Green plums cannot become lovers.

He spoke casually, but Eriri noticed the faint weariness in his eyes, and the dense notes and folded pages in the book.

This person is truly giving it their all.

She was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, "Then let me hear some music you're making now."

An and Asuka were somewhat surprised, but they nodded, turned the computer a little closer, and pressed play.

A gentle piano melody flowed out. The opening notes were clear and lonely, like the breath of someone standing alone on a rooftop at night, gazing at the stars. Then the melody gradually unfolded, not a cheerful tune, but a distant, tranquil emotion tinged with a faint melancholy, as if recalling a distant summer night, a starry sky that could never be returned to.

The middle section features a very subtle string accompaniment, almost imperceptible, like a night breeze brushing past the ear. Finally, the melody returns to a simple piano solo, slowly fading out and leaving a lingering, blank space.

The entire piece of music is short, only about a minute long, but it is very well-made and conveys emotions very accurately.

Eriri was stunned.

She closed her eyes, letting the melody flow through her mind. The notes seemed to have shapes and colors—the deep blue night sky, the twinkling stars, the old metal railings of the observatory, and the strands of hair that the girl looked up at, blown by the wind.

"Is this... the theme of the female lead?" she asked softly.

"Hmm, tentatively." An and Asuka nodded. "What do you think? Does it need adjustment?"

“No…” Eriri opened her eyes, her azure pupils shining brightly in the setting sun. “It’s good. It’s really good.”

She paused, as if making a decision, then pulled a sheet of paper from her sketchbook and pushed it in front of An and Asuka.

That was what she had just drawn—the female protagonist standing under the dome of an abandoned observatory, looking up at the starlight streaming in through the opening. The pencil lines were delicate, the light and shadow were handled with exquisite skill, the softness of the starlight contrasted sharply with the oldness of the building, and the girl's figure appeared small and lonely in the vast space, yet it exuded a sense of resilience.

“This was drawn based on your music,” Eriri said, her voice a little unnatural. “When I heard that melody, this image came to mind.”

An and Asuka stared at the painting for a long time.

Then he looked up at Eriri, his eyes filled with complex emotions she couldn't understand—surprise, emotion, and a deep tenderness.

“This painting,” he said slowly, “is even better than what I wanted to express in my music.”

Eriri's face flushed red. She snatched back the drawing paper, hugged it to her chest, and turned her face away: "It's just a quick sketch! It needs more detail!"

But the corners of her mouth unconsciously curved into a small smile.

On Wednesday afternoon, Eriri brought more tools—colored pencils, markers, and even a portable digital display. An and Asuka brewed two cups of barley tea and placed them beside them.

They began to seriously discuss the game's art style. Eriri showed them the reference images she had collected: classic astronomical photographs, architectural data from old observatories, star charts for different seasons, and stylistic analyses of several of her favorite illustrators.

An and Asuka offered suggestions from the perspectives of music and narrative: "Wouldn't it have a more pronounced sense of loneliness if the color scheme of this place were a bit cooler?"

"If the lighting and shadows change suddenly during the scene transition, and this is combined with the climax of the music, the impact will be even stronger."

Their discussions were very professional, though they occasionally disagreed.

“I think the female lead’s hairstyle could be a bit more unique,” ​​Eriri said, pointing to her sketch. “The current design is too ordinary and doesn’t stand out.”

“But being too special might break the player’s immersion,” An and Asuka disagreed. “She’s an ordinary high school student, not a character from a fantasy story.”

"Being ordinary doesn't mean lacking unique features!" Eriri retorted. "Look at people in real life, everyone has their own little details..."

As the argument progressed, both realized they were being too loud, stopped at the same time, looked at each other, and then couldn't help but laugh.

"How about a compromise?" An and Asuka suggested. "Keep the current basic hairstyle, but add some subtle touches to the hair accessories or a certain detail?"

"For example?" Eriri raised an eyebrow.

An and Asuka thought for a moment, picked up a pencil, and gently added a tiny, star-shaped hair clip to the ear of her sketch.

"Like this?" he asked.

Eriri's eyes lit up when she saw the small change. The star hair clip was understated, but a closer look revealed its unique charm, and it perfectly matched the astronomical theme.

"This... is fine." She nodded, her tone revealing undisguised appreciation.

During breaks in the discussion, Eriri would ask An and Asuka some programming questions. Although she didn't understand the technical terms, she enjoyed watching him explain—he would use the simplest possible analogies, draw diagrams on paper, and patiently repeat himself until she nodded in understanding.

"So this 'engine' is like drawing software?" she asked.

"Similar, but more complex, because it deals not only with images, but also with logic, interaction, data..."

“That sounds like a huge headache,” Eriri said honestly.

An and Asuka laughed: "That's why I need to slowly work through these books."

He pointed to the pile of programming books on the table, each one showing signs of having been read, with colorful sticky notes tucked between the pages.

Eriri looked at the books, then at the boy in front of her who wasn't much older than her.

He was wearing an ordinary school uniform shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hair was a little messy, and there was a hint of fatigue in his eyes, but his gaze was clear and firm. Faced with that difficult knowledge, he did not complain or back down, but just read page by page and tried line by line.

An unprecedented admiration quietly grew in her heart.

She thought of the boastful boys at school, the hypocritical so-called talents at banquets, and her peers who thought they were superior just because of their family background.

No one is like him.

"You..." she began, her voice a little hoarse, "Don't you feel tired? Doing so many things all by yourself."

An and Asuka paused in their coding. They looked up at the setting sun outside the window. The orange-red glow painted half the sky red, and also tinged their cheeks with a rosy hue.

"I'm definitely tired," he admitted frankly. "But being tired and being worthwhile are two different things."

He turned back to look at Eriri, his gaze clear and calm:

"And now I'm not alone anymore. I have Kasumigaoka-senpai's script, Marina's help, Shizuka and Ai's support, and you... are willing to join and willing to draw these characters."

He paused, his voice becoming even softer, yet exceptionally clear:

"This is already very good."

Eriri's heart skipped a beat. She lowered her head, pretending to tidy up the drawing paper, but her fingers trembled slightly.

The last rays of the setting sun streamed into the activity room, bathing everything in a warm orange-gold hue. The light from the computer screen, the white of the sketch paper, the color of the marker, and even the silhouettes of the two people sitting opposite each other all became soft and bright at that moment.

Outside the window, a gentle evening breeze stirred, ruffling the heavy flower heads of the hydrangeas. In the distance, the baseball team's whistle signaling the end of practice drifted from the playground, faint and indistinct, like a sound from another world.

In this small activity room, time flows at a wonderful rhythm—slow, focused, and filled with the tranquility and passion unique to creation.

Eriri secretly glanced up at the boy opposite her. He had put his headphones back on, immersed in the world made up of code and musical notes, his brows slightly furrowed, his expression focused, and his profile looked exceptionally beautiful in the warm light.

She let out a soft breath, picked up a pencil, and began to sketch the male protagonist's outline on a new sheet of paper.

The pen tip made a scratching sound, like some kind of tacit agreement.

At that moment, she suddenly became absolutely certain that joining this club might be one of the best decisions she made in high school.

As for whether he is "Asuka"... it seems to be less important now.

What matters is this moment, this warm twilight, this focused tranquility, and this feeling of walking side by side.

Yoshi, this feels great.

Volume 1: Chapter 174 Relationship Warming Up

Chapter 174

The activity room windows were open, and the June evening breeze, carrying the waning summer heat, rushed in, gently ruffling the scattered draft papers on the table. The sun had completely sunk below the horizon, and the sky gradually changed from a rich orange-red to a deep indigo. A few early stars twinkled in the sky, like silver dust accidentally sprinkled.

An and Asuka pressed the save button and rubbed their eyes, which were sore from staring at the screen for so long. A week had flown by in their focused creative work. Since Eriri Sawamura officially submitted her application to join the club, the core team of the game development department had completed the last and most crucial piece of the puzzle.

This week, Kasumigaoka Utaha was busy rushing to meet the deadline for the third volume of "Love Metronome," only making a brief appearance during Tuesday's lunch break to leave more detailed script settings before rushing back to the publishing house. Marina, Shizuka, and Ai also had their own important matters to attend to, only able to occasionally check on the progress after school, bring some snacks or drinks, and then leave.

So most of the time, only An, Asuka, and Eriri were in this activity room on the third floor of the experimental building.

They sat facing each other, separated by a long table piled high with documents. One was battling with code on his computer screen, while the other struggled with lines on his digital display. The air was filled with the scratching of pencils across paper, the soft tapping of keyboards, and the low hum of the air conditioner, all blending into a strange, comforting tranquility.

In this tranquility, something quietly began to grow. As they learned more about each other, their conversations, initially reserved and polite, gradually became more casual and natural. During occasional breaks, they would chat about trivial things outside of their studies—favorite comics, the music they'd been listening to recently, or their opinions on a particular movie.

Eriri discovers that An and Asuka have an astonishingly broad range of knowledge, from classical music to popular culture, from programming logic to literary theory. He always seems to be able to keep up with the conversation and offer insightful opinions, yet he never shows off.

At that moment, Eriri had just finished a line drawing of a starry sky scene. She put down her pressure-sensitive pen and stretched her slightly stiff fingers. She looked at An and Asuka across from her. The boy was staring intently at the screen, his profile pale from the screen light, his brows furrowed, as if he were pondering some technical problem.

The setting sun outside the window enveloped him, making his figure appear somewhat lonely, yet exceptionally resolute.

A question that had been lingering in her mind for a long time suddenly slipped out:

"What kind of place is Aichi Prefecture?"

An and Asuka's fingers paused as they typed on the keyboard.

He turned his head to look at Eriri, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes before turning into quiet contemplation. He took off one of his earphones, hung it around his neck, leaned back in his chair, and gazed at the deepening night outside the window, as if looking through the dazzling lights of Tokyo at some distant place.

"Hmm..." He hesitated for a few seconds before slowly speaking, "Aichi Prefecture is very large, and I haven't explored its entirety. But if you want to know what the small town where I was born and raised is like..."

He paused, his voice softening as if recounting a long-cherished dream:

“I can tell you.”

Eriri unconsciously sat up straight, her azure eyes fixed intently on him, like a child waiting for the story to begin.

“It was a very ordinary place,” An and Asuka said, a faint, nostalgic smile curving their lips.

"Huh?" Eriri blinked, somewhat surprised.

She had expected to hear descriptions like "beautiful" and "tranquil"—after all, most people unconsciously add a warm filter when recalling their hometown.

Anhe Feibiao seemed to see through her thoughts, smiled, and continued, "The area isn't large. It only takes a little over an hour to walk from the south to the north of the city by bicycle. There aren't many tall buildings; the tallest building is probably the seven-story city hall. There are very few neon lights; after nightfall, most of the lights are warm yellow window lights shining from the residential buildings, like oranges scattered in the night."

His voice was calm, without any deliberate embellishment, simply describing the situation as it was:

“A small river flows around the western edge of the city. The water is not deep, and in summer you can see children catching fish in it. There are tall cherry blossom trees on both sides of the river. When they bloom in spring, the entire riverbank will become a pink corridor. When the wind blows, the petals fall on the water and drift away slowly with the current.”

Eriri envisioned a scene in her mind—a quiet little river, its surface covered with pink petals, drifting slowly and eternally into the distance. Her fingers twitched unconsciously, as if trying to grasp that fleeting beauty.

“And my home,” An and Asuka continued, their gaze becoming more distant, “is located on the very edge of the small town, where there is a large expanse of farmland.”

He raised his hand and gestured in the air, as if sketching a scene from his memory:

"Have you ever seen such a scene? In spring, when the rice seedlings have just been planted in the fields, they are a tender, vibrant green that seems almost juicy. When the morning mist hangs in the air, the green foliage appears and disappears in the mist, like the earth breathing as it awakens."

"In summer, the green becomes deep and lush, the rice begins to sprout, and when the wind blows, the whole field ripples with layers of green waves, rustling like some kind of ancient ballad. Cicadas chirp desperately in the trees by the fields, their voices so loud they can penetrate the entire afternoon."

“Then autumn came.” His voice held a complex emotion. “The green faded, replaced by a dazzling golden yellow. The rice stalks drooped heavily, shimmering in the sunlight. The air was filled with the aroma of ripe rice, mixed with the scent of earth and grass. Farmers began to harvest, and combine harvesters moved back and forth in the fields, raising clouds of golden dust.”

“And in winter…” He paused for a long time, so long that Eriri thought he wouldn’t continue.

“In winter, there is nothing left in the fields. Only the harvested rice stubble, neatly arranged on the bare brown earth, remains. If it snows—and it occasionally snows in Aichi Prefecture in winter—the entire view turns into an endless expanse of white.”

The snow fell silently, almost without a sound, covering all colors and sounds, leaving only pure stillness.

His descriptions were so vivid that Eriri could almost see the images flashing before her eyes: the tender green of spring, the deep green of summer, the golden yellow of autumn, and the snowy white of winter. The cycle of the seasons and the changing colors were like a slow and solemn silent film.

“There’s also a small grove,” An and Feiniao’s voices softened, as if afraid of disturbing something. “In spring, the grove is full of unknown wildflowers, white, purple, and yellow, scattered like stars. In summer, the leaves are so dense that they block out the sun, and when you go in, you can hear all sorts of sounds—birdsong, insect chirping, the rustling of the wind through the leaves, and the rustling of small animals moving through the grass. The sounds are lively, but they don’t feel noisy; instead, they bring a strange sense of peace.”

"In autumn, the leaves begin to turn yellow and red, and then fall one by one. The forest gradually becomes sparse, and the sounds become less frequent, with the occasional crisp sound of fallen leaves being crushed underfoot."

And in winter... the forest is at its quietest in winter. The bare branches point to the sky, like a sketch drawn with ink lines. If you're lucky, you might see hare tracks on a snowy morning, faint, trails leading deep into the woods.

He stopped, turned his gaze from the window to Eriri, and smiled:

"I was born and raised in that kind of place."

The activity room was silent. Outside, the sky had completely darkened, and the lights of Tokyo Tower illuminated the distance, outlining a reddish-orange silhouette against the night sky. The evening breeze was cooler, causing the curtains to sway gently.

Eriri remained silent for a long time.

She grew up in Tokyo, a huge, bustling, never-sleeping city. She was familiar with the towering streets, the neon-lit commercial districts, the meticulously manicured gardens, and the impeccable social etiquette. She had seen the snow of Hokkaido, the autumn leaves of Kyoto, and the forests of Karuizawa, but all as a tourist, as an observer.

She never truly lived in an "ordinary" place—a place where cherry blossoms fall on the river in spring, cicadas sing in the afternoon in summer, rice paddies ripple like gold in autumn, and snow covers everything in winter.

An and Asuka's descriptions contain no exaggerated praise, no deliberate sentimentality; they simply narrate the most ordinary scenes in a calm manner. But it is precisely this calmness that gives those images an astonishing power—they are not landscapes on postcards, but real, breathing, warm, and smelly everyday life.

It was a world she had never experienced, yet inexplicably longed for.

After a long while, Eriri finally let out a soft breath, as if waking from a long dream. She looked at An and Asuka, at the lingering longing in their eyes, and asked her next question:

"So... what made you decide to come to Tokyo?"

She asked cautiously, as if afraid of touching on something she shouldn't. But she desperately wanted to know—what had made this boy, who grew up in such a quiet little town, choose to come to this completely different, huge metropolis?

An and Asuka didn't answer immediately. He picked up the now-cold barley tea on the table, took a sip, and then slowly said:

"Because my dream can come true here."

"What dream?" Eriri pressed.

An and Asuka lowered their hands, turned their heads, and looked directly into her eyes. In the twilight, their gazes were clear and firm, like the brightest star in the night sky.

“To bring happiness to my family and the people I love,” he said, each word distinct, his voice low but carrying an undeniable power, “and to make a lot of money.”

Eriri was stunned.

This answer is too... simple. So simple that it doesn't seem like the dream a sixteen-year-old musical prodigy should have.