Chapter 54: Love, One Person, Slightly Drunk
Starry Sky Future.
This is the pen name that Hoshihara Ai used when she published a short novel in a science fiction magazine during her university days.
Everyone says that every boy or girl around seventeen or eighteen has fantasized about being a writer, and she was no exception back then.
So she published a book of her own work, and unexpectedly, the response was very good, but the hard science fiction reader circle is small, so her fame couldn’t compare to popular genres.
She also joined the science fiction writers club SFWJ because of this.
Later, she continued her studies, pursuing a master’s and doctorate, continuing her research, and gave up on novels.
She had been skipping grades since elementary school, and she was only 22 when she graduated with her doctorate; now she’s just over 24.
The organizing committee said in an email that precisely because she is a highly noted young physics professor and also a writer who has published science fiction literature, they especially hope she can join the Campus Star track judge panel.
After all, among the works in this call for submissions, a considerable portion is science fiction themes, which need experts like her, who possess both scientific literacy and literary aesthetics, to judge.
The call for submissions event invited many judges, skilled in various genres, and according to the review rules, judges don’t need to score every book; they just select works they’re interested in from the pool to read and then give scores.
Hoshihara Ai finished reading the entire email without replying immediately; instead, she bookmarked the event’s work showcase website first to check it out when she had time.
Then she marked this email as “to be processed” and minimized the email window.
Recently, she has a habit in the evenings of casually searching for that name.
In the Google search box, she typed: Sakamoto Ken.
The search results popped up quickly.
The top results were still discussions about the 《Chainsaw Man》 author, whose name is Sakamoto Ken.
Scrolling down a bit, a latest post from JUMP’s official Twitter caught her attention.
【《Chainsaw Man》 author Sensei Sakamoto Ken will join the JUMP official live broadcast room on March 13th （Friday） at 8 PM to chat with you about the creation story of 《Chainsaw Man》! Stay tuned!】
Hmm?
Hoshihara Ai’s gaze lingered on this post for a long time, and in her mind, that man’s face was very clear.
Although she remembered he drew 《Young Lady, sniper rifle, and pantyhose!》 rather than 《Chainsaw Man》, the name and profession matched.
Her biggest question before was whether the face was correct, as that’s the most crucial point; if the face matches the one in her dream, there would be no mistake.
Since it’s a live broadcast, she could directly see his appearance.
Hoshihara Ai immediately wrote the live broadcast time on a sticky note and stuck it on the frame of her computer screen.
It wasn’t too early, so Hoshihara Ai just pocketed her mobile phone, brought nothing else, and left the laboratory.
Leaving the school, she walked along the dim path all the way to the apartment building downstairs.
This was a tower apartment house she bought; although not a top-tier luxury tower, the conditions were still very good.
For her income, it wasn’t much pressure; she just wanted a home of her own.
Taking the elevator upstairs, opening the fingerprint lock, and entering the house.
The cold metal door closed behind her with a dull “click.”
The heavy security door isolated all outside noise.
She didn’t turn on the light; the room was lit only faintly by starlight and moonlight, as well as the city lights flickering outside the floor-to-ceiling window in the distance.
At the entrance, she took off her shoes and casually removed her socks, tossing them into the small basket nearby.
Barefoot on the cool floor, she walked inward while undressing.
The fabric rubbed against her skin, the rustling sound especially clear in the quiet room.
When she reached the refrigerator, the last bit of restraint around her waist slipped off her body, tossed casually onto the sofa.
When Hoshihara Ai was alone at home, she always liked being completely unrestrained and free.
In those memories, when he came here, she would have him be free with her too.
Opening the built-in refrigerator, cold white light spilled out, outlining the curves of her body without any excess fat.
Pulling open the ice maker drawer, she took out a round ice cube and put it into the whiskey glass.
Closing the refrigerator, she took a bottle of HIBIKI from the wine cabinet, pouring in a third of a glass; the amber whiskey liquid slowly flowed over the ice cube.
Holding the wine glass, she walked to the lounge chair in the living room facing the floor-to-ceiling window and sank into it lazily.
The surroundings were dim, but the Tokyo neon lights in the distant view were especially dazzling.
She stretched her long legs straight, her pale toes lightly pressing against the cold glass.
The slight moisture from her soles’ warmth quickly left a thin fog mark on the glass, perfectly outlining her slender foot shape.
Hoshihara Ai gently shook the wine glass, the ice cube clinking crisply against the glass wall, then she took a light sip.
Her thoughts drifted again to that recurring dream.
The same room, the same lounge chair, the same night view.
But on the lounge chair, it wasn’t just one person.
In the dream, she was as cool as now, but beneath her was an additional warm body.
The man named Sakamoto Ken lay below, while she lay on top of him, her arms tightly around his neck, cheek pressed to his chest, clearly feeling his strong heartbeat and the rise and fall of his breathing…
The central air conditioner kept the room at a constant 26 degrees, the gentle breeze brushing every inch of skin.
When the breeze passed over her chest, it brought a subtle tingling sensation, making her unconsciously tense her body.
She recalled that a few days ago at the family gathering, several relatives had once again hinted at the topic of blind dates.
At work, everyone saw her as a genius who had never fallen out of first place in her grade since childhood, but in terms of emotions, to the relatives, she was a problem student.
Those young talents introduced to her, whether business elites or academic rising stars, she didn’t even have the desire to open their information.
It was just over a month ago that one person started occupying her thoughts…
She first saw a psychologist to rule out psychological issues.
But no known theory could explain this phenomenon.
Quantum entanglement across space-time dimensions?
Or is an individual’s existence itself a spacetime information singularity that can be observed and interfered with?
Sakamoto Ken is currently her most important observation sample.
Unknowingly, the whiskey in the glass was finished, leaving more than half of the ice cube gleaming in the glass.
She got up and went back to the wine cabinet, this time pouring a full glass.
The cool glass rim touched her warm lips; tilting her head slightly, the amber liquid slid down her throat into her body.
The alcohol began to take effect; the Tokyo night view in her vision became blurry, the edges softening into a flowing mass of colorful lights.
She extended her foot, trying to touch the illusory light outside the window with her toes.
Her toes slid across the glass, leaving only a trail of moisture.
Her body grew hot, the warmth no longer confined to her stomach but spreading to her limbs.
Her cheeks, along with her neck and collarbone, were tinged with a faint pink.
But the room was dimly lit, with no one to appreciate it.
She set the wine glass on the nearby table, stood up, and took a few unsteady steps in the empty living room.
“Sakamoto Ken…”
Saying this name out loud.
She didn’t understand why it had to be this person.
In her world, everything should be traceable, deducible by principles, formulas, and logic.
Even particle collision outcomes can be calculated, yet she couldn’t explain this man who suddenly invaded her memory.
This “unknown” gave Hoshihara Ai a sense of mental weightlessness.
But she didn’t dislike this feeling; instead, it excited her, making her increasingly eager to solve this puzzle.
She staggered to the floor-to-ceiling window; under the alcohol’s influence, her breathing had grown heavy. She gently pressed her forehead against the cold glass, trying to use the coolness to sober up a bit.
The glass reflected her hazy figure; looking out the window, as if trying to pierce through the lights to see the man who was at that moment somewhere in Tokyo.
What was he doing?
Drawing manga? That manga called 《Chainsaw Man》?
Or…
With those other two women whose faces she couldn’t see clearly in the dream?
Just thinking of the latter possibility stirred her desire to win, cultivated from always being at the top since childhood.
If this was some kind of “competition.”
Then I wouldn’t lose either.
Anyway, by Friday, she’d know if this manga author named Sakamoto Ken was that guy.
