That Time My Anime Life Got Cursed by Outer Gods

When I got home, I finally had the chance to unpack and organize the games and consoles I bought earlier in the afternoon.

Originally, I wanted to try one out right away. But playing a game alone felt kind of dull. I thought about calling Misaki—opened my phone and hesitated for a moment—then gave up on the idea.

Asking a girl to come over and game alone at your house? Doesn't sound like something a proper person would do. Unless, of course, you're some generic rom-com protagonist blessed by the heavens.

"Guess I'll write a novel for a while instead."

This content is taken from freёnovelkiss.com.

I sat down alone in my chair, stared at the blank computer screen, and began trying to brainstorm ideas for the novel I had in mind. But for a while, I just couldn't figure out where to begin.

Even though I had a bunch of scenes and concepts floating around in my head, none of them were connected. Most of the stories I'd read in my previous life were just vague memories now, and I couldn't recall much of the worldbuilding details.

If I wanted to use those stories as a framework, I'd still need to practically rewrite everything. In that case, it'd be better to just build something new from scratch based on my own ideas.

Although I've read tons of novels, actually writing one? That's a different beast entirely.

I bounced between different plot ideas and settings, jotting things down as they came. Before I knew it, I'd written tens of thousands of words. But when I looked back at what I had, it felt like a patchwork—a collage of tropes and scenes from the countless stories I once read.

Sure, it wasn't unreadable, but there was this lingering sense of disconnect between the pieces. Maybe it was just me being overly critical since I knew all the sources. A new reader might not even notice.

"Writing a novel is seriously tough... How do those workhorse authors pump out twenty or thirty thousand words a day?"

Shiro Sakamaki sighed and shook his head in disbelief. A quick glance at the clock told him it was already 8 PM.

He opened his chat app to see if anyone had messaged him—nothing. It seemed like the Nakano sisters weren't eating at home tonight.

The past few evenings, they usually invited him to join them for dinner. But if there was no message, that likely meant they weren't home.

He briefly considered heading to the Kohei family's place for a meal, but the distance made him give up that plan just as quickly.

With an empty stomach and no motivation to cook, he collapsed into the soft embrace of his lazy sofa and decided to do something drastic: order takeout.

Now, ordering takeout might sound easy, but here, it's kind of a hassle.

Because of local culture, most people prefer dining out. That's led to an extremely competitive restaurant scene. In a bustling area like this, the sheer number of restaurants is mind-blowing.

On top of that, labor costs are sky-high—especially in Tokyo. That's made takeout services increasingly expensive and rare.

Fewer people ordering means less demand. Less demand means fewer places offer it. So prices keep going up, and people keep choosing to dine out instead.

Still, it wasn't impossible.

After some trial and error, Shiro decided to go with a familiar choice: Fog House. He had been there before and knew the food was solid.

Of course, he didn't expect the takeout to match the quality of what he had in the restaurant—Hinata herself had cooked that meal, after all. There was no way she'd be doing deliveries.

It would probably be handled by another chef or even an apprentice. But in his hungry state, he figured it would be good enough.

Unfortunately, the restaurant's app was absolute garbage—clunky interface, terrible UX. After struggling with it for a bit, he gave up and pulled out the business card Hinata had given him that night.

He dialed the number on it. After two rings, someone picked up.

"Moshi moshi, this is Hinata Inui. May I ask who's calling?"

"Hello, Chef Hinata."

Surprisingly, she immediately recognized his voice.

"Oh my, isn't this the young man who brought five girls to dinner that night? Good evening!"

Shiro cringed slightly. Being known as the guy who showed up with five girls was... well, not the worst thing, but still a little awkward.

He chuckled dryly and composed himself. "Do you accept takeout orders?"

"Hmm, normally we don't—but if it's for a handsome guy, I'll make an exception."

"Wow, thanks! I really appreciate it."

"No problem at all. We'd love for you to keep supporting our place."

"Haha, of course. Then I'll get... let's see—a sushi platter, a chawanmushi..."

He rattled off eight items in a row—all dishes he enjoyed during his last visit. He tended to stick with favorites until he got bored of them.

"Got it all down. Anything else?"

"That'll be it for now. If the delivery person gets here fast, I'll even throw in a tip."

"Understood!"

After hanging up, he sent his address via email, tossed the phone aside, and headed into the bathroom for a shower. After all, eating while feeling clean and refreshed was the ideal experience.

---

Ding-dong-ding-dong!

About an hour later, just as Shiro was finishing his bath, he heard the doorbell ring. Right on time—his food had arrived.

He pressed the intercom to unlock the building entrance and opened his own door slightly in anticipation. Through the security door's cat-eye viewer, he noticed the one across the hall lit up—the Nakano sisters were back, it seemed.

Since it was already past 9 PM, he decided not to greet them and instead just waited for the delivery.

A few moments later, there was a knock at his door.

"Hello, your food is here!"

Shiro walked over to the door—and was surprised to find a high school girl standing there in a restaurant uniform. Her brown hair was tied in a high ponytail, and she carried herself with a composed, professional energy.

Caught off guard, he instinctively apologized.

"Ah—sorry! I didn't expect the delivery person to be a girl."

He was still in his bathrobe from earlier, chest slightly exposed. If he'd known a girl would be delivering the food, he would've dressed more appropriately.

He had assumed this kind of job would be handled by guys, so he hadn't thought twice about it.

Feeling awkward, he bowed his head slightly. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

---

Enjoyed the Chapter? Get early access to 100+ Chapters on Patreon!

→ patreon.com/Arthorain