The Literary Path and Unspoken Tensions

Genji was still thinking about submitting his work; he had even stayed up late last night conceptualizing and experimenting. Even though Professor Sato had now provided him with a substantial sum, more than enough to cover a comfortable life for both of them, it wasn’t money he had earned himself. It was merely Professor Sato’s generosity.

Just like the bento they shared, Professor Sato had given him half of every dish, even the white rice, purely out of kindness. He had no reason to refuse his benefactor’s charitable impulse.

Only the tamagoyaki (TL Note: A Japanese rolled omelet) Sato Chinatsu hadn’t shared. That rolled omelet held a taste she missed, though she couldn’t quite recall why at the moment.

Eating in silence, the bento was swiftly devoured by the two of them. Sato Chinatsu sat back in her chair, a look of contentment gracing her features. Her legs were crossed, her fair, slender calves tucked beneath the office desk as she leisurely watched Genji tidy up across from her.

“To be safe, just prepare the bento and give it to me beforehand from now on,” she mused aloud.

Genji nodded. “Alright.”

As he prepared to take the bento box, Sato Chinatsu called out to him, “Leave the bento box here. I should be done with my morning tasks soon, and I’ll drive home this afternoon. I’ll just take it with me then.”

Genji considered it, found it quite convenient, and didn’t decline. He had already troubled Professor Sato quite a bit, so one or two more things wouldn’t make a difference. After all, the two of them were still—Genji immediately halted that line of thought.

“Now, about your submission,” Sato Chinatsu said, her energy clearly flagging. Her voice was languid, as if she’d suddenly lost interest in the topic.

Genji noticed this and scratched his head. “I’m not quite ready yet. I’ll show it to you, Professor, once I feel it’s almost there.”

Sato Chinatsu glanced at him, then waved a dismissive hand. “Fine by me.” In her eyes, Genji was simply being lazy; someone truly committed to writing would have ample time. However, the meal today had been delicious, and she had no desire to nitpick.

“Then I’ll be going.” Genji politely bid farewell, preparing to leave.

Just as he was about to depart, Sato Chinatsu’s voice came from behind him. “If you encounter any difficulties with your writing, you might consider joining a campus club. Your peers can offer a great deal of assistance, and a stimulating environment is also a factor in improving one’s personal abilities.”

Genji pondered this, realizing the truth in her words. He had previously received club flyers and had overheard in the library that many student authors successfully published their works while in college. They could certainly provide him with significant help.

“Understood, thank you, Professor.” Genji expressed his gratitude once more, closed the office door, and then departed.

‘I just feel like I should try a little harder.’

As his pen reached the end of the line, Genji sighed.

Four days had passed since their last shared bento meal. In these past few days, his cohabitation with Professor Sato had settled into a calm rhythm, and their relationship showed signs of improvement, no longer as frigid as before. Influenced by that stack of Yukichi (TL Note: Refers to 10,000 yen banknotes, featuring Fukuzawa Yukichi), Genji dedicated more time to immersing himself in his creative work.

Yet, the deeper he delved, the more he felt lost in a fog, unable to grasp anything or disperse the haze.

Sitting at the small table in his room, Genji had a pile of draft papers spread out beside him, his pen pausing and resuming on the page.

Today, Professor Sato wasn’t home; she had left early, leaving him alone in the apartment.

Staring at the pages he had written, Genji’s brows furrowed, his mind replaying words he remembered from A Good Day for a Solo Traveler. The stark contrast between the story’s setting and his real-life environment made writing incredibly difficult; he had only completed half of what was originally a novelette of less than one hundred thousand characters.

Genji scratched his head, slumping back into his chair as his thoughts drifted. This afternoon, he had no classes, and Professor Sato had gone to school to teach, carrying that conspicuously large bento box. Genji was in charge of looking after the house; he no longer had any intention of seeking a part-time job. There wouldn’t be a higher-paying job than being the Professor’s live-in assistant.

However, Professor Sato occasionally brought up his writing recently, causing Genji’s stress to surge. The current story framework was fine, but the emotions expressed in the descriptions… he didn’t dare show them directly to Professor Sato.

Sighing, Genji rubbed his eyes, deciding to visit the library again. Perhaps perusing others’ works could spark clarity in his muddled mind.

Gathering his drafts and tucking them into his bag, Genji put on his jacket and left the apartment.

The day was bright and clear. Gazing at the unusually cloudless sky, the bright, round sun was not dazzling. The campus basked in the gentle spring breeze, ginkgo leaves subtly unfurling, and a faint, fresh scent wafted through the air.

Genji followed the familiar path towards the library, but his steps faltered midway.

With the April freshman orientation having just concluded, the campus atmosphere was exceptionally lively, as various club seniors diligently recruited new female students.

Indeed, female students.

Near the athletic field, several makeshift stalls had been set up, colorful flyers scattered everywhere by the wind, and numerous upperclassmen enthusiastically greeted passing freshmen.

Badminton club, swimming club, diving? How could there be a diving club? If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, those boxes of drinks behind them must be alcohol.

Genji walked past the bustling stalls until he spotted the characters for the “Literary Research Society.” A banner hung above the stall, proclaiming “Literary Research Society New Student Welcome Event” (Shinkan Katsudou), alongside several hand-drawn posters depicting books and quills, exuding a distinct literary charm.

Genji paused, momentarily stunned, as he recalled the flyer he had received earlier.

“Student, are you interested in joining the Literary Research Society?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Genji looked up to see a girl with glasses, wearing a simple sweater, holding a stack of flyers. She smiled gently, gesturing towards the stall. “Our club welcomes new members. We have a reading session today, and if you’re interested, there’s also a mixer tonight.”

“Uh…” Genji scratched his head. “Can mixers and literary research really be promoted together?”

The girl immediately burst into laughter, revealing two small canine teeth. “Of course! The Literary Research Society isn’t just about intense studying; we have recreational activities too. Otherwise, we wouldn’t attract any new students.”

She handed him a flyer, which was different from the one he had received before. Genji took it, lowering his gaze to read: “Literary Research Society Freshman Welcome Event.”

The Department of Literature, one of the three earliest departments established on campus, boasted a history of over 130 years, having cultivated numerous outstanding talents in the humanities and enjoying a high reputation in academia. The Research Society, meanwhile, was the largest interest group within the Department of Literature.

The above information came from the club recruitment flyer Genji had just received. Below, in smaller print, was another line: “Reading session + Mixer. All literary enthusiast freshmen are welcome to join.” The event was scheduled for 6 PM tonight, in the third-floor conference room of the Department of Literature building.

“So, what do you think? Interested?” The senior girl’s face held a sly smile. “The Literary Research Society has many girls your age, you know.”

“Thank you, senior, I’ll consider it,” Genji replied with a naive smile, clearly unmoved by her words.

The unfamiliar senior seemed a little surprised, her smile growing even brighter as she pulled out her phone.

“Alright, junior, give me your LINE QR code. I’ll invite you to our freshman interest group so you don’t forget to contact us if you want to participate,” the senior pressed on, showing no signs of giving up.

Genji instinctively wanted to refuse, but after a moment’s thought, he took out his phone and accepted her enthusiastic invitation. The interest group already had thirty to forty people. A rough estimate suggested that the official members would likely fluctuate around that number.

The Research Society was more akin to an interest group, differing from clubs that often had dozens or hundreds of members. Its reputation stemmed from the renowned Department of Literature on campus; otherwise, they might not have attracted so many freshmen.

Fujita Misaki.

That was the senior’s name. Genji glanced at the group info. Literary Research Society, Vice President?!

He looked at the incredibly sociable senior before him, his expression one of surprise.

Tokyo, Chiyoda Ward, Chunqiu Wentan Publishing House Headquarters.

In a private meeting room, only Sato Chinatsu and another woman in casual attire were present. The other woman was dressed in simple casual wear, appearing sharp and efficient, with a work ID badge hanging from her chest.

She was Kurisu Eda, the associate editor-in-chief of Chunqiu Wentan and one of Sato Chinatsu’s few close friends.

Pouring a cup of tea for Sato Chinatsu, the editor sat down gracefully. Observing her aloof friend, she offered a slight, knowing smile.

“I never expected you to come knocking on our door voluntarily. Your complexion looks much better too; is that the work of your housekeeper?”

When she had received Sato Chinatsu’s inquiry about how much to pay a full-time housekeeper, Kurisu Eda had initially thought she’d misread the sender.

Sato Chinatsu took a sip of tea, her brow furrowing slightly before she set the cup down. “It’s alright. Let’s get to business.”

Kurisu Eda spread her hands, forced to adopt a purely professional demeanor. After a period of discussion, the two finalized the details of their future collaboration.

“Oh, right,” Kurisu Eda casually interjected, “for our next issue, we’d like to feature some new talents’ works for a ‘Rising Star Authors’ column. Do you have any students or junior colleagues you’d recommend, Professor Sato?”

Sato Chinatsu pondered for a moment, Genji’s face flashing through her mind, then she spoke, “What about that previous student?”

“She won’t do,” Kurisu Eda shook her head. “I’ve read her submission, and I’m afraid it doesn’t meet our requirements for publication.”

Hearing this, Sato Chinatsu stated bluntly, “Then there are none.”

“Alright, what a shame.” Kurisu Eda sighed; she hadn’t held much hope when asking the question anyway. After all, this was Chunqiu Wentan, a brutal battlefield where the acceptance rate for new writers was less than one percent.