Are you wondering what kinda story we cooked up for our doujinshi? Well… it's peak cliché. A typical BL manga setup, straight from the enemies-to-lovers playbook.
So here's how it goes: the fictional version of me finds out some bastard laid his filthy hands on my girlfriend. Being the oh-so-responsible and loving boyfriend that I am, I storm over to confront the guy—fictional senpai, of course. We go at it, at first with just words, but it doesn't take long before fists fly. Real dramatic shit.
Then, bam—we both tumble down the staircase like a pair of idiots. Miraculously survive, naturally. It's fiction, let us live a little. Anyway, the fall ends with me pinning him to the floor. Yeah, I know. Classic BL move. And that's the magical moment where our fictional heartbeats sync, cheeks go red, eyes lock like we're in a soap opera.
What happens next? Go read it yourself, heh. Not spoiling everything.
Anyway, since this whole "franchise" of ours is blowing up—doujinshi getting wild engagement, merch selling like hotcakes—we moved on to the next level: fan service.
Yep, that's right.
Now and then, even though senpai looks like he'd rather get hit by a bus, we play pretend—act like we're actually a couple. And the fans? They go feral. I just lightly touch his cheek? Screaming. Senpai adjusts my tie in the hallway? Screaming.
Of course, we break character sometimes. Especially him. Senpai spooks like a skittish cat whenever I touch him—flinches, yells, sometimes smacks me right then and there.
I probably sound like a masochist, but hey, the fans love it. They think we're adorable—whether we're genuinely interacting or putting on a show. They snap pics, post them online, and boom, more fans show up like bees to honey.
But we're not stopping there. Nah. We're polishing the fanbase now. Leveling up. And that means…
"Hah? Domain subscription?"
Senpai jumps up from his chair like I just told him we're selling his kidneys. His almond eyes go wide, but the rest of us Not even flinching. This reaction was expected.
"Relax, it's just the basic plan." I grin, grabbing the whiteboard and dragging it to the center of our cluster of desks like I'm pitching a startup to investors. "We just wanna launch a professional-looking fansite. With a shopping cart."
"Come on, Morikita-kun. It's not like we're asking you to buy us another drawing tablet," Nanase-san chimes in, acting all chill with that usual smug face of hers.
Asakura-san nods like a nervous deer, while Inoue-san's half-asleep with her head on the desk, clearly waiting for senpai to finally give in so she can stop pretending to care.
But senpai got that I'm seconds away from combusting kind of look. His glare darts between me, Nanase-san, Inoue-san, Asakura-san, then back to me like we're part of some conspiracy. Even as I point to the domain name and sketch out the site layout, he's giving me full-on rebellion vibes.
Like I care. I've got an ace up my sleeve.
So, I abandon the whiteboard and casually stroll over to him. I see his jaw clenching. Good. Let's make it worse.
I lean in, lips just a few inches from his ear—his right one, the one with the old piercing holes—and whisper, "You don't actually think we're gonna make money selling paintings of flowers and trees, do you?"
His head snaps toward me. "This is an art club—a nature art club, not some weird-ass manga circle." His voice is cold.
"Sure, sure," I say, still smiling. "But you know as well as I do, it takes ages to sell that kind of art. Huge canvas, expensive paints, tons of time, and then what? We're stuck hunting for buyers like lost puppies while trying to fund our next exhibition. We don't have time for that. This? This is fast, effective. And hey—" I lean in just a little closer, lowering my voice, "I know you don't wanna screw things up again."
And there it is.
His jaw tightens even more. When he turns to meet my eyes, I see it—that flicker of heat, that silent fire he's trying to bottle up.
"Your girlfriend's the one who screwed everything up," senpai snaps, tossing the blame like a hot potato straight to someone who isn't even here.
Damn. I didn't think he'd go that low, heh.
I tilt my head, give him the kind of smirk that says nice try. "Well yeah, she's a drama queen. Everybody knows that. But blaming her won't erase the fact that you're the reason the last exhibition went to shit."
Boom. Direct hit. I watch his jaw tighten like he's grinding his molars to dust. If he's gonna deck me, now's probably the moment.
"You—!"
Yep. There it is.
He grabs me by the collar and yanks me in close, our faces now just inches apart. I can feel his breath, hot and pissed off. His eyes are burning—dark, furious—and I know, I know, this has less to do with Maki and more to do with whatever happened between him and Horie-san.
"If I find out you're scheming something with that bitch," he growls through gritted teeth, "I'll make sure to ruin that annoying face of yours."