That Time My Anime Life Got Cursed by Outer Gods-Chapter 74 - 73: Restless Nights and Crimson Lips

Tonight, she wore a light layer of makeup—just enough to accentuate her natural grace. Under the warm ambient lighting, her beauty had an air of refined elegance.

As he approached the table, she lifted her chin with a playful pout.

"Shiro-kun, you really made a girl wait. Not very gentlemanly of you."

He glanced at the wall clock. "I'm actually on time. You're the one who came early."

"I don't care," she said, crossing her arms. "A proper gentleman arrives an hour early for a date."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "What kind of logic is that?"

Since that night, Haruno had become noticeably more playful, shedding some of her usual poise for a girlier, mischievous energy. It was a side of her Shiro hadn't expected—but one he'd grown fond of.

Her games never went too far. Her teasing only made their interactions livelier.

During dinner, Shiro found his gaze drifting toward her lips. Painted a glossy crimson, they seemed to shimmer under the light, catching his attention again and again.

Haruno noticed. A smile curled at her mouth.

"Hmm? Is my lipstick that mesmerizing?"

Shiro nodded, honest as ever.

"Oh? Then... want to try it?"

He nodded again—pure instinct.

The next second, Haruno pulled out the lipstick tube from her bag and held it out to him, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Shiro blinked. "Wait—what are you doing?"

"You said you wanted to try it, didn't you?" she said, laughing, her eyes forming two brilliant crescents.

Only then did it click—he'd been tricked. He meant tasting her lips. She gave him the literal lipstick.

Shiro gave her a look. Dangerous. Playful.

Haruno stuck out her tongue and slid the lipstick back into her handbag with mock innocence.

After dinner, he drove her back to her apartment. The moment they stepped inside, Shiro lifted her into his arms, eliciting a surprised gasp.

"W-Wait, Shiro-kun—"

Her words dissolved as he kissed her deeply, and the next moment, her back met the soft mattress.

...

Later, Haruno lay curled against him, her finger tracing light circles on his chest.

Shiro told her about the submission earlier that afternoon. Naturally, she agreed to help review the contract, promising to fight for the best deal possible.

Her curiosity quickly turned elsewhere.

"So... about that manuscript. You let a female writer borrow it?"

Her voice was calm, but her gaze sharpened ever so slightly.

Shiro blinked. "Yeah."

"You do realize that's a bit risky, right? What if she takes it and tries to publish it under her name?"

Shiro answered without hesitation. "It doesn't matter. If someone hasn't lived the experiences behind the story, they can't replicate its heart. Besides—don't you know what I'm capable of?"

Haruno nodded, satisfied—for now. Then her smile returned, sly and knowing.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?"

"...She's attractive, sure," he admitted, then added with conviction, "But she's nothing compared to you."

"I'm honest. I wouldn't lie about that."

Haruno rolled her eyes, smirking. "You know, I really don't mind. There's already Eriri, so what's one more girl in the lineup?"

"...Honestly," he thought, if I really wanted to pursue someone, there might be more than one. But now wasn't the time to say that out loud.

Meanwhile, in Kasumigaoka Utaha's Apartment

Utaha closed the final page of Shiro's manuscript, exhaling slowly. Her fingers rested on the edge of the paper, her mind swirling with emotions.

Despite the rough edges and signs of a newcomer, the story captivated her. Vivid. Immersive. Real.

She hadn't meant to read the whole thing in one sitting. But once she started, she couldn't stop.

When she finished, a quiet disappointment settled over her.

He was right, she thought. Our styles are worlds apart. There's not much I can learn from him technically.

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But still...

The depth of the story—the emotional weight—was something only someone who had lived those moments could write.

He hadn't just imagined this. He'd lived it.

She rose from her desk, padded into the kitchen, and reheated her cold lunch. After a few mechanical bites, she washed up, slipped into her pajamas, and got ready for bed.

As she pulled the covers over her, her fingers brushed against the calming talisman now resting on her nightshirt.

Today's the 31st...

She paused.

She remembered the strange chill that ran through her body the moment she touched it. Now, lying in bed, that same coolness soothed her pulse—gentle, quiet, calming.

For the first time in weeks, her mind stilled. Her breathing deepened.

And then—finally—she slept.

Peacefully.

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