I, Fujioka Chihiro, Can't Stop Teasing This Boy

I, Fujioka Chihiro, am an illustrator. While it’s a fair to say that I’m not a massive name in the industry, you’d be insulting me if you said I was any less than a soon-to-be great. Here’s a good test for that. Look at the upcoming summer-anime releases—take a quick glance at the light novels a lot of them are being adapted from.

Hm.

Interesting.

One look at the back, you notice something, correct?

Fuchi-san

Right there, big bold hiragana each time. Right on the front, in the credits page, and on the back. It’s not ego. It’s truth, even though a certain ungrateful kouhai would love to disagree with me.

“Who’s the one with their own beach house in Okinawa! Huh Makoto-kun!?”

“Fujioka-san! These windows aren’t thick! I can hear you!”

Right… Yet I’m stuck here, forced to finish “high school” out of respect for my parents… I’m such a diligent child and student it’s a burden sometimes. My mom and dad worked hard to raise me, so I should at least see their vision through.

Hmpf— Modern high school is such a sham. Honestly, the only thing it’s still good for is selling a crappy unrealistic setting in anime and manga. It’s never anything like that—nothing like the shounen or shoujo manga suggest. Sure you get asked out by boys, sure you go on the school trip or whatever. But romance? You’re making a funny joke right now if you tell me that exists.

The boy you really want is never able to realize it… and when he does—snap! Just like that you’ve graduated and are shipped off to Tokyo or some shitty soulless city to be closer to the authors you work with,

Ha! Ungrateful authors get it so easy!

Three quick taps came from my window—I knew exactly who this was without even glancing up. I lazily turned my head over and raised an eyebrow at the early-morning window knocker.

Kiyotaka Makoto.

I pushed myself off the bed where I had been working on a piece on my tablet and gracefully crossed my room to the window. He most likely wanted to not just talk, but be let in, so I begrudgingly unlatched and fully opened the window.

“Yes Makoto-kun? Come to make a move on me so early in the morning?”

“No! Of course not,” He said as he wormed his way through my window. “I was just about to leave for school when I noticed you still drawing—”

“Ah, you were peeking in hoping to get a glance at me changing into my uniform?”

“N-no! I was gonna say you’re usually out of the house by seven-fifteen, it’s almost seven-forty!”

“Ah, I see. Well I suppose I got too enveloped in my piece. Care to see?”

“Oh, uhm… sure.” His expression shifted from hostile defense to a soft one you’d wear with a trustworthy family member—bad move, Kiyotaka Makoto. He moved across my room to the bed where I had left my tablet. On the screen was of course a masterful work done by yours truly. A girl in a long flowing, silky sailor dress who was grasping her oversized sun hat. Her bare white legs showed up to her knees and I gave her a brilliant, yet distant, smile that glowed just like the sunset behind her. “This… This is… this is incredible Fujioka-san…”

“Thank you for the praise,” I said as I shoved him onto my bed. Who cares if I break my tablet, I can buy another one easily. And if you’re worried this will go somewhere you wouldn’t want to hear about, no need to worry.

Makoto quickly scrambled back and pressed himself against the wall as I got on the bed on all fours.

“F-Fujioka-san! The teasing is going too far this time!”

I slowly reached out my hand, forcing myself not to smile as I did, and plucked something off his right cheek. “You had a piece of your breakfast on your face, Makoto-kun.” I backed off the bed.

“A-a-a-ah, yeah, right. Uhm—” He sat down in a more relaxed position and covered his lap—I almost broke out in laughter. “Y-you should get ready for school too, F-Fujioka-san.”

“Oh my, how bold… Have me change with you in the room?”

“After I leave of course!”

However, despite his “obvious” rejection of my sarcastic idea, I decided to do so anyway. I took off the grey sweater I was wearing first and threw it over his face. He’s still too innocent, he’d most likely have a heart attack if he saw a “3D woman” naked.

“Hey, Makoto-kun,” I said.

“What.” I never understood how he could change his tone to flatly displeased after sounded ready to explode, so quickly. He appeared to just be mildly annoyed by the situation rather than overstimulated. Some men are irritatingly fickle.

“I read that little diary of yours. How come you never mention the parts where you come to visit my room? It happens almost as much as I come over… Makes me wonder what else you leave out. Hm.” I turned my head so he could see my wonderful smirk.

“Hey! Don’t read that! A-and that’s because Sayuri reads it too, so if she knew that she’d one-hundred percent get misconceptions. A-and I don’t leave out anything else, don’t be stupid.”

“Ah yes, Sayuri-chan. It’s weird how your mother and her both are so attractive yet the gene missed you completely.”

“Yeah well… You’re not so pretty yourself. I know how you get on weekends. Three days straight of illustrating without showers.”

Ack— Ahem, I meant— “The same can be said for you but most days of the week, no?” I reached out and removed my sweater from his head.

“H-h-h-hey! Button-up your shirt first! You didn’t even try to cover them! What’s wrong with you!?” He quickly snagged my sweater back and covered his face.

“I had my bra on, thank you Makoto-kun.” That one got him good—I’ll have to remember the expression he made for an illustration. “And are you saying you don’t like seeing women's breasts? Was my black-lace bra not stimulating enough? Makoto-kun, is there something you need to tell me?”

“I’m not gay! I’m not!”

“It’s alright you may settle-down. I was teasing you.”

“Ahem… right…”

Author's Note: Just this and one more chapter from her POV