Chapter Forty-Eight: Has Kurorai Fuko Been Exposed?

On the other side.

After descending the stairs, Anhe drove straight to the hotel where Kurai Nadeshiko was staying.

Tokyo was still dusted with light snow today, making the roads slick, so Anhe kept his speed in check.

Throughout the drive, he mulled over his upcoming plans to make money.

Having Kurai Nadeshiko collaborate with Rena Serizawa to create manga was one promising path, and he could lend a hand whenever he had time.

But that kind of money would take months to materialize; manga creation was never a swift process, and Anhe was searching for something that would pay off faster.

“Maybe I should plagiarize light novels?”

The thought burst into his mind, and the more he considered it, the more feasible it seemed.

Although, like manga, light novels only generated income once published, the time required to write them was far less. A single manga chapter covered only a sliver of plot, yet could take several days to draw, whereas with a novel, if he wrote quickly, he could churn out a chapter in a day.

In his previous life, Anhe had few redeeming qualities, but he was fiercely devoted to the world of anime and manga. Even after watching a series, he would always hunt down the original light novel to read as well.

With the aid of his “Memory Playback” skill, he was confident he could copy fifty or sixty thousand characters a day.

With that, he began sifting through the library of light novels from his past life, searching for those best suited for “creative adaptation.”

Sword Art Online, Mushoku Tensei, That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Re:Zero − Starting Life in Another World, A Certain Magical Index… the options were endless.

Compared to manga, there were plenty of light novels for him to choose from. Barring everyday school-life stories like “My Youth Romantic Comedy is Wrong, As I Expected,” almost everything else was fair game.

As for why he ruled out the “Monogatari” series and other school-life tales… Anhe was wary that if he so much as wrote a Yukinoshita Yukino, the real Yukinoshita family might show up at his door.

After all, this world was still very different from his previous one; who could say if it might not actually overlap with some anime universe? (Note: Rest assured, this is just the protagonist’s worry; no other characters will actually appear.)

Lost in thought, Anhe was startled by the sudden ringing of his phone in his pocket.

He hadn’t intended to answer, but the phone kept ringing incessantly. Helpless, Anhe turned into an alley and pulled the car to a stop.

He removed his helmet, used his teeth to tug off his gloves, then fished the flip phone from his pocket and opened it.

The caller ID was an unfamiliar number, but it was also from Tokyo. Given the repeated calls and the local area code, it was clearly no mistake.

Anhe hesitated only a moment before tapping the answer button and raising the phone to his ear.

“May I speak with Yusheng Anhe?”

A deep male voice sounded from the phone. Anhe scanned his memories with his “Memory Playback” and was sure he’d never heard it before.

Though he didn’t know the caller, Anhe responded politely, “This is he. And you are?”

“Who I am isn’t impor—”

The caller seemed intent on a dramatic introduction, but broke off mid-sentence as if interrupted, then switched to a straightforward self-introduction.

“I’m Take Yoshi—You can call me Mr. Yoshida.”

Yoshida?

Anhe searched his memory once more. Certain he knew no one by that name, he got straight to the point.

“Mr. Yoshida, what can I do for you?”

“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you in person.”

The voice on the other end was calm and self-assured, but before he’d even finished, Anhe cut him off bluntly.

“Sorry, I have other matters to attend to.”

He was about to hang up when the next words stopped him cold.

“It concerns Kurai Nadeshiko. Are you sure you won’t talk, Mr. Anhe?”

Kurai Nadeshiko?

Anhe frowned slightly, paused for a moment, then lifted the phone back to his ear.

“Where should I meet you?”

...

Elsewhere, in a café in Shibuya.

After hanging up, Take Yoshida’s face was lit with smug satisfaction.

“What did he say?”

A lazy female voice cut in beside him.

His expression changed instantly; he turned hurriedly, lowered his head to stare at his shoes, and replied, “He’s on his way now.”

“You may go.”

The languid voice sounded again. Take Yoshida murmured assent and, as he rose, stole a quick glance at the speaker.

Her skin was as smooth as porcelain, brows delicately arched, and her enchanting eyes seemed to hold a bewitching allure. A single beauty mark by her eye added a touch of sultriness.

A single glance left Take Yoshida breathless, but before he could look further, the woman glanced sharply in his direction.

A chill swept over him in an instant; he dropped his head and left, footsteps betraying his alarm.

“How dull.”

The woman withdrew her gaze and went back to stirring her coffee with a spoon, the scent wafting around her.

“Are you planning to kill him?”

A clear, melodious female voice rang out.

The woman smiled faintly at the question, set down the spoon, propped her chin on one hand, and looked across the table with amusement. “Is that the sort of person you take me for, Miss Amemiya?”

“Yes.”

Saori Amemiya answered bluntly, unafraid—she, too, was one of Tokyo’s elite.

At her reply, the woman’s face fell into artful distress. “How hurtful~”

“Enough.”

Familiar with the other woman’s temperament, Saori Amemiya didn’t buy into the act and cut her off, then reached into her elegant handbag and produced a card, setting it on the table.

“There’s a hundred million yen here. After settling his debts, consider the rest your fee.”

“As expected of the Amemiya family’s young lady—so generous.”

The woman accepted the card without protest, her slender hand slipping it away as soon as Saori finished speaking.

She moved in the underworld; a hundred million yen was no small sum, and it was clean money besides—why refuse it?

Tucking the card into her collar, she tried to strike up further conversation, but Saori showed no interest. With a soft laugh, the woman gave up, bid farewell, and left.

Only after she was gone did Saori’s tightly furrowed brows finally relax.

At the café entrance.

Stepping outside, the woman’s earlier smile faded into composure.

Several men in black suits hurried up, umbrellas raised.

“Ma’am.”

She nodded and glanced at Take Yoshida standing behind them. Noticing her look, he bowed his head at once, not daring to meet her eyes.

“Shall we take care of him?” one of the black-suited men asked. Take Yoshida’s breath caught in terror.

But the woman merely waved a hand.

“That’s enough—this is a lawful age.”

With that, she clasped her hands behind her back and strolled into the snowy scene, her languid voice drifting behind her.

“I’m going for a walk. Don’t let me see any of you.”

“Ma’am, you don’t have an umbrella!”

One of the men called after her, but she waved him off without a care, leaving the rest exchanging uneasy glances.