Crossover Anime: The Heroine is in Trouble? I Take Advantage of the Situation

That morning, countless readers, writers, and editors who subscribed to the newspaper saw a name that made their hearts skip a beat in the headline of the culture column—Kenji Yamada.

The chairman of the Naoki Prize jury personally participated!

The article's title was even more astonishing—

"At the end of logic lies divine love: A brief analysis of the '043' core of the classical tragedy of The Devotion of Suspect X."

In the editor-in-chief's office at Shueisha, Masao Tanaka's hands trembled, almost unable to hold the newspaper. He read Professor Yamada's article word by word, his face growing paler and paler.

In the article, Professor Yamada, with his profound knowledge and precise writing, compared the structure of "The Suspect" with that of ancient Greek tragedy, elevating Tetsuya Ishigami's actions to the level of "a saint who sacrificed himself for his faith."

"...When a mathematical genius treats everything in the world as a calculable variable, an incalculable variable—'love'—intrudes into his world. This is not a simple love story; it is a process of a kingdom of logic willingly collapsing and sacrificing itself before the brilliance of divinity. Mr. Seiji Fujiwara used the coldest logic to write about the most ardent emotions. This skill has transcended his time."

"Clap."

The newspaper slipped from Tanaka Masao's hand and fell to the floor. He slumped into his chair, muttering to himself, "It's over...it's all over..."

……

……

University of Tokyo, Yasuda Auditorium.

A literary seminar open to all faculty, students, and major media outlets is underway.

The speaker was Professor Takeshi Watanabe, one of the judges for this year's Naoki Prize.

The seminar was originally themed "Humanity Expression in Modern Literature," but during the final Q&A session, a female student from the Department of Literature bravely stood up and asked the question that everyone wanted to ask.

"Professor Watanabe, how would you evaluate Seiji Fujiwara's 'The Devotion of Suspect X,' which has recently caused a great sensation?"

All the cameras and microphones in the room were instantly pointed at Professor Watanabe on the stage.

Professor Watanabe adjusted his glasses, a gentle yet slightly excited smile spreading across his face. Instead of answering directly, he asked, "Of all of you here, how many have read this book?"

"Clatter, clatter!"—More than 80% of the students and reporters in the audience raised their hands.

Professor Watanabe nodded in satisfaction, his voice clearly carried throughout the lecture hall through the microphone.

"So, I want to tell you all that Ishigami Tetsuya is the most successfully portrayed tragic character in Japanese literature in the last twenty years, without exception!"

His tone was resolute, which caused an uproar in the audience.

"The Devotion of Suspect X is a once-in-a-century masterpiece that explores the ultimate in pure love. It tells us that the highest form of deception is not deceiving the police, but sacrificing oneself. It is a blessing for all of us to live in the same era as such a work. I even believe that future literary histories, when writing about our time, will not be able to avoid this book, nor will they be able to avoid the name 'Seiji Fujiwara'."

After he finished speaking, he bowed slightly to the audience.

This scene was broadcast throughout Japan via countless cameras.

……

Tokyo, a top-tier members-only club that is not open to the public.

This place is home to a group of the most prominent figures in the Japanese cultural world—renowned directors, top producers, presidents of major publishing houses, and... judges for several literary awards.

One of the judges, Takeshi Sasaki, is an old writer known for his fiery temper and straightforward personality, and he is surrounded by several people.

"Mr. Sasaki, the competition for the Naoki Prize this year is fierce. Who do you think has the best chance?" a film producer asked casually, but was actually trying to gauge the opinion of the writer his company was investing in.

Sasaki had just taken a sip of his whiskey when he snorted and, in his signature loud voice, said without any politeness, "Competition? Competition my ass!"

Everyone around was stunned.

Sasaki glanced around, then slammed his glass down on the table with a loud "bang."

"I'm putting this out there! If this year's Naoki Prize winner isn't Seiji Fujiwara, I, Takeshi Sasaki, will tear up my jury badge on the spot and throw it into Tokyo Bay!"

He pointed to his own nose, his eyes sharp as knives: "We old men might sometimes consider personal relationships and seniority, but we're not so confused as to be unable to distinguish right from wrong! In the face of a work like 'The Devotion of Suspect X,' any consideration of personal relationships is a desecration of literature! Get out of here!"

This blunt "ultimatum" spread to all those in the industry who were still observing the situation through various channels the very next day.

……

The three heavyweight judges, as if they had planned it in advance, sent out the same unambiguous signal through three completely different channels.

This "imperial decree" shattered the last illusions of all competitors.

The publishers and writers who were previously making a big fuss suddenly fell silent overnight.

All banquets, visits, and public relations activities were immediately suspended.

Some quick-thinking critics have even started turning their guns on "The Devotion of Suspect X," writing articles praising the film in an attempt to ride the wave of popularity destined to go down in history.

The entire literary world fell silent, awaiting only the coronation of the new king.

The atmosphere in the high-level conference room of the Shinazugawa Group was equally deathly silent, but this time, it was not because of doubt, but because of shock.

"He doesn't even need us to lift a finger..." one director muttered to himself, his eyes filled with disbelief. "Professor Yamada, Professor Watanabe... these literary giants would actually stand up for him to this extent..."

Looking at the shocked faces in the conference room, the president was also filled with a surge of emotions. He finally understood that Seiji Fujiwara's personal connections, and the quality of his works that made any connections willing to serve him, had formed a "power" at a higher level than commercial operations.

This "momentum" has become so powerful that it is no less than that of a large corporation!

He made a quick decision and said to his secretary, "Arrange it immediately. I want to see Professor Fujiwara in person."

No, he immediately changed his tune and used a more respectful title.

"No, we'll have Managing Director Tanaka personally visit Professor Fujiwara. Bring the highest-level S-class author contract drafted by our legal department."

The following day, Eiji Tanaka, the managing director of Shinazugawa Bunko, personally paid a visit.

Without mentioning the Naoki Prize again, he respectfully handed a brand-new contract to Seiji Fujiwara.

"Mr. Fujiwara, this is our group's highest respect for your unparalleled talent. For all your future works published with our group, the contract will permanently lock in an 18% royalty rate. At the same time, we have added a performance-based agreement: for any work whose single-volume sales exceed three million copies, the royalty will automatically increase to 20%. We only hope... that this clause can be kept confidential to avoid causing unnecessary trouble."

Seiji Fujiwara took the contract, flipped through it casually, and calmly signed his name.

"It's a pleasure working with you, Managing Director Tanaka."

Tanaka Eiji looked at the calm and composed young man before him, and his heart was filled with mixed emotions.

The partnership between Shinazugawa Bunko and Seiji Fujiwara remains strong.

However, the leader of this cooperation has changed hands.

……

……

Soon, the day of the Naoki Prize announcement arrived.

The awards ceremony was held in the "Peacock Room" of the Imperial Hotel.

This is a top-tier social venue where Japan's elite gather. The crystal chandeliers are dazzling, and the gleaming marble floor reflects the elegant attire and graceful figures.

The air was filled with the aroma of fine champagne and delicate perfumes.

The media, from all over the country, were already on high alert, with flashes going off one after another.

However, unlike the tense atmosphere of previous years, filled with suspense and undercurrents of competition among various forces, this year's awards ceremony was permeated with a tacit harmony.

All the guests present—writers, critics, and publishing executives—wearing polite smiles and exchanging pleasantries, but their gazes always unconsciously drifted in the same direction.

There, Seiji Fujiwara was sitting quietly.

He wore a well-tailored black suit with a simple white shirt underneath. He wasn't wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his collar were casually undone. He exuded a relaxed feeling that was incongruous with the solemn occasion, yet somehow perfectly harmonious.

Sitting next to her was Kasumigaoka Utaha, who had been invited as a family member.

Today, she chose an elegant deep purple dress that accentuated her graceful figure. Her slightly wavy long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a faint smile graced her face as she whispered something to Fujiwara Seiji. The intimate and natural atmosphere between them made the countless envious glances around them pale in comparison.

"Seiji, you don't seem nervous at all," Shiyu said with a hint of teasing.

"What's there to be nervous about in a ceremony where the outcome is already known?" Seiji Fujiwara picked up the champagne glass on the table, gently swirled it, and watched the rising bubbles. His tone was calm. "I'm just wondering whether to give three sentences or five in my acceptance speech later..."

Shiyu was amused by his Versailles-esque demeanor and reached out a finger to gently poke his side: "Tone it down, Fujiwara-sensei. At least give your seniors some face."

“Alright,” Seiji Fujiwara shrugged, “four lines it is.”

Finally, the lengthy process came to an end, and the awards ceremony officially began.

Professor Kenji Yamada, the chairman of the jury, slowly walked onto the stage. He cleared his throat, facing hundreds of eyes and countless cameras below the stage, his face showing a solemn yet slightly excited expression.

"The 160th Naoki Ryunosuke Award, after careful consideration by all our judges..."

He paused, kept everyone in suspense for a moment, and then, in an unprecedentedly loud voice filled with admiration and affirmation, uttered the name that was already a foregone conclusion.

"Winning entry – The Devotion of Suspect X! Winner – Seiji Fujiwara!"

boom--!

Although the outcome was already predetermined, the moment the name was announced, the entire banquet hall erupted in thunderous applause! Flashbulbs converged into a sea of ​​light, flashing wildly, as if to etch this moment in history forever.

The youngest Naoki Prize winner in history has been born!

Under everyone's watchful eyes, Seiji Fujiwara stood up and casually straightened the hem of his suit jacket. He showed no excitement or elation, only giving Shiho a reassuring smile. Then, amidst a sea of ​​applause, he walked slowly and steadily onto the stage, neither arrogant nor humble.

He received the trophy, representing the highest honor in popular Japanese literature, from his mentor, Professor Kenji Yamada. The trophy felt slightly heavy in his hand, with a cool, metallic texture.

Professor Yamada looked at his most prized "friend despite the age gap," his eyes filled with satisfaction and pride. He patted Fujiwara Seiji's shoulder forcefully and whispered, "Congratulations, Fujiwara-kun. You have made history."

Seiji Fujiwara nodded slightly in acknowledgment and turned to face the audience.

In that instant, all the applause stopped, all the flashes were aimed at him, and all eyes were focused on him.

He spoke, and his voice, transmitted clearly through the speakers, resonated throughout every corner of the banquet hall.

"Thank you to the judging panel."

The brief four-word response is out of respect for Professor Yamada and others.

Then, changing the subject, his gaze seemed to pierce through the crowd and land on Aida Ryuji, the editor-in-chief of Shinazugawa Bunko, in the audience.

Aida Ryuji's heart tightened, and he subconsciously straightened his back.

Fujiwara Seiji continued in a calm, indifferent tone, as if giving instructions:

"Editor-in-Chief Aida, this trophy has a nice feel to it. Remember to print it on the dust jacket of Volume 3 of A Certain Magical Index, and use the title 'Recommended by Naoki Prize Winner', in a larger font."

After speaking, he nodded slightly to the audience in the deathly silence before turning and walking off the stage.

There was no gratitude, no excitement, and no prospect of the future.

Just one sentence... a commercial?!

The banquet hall was shrouded in a suffocating silence.

Everyone was stunned by this shocking "acceptance speech," their minds going blank.

Immediately afterward, the reporters, regaining their senses, went completely berserk, like sharks that had smelled blood!

"Crack! Crack! Crack!"

The flashes were going off at an unprecedented frequency, and the shutter sounds created a dense, impenetrable noise!

They knew that tomorrow—no, tonight—would be the headline news! A sensational story that would shake the entire nation!

……

……

The next day in Japan, the name of Seiji Fujiwara was indeed completely overwhelmed.

In Seiji Fujiwara's apartment, Eriri rushed in early in the morning, carrying a large stack of newspapers and magazines she had just bought from the convenience store, excitedly spreading them all over the carpet.

"Seiji! Utaha! Look!" Eriri knelt on the carpet like a child showing off a treasure, her golden twin tails swinging excitedly with her movements. "You two are the center of the storm! All the newspapers are going crazy for you!"

She held up a copy of the Yomiuri Shimbun, whose front page featured a huge photo of Seiji Fujiwara holding a trophy, with a headline that was utterly cringeworthy:

【The arrival of the unicorn in the literary world! ——The 18-year-old god, the ペンでera を tailor! 】

"'God of the Judgment Era'! Oh my god, that headline is so cool!" Eriri exclaimed excitedly, then picked up another copy of the Mainichi Shimbun:

【Madman か, genius か? ——The most wild award-winning novel in history, Shocking the literary world! 】

"And this too! Weekly Bunshun also published a special issue!" She pulled out another magazine, its cover almost entirely filled with bold, black text:

【The end of the old era!ペンという名の剣を carrying え, literatura no throne no junlin no 18 years old no overlord! 】

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Thank you so much for the monthly pass from the amazing user "Feng Shui Lunluo"!

The author is sick, so there will only be one update today. Sorry.

Chapter Sixty: I Want You, Eriri (1/3)