Rewrite Our Love? Too Late-Chapter 109: Behind the Mask, Beneath the Heart

Eriri was in deep sorrow. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

Curled up on the living room couch, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, she sobbed uncontrollably. Her usually haughty, energetic spirit was nowhere to be seen—replaced now by the quiet sound of sniffling that echoed faintly through the apartment.

Naturally, that meant the kitchen duties had to be picked up by someone else.

So, the task fell to none other than Kato Megumi.

Megumi, calm and ever dependable, put on an apron and stepped into the kitchen alongside Yukima Azuma. The two began preparing lunch together, a quiet yet oddly peaceful rhythm settling between them as they washed and sorted vegetables.

While peeling carrots, Megumi's voice broke the silence with her usual soft inquisitiveness.

"So... is Eromanga-sensei really that great? Are they... even better than Sawamura-san?"

In Megumi's eyes, Eriri was already a phenomenal artist. She was, after all, the star of Toyogasaki Academy's elite art club—respected, admired, and famously talented.

Azuma sighed, his eyes drifting toward the living room where Eriri remained curled up in silence. Her aura was so dim, it was hard to believe she was the same proud girl he knew.

How unlucky can one girl be?

When Azuma first stepped into the world of light novels, he didn't expect miracles. He started posting his stories online with nothing but hope and a bit of naïve ambition.

Then—like a miracle—he struck gold overnight.

"Well... they're amazing," Azuma admitted as he rinsed a handful of leafy greens. "If we're talking purely about skill, Eromanga-sensei is definitely a step ahead. Emotionally, I prefer Eriri, but professionally—there's no contest."

Megumi looked genuinely surprised, her lips parting slightly in a faint "Oh."

"Eriri's amazing, no doubt. She draws R18 content, and she's the best in that field. But Eromanga is different. They're an illustrator for all ages—strictly an artist, not a manga creator."

He paused, drying his hands on a kitchen towel.

"They've built a massive fanbase through art alone. So much so, some people joke that they buy light novels just for Eromanga-sensei's illustrations. The story's just an add-on."

Megumi nodded slowly, a new light of understanding entering her eyes. She wasn't from the same world as the rest of them—art, anime, and light novels were foreign territory—but Azuma had a way of explaining things that made even outsiders feel involved.

She turned to glance at the living room again.

How strange. Isn't it said that fools are blessed with happiness? Why, then, is Sawamura-san—who works so hard—so unlucky?

She kept those thoughts to herself. As always, her darker musings remained unspoken.

Changing the subject, Megumi tilted her head and asked casually:

"Azuma-san, you also write light novels, right?"

Azuma chuckled softly. There wasn't much point in hiding it anymore.

"Yeah. When it gets published, I'd love to give you a copy. Would you read it?"

"Huh? You're giving me one? I was going to buy it."

"But Megumi, you don't even read light novels, do you?"

"I don't really understand them... but I still want to read yours. Because it's something you wrote."

Azuma stared at her, caught off guard.

How could he have asked such a dumb question?

She's Kato Megumi.

The girl who would listen attentively no matter the topic—even when she didn't understand. The girl who would try her best to grasp your world, just because she cared.

"What's wrong, Azuma-san?" she asked, tilting her head with that gentle, ever-so-slightly impish look.

Oh no. The head tilt. The wink. The spell.

"Oh, it's here!" Azuma cried dramatically. "The legendary combo move that steals hearts!"

"I didn't expect you to know that," Megumi replied with a deadpan smile. "But now that you've seen it, it's over for you."

"You're right—I can't resist anymore. For Megumi, I offer my heart, soul, and... ah! My apron's soaked!"

"Azuma-san! Be careful—you spilled water everywhere."

Laughing and shaking his head, Azuma set down the kitchen knife and wiped up the mess. Though he had cooking skills that rivaled professionals, even he wasn't immune to Megumi's subtle charms.

After Lunch

"I'll handle the dishes today," Kasumigaoka Utaha said, stacking the plates.

Just as she stepped into the kitchen, Azuma snapped his fingers, as if recalling something important.

"Perfect timing. I have something to show everyone."

Curious, Megumi and Eriri followed him in.

Azuma took the plates from Utaha, scraped off the scraps, and placed them into a sleek white appliance that resembled a microwave.

"From now on, if it's your turn to wash dishes, just use this."

He closed the door of the device with a satisfying click.

"It's a dishwasher. It also dries. You just load it, press a button, and it's done."

A soft ting sounded a few minutes later.

Azuma opened it up and took out gleaming, spotless dishes.

"It feels like something invented by someone who really hates dishwashing," Utaha quipped dryly.

"What can I say? Laziness drives innovation," Azuma replied with a grin. "This is actually a prototype from Laplace Corporation—not on the market yet."

That Afternoon

Eriri had returned to her room.

There was no fuss, no angry protests. She simply sat at her desk and opened her sketchpad, immersing herself in her latest assignment.

Her pride had been wounded, but not broken.

She muttered to herself as she drew:

"Hmph. That Eromanga—just famous for drawing ecchi. Probably some creepy old man hiding behind a cute avatar."

"No way someone like that is actually a cute girl. Just some clever marketing."

Reassured by her own internal logic, Eriri focused on her work with fresh determination.

Meanwhile, Elsewhere

Azuma had accepted a friend request from none other than Eromanga-sensei.

Without hesitation, he initiated a video call.

After a few long minutes, the call connected.

On-screen appeared a dimly lit room. Only a vague outline of a bed could be seen behind a glowing monitor. Sitting in front of the camera was a figure wearing a massive, cartoonish pink anime mask.

"Hello. Are you Eromanga-sensei?" Azuma asked.

"Yes. And you're Yukima Azuma-sensei, I presume? Why the sudden call?"

The voice that answered was digitally distorted, completely androgynous.

Yet Azuma knew the truth.

Despite the mask, despite the voice filter—he could tell. It was a girl.

He didn't need to see her face. Her posture, the shape of her arms, the way her body moved—it was all unmistakable to someone like him.

"I apologize for the sudden call," he said earnestly. "But this project means everything to me. I needed to confirm it personally."

The masked figure tensed for a moment. In Japan, unexpected video calls were borderline taboo. But Azuma's sincerity softened her wariness.

"Understood. If there's a test, I'll pass it. Please—leave the illustrations for Saekano to me!"

Azuma smiled.

That's the response he'd hoped for.

"Please draw Kujou Megumi for me," he requested. "I'd like to see how you visualize her."

Without hesitation, the screen flipped to screen-share mode.

Lines began to flow across the canvas with stunning speed. The sketch formed rapidly—a graceful outline, then a full figure.

Ten minutes later, a complete black-and-white draft stood on the screen.

Even without color, the character radiated life.

It was Kujou Megumi—but imagined with such clarity that it looked like she could walk off the screen.

The resemblance to the real Megumi was faint, but the essence—the aura—was there.

As Eromanga began preparing to color the drawing, Azuma stopped her.

"Please wait."

The screen switched back to face mode. Behind the mask, the girl's worried eyes peeked out, bracing herself for rejection.

"Your work is excellent," Azuma reassured her. "But I'd like you to use a real person as a reference."

He sent two photos over Line—one of Megumi lost in thought, the other focused and determined.

"Please use these to refine Kujou Megumi's design. And please—don't share them. Delete them when the work is done."

The masked girl nodded solemnly.

She zoomed in on the photos, examining them closely.

At first, she was casual. But as she studied the expressions, her eyes widened in surprise.

Behind the screen, she muttered:

"So... this is her."

The inspiration behind that girl—the soul of the heroine she'd just tried to capture.

And somehow... she already felt like she'd fallen behind.