Garbage.
That was honestly Tsukasa Higashino’s first impression.
It wasn’t that he wanted to belittle a group of high school girls.
Their paintings simply weren’t very good.
And that was without getting into something as vague and subjective as “artistic merit.”
Many of the girls in the studio hadn’t even grasped one of the most important fundamentals of oil painting: establishing a clear visual hierarchy between the primary subject and everything supporting it.
Western oil painting demanded a trained eye capable of constantly distinguishing what mattered most in an image.
Color needed depth and hierarchy.
Composition needed hierarchy as well.
Then came studies from plaster casts and similar foundational exercises.
Only after understanding those basics could a student truly be said to be on the right path.
But the paintings produced by these high school girls were another matter entirely.
Some shapes were round, some flat, some square, and at a glance it was difficult to tell what the artist actually wanted the viewer to focus on.
The distinction between primary and secondary elements was muddled at best.
These girls all looked perfectly presentable themselves, so how did their paintings end up looking like neither man nor ghost?
At this point, Tsukasa felt he could raise his chin and declare, “Everyone here is garbage,” without being particularly unfair.
People involved in creative work tended to have a certain amount of pride.
As long as their emotional intelligence wasn’t catastrophically low, a little arrogance was perfectly normal.
In his previous life, Tsukasa had known an upperclassman at art academy who painted exceptionally well.
The man walked around with such swagger that he looked at everyone as though they owed him one or two hundred thousands dollars.
Fortunately, his oil paintings really were excellent.
So despite being that insufferably arrogant, the worst that ever happened was that someone threw a sack over his head, beat him senseless, and left him bedridden for half a month.
Tsukasa shook his head and buried those memories of his previous life again.
The important thing now was finding an easel and drawing board that no one was using.
But where was he supposed to get them?
He looked toward the circle of girls gathered together.
They were chatting enthusiastically, and even if he interrupted them, he doubted anyone would pay much attention.
That made things troublesome.
He couldn’t exactly grab a random easel and drawing board without knowing whether they belonged to someone.
Tsukasa swept his gaze around the studio, carefully examining his surroundings.
And then he spotted someone.
A petite girl was tucked away in a corner, her head lowered as she quietly worked on her painting.
She had shoulder-length hair, the ends curling slightly inward toward her neck.
Her black hair was smooth and neat, with long side-swept bangs falling toward the right side of her face, while the hair on the left was pinned back with a cross-shaped hair clip.
Unfortunately, the bangs on her right were so long that whenever she lowered her head, they covered nearly half her face.
Combined with her withdrawn posture, she gave off an unusually gloomy, timid impression—the kind of girl who seemed terrified of strangers.
At first glance, she also looked rather plain and unfashionable.
Even while painting, she kept her head lowered and her lips pressed tightly together.
She looked less like someone enjoying an art-club activity and more like someone who had just been ordered to undertake a life-or-death mission.
Even sitting there seemed to make her nervous.
Tsukasa walked over.
“Excuse me.
Sorry to bother you.”
“Ah?”
The girl raised her head in confusion.
It took her several seconds to react.
Then a pair of large, timid eyes stared nervously at Tsukasa.
“D-Do you need something?”
“I just joined the club today.
I’m looking for an easel and drawing board that no one is using.
Do you know which ones are available?”
“Anything in the corner belongs to the club.
As she answered, the short-haired girl immediately lowered her head again.
Her face had turned bright red, and she didn’t dare look Tsukasa in the eye.
“Thanks.
By the way, what’s your name?”
Tsukasa nodded and casually asked.
“R-Ryoka Konoe.”
“Oh.
Thank you, Konoe-san.
I’m Tsukasa Higashino.
Nice to meet you.”
After thanking her, Tsukasa turned and went to retrieve one of the drawing boards from the corner.
Seeing him leave, Ryoka Konoe brushed aside her long bangs and visibly breathed a huge sigh of relief.
And then—
“Why are you back?”
Ryoka stared dumbfounded at Tsukasa, who had returned almost immediately.
Her soft voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“I only joined today, so I didn’t bring any drawing paper or canvas.
Don’t mind me, Konoe-san.
I’m just going to look around for now.”
Tsukasa casually answered as he set up his easel beside her.
This really was a good spot.
Hardly anyone had placed an easel here, and there was plenty of room to work without feeling cramped.
Before he could say anything else, however, a rolled-up half-sheet of drawing paper suddenly poked him in the face.
Tsukasa blinked and looked up.
Ryoka stood there with her head lowered, clutching the paper against herself as she offered it to him.
Completely puzzled, Tsukasa accepted it.
Afterward, he began noticing Ryoka stealing glances at him every now and then.
A little more time passed.
Eventually, she seemed unable to endure it any longer.
In a tiny, hesitant voice, she asked, “W-Why haven’t you moved away yet?”
Rather than sounding accusatory, her voice resembled a tearful plea.
“Hm?
Why would I move?”
Tsukasa became even more confused.
“D-Didn’t you just ask me for paper?”
Ryoka’s eyes widened.
She looked utterly bewildered as she forced the words out one by one.
“I didn’t.”
Tsukasa finally understood.
Ryoka had assumed that he had deliberately moved closer because he wanted drawing paper from her.
She had thought that once she gave him some, he would take it and leave.
“B-But…
but…”
Ryoka became completely tongue-tied.
She lifted one hand, lowered it again, and eventually managed only a miserable little “Uu…”
Tsukasa found her reaction rather amusing, so he decided to tease her.
“Besides, Konoe-san, paper alone isn’t much use.
I don’t have any paint either.”
“Oh…
is that so?”
Ryoka raised her head with a blank, innocent expression.
“P-Please use mine.”
She even gave him a quiet, well-meaning reminder.
“It’s…
it’s better to prepare your own painting t-tools next time.”
After saying that, she shifted her easel farther to the side, deliberately creating some distance between herself and Tsukasa.
Seeing this, Tsukasa simply moved his own easel closer to her again.
Ryoka froze.
She had never encountered anything like this before.
Flustered, she glanced at Tsukasa and hurriedly shifted her easel farther away.
Tsukasa found the situation entertaining.
So he copied her and moved closer again.
Ryoka retreated.
Tsukasa followed.
Eventually, she backed herself all the way into a corner with nowhere left to go.
Unable to retreat any farther, Ryoka finally turned toward him.
Her head remained lowered, and her trembling voice carried the faintest hint of tears.
“C-Could you please stop bullying me?”
Ryoka stared miserably at the tips of her shoes.
She had no idea what she had done wrong or why this Higashino boy had started bullying her the moment he arrived.
“I’m not trying to bully you.”
Tsukasa almost laughed.
This girl really was a treasure.
After thinking for a moment, he said, “It’s just that looking at you reminded me of something from middle school.”
“Something from middle school?”
Ryoka blinked.
“Yeah.
Back then, there was a girl too—”
Seeing that he had caught her interest, Tsukasa continued.
The story was supposedly from his previous life.
There had been a girl who joined his studio halfway through with absolutely no foundation in painting.
She loved pestering Tsukasa and constantly begged him to teach her personally, step by step.
She bothered him so much that Tsukasa could barely concentrate on his own paintings.
Whenever he called her stupid, she would simply grin at him, completely unconcerned.
Later, Tsukasa entered art academy and found himself a girlfriend who was exceptionally talented at painting.
Only then did the girl who had followed Tsukasa and struggled so hard to enter the same art academy suddenly burst into tears.
That was when Tsukasa finally understood something.
Some people, and some feelings were actually a lot like paintings.
You had to study them carefully before you could truly understand what was in front of you.
What he remembered most clearly were the words of a girl who had cried at him…
“So what if you’re a little handsome and a little good at painting?
What’s so amazing about that?”
“A-And then?”
Ryoka asked curiously.
She had no idea whether Tsukasa was actually good at painting, but she had to admit that he really was handsome.
“And then?”
Tsukasa stopped at exactly the right moment, as though reluctant to end such a moving story.
“There was no ‘and then.’ I made the whole thing up.”
“Huh?”
Ryoka stared at him blankly.
You could do that?!