room. You’re an actress in the entertainment industry—you must be extremely careful with your figure. Sweets are your enemy. Even if you’re shooting a sweets commercial in the future, don’t actually eat any. Just pretend to take a bite.”

Mai frowned slightly. After finishing a day’s filming without a single word of comfort or concern from her mother, the only solace she had was indulging in a few sweets to make life feel a little less bitter, a little less exhausting.

And now... her mother had tossed them all away like trash.

She was annoyed, but instead of arguing, Mai silently chose to shift her mindset.

Clack.

She set down her utensils, picked up her bag, and said, ”I’m done. Thanks for the meal. I’d like to head home now.”

Shiori didn’t offer to drive her or even tell her to be careful on the way back. She simply gave a small nod, glanced at her daughter, and then resumed eating.

Wearing a mask and sunglasses, Mai left the office. Her mother’s attitude—unchanged over the past decade—was something she had long since become used to.

While waiting for the elevator, she bumped into Shiori’s secretary, Miss Murayama.

Coming up from downstairs, Murayama quickened her pace upon recognizing Mai, even with her disguise. ”Mai, heading home?”

”Yeah. We just had lunch, but it’s pretty obvious she doesn’t want to talk. So I won’t bother her.”

Murayama easily inferred that the ”she” Mai referred to was none other than Shiori herself.

Having seen the distant, almost non-existent bond between the Sakurajima mother and daughter over the years, Murayama had gotten used to it.

”Maybe Shiori just doesn’t know how to express herself. Don’t be too mad at your mom.”

”Oh, I’m not mad at all,” Mai said with a sarcastic smile. ”She’s the founder and president of Phantom Sea Agency, and I’m just one of her subordinates. What right do I have to be mad?”

Murayama gave an awkward laugh and quickly changed the subject. ”Let me drive you home. It’s getting colder, and walking outside isn’t exactly pleasant.”

”Don’t worry about it. I walked here alone earlier,” Mai replied as she stepped into the elevator.

Seeing the situation, Murayama sighed and handed her a small package.

”Mai, this is your delivery. It came to the building earlier and had your name on it, so I signed for it. Honestly... the sender even used your real name. Lucky there wasn’t an issue.”

Murayama babbled on. Every celebrity uses a pseudonym for online shopping and has packages delivered to the agency to protect their privacy. Leaks can lead to tabloid scandals that damage both careers and companies.

Mai glanced at the sender’s name and smiled softly. ”Don’t blame her—it’s my fault. I forgot to tell her I use a pseudonym.”

”Who sent it, anyway?”

As Murayama asked, Mai looked down at the label reading ”Kotomi Izumi,” her smile deepening. She turned and stepped into the elevator. Just before the doors closed, she called out:

”A little kouhai I can’t help but want to spoil.”

With a soft ding, the elevator closed.

Murayama stood there, puzzled. Had Mai just called the sender someone she wanted to spoil? But her tone didn’t sound like they were just senior and junior...

”Feels like I just stumbled upon something major... Should I tell Shiori about this...?”

But then she remembered how Mai’s mood had instantly brightened upon seeing the sender’s name. Murayama shook her head and dismissed the thought.

”Forget it. Better to act like I didn’t see anything.”

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