All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

After Kotomi Izumi led Yukino Yukinoshita and Yui Yuigahama onto the stage to receive their award, the audience erupted in enthusiastic applause. Anyone who had witnessed their musical ensemble that day felt their victory was well deserved. Even those who hadn’t seen it applauded simply because Kotomi stood on the stage receiving an award.

In previous presentations, the girl standing beside Mai Sakurajima—Tomomi Akada—had been responsible for handing the trophies to the winners.

However, when it came time to present the award to Kotomi Izumi, Yukino Yukinoshita, and Yui Yuigahama, it was Mai Sakurajima herself who stepped forward to do the honors.

It wasn’t because their group had won the Grand Prize. Rather, it was because the person receiving the Grand Prize was Kotomi Izumi.

According to the prearranged plan, Mai Sakurajima would read out the winners’ names for every award, while Tomomi Akada would deliver the trophies to the recipients after they stepped on stage.

But when Mai received the list of winners and saw that the Grand Prize winner was her junior, Kotomi Izumi, she immediately discussed with Tomomi Akada whether she could personally present the award to Kotomi.

Mai Sakurajima had even made a sincere offer—after the ceremony, she would help boost Tomomi Akada’s Twitter account by retweeting her posts.

Hearing this, Tomomi Akada had eagerly agreed, nodding repeatedly like a pecking chick, afraid that even a second’s delay would nullify the offer.

Her reaction wasn’t exaggerated. Tomomi Akada was an idol in a moderately popular idol group, a fact well known among her classmates. Because of her cheerful personality and good relationships, everyone generally supported her.

However, within her group there were many more talented members, which made Tomomi relatively unremarkable. She didn’t have any dedicated fans. Despite being in the same class as Mai Sakurajima, she had never considered using Mai’s fame to boost her own popularity.

It wasn’t out of pride. Since joining the group, Tomomi had already learned that to stand out among so many members, one needed not only talent but also opportunities.

After all, her idol group was only moderately known—neither big nor obscure. Their managing company invested a steady amount each year, and many former members had gone on to find success as actresses, voice actors, singers, or streamers.

Still, the group’s resources were limited.

For example, photo shoots—something every member should have the right to do—were distributed through internal competition. Since joining the group last year, Tomomi Akada hadn’t yet earned the chance to appear in a photo book, let alone release a solo album or appear on a talk show.

Since opening her own official Twitter account, her follower count had only just surpassed 1,000. That number included mutual follows between group members, friends she knew in real life, and... about 500 followers she had secretly purchased.

Every time she posted, the likes, comments, and retweets were pitifully few.

Occasionally, the group would receive small sponsorships or collaborations, but either the payments were too low for anyone to earn much, or the collaborators weren’t well-known enough to draw attention—sometimes they even needed the group’s help to gain visibility.

Because of this, Tomomi Akada knew very well that if she wanted to gain popularity and become one of the most loved members—or even have a chance at success after graduating from the group—she needed a break.

Her personal skills were decent—her singing and dancing both rated around eighty points out of a hundred—but that wasn’t enough. Improving them further would require years of dedication and training.

To put it bluntly, Tomomi might be forced to graduate from the group before her talents ever reached an ”excellent” level. When that day came, she might not even have many people attending her farewell concert.

Tomomi Akada wasn’t afraid of working hard—she was afraid of working hard and getting nothing in return.

So, when Mai Sakurajima offered to help her by retweeting her posts, Tomomi didn’t hesitate for a second before agreeing.

Tomomi Akada understood perfectly well that with Mai Sakurajima’s level of fame and influence in the entertainment industry, a single retweet from her could make Tomomi’s follower count skyrocket overnight—surpassing even the most popular member of her idol group.

Currently, the most popular member in Tomomi’s group had around 160,000 followers.

Tomomi had always known this. The only reason she had never asked Mai for such help before wasn’t out of pride or some desire to succeed on her own. It was simply because... she didn’t know how to ask.

Mai Sakurajima was someone Tomomi Akada deeply admired—her idol and the shining star she aspired to become. She wanted to be as dazzling as Mai one day, not just one of the unnoticed, low-ranking members of a small idol group.

But whenever Tomomi stood before Mai, a deep sense of inferiority would rise within her, leaving her unable to speak up. She was afraid that if she did ask, Mai might refuse.

So, when Mai Sakurajima suddenly said to her:

”I remember you’re in an idol group now, right? It’s been almost a year since you joined, but your popularity still hasn’t increased much. You haven’t made a name for yourself yet. I might not know much about the idol industry, but I do know there’s a saying in that world:

’If you can’t become famous within a year, and can’t break through within three, then all that awaits you is a quiet, unnoticed exit.’

A quiet exit—no solo album, no solo single, no MV, no photo book. That must feel frustrating, doesn’t it?

So here’s the deal. When Kotomi Izumi comes on stage to receive her award, let me be the one to personally present it to her. In return, after the ceremony, I’ll retweet your Twitter post from my account. How about that?

With that visibility and attention, your group will start shifting its resources toward you. They’ll push your exposure and invest more in your activities. Once you stabilize your fanbase and build your own personal image, even if you graduate from the group later, you’ll be able to make a comeback easily—maybe even surpass your current group’s popularity.

Of course, my retweet can only give you temporary fame. Whether you can maintain it depends on your own ability. You can choose to keep working hard aimlessly and fade away quietly, or you can seize this chance, work hard in the right direction, and shine brighter than ever.”

Mai Sakurajima’s words left Tomomi Akada completely unable to refuse. To her, it was a heaven-sent opportunity.

There was no need to hesitate—she agreed immediately.

”Congratulations, Izumi-chan,” Mai Sakurajima said as she personally handed the trophy to Kotomi Izumi.

”Thank you, Mai-senpai. Not just for the congratulations—but also for your help just now,” Kotomi replied with a meaningful smile.

From the moment she had noticed Mai’s look from the audience, Kotomi had already realized that Sobu High was awarding the Grand Prize this year—and that she was the one receiving it.

Coincidentally, Usa Saion had been mocking her earlier. So, Kotomi decided to seize the chance to strike back in the most dramatic way possible.

The enemy’s provocation, the crowd’s doubts, and her own strength to shatter them all in one grand display—every classic element of a satisfying ”face-slap” scene from a power fantasy story was in place. How could Kotomi Izumi possibly pass up such a perfect opportunity?

If she missed this, she’d feel she had betrayed the countless tens of millions of words of smug, overpowered protagonist stories she’d read before.

All that was left was the most crucial piece—the voice to announce how amazing she was.

Fortunately, Mai Sakurajima had understood her intention perfectly and became that voice for her—publicly declaring Kotomi’s brilliance for all to hear.

In that moment, Kotomi Izumi had flawlessly pulled off a public show of superiority, slapping her doubters across the face.

And it felt incredible.

Showing off in public... really did feel amazing!

Seeing Kotomi Izumi’s smug expression after her glorious moment of triumph, Mai Sakurajima said with a knowing smile:

”Feeling good right now, aren’t you? Your whole body buzzing, blood boiling, replaying that perfect moment of victory in your head?”

”I’ve already added my own BGM in my mind,” Kotomi said with an emphatic nod.

”Haha! Well, either way, congratulations on winning the Grand Prize. Its prestige far exceeds that of the First Prize. After all, no matter how difficult the First Prize is to earn, someone still wins it every year at the cultural festival. But the Grand Prize is different—Sobu High hasn’t awarded it for three years. You broke that streak. From now on, whenever people talk about the cultural festival, they’ll inevitably mention the legend of Kotomi Izumi—who won the Grand Prize with three original songs.”

Mai Sakurajima couldn’t help laughing as she spoke. Talking with Kotomi always felt effortless and fun.

Kotomi, for her part, grew more delighted the longer she listened. She decided that if people started talking about ”Kotomi Izumi winning Sobu High’s Cultural Festival Grand Prize,” she’d quietly fan the flames herself—perhaps by adding a few embellishments, or giving herself some impressive-sounding titles.

Something like: Composer Who Blew the Trumpet of the Seraph, The Red-Eyed Composer Who Struck the Gates of Heaven and the Abyss, The Lady of the Celestial Clocktower, Rhythmic Theories of the Laureate Poet, The Holy Sonata of Black and Red...

Kotomi instantly came up with countless grandiose titles, cramming in every word she thought sounded cool.

”Just thinking about it feels amazing. Thank you, Mai-senpai, for helping me out. Pulling off that glorious moment felt so good—it’s like I’d been starving for an hour, and then devoured thirty giant rice bowls topped with tomato-egg stir-fry, beef stew with potatoes, roasted pork knuckles, fried yuba with meat, cabbage vermicelli, and minced meat with steamed egg... all mixed together over rice! Pure happiness! Oh, and tomato-egg stir-fry must be salty, not sweet~”

”My mom never lets me pour dishes over rice, so I gradually got used to eating them separately. But hearing you describe it that way makes it sound amazing. Next time we go out to eat, I’ll have to try it like that!” Mai said with a laugh.

”Eh? When did we say we were going out to eat together?” Kotomi asked curiously. She didn’t remember ever scheduling a meal with Mai.

Mai gave her a teasing look and said half-jokingly:

”What, do I need to make a reservation months in advance just to have dinner with the great composer Kotomi Izumi?”

Well, maybe you actually would, once I have so many girlfriends that I need both hands and feet to count them. But if you become my girlfriend now, it’ll be easier to make plans with me later... Kotomi thought to herself.

Of course, she couldn’t say that aloud—not with Yukino Yukinoshita and Yui Yuigahama standing right there. Especially since, with how easily the ”dumpling” got jealous, if Kotomi ever said something like that out loud, she’d have to spend hours coaxing her afterward—or Yui might sulk herself to death.

”Of course not~ Having dinner with Mai-senpai would make me so excited I wouldn’t be able to sleep the night before, just like a kid going on a school trip! When shall we go?” Kotomi said with a bright smile.

”How about tomorrow?” Mai asked, smiling.

”Tomorrow, huh...”

Kotomi began to mentally check her schedule. She remembered that she, Yukino, and Yui were taking the Shinkansen to Kyoto tomorrow evening for their hot spring trip.

Since they wouldn’t be departing until 6 p.m., her daytime was still free. While she did want to sleep in during the morning, if she chose to meet Mai during the day, there should still be enough time.

Before Kotomi could reply, Yukino Yukinoshita—who had been standing quietly behind her—suddenly spoke up:

”Sorry to interrupt, Mai-senpai, but Kotomi is leaving with us tomorrow evening for Kyoto. Could you perhaps wait until we return before arranging a day to have lunch with her?”

After saying that, Yukino added—whether intentionally or not—one more pointed remark:

”And besides, we’re still standing on the award stage. Even if your voices aren’t loud enough for the audience to hear, staying up here too long would seem... improper,” Yukino Yukinoshita said calmly.

In that instant, the humility she’d shown earlier as a recipient had completely vanished. Facing Mai Sakurajima, Yukino exuded a dignified, commanding presence—like a proud, immovable iceberg in the midst of a raging snowstorm.

Mai Sakurajima, noticing Yukino’s unflinching aura, narrowed her eyes slightly. The two locked gazes for five tense seconds before Mai’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile.

”Congratulations, Yukinoshita-san, Yuigahama-san, for winning the Grand Prize. Please, accept your trophies. Hehe, I suppose I got carried away earlier. Seeing my junior Kotomi win the Grand Prize, I couldn’t help but feel excited and said a bit too much. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

”Thank you,” Yukino replied evenly. ”To celebrate winning the Grand Prize, the three of us decided to take a hot spring trip to Kyoto. We plan to rest and recover from all the exhaustion of rehearsal. Once we return home, we’ll start packing—our tickets are for tomorrow, and there’s a transfer along the way. The journey will likely be tiring, so to conserve our energy for the trip, we’ve already agreed to turn in early tonight.” Yukino spoke without even attempting a smile.

Mai maintained her polite grin. ”Hehe, I see. I was actually thinking—since you’ll be busy tomorrow, why not let me treat Kotomi to dinner tonight instead? To celebrate her win, and to wish her a pleasant trip. But if I’m hearing you correctly, that won’t be possible either, will it, Yukinoshita-san?”

Yukino ignored Mai completely and instead turned to Kotomi Izumi, her lips curving into a beautiful, poised smile as she asked sweetly:

”Kotomi, what do you think?”

...

Sandwiched between the two of them, Kotomi Izumi wanted nothing more than to vanish into thin air. At this point, her opinion didn’t matter in the slightest. In an atmosphere this thick with tension, taking sides was basically like lighting a match in a room full of gas.

Yet the two girls stood there, radiating an unmistakable ’One of us is right—pick which one. If you don’t, we’ll keep standing here forever’ kind of pressure.

And below them—nearly a thousand people watching. Sobu High’s gymnasium really was enormous.

I mean seriously... why are you two acting like proper girlfriends right now? Neither of you have officially become my girlfriend yet! If we’re talking about actual girlfriends, I’ve got two: Yui standing right next to me, and Megumi watching us from the audience. If you two really want to duel it out in a love battlefield, you could start by officially confessing first. I wouldn’t mind receiving both your confessions at once... Kotomi thought to herself, half helpless, half amused.

But thoughts like that were definitely best kept inside. So instead, she could only mumble weakly under her breath:

”Um... my mom said we’re having hot pot tonight. She already bought the sesame sauce.”

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