I, the spiritual mentor of beautiful girls from all over the world

Machida Sonoko, Kasumigaoka Utaha's personal editor, an intellectual woman with a neat short haircut, finally put down the manuscript in her hand.

She rubbed her tight temples, her face showing professional fatigue and a hint of undisguised regret.

"Shiyu, I regret to inform you."

Machida Sonoko's voice was gentle, but every word was like a cold, velvet-covered hammer, striking Kasumigaoka Utaha's proudest pride.

"Your manuscript for Volume Six... is no good."

"Looking at the data, sales of the fifth volume have already shown a significant decline. Many core readers have commented that the story... isn't sweet enough anymore."

"The male lead's romantic storyline became very stiff and deliberate. It was as if he was forced to fall in love with the female lead in order to advance the plot."

"Are you... facing a bottleneck?"

Every single word precisely pierced through Kasumigaoka Utaha's pride.

For the first time, her prized talent and insightful understanding of human nature were met with the market's ruthless rejection.

anxiety.

An unprecedented sense of anxiety, like cold vines, tightly bound her heart.

Kasumigaoka Utaha's fingertips sank deeply into her palms, yet her face still maintained a perfect, flawless smile.

"Really? It seems I've been having some issues lately. Thank you for your hard work, Ms. Machida. I'll start all over again."

The more respectable she appeared, the more broken she was inside.

Just as she was about to get up and say goodbye, to lick her wounds alone.

Machida Sonoko called out to her.

"Wait, Shiyu."

Machida Sonoko wore a strange expression that was somewhat complicated, even bordering on fanaticism.

She picked up her phone, turned on the screen, and turned it towards Kasumigaoka Utaha.

"Actually... before you came, I sent the electronic version of your manuscript to a friend, just to give it a try."

"He's not in our industry, but his insights... how should I put it, have a chilling penetrating power."

friend?

Kasumigaoka Utaha's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Which blind critic dares to point fingers at her work?

Machida Sonoko ignored her question and simply read aloud a text from her phone screen.

The voice carried a hint of reverence for the author of the text, a reverence she herself was unaware of.

"Love Metronome, a very interesting novel. In the latest volume, the scene where the male protagonist confesses to the female protagonist on the rooftop is logically sound, and the foreshadowing is beautifully resolved. From a setting perspective, it's flawless."

The opening is a polite affirmation.

Kasumigaoka Utaha's wary heart involuntarily relaxed a little.

However, the style of the scene changed drastically the next second.

Machida Sonoko took a deep breath and read out the following comments in a tone almost like reading a verdict.

"However, the transition here is abrupt."

boom--!

These words, like a black lightning bolt, instantly shattered all of Kasumigaoka Utaha's pride and pretense.

The businesslike smile on her face froze completely.

Machida Sonoko's voice continued, like a precise scalpel, mercilessly dissecting the most fundamental flaws in her work.

"The male protagonist's emotional outburst did not stem from his love for the female protagonist, but from his anger at the 'taint of his ideals.'"

"He didn't confess because he 'loved' her, but because he 'couldn't accept the collapse of the idealized version of himself,' so he used the form of confession to forcibly correct this 'bug.'"

"The author is afraid to write about truly pure 'love.'"

"So, she used logic and preconceived notions to construct it, rather than to feel it."

Dead silence.

The entire conference room fell into a suffocating silence.

Kasumigaoka Utaha's body was trembling slightly.

Even Machida Sonoko, the senior editor who followed her for five volumes, couldn't pinpoint this problem, only vaguely feeling that it was "not sweet enough."

And this so-called "friend" whom I've never met...

Yet, through the cold screen, with just a few words, she exposed her deepest fear and helplessness, hidden beneath her flowery words, to the light of day!

This is no longer a comment.

This is... an autopsy!

Just as her mind went blank from the enormous shock.

"Squeak-"

The meeting room door was pushed open.

"Ms. Machida, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

A calm, slightly magnetic male voice came from the doorway.

Machida Sonoko suddenly looked up, her face instantly showing a look of surprise, and she quickly stood up.

"Ah! Mr. Lynn! You've come at the perfect time!"

Kasumigaoka Utaha stiffly looked in the direction of the sound.

When she saw the person's face clearly, her deep red eyes, which always gleamed with wisdom and calculation, contracted sharply.

It's him!

That teacher from Zongwu High School who shielded her from all the filth on the tram!

Lynn.

He was dressed in simple casual clothes, his hands casually in his pockets, a hint of laziness on his face, as he strolled in as if this were his own living room.

He nodded to Machida Sonoko, and when his gaze fell on Kasumigaoka Utaha, he simply swept it over her calmly without the slightest ripple, as if he were just looking at an insignificant stranger.

Kasumigaoka Utaha felt her heart was about to jump out of her throat.

Is it a coincidence?

Do not!

That "friend"... it was him!

For the first time, she put away all her sharp tongue and pretense.

She looked at the man before her and asked the question in a trembling voice filled with endless confusion.

"who are you?"

Lynn stopped walking.

He didn't answer directly, but instead turned his gaze to Machida Sonoko and said in a calm tone, "Ms. Machida, I'm here to ask about the contact information for the design firm I asked you for help with before."

"Ah! It's here!"

Machida Sonoko snapped out of her daze and quickly pulled out a business card from her cardholder, handing it over with the utmost respect, as if she were addressing an industry giant.

Lynn took the business card, glanced at it, and then put it in his pocket.

Throughout the entire meeting, he didn't glance at Kasumigaoka Utaha again, as if her outburst of question was nothing more than a meaningless breeze in the conference room.

He turned around, leaving only a languid silhouette for the two people inside, and walked away.

This kind of utter, deep-seated disregard is more damaging than any verbal mockery.

It was like an invisible needle, precisely piercing the beautiful yet fragile balloon that Kasumigaoka Utaha was wearing, the one that claimed to be "the genius writer Kasumigaoka Utaha."

She didn't even deserve an answer from him.

……

Kasumigaoka Utaha doesn't know how she left Kadokawa Bookstore.

She wandered aimlessly through the old bookstores of Jimbocho, surrounded by bookstores and a rich cultural atmosphere, but none of it could penetrate her senses.

All that remained in her mind was that cold, autopsy-like text and that man's chillingly calm gaze.

She walked into her usual quiet coffee shop, 3.3, ordered a black coffee without sugar or milk, and opened her laptop.

She wants to prove it.

She wanted to prove to that man, and even more so to herself, that she, Kasumigaoka Utaha, was not just an empty shell who could only pile up stories with logic!

Inspiration is surging like never before!

She deleted all her previous drafts and started a new story, beginning with what happened on the tram that day.

The sound of the keyboard striking the keys was crisp and rapid, like a sudden rainstorm pounding in the quiet air of the coffee shop.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and lines of text seemed to come alive, multiplying wildly on the screen.

She transformed the man's gaze, actions, and tone into words.

She poured all her inner humiliation, shock, and unspeakable heart palpitations into the heroine's soul.

The story unfolded more smoothly than ever before.

However, when she got to the most crucial part—the complex emotional shift the female protagonist experienced after being rescued—her fingers stopped once again.

That invisible, impenetrable layer of paper has reappeared.

She can depict the heroine's shock, analyze her resentment, and logically explain why she became interested in the hero.

But that purest, most irrational feeling called "heartbeat"...

She can't write it.

The words on the screen instantly became cold and unfamiliar, as if silently mocking her incompetence.

The man's voice, like a curse, echoed in her mind again.

"The author is afraid to write about truly pure 'love'."

"So she used logic and preconceived notions to build it up, instead of feeling it."

"Snapped."

She slammed the laptop shut.

The bitter coffee had gone cold, but she couldn't taste it at all.

She grabbed her schoolbag and fled the suffocating place.

.

Chapter 53: The Writer's Fall from Grace: The Day the Gods Fell to Earth

Night had fallen, and the city's neon lights had painted the sky an eerie purplish-red.

Instead of going home, she boarded the tram, aimlessly letting the steel behemoth carry her to an unknown distance.

She needs an answer.

An answer that even she herself couldn't provide.

She didn't know how much time had passed when she stepped off the tram in a daze, only to find herself in a completely unfamiliar place.

Far from the hustle and bustle of the city center, the streets are lined with quiet residential areas, and most of the shop signs are now closed.

The evening breeze carried a slight chill, ruffling her long, flowing hair and cooling her anxious, feverish mind.

She wandered aimlessly, like a lost ghost.

My steps finally came to a stop in front of a small shrine that was almost swallowed up by the night.

The shrine is very old. The stone torii gate at the entrance is covered with moss, and two eternal lamps cast a dim yet warm glow in the night wind, as if they were the only heartbeat still breathing in this quiet neighborhood.