Rewrite Our Love? Too Late-Chapter 122: A Story Worth Reading, A Burden Worth Carrying

Morning.

The breakfast spread was immaculate as always, prepared to perfection. But like clockwork, Yukima Azuma put down his chopsticks halfway through.

"I'm full."

As he spoke those familiar words, Kurokawa Akane tilted her head, not in confusion but quiet curiosity. Without a word, she finished what remained of his food, her movements as precise and elegant as always.

Azuma didn't look at her. Instead, he booted up his laptop and resumed working on his manuscript. This time, he didn't ask for a massage.

Instead, he reached over and gently tugged Akane's sleeve.

"Sit here."

He pointed to the chair beside him.

She obeyed without question.

Moments later, a staff member brought over a copy of a light novel — The Youth of a Lonely Boy Will Not Dream of a Passerby Heroine. Azuma took the book and placed it into Akane's hands with care, as though it were something precious.

"Guardian," he said softly, eyes avoiding hers. "I wrote this. Will you read it?"

Akane glanced at the cover, then looked back at him. Her expression didn't change.

She had no interest in light novels.

No need to humor him.

She could have simply declined.

But before she could say a word—

Azuma exhaled. "You don't want to read it? Haah... I get it. It's not worth reading. Just like me."

He chuckled bitterly. "All this effort, and in the end, it means nothing. That's who I am — someone meaningless."

Before he could spiral further, Akane reached out and pressed her index finger to his lips.

"Don't," she said gently.

Then, with the same hand, she opened the light novel and started reading.

"I'll read it. So stop thinking like that."

Azuma blinked, surprised by the softness of her touch and the firmness of her resolve. His lips curled slightly, warmth flickering in his chest.

He returned to his manuscript.

For a while, the room was filled only with the soft sound of keystrokes and the quiet rustle of turning pages.

Until Azuma paused.

He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and tapped a name.

Hayasaka Ai.

At the Shinomiya estate.

Hayasaka Ai's right eyelid had been twitching all morning.

A bad omen.

She had barely finished buttoning her maid uniform when her phone buzzed.

Yukima Azuma.

Her brow twitched.

Again?

The last time she answered his call, she ended up dragged into his schemes. Even thinking about it made her grind her teeth.

He always started with that line—

"Hayasaka, you don't want your mother to suffer losses, do you?"

So shameless. So manipulative. So... annoying.

Still, she sighed, stared at the ceiling, then picked up the call.

"Moshi moshi, Yukima onii-chan," she said with a fake yawn. "It's barely morning... what do you want now～?"

"Introduce me to the anime production team working with the Shinomiya group."

The words on the other end weren't a request.

They were a command.

Hayasaka's grip on the phone tightened. A vein throbbed at her temple.

Was he serious?!

Was she some kind of corporate courier pigeon!?

Suppressing a scream, she forced herself to breathe.

"Why? Why not go through your own company? Aren't studios lining up to work with you now?"

Azuma's tone didn't waver.

"Because I need both quality and impact. Negotiating with each one is too much trouble. I want the best team to start immediately."

"You want to produce the anime while writing the new volume?"

"Yes. Simultaneously. Movie format."

Hayasaka pressed mute on her phone and exploded.

"BAKA! IDIOT! LUNATIC! Who the hell makes a movie adaptation of a book that isn't even written yet?! Do I look like Doraemon?! Just because I wear blue underwear—!"

After several seconds of silent raging, she returned to the call.

"I understand."

Azuma's trap was simple. Refuse, and he'd just say, "You don't want your mother to suffer losses, do you?"

She could practically hear it already.

"Thank you, Hayasaka. You're truly a good person." freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

He even had the gall to give her a "good person card."

She gritted her teeth.

"If that's all, I'm hanging up."

"Just kidding," Azuma said suddenly, his tone shifting into something more genuine. "I'll repay you for both favors. I mean it."

She paused.

Then, with a simple, "Mm," she ended the call.

Stuffing her phone into her pocket, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted her uniform. Her movements were swift, practiced, flawless.

Time to get back to being a perfect maid.

Down the hallway.

Each of Hayasaka Ai's steps was as elegant as a dancer's, but her mind remained chaotic.

He had turned her into a tool — again.

Does he think I'm some magical tanuki?

At the grand red door, she knocked.

"Kaguya-sama, it's time for breakfast."

"Come in."

Hayasaka entered to find Kaguya already sitting at the edge of her bed, her posture upright and expression calm. Without a word, Hayasaka helped her dress.

"Hayasaka, read my schedule."

"After breakfast, two hours of ikebana," Hayasaka recited. "Then a break, archery practice, lunch, and afternoon tutoring."

She listed the timetable precisely.

Kaguya's life was an unending chain of expectations and responsibilities, from flower arrangement to political science, preparing her for a future molded by family legacy.

"I see," Kaguya said quietly, then looked toward the window. "What about the Shuchiin election?"

There it was — the third time this week she'd brought it up.

Hayasaka narrowed her eyes slightly.

The election didn't interest Kaguya for power or reputation. That much was clear. She had her own reasons, ones she wouldn't speak aloud.

Maybe a certain someone was involved.

"Don't worry, Kaguya-sama," Hayasaka said softly. "The votes are secure. Your election is guaranteed."

Kaguya nodded.

But her eyes remained on the window, distant and unreadable.

Hayasaka followed her gaze.

In that silence, one thought repeated in her mind—

Perhaps... it'll be fine. Perhaps.