Master of the Machete Style Manga

Chapter 54 Love, One Person, Slightly Drunk
Starry future.

This was the pen name that Hoshino Ai used when she was in college and published short stories in science fiction magazines.

It is said that every seventeen or eighteen-year-old boy or girl has fantasized about being a writer, and she was no exception back then.

So he published his own work, and to his surprise, it was very well received. However, the readership of hard science fiction is small, and its popularity cannot compare with that of mainstream works.

She also joined the Science Fiction Writers Club (SFWJ) because of this.

Later, he pursued further studies, completing his master's and doctoral degrees, and continued his scientific research, thus giving up on writing novels.

She skipped grades from elementary school onwards, and was only 22 when she graduated with her doctorate. Now she's just over 24.

The organizing committee said in the email that they especially hoped she could join the judging panel for the Campus Star track because she is a highly regarded young physics professor and a science fiction writer.

After all, a significant portion of the submissions this time were science fiction, requiring an expert like her, who possesses both scientific literacy and literary aesthetics, to judge them.

The call for submissions invited many judges, who were proficient in various genres. According to the judging rules, the judges did not need to score every book. They only needed to select books that interested them from the pool of submissions and then give them a score.

After reading the entire email, Ai Hoshihara did not reply immediately. Instead, she bookmarked the website showcasing the participants' work and planned to check it out when she had time.

Then I marked the email as "pending" and minimized the email window.

Lately, she's developed a habit of casually searching for that name every night.

Type "Sakamoto Ken" into the Google search box.

The search results popped up quickly.

The discussion at the top of the list is still about the author of "Chainsaw Man," whose name is Ken Sakamoto.

She scrolled down a bit and a recent message from JUMP's official Twitter account caught her attention.

Ken Sakamoto, author of *Chainsaw Man*, will be a guest on JUMP's official livestream on March 13th (Friday) at 8 PM to discuss the creation story of *Chainsaw Man*! Stay tuned!

Ok?
Ai Hoshihara's gaze lingered on the tweet for a long time, and the man's face was very clear in her mind.

Although I remember he drew "Miss, Sniper Rifle, and Pantyhose!" instead of "Chainsaw Man," the name and profession match.

Her biggest question was whether the face was correct, since that was the most crucial point. If the face was the same as the one in her dream, then there would be no mistake.

Since it's a live stream, we can see what he looks like directly.

Ai Hoshino immediately wrote the time of the live stream on a sticky note and stuck it on the border of her computer screen.

It was getting late, so Ai Hoshihara simply put her phone in her pocket and left the lab without taking anything else.

Leaving the school, I walked along the dimly lit path until I arrived at the apartment building.

This is a tower apartment she bought. Although it's not a top-tier luxury tower, the conditions are still quite good.

For her income, it wasn't much of a burden; she just wanted a home of her own.

Take the elevator upstairs, unlock the fingerprint lock, and enter the house.

The cold metal door slammed shut behind me with a dull "click".

The heavy security door isolates all outside noise.

She didn't turn on the lights; the room was only illuminated by starlight, moonlight, and, further away, by the faint glow of city lights twinkling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I took off my shoes in the entryway and casually took off my socks and threw them into the small basket next to me.

She stepped barefoot onto the cold floor and took off her clothes as she walked inside.

The rustling sound of the fabric against the skin was particularly clear in the quiet room.

When she reached the refrigerator, the last restraint around her waist slipped off and she tossed it onto the sofa.

When Ai Hoshino is home alone, she always likes to be unrestrained and free like this.

In those memories, when he came here, she would let him be free and unrestrained with her.

Opening the built-in refrigerator, a cool white light shone through, outlining her perfectly toned figure.

Open the ice maker drawer, take out a round ice ball, and put it into a whiskey glass.

I closed the refrigerator, took a bottle of HIBIKI from the liquor cabinet, poured a third of a glass, and watched the amber-colored whiskey slowly drip down the ice ball.

Holding her wine glass, she walked to the recliner in the living room facing the floor-to-ceiling window and languidly sank into it.

The surroundings were dim, but the neon lights of Tokyo in the distance were particularly dazzling.

She stretched out her long legs, her fair toes gently touching the cold glass.

The slight moisture generated by body temperature on the soles of the feet quickly left a thin layer of fog on the glass, perfectly outlining the slender contours of the feet.

Ai Hoshihara gently swirled her glass, the ice puck making a crisp sound as it collided with the glass, then took a small sip. Her thoughts drifted back to that recurring dream.

Same room, same lounge chair, same night view.

But there was not one person on the recliner.

In her dream, she was as cool as she was now, but beneath her was a warm body.

The man named Ken Sakamoto was lying below, while she was on top of him, her arms tightly wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressed against his chest, clearly feeling his strong heartbeat and the rise and fall of his breath...

Central air conditioning keeps the room at a constant 26 degrees Celsius, and the gentle breeze it blows out caresses every inch of your skin.

As the wind flowed across her chest, it brought a slight tingling sensation, causing her to unconsciously tense up.

She recalled that at a family gathering a few days ago, several relatives had once again brought up the topic of blind dates.

At work, everyone treats her as a genius. She has never fallen out of first place in her grade since childhood. But in terms of relationships, her relatives see her as a problematic student.

She had no desire to even open the profiles of the young talents introduced to her, whether they were business elites or academic upstarts.

It started a little over a month ago, and there's only one person he's been thinking about constantly...

She first saw a psychologist to rule out that it was caused by psychological problems.

However, this phenomenon cannot be explained by any known theory.

Quantum entanglement that transcends spacetime dimensions?

Or is it that the existence of an individual is itself a spatiotemporal information singularity that can be observed and interfered with?

Ken Sakamoto is her most important observation sample to date.

Before I knew it, the whiskey in the glass was all gone, and more than half of the ice cubes remained, gleaming in the glass.

She got up and went back to the wine cabinet, this time pouring a full glass.

The cool rim of the glass pressed against my warm lips. I tilted my head back slightly, and the amber liquid slid down my throat and into my body.

The alcohol began to take effect, and the Tokyo night view in my field of vision began to blur, with the edges slightly merging into a patchwork of shimmering colors.

She stretched out her leg, trying to touch the illusory light outside the window with her toes.

My toes brushed against the glass, leaving only a trail of moisture.

My body started to feel hot, and the warm current no longer stayed only in my stomach, but spread to my limbs and bones.

Her cheeks, neck, and collarbone were all tinged with a light pink.

However, the room was dimly lit, and no one appreciated it.

She placed the wine glass on the table beside her, stood up, and took a few unsteady steps in the empty living room.

"Sakamoto Ken..."

Say the name aloud.

She didn't understand why it had to be this person.

In her world, everything should be traceable and deduced using principles, formulas, and logic.

Even the results of particle collisions can be calculated, but the man who suddenly intruded into her memory cannot be explained.

This "unknown" will bring Ai Hoshihara a sense of mental weightlessness.

But she didn't dislike the feeling; instead, she felt excited and increasingly eager to solve the problem.

She staggered to the French windows, her breathing heavy under the influence of alcohol. She gently pressed her forehead against the cold glass, trying to sober herself up with the coolness.

Her hazy figure was reflected in the glass as she looked out the window, as if trying to see through the lights to the man who was somewhere in Tokyo at that moment.

What is he doing?
Is he drawing a comic? That comic called "Chainsaw Man"?

Or……

Are you with two other women in the dream whose faces you can't see clearly?
The thought of the latter possibility stirred up her competitive spirit, which she had cultivated since childhood by always standing at the top.

If this is some kind of "competition".

Then I can't possibly lose.

In short, by Friday we'll know if this manga artist named Ken Sakamoto is the same guy.

(End of this chapter)