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610 — Your IQ Has to Be Over 160!
🕑 Added 2025-10-23 16:41:27 +0000 UTCThe article ended with Futami Jiraiya’s glowing praise for Hojou Kyousuke:
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“A novel should first and foremost be a good story, the kind of that make people want to keep reading. And Hojou-sensei is exactly that kind of storyteller. His stories aren’t just for a select few, he writes for society as a whole.”
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“Ahhh~~”
Eriri sank into the couch, her body completely relaxed, face flushed, lips parting as she exhaled in blissful satisfaction.
Watching her, Yukari’s expression was... complicated.
After all, the last time the internet held a “Vote for Hojou’s Girlfriend” poll, Sawamura-san had personally jumped in to campaign for herself.
Everyone knew about it, of course, but pretended not to.
Otherwise, this prideful little princess would probably lock herself in her room for three days straight out of embarrassment.
And now, seeing an eight-million-copy newspaper publicly praise her talent across the nation, of course she’d be thrilled.
As Yukari recalled the critics’ detailed analysis of Eriri’s artwork, she suddenly heard someone coughing beside her.
“Ahem... ahem...”
Eriri had straightened up again, her blue eyes shining with a fiery gleam.
“Eriri, are you feeling sick?” Kasuko asked worriedly.
“Woof Woof!” [Dummies don’t get sick!], Momotarou barked in solidarity.
“Not that!” Eriri wrinkled her little nose.
“Whaaa!!”
A dramatic gasp echoed through the room.
Sakura shot up from her seat, holding the newspaper high as she exclaimed, “Eriri, you’re an absolute genius! Your IQ has to be over 160!
I knew your bad grades weren’t because you’re dumb, but you were just channeling all that brainpower into art! Your time has finally come!”
Her amber eyes gleamed with pure admiration — enough to make Eriri’s heart practically burst with pride.
The golden-haired princess abandoned all pretense of modesty, springing to her feet and tilting her head proudly.
“Ha~ Sakura, you really are—”
But before she could finish basking in the praise, another voice chimed in.
Shouko raised her head, blinking in awe for two seconds before letting out a soft “Ohhh!” Then she too lifted her newspaper and gasped, “Eriri, you might actually become the next Van Gogh! That’s incredible!”
Her voice is so gentle and crystalline that made one think, ‘If Nishimiya Shouko ever read my eulogy, maybe even my sins would sound poetic enough to reach heaven.’
Though her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, it didn’t matter.
The fact that even Shouko was praising her sent Eriri’s happiness into overdrive, her twin tails bounced gleefully like helicopter blades.
“Hahaha~ Oh come on, it’s not that amazing—”
She hadn’t even finished her modest denial before being interrupted again.
“No, Sawamura-san is not ‘the next’ anyone,” said Hojou Mikiko firmly, lifting her newspaper with conviction. “Lily doesn’t need to become someone else. Lily is Lily — and she’ll become the greatest artist in the world!”
Eriri’s twin tails spun even faster, practically generating lift.
Momotarou’s eyes sparkled, maybe his “best friend” could officially be promoted to aibou (partner), and together they could perform the “Helicopter Duo” for their boss.
“Hahaha~ Aunt Mikiko, even you’re joining in now—”
Eriri tried to wave off the praise, grinning wide enough to show all eight shining teeth — but once again, someone cut her off.
“This article isn’t entirely accurate.” A cool, clear voice pierced through the noise.
Eriri froze mid-laugh, glaring at the black-haired, red-eyed witch who just had to ruin her moment.
“Neither Futami Jiraiya nor Akiyoshi Hishida mentioned the most important detail — that all three of Eriri’s posters were completed within two days, Leaving that out drastically underestimates her true ability.”
Kasumigaoka Utaha’s wine-red eyes glimmered with firm conviction.
Eriri’s expression perfectly embodied the word animated: shock, outrage, delight and finally, pure smugness.
Naoka twitched at the sight of the chaos around her living room, half expecting the fluffy dog to raise its paw in salute next.
“Hahaha~ Kasumigaoka Utaha, I didn’t realize you were such a genius too! I totally misjudged—”
But before Eriri could finish praising her “fellow genius,” yet another voice broke in.
“Eriri, you know I’ve always said this but you have the best artistic sense, the best fashion taste, and the most refined eye in the entire dorm! I was right all along! You and I together? Unstoppable!”
Naoka had gone from exasperated to full-on dramatic, raising the newspaper like a revolutionary banner.
You’d never guess she was the same girl who used to criticize Eriri’s outfit choices.
Not when the internet was already buzzing about her fashion designs featured in those very posters.
Who dared call Eriri a tracksuit-wearing slob now? Naoka certainly wouldn’t stand for it.
“Hahaha~ Naoka, choosing me was the smartest decision you’ve ever—”
Eriri patted Naoka’s shoulder triumphantly, ready to shower her with more praise — until another interruption came.
“It really is beautifully done,” said Yukari softly, her tone as gentle as a spring breeze.
Unlike Shouko, Yukari didn’t have voice acting training — her delivery was simple, but warm.
And that was enough to make Eriri’s grin widened even more.
Surrounded by compliments so sweet they could melt steel, the princess’s pride soared higher and higher — until she was practically glowing with smug radiance.
“Hahaha~ Yukari-sensei, I’ve always thought you’re the most cultured one in the house—”
But once again... she stopped.
The lively room suddenly fell silent.
Everyone followed Eriri’s gaze downward — to a little girl with twin pigtails, wearing a red sweater and blue denim overalls, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside a fluffy white dog.
Both of them stared back, confused, as if wondering why Eriri had suddenly frozen mid-sentence.
Now, it wasn’t just Naoka twitching with barely suppressed laughter.
Even Yukari rubbed her temples, Shouko turned away in embarrassment, and Sakura, Utaha, and Mikiko exchanged knowing looks... before bursting into mischievous giggles.
Little Kasuko’s big black eyes darted back and forth—first at Eriri, then at her mom, then at Sakura, who was winking mischievously.
Her mouth opened into a perfect “O” before she suddenly gasped and clutched Eriri’s pants leg.
“It’s amazing—!!”
“Woof Arf Woof” [Nice job! As expected of my best friend!] Momotarou lifted a tiny paw and patted Eriri’s foot in approval.
“Hehehe Kasuko-chan, you’re the cutest!”
Interrupted mid-sentence, Eriri finally found her moment again.
She bent down, scooped up the little girl, and rubbed their cheeks together like a cat marking her territory.
“Alright! Since everyone seems to love it so much, let me—its original creator—give you a personal tour!”
As she spoke, Eriri grabbed a cylindrical art case from the sofa.
That girl…
Utaha, who had just finished laughing, immediately frowned again when she saw Eriri’s smug grin.
‘Great. She’s proud again. What’s next—asking me to hang her painting above my bed?’
‘Should I print her face on my sheets too, so she can watch while Kyousuke and I—'
But before Utaha could finish that thought, Sakura was already scampering over, setting up the easel and eagerly hanging up all three of Eriri’s paintings like the perfect little assistant.
‘This girl…’
Utaha sighed helplessly.
She was so done with Sakura’s antics.
That woman didn’t just enjoy seeing Eriri act all silly—she lived for it. And she equally enjoyed watching everyone else get swept up in it.
If Eriri got ten points of happiness from being praised, Sakura probably got a hundred just from watching it happen.
If everyone in the world were like her, world peace might actually be possible.
Good thing Katou Megumi wasn’t here.
If she saw this scene, she’d definitely get déjà vu probably remembering a certain family restaurant where something very similar had happened.
“The ramen shop owner said my work combines postmodern expressionism with traditional Japanese influence—and he’s totally right!
Look here—see this rope? You know Prince Nagaya, right? No? The noble who was forced by the Fujiwara clan to hang himself with his entire family?
Yeah, this is that rope! Now, if you look here—”
Eriri’s eyes sparkled as she gestured dramatically at the painting.
“And where’s the Victorian influence?” Shouko raised her hand like a student.
“You know what the Victorian era had the most of?” Eriri asked with a mock-teacher tone.
“Pirates?” Sakura answered first.
“Nope.”
“Steam locomotives?” Utaha humored her.
“Nope.”
“Chimneys?” Yukari guessed coolly.
“Nope.”
Eriri sighed and shook her head, visibly disappointed at their “lack of artistic literacy.”
But being the optimistic genius she was (in her own head, anyway), she quickly decided it wasn’t that they were dumb—it was that she was just too brilliant.
After all, even math-prodigy Sakura had called her a genius once!
“So what is it, Eriri?” Kasuko asked sweetly, cupping Eriri’s cheeks in her tiny hands.
“Say ‘Eriri-oneechan’ first!”
After that correction, Eriri proudly announced:
“It’s the gallows! Data shows that during the Victorian era, an average of fifty people were executed every single day! Carpenters’ top commission wasn’t building ships—it was constructing gallows!”
She lifted her index finger and said it with absolute seriousness.
Utaha rolled her eyes so hard they nearly got stuck.
Of course she knew Eriri was talking nonsense—top of the class and all that.
“Wow~~~!”
Kasuko, Sakura, and even the others clapped and gasped in mock awe.
The more they hyped her up, the prouder Eriri got—soon, she was pointing at every random detail on the canvas, spinning elaborate “artistic” explanations about everything, from ropes to duct-taped judges.
The room was filled with laughter and applause.
Eriri knew she was spewing nonsense.
She wasn’t an idiot—she just liked being the center of attention.
And besides, if she ever got too serious, Sakura would probably put her smug expression on social media by tomorrow morning.
Even Hojou Mikiyo and the others knew she was bluffing, but they were all too entertained to care.
Occasionally, someone would chime in with their own wild “interpretation,” and the conversation would spiral into a hilariously fake academic debate.
Only little Kasuko seemed unsure.
Watching Eriri lecture with such confidence, while her mom and Sakura looked on in admiration, a seed of doubt formed in her heart.
‘Wait… could Eriri actually not be a dummy after all?’ Then she quickly shook her head. ‘No! Absolutely not! I’m still not sharing my brother’s cooking with her!\
Laughter echoed through the living room, drifting past the glass doors, into the quiet courtyard, and up into the still, black night.
Out in the garden, lounging on a deck chair, Kyousuke turned his head toward the sound.
The girls’ laughter made his already good mood even better.
The past few days had been chaos for him—too much attention, too many interviews.
Even with Kisaki helping him juggle everything, he barely had time to rest.
He had thought that once his new book launched, he could finally relax until the award ceremony—but clearly, he’d be busy all the way until then.
Contrary to what Hikigaya Hachiman had guessed, those viral “fan” reviews online weren’t paid ads.
Sure, they all sounded suspiciously promotional, loudly praising him—but Kisaki hadn’t spent a dime on them.
In fact, the critic Futami Jiraiya had reached out on his own.
Just like editor Matsumoto had said, Futami was drawn in by the book’s striking poster.
He’d contacted the publisher out of curiosity, which led him straight to Kisaki Tetta.
One conversation later, they struck a deal: Futami would write an in-depth feature on Hojou’s work, and in return, Kyousuke would introduce him to a rising political figure, Yamaguchi Daisuke.
The plan? The three of them would appear together on a primetime Asahi TV talk show—one ambitious young politician, one social critic, and one “literary genius of the new era.”
A perfect storm of publicity.
And, of course, all orchestrated by Kisaki Tetta—the master strategist.
For someone like him, nothing was more satisfying than serving under a powerful boss.
With Kyousuke’s growing fame, Kisaki could play any angle he wanted—schemes or straightforward force, all paths led to victory.
After wrapping up his call, Kyousuke hung up and heard the soft crunch of grass behind him.
Turning around, he saw Eriri approaching, dressed in white shorts and a loose green T-shirt, her golden twin-tails swaying lightly.
She stopped beside his chair, looked up at the night sky, hands clasped behind her back, fingers twisting nervously—silent, but brimming with unspoken thoughts.
