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543 — The Big Black Umbrella
🕑 Added 2025-09-24 15:12:59 +0000 UTCWith the mindset that creators should help and support each other, the ever-kindhearted Eriri decided to comfort the currently dejected "errand boy" in her own way—by using her foot.
Blushing furiously, she lowered her head and shyly pressed her little foot, wrapped snugly in white cotton socks, into his hand.
‘Enough, enough! This is already too much!’
Cold sweat beaded on Kyousuke’s forehead as he desperately tried to hold back Eriri’s insistent foot while keeping it from brushing against Utaha-senpai’s thigh.
To make matters worse, it wasn’t just Eriri forcing her foot into his hand—Utaha was also subtly pressing her long, black-stockinged legs against him.
At this point, the back of his hand was completely sunk into her silky thighs.
If not for his desperate blockade, Eriri’s toes would already be brushing Utaha’s leg.
Thanks to his sharp senses, Kyousuke managed to keep an eye on Eriri while stealing glances at Utaha.
To his horror, she seemed utterly oblivious—or worse, deliberately so.
The faint blush on her face only deepened, making her look even more wickedly alluring.
If this were happening somewhere else…
Eriri, on the other hand, was flustered to be sneaking her foot against him right in front of that devil woman, but she was secretly pleased with Kyousuke’s “initiative.”
Even though her eyes were misting with embarrassment, she stubbornly pressed on, harder and harder…
And finally—sweat pouring down Kyousuke’s face—black and white touched.
Huh?
What’s that?
The blonde princess’s toes slipped through Kyousuke’s fingers and brushed against something soft and smooth.
She flexed her big toe.
‘So slippery… kind of nice, actually. Was this… the texture of Kyousuke’s pants?’
‘Wait. No, that can’t be right!’
His whole body is stiff as a rock, no way something this soft belongs to him!
In a flash of terrifying clarity, the great detective Eriri realized the truth.
Her petite body stiffened as she slowly lifted her gaze leftward.
And there, staring back at her, were those familiar, wine-red demon eyes.
The moment their gazes locked, a shiver jolted through her body.
That look—like a serpent about to swallow its prey whole.
This devil had regressed.
From a black-flamed demon… into a succubus.
Jerking her gaze away, Eriri leaned back in panic.
With a trembling heart, she dared to sneak a peek beneath the table.
“What’s the matter? Do my thighs feel bouncy?”
“B-Bouncy my ass! They’re just full of fat—gross! My skin’s crawling all over!”
Prepared, Eriri launched her attack with no hesitation.
“Ohh? Is that so? That’s a relief. For a moment, with you rubbing your little foot against my leg nonstop, I thought you’d fallen for me.”
“Wh-who… who would—”
“Who would ever fall for a woman like you!”
“Exactly! That’s what I was going to say.”
Eriri nodded vigorously, pleased that her “errand boy” had played translator so well.
‘Wait—hold on! How dare he copy me like that!?’
She whipped her head around, glaring at Kyousuke in disbelief.
Then, flustered, she ducked her head under the table again.
‘Huh? Utaha’s leg… is back where it should be? How did I kick her just now?’
The black-stockinged leg draped over Kyousuke’s lap was already back in place, her skirt smoothed neatly over.
Thanks to Mitsuha’s training, Utaha’s ability to handle these situations had shot through the roof.
Normally, she would’ve taken full advantage to tease Eriri into storming home in a rage.
But not this time.
For one, Kyousuke’s mom was in the house—getting caught pulling stunts like that could backfire.
And two, they still needed Eriri’s help on the manga.
So, she decided to let it slide.
“What’s wrong? Still not satisfied with a little foot touching? If you’d like, I could even gift you two photos~”
Leaning back with her hands braced behind her, Utaha stretched lazily.
Her knit red sweater pulled tight, accentuating her generous chest.
“Pfft! Narcissist! Who the hell would want pictures of your fat pig legs?!” Eriri spat back.
Whether by coincidence or silent agreement, she didn’t push further.
Instead, she gave Kyousuke a hard kick for groping her foot and returned to her work.
Kyousuke let out a secret sigh of relief.
He wasn’t worried about Utaha and Eriri fighting—he was terrified his mom would pop out to watch.
As a supposedly independent man, if she saw a scene like this… his dignity would be shattered.
Sloth, corruption… Kyousuke, how could you let yourself fall this far?
Look at Eriri—so focused, so serious. How can you be…
Wait, huh?
Mid self-scolding, Kyousuke realized his left hand had unconsciously given a gentle squeeze.
That familiar softness. That shy stubbornness…
It wasn’t Utaha.
Her teasing was never this clumsy, never this forceful.
She’d toy with him with subtle brushes, not jam her foot boldly into his palm like a rookie.
It was Eriri. The idiot.
Wasn’t she supposed to be working? How did she still have time to stuff her foot in his hand?
Cold feet? Kyousuke guessed, then shamelessly kept holding her tiny foot.
“Need some help?”
A voice suddenly rang out, making the small blonde yank her foot back instantly.
Looking up, she saw the black-haired succubus watching her intently.
“If you had time to teach me, I would’ve been done already,” Eriri muttered—half a rejection, half not.
Utaha didn’t argue.
She just asked Kyousuke to send her the manga files.
Under both their gazes, she opened the drawing software with practiced ease and began working.
Her skills were nowhere near Eriri’s—she couldn’t fill in backgrounds or add detail to the clothes, just basic coloring.
But still, she was undeniably helping.
“You…”
Eriri blinked in shock. Since when did this woman learn how to do that?
Kyousuke, too, was caught off guard.
He hadn’t expected his beautiful editor to suddenly change class into a beautiful manga assistant.
Eriri watched her for a few more seconds—not in disbelief anymore, but to confirm she wasn’t messing things up—then lowered her head and resumed her own work, her expression serious now.
She definitely wasn’t in the mood to keep offering Kyousuke her foot to play with.
‘Huh? So I’m the only one suffering here?’ Kyousuke thought bitterly, then went back to drawing.
His process was usually to sketch parts of the manga, hand them to Eriri to refine, then move on to his novel.
The assistant workload was far heavier than proofreading text.
But now, with two people helping, he could go much faster.
Male-female teamwork: exhausting, but undeniably efficient.
What normally took him and Eriri an entire day was finished in just two hours.
By noon, as planned, none of them cooked.
Instead, they ordered nearly every takeout nearby—not because cooking was too tiring, but as a way to remind themselves to truly enjoy a lazy, leisurely day.
The glass sliding doors between the living room and the tatami room were all wide open.
The residents of Ruyi Dorm sat around in small groups, some on the carpet, some on the tatami mats.
Yukari held a simple rice ball wrapped in seaweed with both hands, her gaze absentmindedly fixed on the pond outside.
Raindrops fell onto the water’s surface, each one sending ripples outward.
At the same time, a tiny droplet would bounce up, only to fall again and spark another ripple, until finally the effect vanished from sight…
Raindrops and the pond—it felt like herself and the world.
They met, collided fiercely, couldn’t fit together, and so she ran away.
Yet each time, some small part of her was quietly absorbed into the world.
Again and again, she clashed and resisted, yet more of her blended in… until one day, either she would fully accept the world, or the world would fully accept her.
‘I’m glad I fell into the pond,’ she thought sincerely.
If she had fallen on a stone, she would have shattered into pieces.
If on grass, she would’ve been soaked into the soil, turned into nourishment for the plants.
“Yukari? What’s on your mind?” Kyousuke asked, holding a rice ball as he sat down beside her.
“I was just thinking… the weather’s nice today.”
Yukari smiled softly, her wide eyes curving like crescent moons.
“Yeah,” Kyousuke nodded, “a gentle kind of rain.”
A rain gentle enough to gather him, Yukari, Mitsuha, and everyone else under the same roof—how could it not be?
“You’ll succeed, Kyousuke-kun,” Yukari murmured.
“Even you’re worrying now?” Kyousuke scratched his cheek, a little embarrassed.
“I’m not worried,” she said with quiet certainty. “Not about the award, not about your novel, not even about your family. I already promised you, didn’t I? That I’d leave everything to you. Why would I doubt you? Why would I worry?”
Her voice was soft, but the resolve in her words stirred something in him.
Kyousuke froze, then let out a laugh and shook his head.
He’d underestimated Yukari.
“Yeah. It’ll succeed. That’s my promise to you.” With that, he popped the entire rice ball into his mouth.
“I’m heading out.”
Kyousuke changed into a suit.
Today called for at least a little formality—this wasn’t some small matter.
Depending on how it went, he might even witness someone bowing in apology on their hands and knees.
Showing up in casual clothes would’ve been out of place.
“Wait, wait!”
A hurried voice called out, followed by quick footsteps down the stairs.
His mother, Hojou Mikiko, rushed over and held something up against his chest, measuring.
“What do you think? Bought it this morning.”
In her hand was a deep navy-blue tie, perfectly matching his suit.
She looked so proud of herself.
“Mom, you know I never wear ties…” Hojou grimaced.
“Too bad! I’ve been waiting for this moment forever!”
Shaking her head with a grin, Mikiko immediately started tying it for him, muttering under her breath,
“I thought I’d have to wait at least another three years for this chance, but here you are, already off to work. Yosh, yosh, so handsome!”
Because he stood one step lower on the entryway landing, the height was perfect—she didn’t even need to stand on tiptoe.
‘I knew it…’ Kyousuke sighed helplessly.
His mom really did treat raising him like a game of unlocking achievements, fussing over little milestones.
“…Thanks, Mom. I like it,” he said softly.
After all, this was a tie chosen with love, a mother’s blessing for her son.
“Be safe,” Mikiko whispered back.
Then, without even waiting for him to leave the house, she turned eagerly toward the living room, practically running back to her daughters-in-law.
For the second time, Kasumigaoka Utaha found herself annoyed by Kyousuke’s mother’s presence.
With her there, she couldn’t tease Eriri, nor could she say goodbye to Kyousuke herself.
Everyone in the room wanted to see Kyousuke off—Eriri even wanted to tag along to the publisher, but who would dare snatch that role from the great Mikiko-san?
“Let’s play Parcheesi!”
The moment Kyousuke pulled the door shut, a bright, excited voice rang out behind him.
It was Miyamizu Mitsuha.
He remembered—she used to hate rainy days.
She always complained that the rain made their dull little town even duller.
On clear days, at least she could wander around with Sayaka and Teshigawara.
But on rainy days, she was trapped indoors, stuck watching boring TV shows…
And even then, she had to fight Yotsuba for the remote.
If she refused TV, her grandmother would make her recite Shinto scriptures instead—a true nightmare.
There wasn’t a single good thing about rainy days.
But now… it seemed Mitsuha had come to like them.
Or maybe, she’d never hated the rain itself. What she hated was loneliness.
Smiling faintly, Kyousuke stepped outside.
‘Fwoom—'
A massive black paper umbrella bloomed open against the curtain of rain.
Even though the cherry blossoms had long since scattered, their petals still clung to the umbrella’s surface.
It was Yamauchi Sakura’s handiwork—her drawing, her craft.
If he didn’t use Sakura’s umbrella on rainy days, she’d definitely pout.
By the iron gate stood Hirata Toshitaka, holding another large umbrella.
When he saw Hojou, he hurried to open the car door.
If he hadn’t known that his boss always used Sakura’s umbrella in the rain, he would’ve rushed to shield him immediately.
“Head to Eishuusha.”
“Yes, sir!”
Once inside, Kyousuke carefully folded the umbrella back into its sleeve, even though he knew he’d need it again later.
“Strategist has already delivered the package to Kurokawa Toyomasa’s house. He’s now on his way to Naganuma Hiroki’s residence. He said he’ll have both matters handled before you finish your meeting with Editor Shimomura.”
Toshitaka reported as he drove.
“Good. Tell him there’s no rush. I’ll be meeting those two in person afterward anyway.”
The “two” he mentioned were judges from the social-literary faction.
Kisaki Tetta, who had left earlier, was already moving against them.
Not with knives, not with brute force—but with a brand-new “weapon” he’d just forged.
