Detective Conan: I'm a Boy, But They Treat Me Like a Big Sister — Chapter 44

Chapter 44: The Justice Effect

It had been exactly three days since the highly anticipated publication of No Longer Human.

Tōhō Getsukai sat near the back of the classroom, his chin propped lazily against his knuckles. Up at the podium, their literature teacher, Hirata, was currently pacing back and forth, passionately reciting excerpts from various glowing book reviews.

“Without a doubt, the most important literary work to grace Japan in the last ten years…” Teacher Hirata paused to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes shining with academic fervor. “Students, the author of this masterpiece, ‘Justice,’ remains a complete mystery to the public. However, the publishing industry generally agrees that this person must possess at least twenty years of deep, agonizing life experience to write with such depth…”

Twenty years… Tōhō lowered his gaze, idly flipping a page of his textbook.

Well, the man wasn’t entirely wrong. Teacher Osamu Dazai certainly had his fair share of years and misery in his previous world.

“The first printing of ten thousand copies sold out in a mere three days. The publisher has already urgently ordered an additional fifty thousand copies to meet the overwhelming demand!”

Teacher Hirata held the hardcover high in the air. The stark, minimalist title—No Longer Human—stood out clearly under the harsh glare of the classroom’s fluorescent lights.

“I strongly suggest everyone read it after class. A work of this caliber is incredibly hard to come by. It is a generational masterpiece.”

A boy in the front row shot his hand into the air. “Sensei, is the author a man or a woman? The internet forums are completely tearing each other apart over it.”

“Currently, it cannot be verified.” Teacher Hirata shook his head, a look of deep regret crossing his features. “Justice has personally declined all interview requests. Rumor has it that not even the publisher’s own editors have seen him in person.”

Tōhō casually turned to the next page of his textbook, his expression entirely placid.

A sharp poke dug into his shoulder. Eriri, sitting just in front of him, leaned back and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hey. Have you read this yet?”

“No.”

“Liar. Don’t you have a copy shoved in your schoolbag right now?”

“Someone else forced it on me.”

Eriri pulled her hand back, her blue eyes narrowing in suspicion. She ducked her head, hiding her phone under the edge of her desk to scroll through the screen. Tōhō caught a brief glimpse of the display; the class group chat was currently exploding with a tidal wave of recommendations for No Longer Human.

Three seconds later, the blonde twin-tails poked him again.

“Do you have any idea who this ‘Justice’ is? It’s the exact same pen name as the one who wrote Farewell My Concubine.”

Tōhō blinked, offering her a look of utter, flawless confusion. “?”

Eriri pouted, her shoulders slumping as she finally gave up the interrogation.

Very good, Tōhō thought, a faint smirk playing at the edge of his mind. The fundamental literacy of a successful plagiarist from another world: keep a perfectly straight face and deny everything to the grave.

The sharp ring of the bell finally signaled the end of class.

Just as Tōhō shoved his textbook into his bag, the noisy chatter of the second-year classroom suddenly died down. A tall, slender figure with flowing black hair appeared at the doorway.

Kasumigaoka Utaha.

A third-year senior of her status appearing in the second-year hallway was already enough to draw every eye in the room. But her aura today was entirely different. Her long dark hair was tied back far more neatly than her usual relaxed style, and her striking features carried a heavy, oppressive weight that clearly broadcasted: I have something to say, and you had better listen.

The surrounding boys immediately broke into hushed, frantic whispers.

“Is that Kasumigaoka-senpai from Class 3-A? She’s gorgeous…”

“Who is she looking for?”

Utaha didn’t step inside. She simply stood by the doorframe, her crimson eyes locking onto Tōhō, and beckoned him over with a single, elegant curl of her finger.

Tōhō sighed, pushing his chair back and walking toward the exit. As he passed Eriri’s desk, the blonde artist was already glaring daggers at the black-haired beauty by the door. Utaha met the hostility with calm, dismissive silence. Sparks practically flew in the space between them.

Out in the hallway, Utaha leaned back against the large glass window. She clutched a copy of No Longer Human tightly against her chest.

Tōhō’s eyes drifted to the book. The edges of the pages were absolutely bristling with dense, color-coded sticky notes. Every single margin visible from the outside was crammed with frantic, careful annotations.

Three days. She had finished a complete, analytical close-reading in just three days. The senior’s reading intensity was genuinely terrifying, rivaling a desperate student cramming the night before finals.

“Finished reading?” Tōhō asked, leaning against the opposite wall and crossing his arms.

Utaha didn’t answer the question. She slowly lowered the book into her bag, then raised her head. Her red eyes were swirling with the most complex, volatile cocktail of emotions Tōhō had ever seen on her face.

Jealousy. Excitement. A bitter, agonizing unwillingness to concede defeat.

And beneath it all, a raw, starving hunger. A predator’s absolute obsession with pure talent.

Utaha took a sudden step forward, closing the distance between them until they were barely half an arm’s length apart.

“The first-reader rights for your next book must be given to me.” Her voice was low, trembling slightly with suppressed intensity. “This isn’t a request.”

Tōhō tilted his head. His gaze naturally slid down from her intense crimson eyes, tracing the line of her uniform. Today, the senior was wearing sheer black pantyhose. The hem of her pleated skirt rested exactly three centimeters above her knees. The shape of her legs was flawless, the elegant curve from her thighs down to her slender ankles outlined perfectly by the dark knit fabric.

Well, Tōhō mused internally, pantyhose really are a formidable weapon.

“Tōhō-kun. My eyes are up here.”

“I know,” Tōhō replied smoothly, his tone entirely unapologetic. “But Senpai’s choice of hosiery today is exceptionally good. I simply wanted to appreciate it.”

A visible flush of red crept up the tips of Utaha’s ears, but she refused to back down, her glare sharpening.

“Stop trying to change the subject. First-reader rights. Do you agree or not?”

“Agreed.” Tōhō finally pulled his gaze back up, offering a casual, easy smile. “But there’s a condition.”

“Speak.”

“Help me reply to my reader mail.”

Utaha froze, the intense momentum draining from her posture in an instant. “…What?”

“The publisher forwarded a massive pile of physical reader letters to me, and I’m honestly too lazy to deal with them. You have an excellent grasp of prose, Senpai. Be my ghostwriter.”

Kasumigaoka Utaha’s expression fractured.

First came sheer, unadulterated disbelief. You possess this kind of devastating literary talent, and you are too lazy to even reply to your own fans?

Then came the anger. What did he take his genius for? Cheap pocket change to be carelessly tossed into the dirt?

Finally, a wave of unspeakable, bitter sourness washed over her. Her long eyelashes trembled, and a thin, glossy layer of moisture welled up in the depths of her red pupils—driven to near tears by his sheer, maddening wastefulness.

“…You absolute menace.”

Utaha snapped her head away, taking a deep, shaky breath to force her turbulent emotions back down. When she finally turned back to face him, the cold, haughty mask of the ice-queen novelist was firmly back in place.

“Fine. Forward the letters to me. But when I reply, I am signing them as ‘Justice Studio’.”

“Whatever makes you happy. I don’t even have a studio to begin with.”

“You do now.” Utaha smoothed a hand down the length of her dark hair, turning on her heel to head back toward the third-year wing. “The founding members are you and me. You are strictly responsible for writing the books. I am responsible for absolutely everything else.”

“Isn’t that division of labor a little…”

“Shut up. You have permanently forfeited your right to discuss labor divisions.” She threw a cold glare over her shoulder. “Someone who is too lazy to even write a letter has no voice here.”

With that, the long black hair disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

Tōhō leaned against the wall, the corners of his mouth curving upward into a satisfied smirk. Not bad at all. High-quality, free labor successfully acquired. It was time to squeeze this new assistant for all she was worth.

Lunch break.

The Service Club.

When Tōhō pushed the sliding door open, he was greeted by an incredibly rare sight.

Yukinoshita Yukino sat in her usual chair by the window, a book resting open on her lap. The white cat was dozing peacefully on the corner of her desk. Opposite her, Yuigahama sat frozen, holding a juice box with the straw resting against her lips. She hadn’t taken a single sip. Instead, she was staring at Yukinoshita with wide, deeply worried eyes.

“Yuekui-senpai!” Yuigahama whispered frantically, waving him over. “Yukino-chan has been stuck like this for ten whole minutes…”

Tōhō took two quiet steps closer. His eyes fell on the cover of the book resting on Yukinoshita’s lap.

No Longer Human.

Yukinoshita’s reading pace, usually swift and methodical, had flatlined to zero. She maintained her perfect, upright posture, but those beautiful ice-blue eyes were completely unfocused, staring blankly at a single paragraph.

The psychological lethality of this particular novel against someone like her was genuinely off the charts. Yukinoshita Yukino was exactly the type of person to be struck straight through the soul by a narrative dissecting the inherent hypocrisy of human society.

Tōhō didn’t make a sound. He quietly walked around the table and took his usual seat. Hearing the rustle of his uniform, the white cat cracked an eye open, stretched its paws, and immediately hopped over to rub its head affectionately against Tōhō’s hand.

Two agonizingly slow minutes passed. Finally, Yukinoshita blinked, the light slowly returning to her eyes.

She closed the book. Her movements were incredibly gentle, almost reverent. She placed the novel flat on the wooden desktop and kept her slender palm pressed firmly against the cover, grounding herself.

Slowly, she lifted her head, her gaze locking onto Tōhō.

“…This book,” Yukinoshita began, her voice noticeably softer, lacking its usual sharp edge. “Have you read it?”

“I’ve read it.”

“What did you think of it?”

Tōhō scratched the cat behind its ears, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. “It’s written quite well. It’s just… a bit gloomy.”

It was an understatement so massive it bordered on insulting.

Yukinoshita stared at him in heavy silence for three long seconds. Then, she slowly lowered her eyelashes, hiding her thoughts.

“…Is that so.”

She didn’t press the issue. Pulling her hand back, she reopened the book and quietly resumed reading.

Yuigahama leaned across the table, her pink hair bouncing as she whispered, “Senpai, senpai, is that book really that good? Yukino-chan is taking it so seriously…”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“Then I’m definitely going to buy a copy on my way home!”

“…Yuigahama, I don’t think that book is very suitable for you.”

“Eh? Why not?”

Because, Tōhō thought dryly, if you actually finish it, you will inevitably come running to me in a puddle of tears, and I really don’t want to spend my afternoon coaxing you back to reality.

“It’s nothing,” Tōhō smiled gently. “Just reading it casually is fine too.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet breath as the white cat curled into a warm, vibrating fur ball on his lap. The afternoon sunlight spilled through the large windows, cutting the quiet atmosphere of the Service Club into warm, golden segments of light and shadow.

In the light, Yukinoshita quietly turned a page. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders, the harsh lines of her usual icy demeanor softened beautifully by the sun’s glow. Across from her, Yuigahama lay her head on the table, her short pink hair a messy halo as she secretly, anxiously observed her friend’s reactions.

Tōhō closed his eyes, a faint smile touching his lips as he began mentally calculating his royalty payments for the month.

Hmm.

Today was yet another wealthy, perfectly low-key day, surrounded by beautiful girls. Life was good.