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

As if possessed, she went inside.

Passing through the torii gate and stepping onto the pebbled approach, a faint, pleasant scent of incense and old wood wafts through the air.

It's so quiet here that you can hear your own heartbeat.

She is a person without faith.

But at this moment, she was like a drowning person, desperately trying to grab onto any possible piece of driftwood.

She walked to the wooden frame where the ema (votive plaques) were hung.

Small wooden plaques, each carrying the wishes of ordinary people, gently collided in the night breeze, making a crisp yet lonely "clack, clack" sound.

Driven by her writer's instincts, she began to examine the text piece by piece.

"I hope my son can get into the University of Tokyo."

"I hope to be with the person I love forever."

"I pray for my family's good health."

……

They are all similar, simple wishes full of everyday life.

She laughed self-deprecatingly, feeling that her behavior was incredibly foolish.

How could one possibly find the answer to their creative block in a place like this?

Just as she was about to turn and leave, her gaze was drawn to an ema (votive plaque) in the corner.

It was a brand new ema (votive plaque) that still exuded a faint fragrance of paulownia wood.

The handwriting above wasn't done with the limp marker provided by the shrine, but with an excellent fountain pen, written with a clean and crisp stroke, yet with just the right amount of languidness.

She felt she had seen that brushstroke somewhere before.

The contents of the ema (votive plaque) made her gasp for breath.

He didn't ask for anything for himself.

Without wealth, there is no health, and no success.

There was only one short sentence, yet it was so tender it seemed to overflow with tenderness.

May the sky's paintbrush capture all the colors she sees; may her world henceforth be filled only with warmth and light.

There are no flowery words, no profound philosophies.

There is only one kind of pure, selfless protection, the purest form of protection that hopes for the happiness of another person.

This……

Isn't this the very essence of "love" that she couldn't possibly capture in her writing, no matter how hard she tried?

It was not derived through logical deduction, nor was it built up from pre-defined assumptions.

It's right here.

This small wooden sign, though quiet, possesses a power that can pierce the heart.

Kasumigaoka Utaha felt her fingers suddenly turn icy cold.

She reached out, her fingertips trembling slightly, and traced the words.

Then, her gaze slowly moved downwards.

It landed on the signature in the lower right corner of the ema (votive plaque).

The full name is not written there.

Only one word.

A style that is both elegant and unrestrained, yet also reserved and composed—

"kindness".

boom--! ! !

It was as if a thunderclap had exploded in Kasumigaoka Utaha's mind!

It's that man!

Lynn!

That man in the editorial department who used cold words to dissect her work until it was completely shattered!

The man who shielded her from all the filth with his calm gaze on the tram!

It's him!

He wrote this comment, and he wrote this prayer!

It's not that he doesn't understand.

He understands better than anyone else!

He wasn't criticizing her; he was simply stating a fact she couldn't refute!

At this moment, all resentment, pride, and self-doubt crumbled completely.

Instead, she felt an unprecedented and immense sense of shame, and an even more turbulent, almost consuming, mad desire called "exploration"!

She got it.

She finally understood what she was missing.

She turned around abruptly, no longer confused.

She rushed out of the shrine, sat down by the window in the nearest 24-hour convenience store, and opened the cold laptop.

This time, when her fingers landed on the keyboard again.

The whole world seemed to have changed.

The words on that ema (votive plaque), the man's gaze, that quiet yet soul-stirring tenderness—all transformed into endless inspiration, bringing a torrential downpour to her parched creative world!

"Da, da, da, da..."

The crisp sound of keyboard typing rang out again.

This time, there was no rush, no anxiety.

Instead, it was with an unprecedented sense of certainty and fervor.

The bright lights of the convenience store shone on her breathtakingly beautiful face.

Those deep red eyes, which always carried a hint of aloofness and calculation, were now burning with a flame called "creation"—a flame powerful enough to ignite even the night.

She found it.

She found her answer.

And she found her new "story".

Outside the convenience store's glass window, the sky gradually turned from a deep inky blue to a pale, fish-belly white.

The first rays of dawn pierced through the clouds, illuminating the sleeping streets of Tokyo.

"clatter."

As the last punctuation mark fell, Kasumigaoka Utaha finally lifted her fingers from the keyboard.

She leaned against the cold chair back, feeling as if all her strength had been drained away, and even moving a finger felt like a luxury.

My body was exhausted, but my mind was more excited than ever before.

On the table were seven or eight empty coffee paper cups.

The dense text on the laptop screen radiates a scorching heat, enough to set off a wildfire.

She did it.

She crushed and ground the man's cold dissection and his warm prayers into ink, and wrote them into a completely new story.

A story that belongs only to her and him.

She found her answer.

And she found her new "story".

Kasumigaoka Utaha's lips curled into a faint, yet dangerously dangerous smile.

She knew the story wasn't over yet.

No, the real story is only just beginning.

……

The morning light was just right on the slope leading to Zongwu High School.

Students in school uniforms strolled around in twos and threes, laughing and joking, filling the air with a unique, inexpensive yet vibrant atmosphere characteristic of youth.

Kasumigaoka Utaha walked alone against the flow of people.

Instead of going home, she printed out the manuscript, the culmination of her entire night's work, at a print shop and came straight to the school.

Her face was pale, and there was an undeniable bluish tint under her eyes. Her usually meticulously styled hair was just casually draped over her shoulders, and her whole being exuded a sense of brokenness after being burned out.

But her back was ramrod straight.

She clutched a file folder tightly in her arms, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world, or like a soldier about to go into battle, holding her only weapon.

Her deep red eyes ignored everything around her, burning with an almost obsessive, scorching light.

Just as she was about to reach the school gate, a figure blocked her way.

"Good morning, Kasumigaoka-san."

It's Lynn.

He still had that lazy, unenthusiastic look, his hands in his pockets, as if he were just on his way to work, casually greeting his students.

Kasumigaoka Utaha's heart skipped a beat.

She instinctively clutched the file folder in her arms, all the words and provocations welling up at that moment, ready to launch an attack.

However, Lynn did not give her that chance.

His gaze lingered for half a second on her face, which seemed to scream "I'm going to challenge you," and on the bulging file folder in her arms.

Then, he didn't ask anything.

He simply turned around, walked to a vending machine next to him, inserted a coin with a "clunk," and pressed the button.

A steaming can of black coffee rolled into the retrieval slot.

He walked back and, under Kasumigaoka Utaha's astonished gaze, completely unprepared for this turn of events, shoved the still-hot can of coffee into her hand without a word.

Her hands were as cold as jade from not having slept all night.

That sudden, domineering warmth instantly spread from her palms, along her arms, and into her heart.

"To burn oneself to illuminate the story is the romance of a creator."

Lynn's voice was as flat as if he were stating the weather.

"But a dead creator can't write a sequel."

After saying that, he put his hands in his pockets, walked past her, and headed straight for the school gate.

From beginning to end, he didn't ask her why she hadn't slept all night, what she was holding in her arms, or mention anything about what happened in the editorial department yesterday.

It was as if it were just an ordinary, simple act of concern from a teacher to a student who looked like he was about to die.

Kasumigaoka Utaha stood frozen in place.

She was prepared for all the clashes of swords and the barrage of words.

Yet, a warm can of coffee and a casual remark completely shattered their defenses.

She looked down at the warm coffee in her palm, then looked up at the languid figure that had already walked away.

An unprecedented, unfamiliar, and burning emotion was raging in her chest.

That wasn't anger, nor was it resentment.

Instead, it was something more complex, something that made her cheeks burn, something called "heart turmoil."