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539 – His Mother Is Just Too Cute
🕑 Added 2025-09-23 16:02:59 +0000 UTCAfter all that noisy fooling around, almost everyone ended up crowding into Naoka’s workshop.
Well, tailoring was an important task.
And even though everyone wanted to believe in Hojou Mikiko, the moment they saw her pointing at the sewing machine and asking “How do you even use this thing?”, the kind-hearted girls all decided that it’d be way more fulfilling to take part themselves.
“I’ll head over too then, okay? If you need help, just yell.”
Miyamizu Mitsuha stayed behind in the tatami room with the remaining four, bringing drinks on a tray.
A cup of green tea for Yukari, two colas for Eriri and Kyousuke, and coffee for Kasumigaoka Utaha.
“Don’t worry! With me around, everything will be fine!” Eriri puffed out her chest and declared confidently.
Utaha thanked Mitsuha, then raised her cup of coffee and took a small sip.
Smiling, she added, “Actually, Mitsuha, you could come help too. Back then, didn’t you read me like a book in your novel?”
“Hehehe~ don’t bring that up again! I cried so many tears for your story, you know!”
Mitsuha laughed awkwardly.
Of course, she knew what Utaha was referring to—back then, as a hopeless student terrified of looking stupid online.
She had just parroted Kyousuke’s literary analysis word for word.
Thinking about it now, even though Utaha always looked sharp and daring, deep down she was just a shy girl.
She wanted to get closer to Kyousuke but only dared to add him with a smurf account.
And by some cosmic joke, the two of them—both using smurf accounts ended up bumping into each other online.
“You’re one to talk. Didn’t you also claim that photo of yourself was just a ‘friend’?” Mitsuha muttered.
Even on a smurf account, she was that narcissistic—saying things like “I have a friend whose legs put manga heroines to shame.”
Seriously, no shame at all.
“I didn’t lie. First of all, we need to define what a friend is. You know the saying about making peace with yourself—”
As expected of the sharp-tongued queen, Utaha had only argued with Yukinoshita Yukino twice before already stealing her signature debate tricks.
Mitsuha smiled, seeing through the shy little tremor beneath Utaha’s cool expression.
She didn’t call her out, though—she wasn’t much better herself.
“W-wait, what?! What’s this about a friend’s legs?!” Eriri who is completely lost, demanded in a panic.
“Nothing. Shouldn’t a mere manga assistant stop slacking off? Hurry up and fill in the blacks! Shoes, hair—do I really need to spell it out for you?” Utaha snapped, shooting her a sidelong glance, not bothering to explain.
“Unbelievable! Why should I, take orders from a glorified spellchecker like you? Do you even know how important my work is?
Without me, every manga you read would be blank! Coloring, backgrounds—light, scenery composition it all falls on me. So show some respect, you typo machine!”
Eriri’s tiny mouth let out a thunderous roar, but her hands were obediently moving, stylus flying across the tablet.
Mitsuha peeked over—Eriri was coloring a girl with devil horns sprouting from her head.
But in Eriri’s delicate strokes, the strange horns became obvious as stylized locks of hair.
‘That’s amazing’
Mitsuha was quietly amazed, and gave up on explaining the “legs” thing.
Better to leave her focused.
Still, Eriri would definitely want to know later—if only for blackmail material against Utaha, hehe~
“Typo machine? Hah—big words coming from a manga assistant with only six-and-a-half years of experience. Do you have any idea how important my work is for Kyousuke? When a man pours out his passion—”
“It’s novels, novels! Don’t phrase it like that!” Kyousuke butted in hurriedly.
“A man in the heat of passion doesn’t care if it’s appropriate or safe—he just wants to let it all out.” Utaha smoothly rephrased, making it sound even worse, her tone teasingly improper.
“Do you know how dangerous it is for me, receiving Kyousuke’s outpourings? If I slip up even once, and something dangerous slips through, it could—”
“Kasumigaoka Utaha!!! What the hell is wrong with your brain?!”
Eriri’s hand didn’t stop moving, multitasking like a pro as she yelled at the shameless succubus beside her.
“What? I was talking about Kyousuke’s novel. Writers are always bursting with adrenaline, dopamine, testosterone when they’re in the zone. You know this, right? It clouds their judgment, makes them slip up.”
Utaha, just like Eriri, was multitasking perfectly—pen in hand, eyes on Kyousuke’s freshly written draft, critiquing it while sparring verbally.
‘Adrenaline, dopamine, testosterone…?’
Knowing Utaha’s nature, Eriri instinctively felt something was off, but with her shallow grasp of biology, she couldn’t refute it.
“I don’t believe you! You’re not even working properly. Just go to the courtyard and scoop out the excess water in the pond with a spoon. That sort of brainless job suits you better!”
“Haah—don’t tell me you didn’t know the water level in a pond is constant? Did you think the fish drink up all the groundwater flowing in every day?” Utaha gasped dramatically.
Eriri went silent.
Another knowledge blind spot.
Sure, she lived in a mansion with a koi pond the size of a park, but who cared about how it worked?
“That’s why you can only fill in blacks but don’t understand how crucial an editor’s work is. For example, here—Kyousuke wanted the protagonist to feel stifled.
But the word he chose was too mild, almost jokey. That would mislead readers and make the following events feel illogical.
My job is to absorb Kyousuke’s passionate output like a sponge, then gently, carefully—like caring for a newborn, fix the mistakes and pay the price for them.”
Utaha’s voice was soft, and if you ignored her actual words, she really did look like she was describing some noble, sacred duty.
“Y-You perverted witch!!!”
Eriri roared helplessly, scribbling black furiously over a giant chibi Conan’s head before angrily undoing it and calmly filling it in with the paint bucket tool.
Watching from the side, Mitsuha and Yukari were left in awe.
To see two geniuses like Eriri and Utaha at work was breathtaking—most people couldn’t possibly argue this fiercely while still performing flawlessly.
Or perhaps it was even more impressive that they restrained themselves from breaking into an actual fistfight.
That kind of self-control was nothing short of extraordinary.
Especially with Eriri—if they weren’t working seriously right now, she would’ve already thrown all caution aside and pounced without hesitation.
But once she put her mind to something, her focus was so intense it even impressed Utaha.
That alone was reason enough for Utaha to hold back her own temper.
She refused to lose to this idiot.
But the most impressive one was still Kyousuke.
While Eriri and Utaha were each assisting with a single project, Kyousuke was simultaneously creating two works at once.
It was almost inhuman.
Sitting between the two girls, Kyousuke made Mitsuha’s eyes shine with admiration and pride.
“You can go, Mitsuha. I’ll hold down the fort here,” Yukari said softly with a smile.
She had her own task to handle.
Among the four of them, three were already rising stars in their respective fields.
Only she was an ordinary classical literature teacher.
But just as Utaha had said earlier, writers often lost themselves in passion.
Eriri and Utaha were currently the perfect examples of that.
And since both of them were creators, reading Kyousuke’s new work was bound to stir them up. Inevitably, they’d slip up here and there.
Yukari’s job was to serve as the final line of defense—to catch any mistakes they might miss.
“Mm, I’ll leave it to you then.” Mitsuha smiled back.
This lively atmosphere was wonderful.
Everyone focused on their own work, all moving toward the same goal.
“Keep an eye on my mom and Sakura, will you? Don’t let either of them near needles or scissors.” Kyousuke’s reminder was half-serious. “Mom faints at the sight of blood. If she pricks her finger, she’ll go down instantly.”
“Even from just a drop?” Eriri asked in disbelief.
“Once would be fine, but those two…” Kyousuke sighed helplessly, then started explaining his mother and Sakura’s ridiculous antics.
Mrs. Yamauchi was the picture of a traditional homemaker, skilled with needlework, and she often taught her daughter.
Sakura would then run off to brag to Hojou Mikiko.
The two became inseparable—half teacher, half rival, constantly learning from each other.
Except their “lessons” weren’t really about needlework at all.
Mikiko would prick her hand, Sakura would slap on a bandage.
Sakura would cut her finger, Mikiko would return the favor.
It was less about sewing, more about bonding through shared pain.
Any other mother would’ve given up in exasperation, deciding her child had no talent.
But Mikiko wasn’t like that.
This was the same mom who once approved Sakura’s request to run out and play in a downpour—on the condition that afterward, she’d take a hot bath and medicine.
For fairness, she even shoved her reluctant son out into the rain with her.
“If they get sick from the rain, they’ll learn to stay dry next time. Nothing wrong with that,” she’d said.
It was a willfully unconventional style of parenting.
So of course neither she nor Sakura ever figured out that needles were meant to pierce fabric—not their own hands.
“That actually sounds nice. My dad once donated padded trousers to my school during winter—just to make sure I could wear them safely,” Eriri muttered with a complicated look.
“So you did fool around in the rain like Sakura when you were little?” Utaha’s gaze turned sharp, almost dangerous.
“It wasn’t fooling around—it was rain play!”
“Got it. I’ll watch over them. If there’s blood, I’ll just cover Aunt Mikiko’s eyes immediately,” Mitsuha promised with a grin.
Kyousuke nodded, reassured. He trusted Mitsuha’s quick reflexes.
“I’ve got sunglasses,” Utaha chimed in, smugly offering her own solution.
After hearing Kyousuke’s story, no one suggested stopping Mikiko and Sakura from pricking their fingers.
Everyone respected that resilient, self-healing determination.
“Mom doesn’t faint from the color. It’s the sight of blood itself,” Kyousuke explained, waving a hand.
“But even if she does faint, it’s fine. She’s long since trained herself to fall safely—always protecting her head on instinct.”
“Pfft—Aunt Mikiko is way too adorable.” Mitsuha burst out laughing.
If Kyousuke weren’t busy, she would’ve loved to sit and chat about their mothers.
Just hearing stories about Aunt Mikiko stirred up long-buried memories of her own mom.
After setting out some snacks from the kitchen for the three, Mitsuha finally headed off to Naoka’s workshop, where things were even livelier.
Kyousuke lowered his head, still smiling, fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard.
His workload today was heavy.
If Eriri and the others hadn’t taken leave, the people sitting here with him right now would’ve been Kisaki and the company staff instead.
He was currently working on two projects.
One was Detective Conan, prepared for his upcoming meeting with Editor Shimomura.
No amount of research or analysis could compare to showing an actual finished work.
Manga, novels—at the end of the day, they all had to be entertaining.
As long as readers looked forward to the next development, eager for the next chapter, the work wouldn’t fail.
Kyousuke handled the main draft of the manga, while tasks like coloring and backgrounds were Eriri’s domain.
His art style was sharp and precise, giving off a clean, decisive feel at first glance.
Eriri’s style, by contrast, was delicate and ornate.
Where Kyousuke’s linework made Ran’s screams feel like the slash of a blade, Eriri’s touch softened them into something distinctively feminine yet no less striking.
She also outclassed him in fashion design and small details.
The same girl who dressed herself sloppily every day suddenly seemed to unlock another brain when drawing.
Just last night, her disguise for tailing someone was chic and stylish enough to turn heads.
The two manga they had co-created before had succeeded not only thanks to strong source material, but also because their combined talents amplified each other.
On Kyousuke’s personal site, posts praising his mysterious collaborator “Lily” were plentiful.
People said the two of them were like chips and cola—the ultimate combo.
Every single one of those threads had been pinned by the admins.
So, when trouble arose, Kyousuke hadn’t hesitated to call on his “exclusive illustrator” for help.
Together, they would shake the industry once more and claim the spotlight!
Alongside Detective Conan, he was also working on another project.
This time, a truly original creation.
The first was to win over Editor Shimomura.
The second was to deal with those two judges.
They said writers didn’t kill with knives, but with pens.
And now that he was a well-established author, Kyousuke figured it was time to pick up that traditional craft.
