All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

”Mm... since you already knew it’s Team Rocket’s classic line, at least let me finish it...”

Kotomi Izumi puffed out her cheeks in mild displeasure. The adorably aggrieved look on her face made Yukino Yukinoshita suddenly want nothing more than to pull Kotomi into her arms and fiercely kiss her pretty cheek.

I was actually tempted by Kotomi’s unintentional gesture... how ridiculous of me... Yukino suppressed her true thoughts and silently scolded herself.

If she really had pulled Kotomi into her arms and kissed her just now, she had no idea how Kotomi would have reacted. But there was one thing she was certain of: her friendship with Yui would have shattered instantly, and the fragile balance among the three of them would have completely collapsed.

Yukino quietly felt grateful that she hadn’t acted on impulse. Yet at the same time, a trace of regret surfaced in her heart—why hadn’t she seized that impulsive moment to kiss Kotomi?

”Because I don’t like pointless chatter,” Yukino said coldly. But in her heart, she was thinking:

I want to hear you talk more. If I let you finish Team Rocket’s lines, you’ll quickly finish what you want to say next. But if I interrupt you, you’ll start softly complaining, and that way I can hear you speak longer... In order to talk with you more, without letting Yui notice, should I call this despicable... or pitiful?

As that thought formed, a bitter smile curved on Yukino’s lips.

”When I saw that wall, it reminded me of a novel I once read—Kobo Abe’s The Wall,” Kotomi said slowly.

”You’ve read Kobo Abe’s works too?”

Yukino’s interest was instantly piqued. A large portion of the topics she shared with Kotomi revolved around reading. Not long ago, they had been discussing Yasunari Kawabata’s works.

Although both of them loved reading, their tastes weren’t exactly the same. There were books Kotomi enjoyed that Yukino didn’t, and others Yukino liked that Kotomi had never read.

Among Kawabata’s many works, there were several Kotomi had read that Yukino hadn’t, and vice versa.

The number of Kawabata works they had both read was actually quite small.

A few days ago, they had just finished discussing The Lake, Snow Country, and Thousand Cranes. After finishing those three, they had essentially exhausted the Kawabata works they had both read.

That was why Yukino felt genuinely happy upon learning that Kotomi had also read Kobo Abe. She loved—no, she was addicted to—the feeling of talking with Kotomi. She wanted there to always be something for the two of them to discuss. But aside from reading, she didn’t know what else they could talk about.

Originally, Yukino had been worried that once they finished discussing Kawabata’s works, she and Kotomi would run out of shared topics.

Now that she knew Kotomi had read Kobo Abe, Yukino quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She had read nearly all of Abe’s works—more than enough material for future conversations.

From now on, I should ask Kotomi which authors she likes. Which books she prefers. I should recommend more of the good books I’ve read. That way, we’ll have even more in common... Yukino thought.

She had previously considered whether she should cut back on her reading time and devote more hours to practicing piano.

Now, with a shift in thought, she immediately dismissed the idea.

If she read more—read the books Kotomi liked—then they would have even more to talk about.

As for what kind of works Kotomi specifically liked?

Yukino realized she had never truly heard Kotomi say. She had asked before, but Kotomi never gave a clear answer—not even about preferred genres. Her replies had always been vague.

Yukino remembered Kotomi once saying, ”Maybe it’s only after I finish reading from the first page to the last that I realize I like that book’s style.”

When it came to reading, Kotomi didn’t have a specific preference—she simply liked what she read.

Trying to select books based on Kotomi’s supposed taste seemed impossible. Better to start with the books Kotomi had read and enjoyed but she herself hadn’t touched yet...

Yukino thought quietly.

As for specific titles Kotomi had explicitly said she liked, there were only a handful. That part didn’t worry Yukino much. Mainly because she had been rather slow in the past—well, she still was somewhat slow now—and had never realized the importance of asking directly which books Kotomi liked most.

She would find a suitable time to ask Kotomi alone: ”Among the books you’ve read, which ones do you like best? What are their titles?”

Surely Kotomi wouldn’t deliberately refuse to tell her.

While Yukino was still pondering how to continuously expand their shared topics, Kotomi continued speaking.

”Of course I’ve read Kobo Abe. I really love reading. And speaking of The Wall, that novel even won the Akutagawa Prize back then.”

At this point, Kotomi gave an embarrassed little chuckle. Then she deliberately lowered her voice so that only she and Yukino could hear.

”It might sound a bit embarrassing, but I’ve always had the idea of writing a novel. I’ve just never taken real action. My dream is that one day, a novel I write will win the Ryunosuke Akutagawa Literary Prize.”

If Haruno Yukinoshita had heard that just now, she would have clicked her tongue and thought gloomily: This Kotomi Izumi really can’t be trusted—who knows which of her words are true and which are false?

Yes, Kotomi did have ambitions of winning the Akutagawa Prize.

But claiming she merely had the idea of writing and never dared to take action?

You already started writing long ago, didn’t you?!

Not only had you written, you had become a frequent presence on bestseller lists. If sales continued like this, the Dengeki Bunko Newcomer Award and the annual Rookie of the Year title could practically have Kotomi Izumi’s name engraved in advance!

This year’s Dengeki Bunko contest featured many promising works.

Kotomi Izumi’s prose wasn’t the most exquisite among them, nor were her plot designs the most intricate.

But she was the one who understood commercial writing the best.

Kotomi understood commercial storytelling—and she knew exactly how to control its degree, understanding what readers wanted to see.

That alone was enough to tip the scales of victory in her favor.

For Dengeki Bunko, the purpose of its writing contests was to discover commercially promising works. There could be light novel authors who became famous for elegant prose and unconventional plots—but there was no need for too many of them.

When it came to commercial writing, prose quality wasn’t actually that important. Of course, having beautiful writing was better—it made for good publicity when spending money on promotion. But if not, it didn’t matter much. As long as readers could understand the words, that was considered qualified.

Kotomi Izumi wouldn’t claim her prose was particularly elegant. But there was one thing she could guarantee: when readers read her words, their emotions would naturally become immersed.

When a reader’s emotions were completely drawn into the plot she designed, then her work was an excellent piece of commercial fiction.

Her plots weren’t astonishingly brilliant either. After all, if you asked Kotomi to write something truly groundbreaking, she probably couldn’t manage it. So she simply played to her strengths and avoided her weaknesses.

What was her strength in writing?

Pleasure.

Then she would devote herself wholeheartedly to writing even more exhilarating storylines. There was no such thing as ”most satisfying”—only ”even more satisfying”!

As for literary depth, Kotomi honestly didn’t understand it at all, nor did she particularly want to—at least not for now. Writing about showing off, slapping faces, and being surrounded by countless wives and lovers was far more satisfying!

Her prose could immerse readers, and her plot was either extremely gratifying or laying the groundwork for something even more gratifying. It made people unable to stop reading.

That was the reason her adapted version of Sword Art Online succeeded.

She removed the unsatisfying parts of the story and, while preserving the original’s gratifying elements, doubled their intensity.

If the original level of satisfaction had been only LV10, after Kotomi’s revisions it had become LV100.

As for the romantic developments in the latter part of Sword Art Online, Kotomi hadn’t examined them too closely. She only remembered that the official heroine who formally confirmed a relationship with Kirito was Asuna.

Kotomi disliked single-heroine novels the most. If it was the kind of sweet daily romance that focused entirely on the male and female leads without secondary rivals, she could occasionally read it.

But those stories that introduced a whole bunch of appealing heroines, only to end up choosing just one in the end?

She couldn’t even be bothered to glance at them.

If you had the guts to write a single-heroine power fantasy, then don’t write other female characters in the first place. If you wrote them anyway, why pretend to be devoted and refuse to accept them?

Because she disliked single-heroine power fantasies, when Kotomi wrote Sword Art Online, she followed her own preferred romantic route.

If they were heroines—sorry, she was taking them all.

Not the ambiguous, teasing kind of relationships either, but an open and honest harem.

Could that kind of commercial creation possibly fail?

Yukino Yukinoshita had no idea that Kotomi was already writing novels. Upon learning that Kotomi had the intention to write—and that her goal was something as ambitious as winning the Akutagawa Prize—her eyes immediately lit up.

People who love reading often harbor a quiet desire to write. Some hesitate internally, wondering whether to try writing something. Others have already taken action.

Once someone puts that desire into practice, there are usually two possible outcomes.

One path is writing a few hundred words and realizing that they are suited only to reading, not writing. They feel that what they’ve produced, if called a ”novel,” would be an insult to the word itself—nothing but a pile of textual garbage. And so they hastily give up.

The other path is writing a few hundred words, or a thousand, even ten thousand, and gradually falling in love with the feeling of writing. They begin to think they might truly have the talent to become a novelist. So they submit their work.

Those with real talent might win a newcomer award with their first submission. Perhaps they rise to the peak of life from there—or perhaps their debut exhausts all their talent, and after a few unimpressive works, they fade into obscurity.

Those lacking talent might give up after being rejected by publishers a few times. Others persist. Though they don’t achieve instant fame, through constant creation they gradually gain recognition. Their income increases, and they begin receiving invitations from publishers.

Yukino Yukinoshita felt she belonged to the first category.

Because she loved reading, she had once become interested in writing. After trying it, she concluded that what she produced was nothing but textual garbage—and she had quickly given up.

But upon hearing that Kotomi wanted to write a novel, for some reason Yukino felt as if there was a door inside her heart. Kotomi’s words were like gentle knuckles tapping upon it.

So gentle.

Yet the sound of that ”knock” was unmistakably clear.

It wasn’t that Kotomi’s dream made Yukino want to attempt writing again.

Rather, it ignited a different thought within her.

Yukino wanted to stand behind Kotomi, silently supporting her, and one day witness Kotomi achieving her dream of becoming a famous novelist.

—Behind every successful person stands a woman willing to offer support and trust.

For some reason, that line she had once read in a magazine surfaced in Yukino’s heart.

I want to be the woman who stands behind Kotomi, supporting her and trusting her.

The moment Yukino honestly admitted this thought to herself—even if she only dared whisper it internally—she suddenly realized what that desire implied.

Her delicate face gradually began to burn.

Whoosh!

Yukino abruptly stood up, turned her head away from Kotomi on purpose, and muttered softly:

”I-I’m going to wash my face. I’m used to washing it before going to bed.”

”Couldn’t you have washed it while you were showering just now?” Kotomi teased casually.

”Because I feel like it!”

Yukino let out a soft growl at Kotomi, then lowered her head and hurried toward the bathroom. She was afraid that if she stayed in front of Kotomi even one second longer, her cheeks would turn red like a boiled shrimp.

Kotomi shrugged and thought to herself:

The nickname I gave her fits pretty well. This little Yukino really is a cold little tigress.

Yukino splashed her face repeatedly with cold water until her heart gradually calmed and her cheeks stopped burning. Only then did she step out of the bathroom.

The moment she emerged, she saw Kotomi lying on her side on the bed. One hand supported her cheek, while the other idly twirled a strand of hair.

Meanwhile, Yui Yuigahama was kneeling obediently behind her, holding a nail clipper and trimming Kotomi’s toenails.

Seeing this scene, Yukino’s expression turned cold. The little tigress in her heart let out a possessive roar. Her words carried a sharp edge:

”For a moment, I thought I’d traveled back to a medieval palace and accidentally witnessed a queen enjoying herself in her chambers.”

”A queen usually has at least two maids by her side,” Kotomi chuckled, lazily waving her cute little hand.

”Come, Yukino. Kneel on one knee first, call me ’Your Majesty,’ and then help me trim my fingernails.”

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