The owner of the legs shifted her posture, crossing her right leg over her left.
The way her legs overlapped revealed just a hint of the mysterious darkness in between, subtle yet alluring.
But the owner paid no attention to it.
Instead, she anxiously bounced her foot, causing the white slipper hanging from her toes to sway with each movement.
The contrast between the white slipper and her black-stockinged foot only accentuated the smooth curves of her legs, which glowed faintly under the soft light, making them even more enticing.
Kasumigaoka Utaha had a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead as she stared intently at the document open on her red laptop screen.
The words on it read:
Love Metronome - Volume 2
Even though she had already completed the outline up to the final chapter of Volume 5, Utaha found herself unable to continue writing.
The publisher had subtly hinted that the series would likely be axed by Volume 3, and she simply couldn't bring herself to work on something that seemed destined to be abandoned.
Writing a novel that no one liked felt like a complete waste of time and energy.
Even if it went to print, it would just be a waste of resources, adding unnecessary pollution to the world.
Why even bother with a third volume? Wouldn't it be better to scrap Volume 2 altogether? Maybe she should just quit, leave this pitiful excuse of a life behind, and do something she actually enjoyed.
Her deep crimson eyes, usually striking and mesmerizing, were now filled with pain.
Her slender fingers dug into her scalp, gripping her long, jet-black hair in frustration, twisting it into a tangled mess.
If a certain mildly obsessive neat freak saw her now, they'd probably feel compelled to help her tidy it up.
'Is this really the end for me?'
Her fingers trembled as they pulled at her hair, her knuckles starkly visible from the tension. Strands of black hair scattered onto the desk.
The joy of being recognized by the publisher, the pride of winning the Best Newcomer Award, the harsh reality of poor sales leading to an inevitable cancellation—
All of it had happened within a single month.
For a middle schooler like Utaha, the rise and fall had been too drastic, too cruel.
It wasn't the failure that hurt her the most. It was the realization that this was the extent of her ability.
Her father ran a small company, and while they weren't obscenely wealthy, she didn't have to worry about her future.
Writing wasn't a means of survival for her—it was a test of her own skills.
Despite always being ranked first in academics and writing scripts for the school's drama club, earning her the title of 'genius' among her peers, Utaha had never taken any of that seriously.
This was just a small town.
Even a black-and-white puppy with symmetrical markings could make the news for half a day. A 'genius' from a public middle school? That was nothing.
She wasn't trying to prove herself to others—she just wanted to prove something to herself.
And she had failed. Miserably.
The novel she had poured everything into—her writing skills, her techniques, even basing the protagonist on herself—had been ruthlessly rejected by the market.
She wasn't going to blame the readers, claiming they were too stupid to understand her work. It was a novel meant for the market. And the market had given its answer.
Utaha had always been self-aware. She had no interest in others, was withdrawn and stubborn, and was terrible at socializing.
With a personality like that, how could she ever write something that genuinely moved people?
Love Metronome was nothing more than a calculated exercise in emotional manipulation, except for the protagonist, whom she had poured a sliver of genuine emotion into.
Everything else was just technique.
Before publication, she had been so confident, thinking those foolish otaku would be swept up in the emotions she had crafted.
But reality had struck her down. Hard.
Her pride, once unshakable, lay shattered on the ground, discarded alongside her unsold books.
Editor Machida Sonoko had tried to hide the publisher's decision to axe the series, continuing to encourage her with empty words about her 'endless potential.'
But Utaha knew better.
For the first time, she could no longer hold her head high.
She let go of her hair, strands drifting onto the desk.
Feeling the tightness of her black stockings against her thighs, she suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of suffocation.
With forceful tugs, she tore at them until they were in shreds, exposing her bare, porcelain-like legs.
She kicked off her slippers, her delicate feet stepping onto the Mondrian-patterned carpet.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up her glass and took a sip of water. Her fingers, trembling slightly, hovered over the keyboard.
The novel was doomed, but she had signed a contract. She would see it through, even if it was nothing more than a worthless pile of garbage.
She pulled up the outline, staring at the words she had poured so much time and effort into. In her deep red eyes, there was unwillingness, pain—and a faint trace of hatred.
If she had never written this novel, she could have continued living comfortably in her little bubble, pretending she was strong.
'Just write. Even If it's only for Machida-san's sake.'
'Will she still go through my manuscript, pointing out all my mistakes and forcing me to revise them?'
Utaha let out a dry chuckle, shaking off her hesitation. She raised her ring finger to press the first key—
A sudden ringtone broke the silence, making her jump.
She glanced at her phone. It was Machida Sonoko.
Was this it? The final nail in the coffin?
Utaha remembered—today was the official date her book would be removed from shelves. Right now, copies of Love Metronome, all bearing the name 'Kasumi Utako' as the author, were likely being returned to the publisher's warehouse, waiting for an unknown fate.
Even though she had already received her royalties, the thought of her books being discarded like that still made her heart ache.
For Love Metronome.
For herself.
And if her classmates—especially those girls who secretly envied her—found out, they would have a field day mocking her.
Utaha had never cared about others, but only because she had always been better than them.
But now…
Suppressing her sinking emotions, she took a deep breath, steadied herself, and pressed the answer button.
"Utaha!"
Before she could even say hello, a shrill, excited voice burst through the phone.
"…What's wrong, Machida-san?"
Was she really that thrilled about her book being pulled from shelves?
Even though she knew Machida wasn't the type, Utaha's mind, clouded with negativity, couldn't help but entertain the thought.
"They sold out! All of them!!"
The sheer excitement in Machida's voice was almost ear-piercing.
Utaha blinked. "…What?"
"What do you mean 'what'?! Your novel, Love Metronome, it's completely sold out!!"
"…What?"
Utaha felt like a broken record, her mind failing to process the words.
"Haha! I'm on my way to your place right now. We'll talk in person!"
"Wait—"
A mischievous chuckle came through the phone before the call was cut off.
Utaha stared at the now-dark screen, her own reflection staring back at her, dazed and confused.
Slowly, she raised a hand to her face, brushing her flawless, porcelain skin. Then, with her thumb and forefinger, she gave her cheek a hard pinch.
It hurt.
This was real.