"Masaki-sensei, this is the contract our publishing house carefully prepared after thorough discussion. Please take a look."
A contract was presented with both hands.
Hayato Masaki reached out to accept it, his slender fingers gently pressing one edge of the document. After a brief scan, he handed it to the woman beside him with a natural ease, and she took it.
Eri Kisaki was a sharp, professional woman.
Her refined features betrayed no hesitation as she silently began reviewing the contract.
Across the table, the publishing house editor, Nanami Asamiya, waited with a quiet smile, brimming with confidence in her company's offer.
Eri Kisaki, having read the entire contract, gave a subtle nod of approval.
The terms were surprisingly generous, free of any predatory clauses—a sincere offer, through and through.
"There's nothing wrong with this contract. It's rare to see such a clean commercial agreement these days," Eri Kisaki remarked, her tone tinged with surprise as she glanced at the editor. "This isn't just for popular novels—only a well-known bestselling author would typically secure terms like these."
"Well, for one, our publishing house is fully confident in Masaki-sensei's potential," Nanami Asamiya replied. "And this contract is the result of extensive discussions between our chief editor and president. They're huge fans of Masaki-sensei's earlier works, you know."
She flashed a playful, almost mischievous grin.
It was, of course, an exaggerated half-truth.
Though the deeper reasons remained unclear, Hayato Masaki could only accept the flattery with grace. Setting down his coffee cup, he offered a warm smile. "It's my honor."
Nanami Asamiya blinked, momentarily dazzled.
The young man before her was strikingly handsome—almost too much so. His glossy black hair framed a face of breathtaking refinement, his faint smile radiating clarity, his voice crisp and calm. An aura of serene stillness seemed to envelop him.
At first glance, anyone would peg him as a gentle, composed young man.
"Ahem," Nanami cleared her throat. "So, Masaki-sensei, are you satisfied with the contract? Or is there anything you'd like me to pass along?"
"No, it's perfect. I'm very pleased."
"Then, if everything's in order…?"
"May I have a pen, please?"
"Of course."
Nanami Asamiya promptly handed him a fountain pen with both hands.
Under her guidance and Eri Kisaki's watchful gaze, Hayato Masaki signed his name, officially entrusting the rights to his new work to the publishing house.
With her task complete, Editor Asamiya soon excused herself to report back.
Only Hayato Masaki and Eri Kisaki remained at the booth.
"Congratulations, Hayato," Eri Kisaki said, turning to him with a warm, familiar smile that softened her mature elegance. "That's a fine contract you've landed."
"Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to come with me today, Eri-san."
"For something this important, I wouldn't feel right unless I was here to check things over myself."
Eri Kisaki glanced at her wristwatch, noting the time, and reached for her bag. "But I should head to the office now. If you need anything, just give me a call, Hayato."
"Will do. Are you working late again tonight?"
"Yes, I've got some overtime—a case is heading to trial soon. But it shouldn't keep me too late."
"Got it. Drive safely, then."
"See you later."
Eri Kisaki's figure retreated briskly.
Watching her climb into her Mini Cooper and drive off, Hayato Masaki didn't linger at the café. He stepped onto the street, waited a moment, and flagged down a taxi.
"To Beika Second Apartment, please."
"Got it."
Click.
The door shut, and the taxi glided toward its destination.
March still carried a faint chill.
Inside the steady hum of the taxi, the radio played the latest hit from idol sensation Yoko Okino.
Outside, the cityscape drifted by—middle-aged salarymen hustling along the commercial street, young couples sharing quiet moments, the impatient blare of horns the instant a light turned green. Everything pulsed with vivid, undeniable reality.
A real world.
Over a year since arriving in this place, Hayato Masaki had fully settled into its rhythm.
He could find no evidence it was a fiction. Life here was flesh, breath, and heartbeat. He knew slicing a vein wouldn't spill ink, and running to the horizon wouldn't crash into a canvas frame. With everything so tangible, so alive, there was no room for doubt.
His name was Hayato Masaki.
Before landing in this strangely familiar yet foreign world without warning, he'd lived a fairly accomplished life in his twenties.
He'd read Detective Conan, of course.
But since appearing here out of nowhere, he wasn't just given a proper identity and records. His body and mind came with new memories, new connections.
"Sir, you in a rush?" the driver asked, noticing his passenger's frequent glances at his watch.
"No, not at all," Hayato replied. "But could you switch to the news station, please?"
"Sure thing."
The driver complied.
It was 2:18 p.m.
The radio replayed earlier news. Hayato kept a subtle eye on his watch, waiting until precisely 2:21:30—
"According to Beika Police Department, suspect Morihiko Nishikawa suffered sudden cardiac arrest during an arrest operation on March 16 at 8 p.m. and passed away en route to the hospital."
"Per Inspector Megure, Nishikawa was linked to multiple violent crimes, including hit-and-run robberies, coercion of women, and loan sharking…"
The anchor's voice was steady, professional, but to Hayato, it faded into the background. He cross-referenced the report with his memory, a faint smile curling his lips.
Right on schedule.
He savored the silent victory.
"Another lowlife bites the dust. Good riddance," the middle-aged driver muttered, long past his days of outrage but clearly pleased.
Hayato's smile lingered, mirroring the sentiment. "Couldn't agree more."
***
If you enjoyed this story, don't forget to drop 5 stars and your power stone. And if you want to read more than 30 chapters in advance, feel free to visit: pat reon . com / KangTL