If only things could unfold smoothly.

Jiang Yu felt increasingly uncomfortable under Utaha Kasumigaoka’s gaze. He stepped forward, coughed twice, and asked, “So, does this mean our club is officially established?”

Before Utaha or Eriri could respond, Tomoya Aki spoke up excitedly, “Of course! We’re definitely going to create the best galgame ever and shock the entire gaming world!”

“…That’s a classic case of getting carried away,” Utaha remarked with calm sarcasm.

“Ah, but that’s totally normal for Tomoya, isn’t it?” Eriri quietly added another jab.

Jiang Yu joined in with practiced ease, “Tomoya is always like this—sometimes he just gets excited all by himself.”

Tomoya’s excitement faded into resignation as he forced a wry smile. “When did you all get so in sync with each other?!”

Seeing Tomoya’s exasperated expression, Jiang Yu and the others exchanged smiles, like old friends who had at last rediscovered the easy closeness of their earlier days.

At that moment, the sound of the classroom door opening interrupted them. Another club member, whose participation had already been confirmed, entered carrying a bag.

Faced with everyone’s surprised looks, Megumi Kato wore a puzzled expression and asked, “Is there something strange about me? Oh, by the way—this is your lunch, Jiang Yu.”

“Uh... Ah, thank you, Kato. But I don’t remember asking you to bring me lunch…” Jiang Yu stared in confusion at the bread and milk Megumi handed him, hastily taking the bag from her hands, grateful but puzzled.

“I asked her to bring it for you,” the real culprit stepped forward and confessed.

Megumi shook her head and replied softly, “It was no trouble—no need to thank me, Aki.”

“Uh…” Jiang Yu couldn’t help thinking that this was exactly the sort of thing Tomoya would do. If it had been up to him, he’d probably have preferred to fetch his own lunch.

Then Megumi turned to the seemingly indifferent Utaha Kasumigaoka and the quietly seething Eriri, saying, “There’s lunch for you too, Kasumigaoka-senpai, Sawamura—come and get it. It’s just bread and drinks, though.”

Utaha looked at Megumi in surprise, then smiled and walked over, picking up a serving of bread and milk. “Well, then, I won’t stand on ceremony. Thank you… um, Kato, was it?”

Megumi nodded. “No need to thank me—it was Aki who paid for everything… Sawamura, do come get yours as well?”

She gestured invitingly to Eriri, who, perhaps aware that her true nature was already laid bare before these people, didn’t bother with any pretenses. She gave a slight huff, walked over, took a bread roll and some tea, and sat down by herself.

Tomoya seemed about to say something, but Megumi waved it off, indicating she didn’t mind, so he could only swallow his words.

…

“So, here’s the development schedule for our galgame based on Jiang Yu’s proposal. The game should be finished by December, and we’ll unveil it at the Winter Comic Market. That means, this New Year’s Eve marks the beginning of our legend!”

After lunch, what greeted Jiang Yu and the others was Tomoya’s excited face as he unveiled the timetable he’d drawn up, launching into an enthusiastic monologue.

Jiang Yu focused on the whiteboard. Written on it were things like “Script: April–July,” “Art: May–September,” “Scenario: May–November”…

Uh… how should one put it? Does the programmer have no rights? Or is the development cycle simply a little too short?

Utaha and Eriri had also seen Tomoya’s schedule. Both frowned; Eriri spoke first, “No way.” Utaha followed, “Ridiculous.”

“Huh…?” Tomoya looked utterly baffled.

Jiang Yu tried to advise him, “Making a game isn’t just about passion, Tomoya. We should take everyone’s abilities into account, especially since this is the first time any of us are making a game and we’re only in high school…”

“Ha—I think you’ve misunderstood something.” Eriri cut him off coolly, leaving Jiang Yu momentarily stunned.

“Perhaps there’s a bit of a discrepancy in your understanding, Mr. Bai Li Tu Su,” Utaha said, her lips curling into a sly, knowing smile.

“—?! You… Kasumigaoka-senpai…” Hearing her use that title, Jiang Yu was thrown into complete chaos, casting a pleading look at Tomoya.

Tomoya, too, was utterly lost. Only then did Jiang Yu remember that he’d only shown Tomoya and Megumi the first few chapters of “My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong, As I Expected,” without ever mentioning his pen name.

Eriri was also taken aback—such a title as “Sensei” wasn’t thrown around lightly, especially among high school students.

From her own experience, among their peers, only that gloomy girl who was also a creator like herself merited being called “Sensei.” She’d heard that the author of “Crimson Dark Fairy,” Fairy Yamada, was also a minor, though she wasn’t sure if that was true.

So, was this person another creator in some field? Eriri looked at the somewhat flustered Jiang Yu with growing curiosity.

Utaha observed Jiang Yu’s reaction, a faint flush rising to her cheeks as she said excitedly, “Well then, let me guess—since you’re the author of ‘My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong, As I Expected,’ why would you hide your identity from your friends? Is it modesty, a desire to reveal the truth at the perfect moment for dramatic effect, or perhaps to lure innocent maidens with your mysteriousness…”

Jiang Yu pressed a hand to his forehead, cutting her off. “Hey, who would do something like that? Besides, I never hid the fact that I write light novels—Tomoya and Kato both know.”

He gestured toward Tomoya, who was smiling wryly at Utaha’s sudden outburst, and to the ever-unruffled Megumi.

“And, how did you find out about all this, Kasumigaoka-senpai? I never told anyone else…” Jiang Yu shifted the topic, genuinely seeking an answer.

Utaha smiled mysteriously, about to reply, when a calm voice spoke up.

“Ah, I’ve been curious about this for a while. Even though Sawamura is an ace of the art club and Kasumigaoka-senpai is the top student in the entire grade…”

Tomoya muttered under his breath with a strange expression, “So, if you look at it from another angle, those two can be described that way too…”

The calm voice continued, “Still, you’re both incredibly talented—one with art, the other with writing. Yet, even so, celebrities like you joining an otaku club like this with Aki and Jiang Yu? It just doesn’t add up…”