The Heroine in Trouble? I Take Advantage, Ch 1-5

Chapter 1 [Current Version: Youthful Daily Life]

Kyoto, Suginami Ward.

Inside a run-down apartment building.

Seiji Fujiwara slowly opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused.

"So I really did transmigrate, huh?"

From a wage slave in his previous life, he had crossed over into this Crossover Anime World and become an eighteen-year-old orphaned high schooler.

Regaining the memories of his past life, Seiji sat up on the bed.

His face showed no panic, no lingering attachment to the past.

Only exhilaration.

"Haha... hahahahaha!"

Laughter full of excitement echoed in the room.

"Never thought I’d get my turn to transmigrate."

Finally, no more wage slave life.

In this life, Seiji Fujiwara had only one goal—enjoy it.

At that moment, a cold mechanical voice rang in his mind.

【Ding! Strong desire to 'enjoy life' detected. Binding conditions met. The Great Player System has officially activated!】

【Core Function: Conquest Rewards.】

【The system will automatically lock onto female characters in this world with extremely high 'conquest value.' They are the finest Collectibles to adorn your new life.】

【For every Collectible you fully conquer, you will receive god-tier rewards tailored to her core traits—enough to guarantee a life of pleasure!】

【Note: Current version is 1.0 Youthful Daily Life. Please enjoy a peaceful lifestyle!】

Seiji froze.

Then his breathing quickened, and a sharp light burst from his eyes.

A Cheat System.

Of course! The standard loadout for transmigrators.

"A tool made for the ultimate life of enjoyment?" His voice trembled with excitement. "Perfect... absolutely perfect!"

As for that note at the end? Meaningless fluff. Not worth worrying about.

【Ding-dong!】

【Beginner’s Gift Pack has been distributed. Opening now…】

【Congratulations, Host! You have received: the god-tier short light novel 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns (Completion: 100%).】

【Summary: An ultra-dark, suffocatingly tense commercial novel—a perfect stepping stone into wealth and a life of decadence.】

A complete novel suddenly flooded into Seiji’s mind.

6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.

The masterpiece of that infamous genius, Hitoma Iruma.

Its razor-sharp pacing, brutal setup, cinematic storytelling… even after just skimming it, Seiji couldn’t help but nod.

As expected of Hitoma Iruma. The quality was top-notch.

Obviously, his next move was to submit it for publication and earn royalties.

With royalties, he could ditch this crappy apartment and start enjoying life.

"Let’s see… the Shinagawa Newcomer Award?" Seiji opened his computer and searched for light novel contests, quickly finding one.

"Shinagawa, huh?"

He stroked his chin. "That’s a familiar name."

"So this world has the Saekano storyline woven into it?"

"Wait, isn’t there a Sobu High in Chiba too? Then I really did transmigrate into a Crossover Anime World…"

Just as he was thinking, a loud thud echoed from the apartment next door.

Bang!

Then came a panicked cry from a girl.

"Mom! What’s wrong?! Mom, wake up!"

Seiji’s brow furrowed.

That voice…

More fragments of memory returned.

His next-door neighbor was none other than Toyogasaki Academy’s ice-cold beauty, the high-class, sharp-tongued heroine—Utaha Kasumigaoka!

"This doesn’t match the script…" Surprise flickered in Seiji’s eyes.

By the original story, Utaha’s family was at least middle-class.

They shouldn’t have fallen to the point of living in a dump like this.

"Whatever. Better check it out." Seiji rose curiously, opened his door, and stepped out.

Outside, in the corridor, the usually aloof girl in black stockings was clutching an unconscious middle-aged woman in her arms.

Her deep wine-red eyes brimmed with tears and terror, her beautiful face pale with helplessness.

"Fujiwara-san?"

Seeing her neighbor, she grabbed at him like a lifeline. "My mom—she suddenly collapsed! Please, help me!"

"Call an ambulance first." Seiji calmly took out his phone.

After all, he had lived two lives. In his past one, he was a wage slave who’d seen colleagues collapse from overwork—he’d personally escorted at least ten to the ER.

"Yes, emergency line? Someone’s collapsed…" Seiji dialed 120 and reported the situation in an orderly tone.

His calmness was contagious.

Utaha gradually steadied herself, and her gaze toward him now carried a trace of astonishment.

Who would have thought? The silent, introverted neighbor was actually this composed?

The ambulance arrived swiftly and rushed Utaha’s mother to the hospital.

Seiji followed along to help.

As soon as they entered, Utaha’s mother was wheeled into the ER.

"Patient: Haruko Kasumigaoka. Acute cerebral hemorrhage. Critical condition. We must perform emergency craniotomy right away."

The doctor’s tone was heavy as he cast a sympathetic look at Utaha.

"Family, please proceed with payment first."

Each word fell like a hammer, smashing Utaha’s heart.

"Y-yes, thank you." Utaha’s body trembled violently. Her lips, bitten pale and bloodless, looked ready to bleed.

She hurried to the payment counter, her brows tightly furrowed, face shadowed with despair.

Seiji stole a glance.

The first round of surgery alone would cost five hundred thousand yen. And that was excluding all the extras.

‘How awful.’ Seiji shook his head inwardly. ‘One misfortune after another. Is this… the timeline where she falls from grace?’

Piecing together his fragments of memory with observation, he quickly understood.

Utaha’s father had died recently in a car accident—his fault entirely.

The Kasumigaoka family had sold their house, burned through their savings, and still couldn’t cover the compensation. Forced to live in a run-down apartment, Utaha’s mother had been working herself to exhaustion… until she finally collapsed.

Hmm. Looked like a perfect chance to swoop in.

Seiji’s thoughts deepened.

Having once been a wage slave, Seiji no longer had the patience for long, drawn-out romance. He only cared for the physical, not the emotional.

Besides, Utaha Kasumigaoka was clearly one of the system’s designated Collectibles.

"Need help with the surgery costs?" Seiji asked when Utaha returned, looking haggard.

Though an orphan, he had saved up over a million yen over the years. And now he also had 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.

"Huh?"

Utaha jerked her head up, startled.

She hadn’t expected her quiet neighbor to offer such huge help.

"N-no, I can manage for now…" She forced a smile, about to refuse.

Then Seiji spoke again.

"My condition’s simple." His eyes roamed across her graceful figure as he chuckled. "Spend one month with me, and I’ll give you five hundred thousand yen. You know, Tokyo office workers make only three hundred thousand in a month…"

Whoosh!

Before he could finish, a sharp slap came flying at him.

Seiji dodged instantly.

"Get lost! Scum!"

Utaha’s face was ice-cold, her eyes colder still.

Disgust burned in her chest.

Just moments ago she had thought her quiet neighbor was reliable—only for his shameless true colors to come out so quickly.

"My offer stands whenever you change your mind." Seiji didn’t even look angry. He just shrugged and walked away.

"Not in a million years!"

Utaha glared at his back, fuming with rage.

Chapter 2: Submission, Sonoko Machida’s Doubts

Back at the apartment.

Seiji Fujiwara pushed the matter with Utaha out of his mind and refocused on what was really important.

—Making money.

He powered up his beat-up secondhand computer and began typing out 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns straight from memory.

The system’s gift pack had provided everything: outline, character sheets, even the creative spark.

Once he absorbed it all, it was as if he had personally written the book himself.

Every detail was crystal clear.

Clack, clack, clack—

The sound of his keystrokes echoed through the apartment.

Before long, a full manuscript and outline were complete.

Stretching, Seiji saved the files onto a floppy disk and went to rest.

The next day, he brought the disk, printed out the manuscript, and headed to Fushikawa Bunko to submit it.

Fushikawa Bunko, Editorial Department 3.

The mood was heavy.

The annual Newcomer Award had drawn in thousands of submissions.

Every editor was swamped with endless reviewing, many of them camping at the office, working nearly twenty hours a day.

Among them was Sonoko Machida—yet another overworked wage slave.

Her desk was buried under a mountain of manuscripts.

"‘About How I Reincarnated Into Another World And Built a Harem’... another harem."

"‘My Yandere Childhood Friend Loves Me Too Much’... another childhood friend story."

"‘There’s No Way My Little Sister Could Fall in Love With Me’... that’s illegal!"

Sonoko Machida felt like her brain was being force-fed garbage by the flood of submissions. Her spirit was numb, on the verge of collapse.

She lifted her coffee and stared blankly out the window, even questioning her life choices and the meaning of this job.

At that moment, a polite voice at the office door broke the silence.

"Excuse me, is this where I can submit a newcomer manuscript?"

A clear, youthful male voice.

Listlessly, Sonoko raised her head and glanced over.

With just one look, her dull eyes brightened.

Standing at the doorway was a tall boy, easily over one-eighty, with a lean, upright build.

A plain white shirt and jeans gave him a clean, refreshing aura.

His features were strikingly handsome, but it was his jet-black eyes—bright and sharp—that drew her in.

What a handsome guy.

Even someone like her, who’d seen countless pretty-boy idols, couldn’t help but praise him inwardly.

But in the next moment, her years of professional experience quickly sobered her up.

Along with that came a trace of wariness and resignation.

Because experience told her: the better-looking the normie, the emptier their writing.

Light novels catered to readers who were losers in real life.

They were otaku fantasies.

And normies couldn’t grasp that. Their writing never matched the market.

Ugh, why do handsome guys even bother writing light novels?

Sonoko silently groaned.

Guided by the receptionist, Seiji Fujiwara soon stopped in front of her desk.

"Hello, Editor Machida. I’m here to submit a manuscript." Seiji placed the printed stack on her desk.

"Nice to meet you. I’m Sonoko Machida," she replied with her professional editor’s smile, accepting the papers as routine.

She glanced at the title, and her elegant brows knit together slightly.

6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.

Just as she feared.

From a commercial standpoint, that title was a disaster.

A light novel title had to be straightforward—tell the reader exactly what the story was.

Of course a normie wouldn’t understand that.

She sighed inwardly.

"All right, I’ll take the manuscript." Her smile remained polite and formulaic. "Please leave your name and contact information. If it passes the first review, our editorial department will give you a call."

Her words revealed nothing.

But having lived two lives, Seiji picked up on her subtle cues.

Still, he said nothing.

Calmly, he gave his name, his pen name "Warukawa-denka," and his phone number. Then he turned and left without hesitation.

Watching his tall, handsome figure exit, Sonoko couldn’t help but sigh with regret.

Such a waste of that face. He’d have a brighter future as an idol or a model than as a writer.

With that thought, she tossed 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns into a nearby cardboard box without hesitation.

That box was where she dumped manuscripts she considered unworthy of attention.

Only after she was done with the submissions that showed promise would she maybe "dig for gold in the trash."

"Machida-san, another ‘masterpiece’?" A pudgy man in glasses at the neighboring desk—Yamada—leaned over, teasing.

Sonoko rubbed her throbbing temples, her expression lifeless. "Don’t even start, Yamada-san. Just another worthless submission. I swear, I’m turning into a garbage collector."

Pff—

Yamada nearly spit out his coffee. "You’re as savage as ever, Machida. But hey, that’s the Newcomer Award for you. Better brace yourself for a feast of trash."

"Yeah…" Sonoko gave a bitter smile and shook her head. "I just don’t get young people these days. Can’t any of them write something decent?"

Her words sparked nods of agreement from the other editors around her.

"Tell me about it. The quality this year’s submissions is a nosedive off a cliff!" one female editor complained. "This morning alone, I read five. Three were incoherent, two dumped all their setting in the first thirty thousand words without any plot. I swear my blood pressure spiked."

"Same! I feel sick from reading them."

"When will we finally get a truly good manuscript?" Yamada sighed, his voice full of longing. "Please, Light Novel Gods, bless us—for the sake of my salary and bonus."

His plea echoed what everyone else was thinking.

For editors, discovering a breakout author meant real money and career advancement.

"Dream on, Yamada-san." Sonoko refilled her coffee, her tone resigned. "A monster-level rookie like that might appear once in ten years, if that. Let’s just dig through this trash pile and hope something stinks a little less."

The office filled with a chorus of weary sighs.

Chapter 3: Sonoko Machida — A Genius!

Soon, lunchtime arrived.

Groups of editors drifted out together to eat, and the noisy office gradually quieted down.

Sonoko Machida didn’t go out. She pulled a neatly packed bento box from her drawer and ate in small, measured bites.

After finishing, there was still some time left before the afternoon shift.

Bored, her gaze drifted idly toward the cardboard box in the corner.

It was nearly full. The top manuscript caught her eye—she remembered the name on its cover.

Well, more like she remembered the face of the handsome boy who had submitted it.

Otaku were the ones who read light novels. And usually, otaku were the ones who wrote them too. They went hand in hand.

—6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.

"Heh." Sonoko chuckled and picked it up, more out of boredom than anything.

Might as well see what that good-looking kid had written.

Just a little afternoon amusement to keep her awake.

With that casual mindset, she flipped to the first page.

And then—

【Title: 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns】

【Author: Warukawa-denka】

【Outline: Six days. Six prisoners of completely different backgrounds—a disgraced elite police officer, a debt-ridden doctor, a bullied high school girl, a devout priest, a hostess who sells her body, and a sly con artist—are locked inside a pure white room filled with countless surveillance cameras.】

【Rules: Each day, a mysterious "Director" announces the darkest secret of one prisoner through a broadcast, and drops a revolver with a single bullet into the room. A brutal survival game begins. Whoever kills inherits the victim’s secret and gains priority access to tomorrow’s information.】

【Endgame: On the sixth day, the lone survivor earns freedom and a life-changing fortune. The losers… are erased completely from existence.】

By the time she finished reading those few lines of outline—

The playful smile froze on her lips.

All the levity, the lazy ease in her eyes, was washed away in an instant by a flood of pure shock.

No dragons. No magic. No reincarnation. No system.

None of the tired, overused, cheap gimmicks flooding the market.

What it had was the purest, rawest kind of story that hit straight at the soul.

The outline was clear, tight, and logical.

Every element, every step was like an interlocking gear, precise and seamless, brimming with unbearable tension.

Just one glance, and her mind was already conjuring vivid, nerve-wracking scenes.

Would that fallen police officer, when his secret was about to be revealed, aim his gun at an innocent?

Would the priest, who preached God with every breath, rip away his pious mask when death stared him in the face?

Would the bullied, fragile girl unleash unimaginable malice once the gun was in her hand?

Suspense. Conflict. Reversal.

Every explosive element a commercial story needed was packed into this framework with surgical precision.

"This… this setup…"

Sonoko’s heart skipped a beat, clenched by an invisible hand.

She drew in a deep breath. Her mood shifted from "mocking" to "serious"—even tinged with "anticipation"—as she carefully turned to the main text.

【Day One. First Person. First Gun.】

【When the man in the clown mask shoved a cold Colt Python revolver into my hand, the stage lights blazed to life. In an operatic, exaggerated voice, he declared that this cheap show called ‘Survival’ was about to begin.】

…

Just one page in, and it was like she had been struck by lightning.

This writing.

What the hell kind of genius writing was this?!

Sharp. Cold. Precise.

Not a wasted sentence. Not a single redundant adjective. Every word was like a bullet, fired straight into the reader’s nerves.

The way it dissected a character’s psyche under extreme pressure—detailed yet merciless.

She could see the transformation in that police officer’s eyes—confusion, then vigilance, then killing intent—all in under three hundred words.

Sonoko was gone. Completely hooked.

She forgot she was in an office. She forgot time. She even forgot to breathe.

She was utterly consumed by this dark, twisted story.

Rustle, rustle—

The only sound left in the room was the frantic rustling of paper as she flipped page after page, her hands trembling with excitement.

Faster, faster—like a dying traveler in the desert, desperate for the next sip of water.

And when she reached the final page, when the last chilling resolution landed—

She let out a long, shuddering breath.

A breath heavy with aftertaste, with awe, with fear.

"Amazing."

Reading a true masterpiece was like feasting on a banquet for the soul.

She closed the manuscript gently, like it was a rare treasure, then collapsed back into her chair.

Her chest rose and fell violently, sweat clinging to her hair.

Her face, flushed red with feverish exhilaration, was damp at the corners of her eyes.

She just sat there, staring at the ceiling in a daze.

It took three whole minutes before she found her voice again.

"A genius…"

Sonoko whispered hoarsely, almost in disbelief.

For a long moment she simply sat there, before finally reaching for the manuscript again with trembling hands.

This time, she wasn’t reading the story. She was scrutinizing it through the eyes of an editor.

Line by line, word by word.

A typo? None.

An awkward sentence? None.

A paragraph that could be trimmed? Not a single one.

Even the punctuation—perfectly calculated, serving the rhythm, sharpening the tension, enhancing every beat of emotion.

And she knew exactly what that meant.

This manuscript needed no edits. It was a flawless, ready-for-print final draft.

Boom.

Another tidal wave crashed through her chest.

For a rookie submission, having a solid outline alone already made you a one-in-a-hundred genius.

Having prose this sharp made you a once-in-a-generation prodigy.

But delivering a finished manuscript that required no editing at all?

That was monstrous.

"No… no! I have to sign him immediately!"

The thought erupted in her mind like wildfire.

Sonoko shot to her feet so suddenly her chair toppled behind her with a crash.

BANG!

The noise exploded in the quiet office, startling every colleague still around during lunch.

They turned, wide-eyed.

"Machida-san, what happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"Too much work? Maybe you should lie down!"

Sonoko forced a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She bent quickly to pick up the chair, offering an awkward smile.

"It’s nothing. Just… a really big cockroach flew past. Scared me half to death."

With that excuse tossed out, she clutched the manuscript to her chest and hurried straight for the editor-in-chief’s office.

Her colleagues exchanged baffled glances, whispering among themselves.

"Machida-san’s acting really weird today."

"Yeah. Her face was bright red, and her hands were still shaking when she picked up that chair. What kind of cockroach could rattle her like that?"

"Did you see the way she was hugging those papers? What do you think she’s carrying?" one sharp-eyed coworker murmured.

"Who knows?"

"Hah, maybe Machida really did dig up gold from the trash."

Chapter 4 — The Editor-in-Chief Who Could Change Faces

Ryuji Aida.

Editor-in-Chief of Fushikawa Bunko’s Editing Department 3.

He sat with a pair of thin-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose, leisurely savoring a cup of fine gyokuro tea while reviewing one of the manuscripts he favored for the newcomer’s award.

“Hm… The Sword Saint Miss Can’t Possibly Have a Poor Sense of Direction. The setup’s a little fresh, but the prose is still way too raw. The characters just don’t stand out.”

He set the manuscript down, lifted his pen, and prepared to jot down his evaluation: “Competent but limited potential.”

And then—

BANG!

The heavy wooden office door burst open.

The sudden crash made Ryuji Aida jolt. His precious teacup rattled in his hand, splashing droplets across the documents. He looked up in shock—only to see his subordinate, Sonoko Machida, barging in with a frantic expression.

At that moment, the composed, sharp, intelligent editor he knew had vanished.

Her hair was disheveled, her cheeks flushed crimson, her chest heaving with excitement.

“Chief! A genius! I’ve found a genius!” She rushed to his desk, lowered her voice, and blurted it out breathlessly.

Ryuji sighed, exasperated.

“Machida, you’re losing your composure,” he said slowly, with the calm reproach of a superior.

A genius?

Please. Every year the industry “discovered” so-called geniuses. But when you looked back over decades of light novel history, only a handful truly earned the title.

He respected Machida’s drive and her eye, but she was still too young. Too easily swayed by flashy tricks—works that dazzled at first glance but had no real foundation.

For her to come charging in like this? Probably just another gimmicky piece.

Ryuji shook his head inwardly.

“Calm down, Machida-kun.” He removed his glasses, wiping the lenses with the deliberate patience of an elder lecturing a junior. “The sky isn’t falling. Now, tell me. What kind of manuscript could make you forget the most basic professionalism of an editor?”

“Chief! Please, just read it! You’ll understand once you do!” Machida, deaf to the scolding in his words, all but shoved the manuscript toward him with both hands.

He accepted it reluctantly, his eyes falling on the cover for a brief second. His brows furrowed.

6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.

As expected.

Even the title screamed out of sync with the market.

Disappointment welled in his chest.

Still, he opened it without hope.

And in the next moment—

His gaze froze.

Hm? What’s with this opening? This atmosphere… this overwhelming tension?

A chill shot through him. He straightened in his seat and kept reading.

Minutes ticked by.

The expression on Ryuji Aida’s face transformed, frame by frame.

From dismissal—

to puzzlement.

From puzzlement—

to seriousness.

From seriousness—

to gravity.

From gravity—

to sheer awe.

At last, his hands holding the manuscript began to tremble uncontrollably.

Holy shit… this is a masterpiece!

This author’s insight into human nature—how could anyone capture it with such terrifying precision?

By the time he reached the ending, it was as if lightning had struck him. His whole body shuddered, collapsing against the back of his chair.

A long silence followed.

Finally, he surfaced from the ecstasy of being utterly consumed by the words.

“Whew…”

He exhaled a heavy breath, as though expelling the shock that had built up over half a lifetime.

Sonoko Machida stood there, eyes wide, waiting.

Then Ryuji Aida moved.

He slowly raised his head. The stiff face, carved by years of stern restraint, melted like thawing ice. A radiant, almost fatherly smile bloomed.

“Well done, Machida-kun… no—Sonoko-chan!”

His voice carried a warmth so syrupy even he felt embarrassed by it. “You… you’re the lucky star of Fushikawa Bunko! Our savior!”

Sonoko froze.

Sonoko-chan?

God. In all her years at the company, she had never once heard the chief address her with such affection.

“C-Chief, you…” She stammered, flustered.

“Brilliant!” Ryuji smacked his thigh, eyes blazing with excitement. The solemn man from moments ago was gone. “Where did you find this? This author—this genius calling himself Prince Warakawa—have you contacted him yet?!”

A second ago, he’d been disappointed. Now he was beaming like the sun.

His face had turned faster than a page in a book.

That was the power of a true masterpiece.

“I… I got his phone number…” Sonoko answered hesitantly, not daring to admit the truth: that the author had approached her first. She hadn’t lifted a finger.

“Good! Good! Good!” Ryuji barked three goods in a row. “This author—we have to sign him no matter what it takes!”

“You’ll take full responsibility for this. Whatever resources you need, just tell me. When it comes time for publication, HR, accounting, PR—every department will give you full support!”

“In short, don’t let any other publisher steal him away!”

His burning gaze locked on Sonoko.

The sheer trust in his eyes sent a rush of adrenaline through her. She straightened her back and shouted:

“Yes, Chief!”

“Excellent.” Ryuji nodded firmly. Then, without another word, he strode out of his office and raised his voice so the entire floor could hear:

“Everyone! Meeting room! Now!”

Chapter 5 — Straight to the Grand Prize!

Fushikawa Bunko’s conference room.

Every core member of Editing Department 3 sat rigidly in their chairs, confusion etched across their faces.

All eyes were on their editor-in-chief, Ryuji Aida—normally the embodiment of calm professionalism, now flushed red like he’d overdosed on energy drinks, vibrating with excitement.

What kind of manuscript could reduce this man to such a state?

“I know. You’re all brimming with questions right now.”

Ryuji’s sharp gaze swept across the room, pressing down on everyone who dared meet his eyes.

“But the answer to every one of them… is right here.”

He gestured, and his assistant began handing out photocopies of 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns to each editor present.

An older deputy editor, the most senior in the room, hesitated before speaking. “Aida-kun… even if this manuscript is outstanding, calling off the award screening process midway is—”

“Exactly, Chief,” another chimed in. “Our credibility and fairness are our lifelines. If you throw them aside on a whim—”

“Shut up!”

Ryuji’s roar silenced the room instantly.

“Credibility? Procedures?” He let out a derisive laugh.

“In the face of a true masterpiece, clinging to procedure is the height of stupidity!”

“Just read it.” He jabbed a finger at the manuscripts in their hands. His voice thundered with authority. “When you’re done, use your so-called ‘professional judgment’ and tell me—does this work deserve the grand prize, or not?”

The room fell into uneasy silence.

Reluctantly, the editors lowered their heads and began to read.

For a while, the only sound was the deliberate rustle of pages turning.

But soon, even that faded.

In its place came ragged, uneven breaths.

Time stretched unbearably thin.

At last, the veteran deputy editor who had spoken up first set down his copy. His forehead glistened with cold sweat, and when his eyes met Ryuji’s, shock and disbelief burned in them.

Ryuji smirked.

One down.

Then a second. A third.

By the time every person in the room had finished, the air was dead silent.

But this silence wasn’t the awkward restraint from before.

It was awe.

No one dared utter a word about “process” or “rules.”

Compared to this manuscript, every other submission they’d praised before was nothing but trash.

“Well?” Ryuji asked at last, his smile confident. “Anyone still have objections?”

The room was so quiet a pin could’ve dropped.

Not a single editor met his eyes.

That silence was their unanimous answer.

“Good.”

For the first time, the editor-in-chief allowed himself the triumphant smile of a victor.

He stood, both palms slamming onto the table as he leaned forward, his presence overwhelming.

“First! The grand prize of this year’s Fushikawa Bunko Light Novel Award will go to 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns by Prince Warakawa!”

“Second! Double the prize money! Two million yen to him!”

“Third! Machida!” He snapped his gaze to the corner where Sonoko Machida sat stiff as a board. “I’m authorizing you to offer him an A-rank contract! Royalties, advance—everything at the top tier for a rookie! Chain him to Fushikawa’s war chariot!”

“Fourth! Publicity! From this moment on, concentrate all resources on this title! Before release day, I want advertisements in every single bookstore across the country!”

…

…

The next day.

Fushikawa Bunko’s official website dropped a bombshell.

The entire homepage turned jet-black, with only a single, colossal line of white text blazing across it:

[An era has ended. A new one begins—with 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns!]

The newcomer’s award had been declared over early!

The announcement landed like a boulder in a still pond, sending waves crashing through the entire industry.

Across the rival publishing houses, chaos erupted.

“That sly fox Ryuji Aida’s lost his damn mind!” the head editor of Dengeki Bunko slammed his newspaper against the table.

“‘An era has ended’? Such arrogance! What if the book flops? He’ll be the laughingstock of the entire field!”

“Find out. I want to know exactly what this manuscript is!”

Phones rang off the hook. Editorial departments buzzed like hives. The industry was in an uproar.

…

At the same time, online forums lit up.

“Holy crap, this tagline is badass! I’m fired up already!”

“6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns—just the title screams quality! Smells like pure grimdark, and I love it!”

“I’ve got this gut feeling it’ll be legendary. Wallet’s ready. GKD! Publish it already!”

“Or maybe it’s all hype? The harder they push, the more I want to see if it’s really worth it.”

Within hours, countless threads and debates shoved the title into the top spots of online trending charts.

…

Inside Fushikawa Bunko’s private author chat group, things exploded too.

Masamune Izumi: “@Sonoko Machida Editor—Machida-san, who the hell is this Seiji-sensei? A rookie? This is insane!”

Elf Yamada: “Exactly! The promotion he’s getting is ten times what I got at debut! Chief Aida’s totally playing favorites!”

Senju Muramasa: “…(Just an ellipsis, but everyone knew she was just as curious.)”

The chat turned into a sea of sour lemons.

Jealousy. Curiosity. Frustration.

Authors bombarded their own editors with private messages, desperate to learn more about the so-called chosen one.

“C’mon, tell me—Seiji-sensei’s just a veteran using a pseudonym, right?”

But every answer came back the same:

“Sorry, confidential. No comment.”

That air of secrecy only fanned the flames higher, pushing the hype to an entirely new level.

…

Meanwhile, Seiji Fujiwara himself was blissfully unaware.

He lounged in his apartment, utterly unconcerned with the storm outside.

Until his phone lit up.

A new email had arrived from Fushikawa Bunko’s official account.

[Dear Prince Warakawa-sensei: Greetings! I am Sonoko Machida, Editor at Fushikawa Bunko. Regarding your outstanding manuscript, we would like to discuss its publication with the utmost sincerity…]

The corners of Seiji’s mouth lifted into a smile.

And then—another notification popped up.

A text message from his bank.

[Your account ending in XXXX has received a deposit of JPY 2,000,000 on XX/XX. Description: Award Prize (after tax).]

Fushikawa even paid the taxes for me?

Staring at the long string of zeroes, Seiji shot upright in bed, eyes wide with delight.