This is... Average?

“Yes? Do you need something, Makoto?” Fujioka had her face buried in her canvas—she couldn’t be bothered to look at me when I entered.

“Don’t say that like this isn’t my club!”

“Ah yes… I suppose. Anyway, what brings you here?”

“What brings you here… to my club… I have a letter for you.”

“A love letter? I must say Makoto, you don’t strike me as the type to confess in person, much less through traditionally romantic means such as a letter. I always took you for the type to send a poorly written LINE message.”

“Iijima-san asked me to give you this.”

“Oh. Well I don’t want it.”

“I’m opening it then.” I strode across the original section of the clubroom to a draw. I rummaged through it for a moment before I found scissors near the back.

“H-hey— You can’t do that.”

“You said you don’t want it, and I’m curious.” So it is something important… hm. I moved to cut open the envelope, but instantaneously like a bolt of lightning striking across the night sky, Fujioka snatched the letter. “So you’re gonna open it?”

“...F-fine. I suppose I’m left with no alternative.” She glanced over at me then back at the letter—she’s building an incriminating amount of evidence for this being a secret cult. After meticulously opening the envelope, Fujioka read the contents with a stone-cold poker face. How can you show so much nerve about opening it! Then have a perfect poker face while reading it!? Crazy person!

“W-well?? What’d it say?”

“Hm.” She took a long inhale. “I see.” Fujioka calmly folded the letter and tucked it into her pants pocket.

“You can’t edge me like that!”

“Makoto, you should be more considerate with your choice of words. But unfortunately, I cannot.”

“Pleeeease— at least a hint!” I clasped my hands together. I’m not begging, okay? It’s called asking really nicely… pleading? Is that begging?

“Haaa~ Fine. You remind me of an annoying little bug that finds its way into my room during the summer.” She folded her arms under her chest and did a quick throat clear. “It’s an invitation for a meeting.”

“For— your secret illustrating society?”

“If I was in such an organization I would not be at a public high school right now.”

“Ah! But you’re still rich, no? Therefore that logic doesn’t work as you don’t need to be in school anyways. Meaning you are in one.”

“I would be so much happier if my brain worked like yours. Wouldn’t I?”

“Huh?”

“It’s an invitation to meet up with another creative, that’s the most I will say.”

I know she isn’t in some secret writing group, but that still doesn’t answer the question of who. Something to worry about? More Hawks trying to snipe her away from my project? To sink my vision because the industry is afraid of the waves I’ll make!

No.

Probably just another publisher looking for an illustrator.

“Fujioka.”

“Hm?” She kept her face stuffed in her canvas.

“I haven’t asked yet… How’s your progress?” Her rapid brush strokes screeched to a grinding halt—her face remained obscured. Did I say something wrong? “You know with the deadline being… thirteen days away… and all…”

“Makoto… kun…”

“I was just askin’ cause you know, I obviously know how Kaoru is progressing cause she’s working with me. So uh that just leaves like you— and your work— and…” Fujioka’s face still hidden by the canvas. “So I was only wondering.”

“Makoto-kun, I have a short lesson for you.”

“S-should I be worried?”

“In life, there are but only three constants.” She put up a hand with three fingers stretched out. “One: Taxes. Second: Death. Third: A good illustrator always meets their deadline. And I, Makoto-kun, am a good illustrator.”

“Sooo— that means—”

“Do not! Say it…!” Her wooden brush split in two with a deafening crack.

“Means you haven’t finished your work?”

A slight red hue crept over her cheeks. “W-well maybe it’s because I have to babysit you and Kaoru-chan. I’m the one who has to make sure you two are on track to meet the deadline. What is more important? Seriously consider it. The novel itself? Or illustrations? Maybe if you two didn’t insist on playing games or dress-up every time you meet to write, I’d have more illustrations done.” She took in a few sharp breaths to calm down.

“I didn’t mean to insult you… sorry.”

“I-I am not insulted. Merely defending myself from this baseless accusation.”

She continued to mindlessly rattle off more points to her “defense”. As she did, I slowly closed the gap between us—I’ll see for myself!

To say I was expecting the “most magnificent, inspiring, breathtaking art, the kind of picture where it’s a far off girl with massive stars in her eyes, and the clouds all swirl to one point in like purple blue and orange and— yeah you get the picture. What my point is, is that was what I expected. I’ve seen Fuchi-san’s work before. Sure she’s done some mediocre pieces for runt-of-the-mill light novels, ya’ know, work is work. But when she tries—when she tries? You could slot her pieces right into the Louvre and no-one would bat an eye…

At least I think so…

“What is this?”

“W-w-w-what are you talking about? “What is this?” What do you mean, what is this?” On her canvas were, well, generic sketches. I can’t give any grandiose description because there is nothing grandiose.

I flipped through a few of the massive notebook pages. It was by no means bad, good for a promotional pop-up shop. Suzuki-san was cute, a few sketches with playing guitar, a few of the other heroines. But they are illustrations I would flip past without second thought.