“Are you really better at painting than Fukushima-senpai?”
Ryoka Konoe stared at the woodland path on the paper, now seeming to shimmer beneath a veil of morning mist, and asked the question in a tiny voice.
Tsukasa Higashino didn’t answer her directly.
Instead, he said, “I could teach you.”
“R-Really?” Ryoka immediately looked up, a spark of excitement in her eyes.
“But I don’t feel like teaching you.”
“Oh…” Ryoka lowered her head in disappointment.
“Then again, I suppose teaching you wouldn’t be impossible.”
“Eh?”
Ryoka hadn’t quite caught up yet.
But when she saw the smile on Tsukasa’s face, her mouth opened slightly as realization finally dawned on her.
He was teasing her again.
Her small face immediately fell, and her hands dropped limply to her sides as she sulked.
She genuinely couldn’t understand why Tsukasa kept picking on her.
Tsukasa chuckled before finally waving a hand.
“Sorry, I’m joking, Konoe-san.
From now on, I’ll sit beside you.
If there’s anything about painting you don’t understand, just ask me.
Gouache is very easy.
Lay down the base colors, add a few details, and you’re done.”
Very Easy.
Just add a few details.
Ryoka’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
She clearly had no idea how to respond to someone who made painting sound that simple.
“But Konoe-san, if I’m going to sit beside you, can I use some of your oil paints?
I won’t need much.
Just a little.”
“Ah…
if you don’t mind using mine, then please do.”
Ryoka was still only learning gouache and had no idea how to work with oil paints in the first place.
So when Tsukasa asked, she simply nodded without much thought.
A set of high-grade oil paints like hers could easily cost one or two thousand yen.
Tsukasa honestly couldn’t tell whether Ryoka was secretly rich or simply far too innocent for her own good.
She had actually agreed to lend them to him without hesitation.
Still, Tsukasa certainly wasn’t complaining.
Using Ryoka’s high-quality oil paints had been his main objective from the beginning.
Oil paint remained workable for a long time, making it excellent for shaping and blending, and the colors resisted fading well.
Leaving such good paints untouched beside the feet of someone who only used gouache was practically a crime.
Since Ryoka wasn’t using them anyway, he might as well borrow them for a few days.
Besides, while sitting beside her, Tsukasa would teach her about gouache.
Once she had successfully progressed beyond that stage, he could return the oil paints.
A perfect win-win arrangement.
And he only planned to paint two works.
He wouldn’t use much of her paint anyway.
Students who didn’t own drawing boards or easels could simply use the school’s equipment for free.
Once you entered society, things were completely different.
Every tool, every material, every little thing had to be bought with your own money and handled yourself.
Fortunately, with Ryoka’s support, Tsukasa now had access to decent paint as well.
All he needed next were a few brushes, some turpentine, and the other basic supplies.
Having settled the matter in his mind, Tsukasa stopped talking and turned toward the studio window.
Japan in 2003 didn’t offer young people all that many entertainment options outside school.
Students could go sing karaoke, wander around shopping districts, watch movies, visit arcades, or, failing all that, simply go home and watch television.
Looking at several heavily made-up Shibuya-style girls outside the window, Tsukasa couldn’t help shaking his head.
At this point in time, many boys’ school uniforms in Tokyo still used the traditional stand-up collar, giving them a distinctly Showa-era feel.
But Tsukasa knew that within another couple of years, as attitudes in Japan became a little more relaxed, those old-fashioned stand-collar uniforms would increasingly give way to Western-style blazer uniforms.
With that thought, Tsukasa turned back toward Ryoka.
She was still working on her morning woodland scene, so he casually asked, “Konoe-san, why aren’t you entering the Tokyo Youth Art Competition like the others?”
By “the others,” he meant the art-club students who had been gathered together earlier, chattering around Fukushima-senpai.
Every year, the Tokyo Youth Art Competition assigned a specific theme.
This year’s theme was “Tokyo.”
Taken literally, the participants were expected to create a work centered on the city of Tokyo.
That was exactly what Fukushima and the others were doing.
Most of their canvases depicted Tokyo as a vast metropolis of steel and concrete.
They had even placed several photographs of Tokyo scenery beside their canvases to use as references.
To Tsukasa, however, their approach was painfully rigid.
One glance was enough to make him shake his head.
“Painting isn’t just about making something look like the reference.”
For most art students, learning to reproduce an object’s appearance wasn’t particularly difficult.
The hard part was giving the finished work a genuine artistic quality.
And these high school girls hadn’t even managed the first part very well.
“I-I can’t do it.” Ryoka hurriedly waved her hands, speaking so softly that her voice was almost lost in the room.
Yet despite what she said, a trace of envy appeared in her eyes whenever she glanced at the other students’ canvases.
“Really?
I think your fundamentals in form, light, and shadow are much stronger than theirs.
If they can enter, why can’t you?”
Tsukasa genuinely didn’t understand the standard Ryoka was using to judge herself.
“I-I really can’t.”
Even after hearing Tsukasa praise her, Ryoka only spoke more quietly, though her answer remained strangely firm.
In her mind, Tsukasa’s standards were absurdly high.
He had even dismissed Fukushima-senpai’s painting as ordinary.
So if someone like him was suddenly complimenting her, he was obviously trying to bully her again.
She wasn’t going to fall for it.
Ryoka tucked the slightly curled ends of her hair behind her ear and returned her full attention to her painting, deliberately ignoring Tsukasa.
Seeing how seriously she was working, Tsukasa smiled and left her alone.
He had nothing else to do while sitting there, so he glanced around and noticed a pencil and eraser resting on top of Ryoka’s small supply box.
He fixed the sheet of paper she had given him onto his drawing board, picked up her pencil and eraser, and began sketching with quick, confident strokes.
“What are you drawing?” Ryoka eventually asked, unable to suppress her curiosity.
“Just a sketch.
I’m only average at sketching.
Nothing particularly impressive,” Tsukasa replied casually.
He sat there and worked seriously for less than half an hour.
Ryoka didn’t answer.
She didn’t even look in his direction, apparently afraid that the moment she acknowledged him, he would start teasing her again.
And then—
“I’m really leaving, you know.”
Tsukasa suddenly leaned closer and said goodbye once more.
Ryoka’s face turned red.
She didn’t even know why.
She simply felt a sudden wave of embarrassment, and before she knew it, her cheeks were burning.
“M-Mm!”
Her reply was barely louder than a whisper.
But after a long moment passed without any response, Ryoka finally turned her head in confusion.
Tsukasa had actually left.
Ryoka quietly breathed a small sigh of relief before turning her attention back to her gouache painting.
A little while later, voices drifted into the studio.
Fukushima-senpai and the other girls had returned from buying drinks and chatting downstairs.
Ryoka had no idea how to flatter or ingratiate herself with Fukushima and the others.
So when they approached, she hurriedly stood up and bowed awkwardly toward Fukushima, who was walking at the front.
That was her version of a greeting.
Fukushima, who hadn’t originally intended to pay much attention to the withdrawn girl, paused in surprise.
Then she noticed something beside Ryoka and asked curiously, “Hey, Ryoka.
Whose easel is that next to you?”
Ryoka lowered her head.
Standing before Fukushima-senpai, who held the highest status among the girls in the art club, made her stammer even worse than usual.
“A-A boy joined the art club today.
His name is Tsukasa Higashino.
T-That’s the easel he was using.”
“Tsukasa Higashino?”
Fukushima repeated the unfamiliar name and walked over to the easel.
She wanted to see what the art club’s newest member had drawn.
But the longer she looked at the paper, the harder it became to pull her eyes away.
Without turning around, she stretched a hand toward one of the girls behind her.
“Keiko, didn’t you just buy a new phone?
Let me borrow it for a second.”
Keiko looked completely baffled, but she took out her phone and handed it over.
The next moment—
Click.
Click.
Click.
Fukushima began taking picture after picture of the sketch.
She couldn’t help it.
It was simply too good.
Standing nearby, Ryoka watched the entire scene and suddenly remembered what Tsukasa had said so casually before leaving.
“I’m only average at sketching.
Nothing particularly impressive.”
N-Not particularly impressive?
Ryoka scratched her head, looking adorably confused.
At this point, she genuinely had no idea which of Tsukasa’s statements were true and which were jokes.