Chapter 4:

My First Commission in Another World

Apparently I, an Unrecognized Mangaka Prodigy, was Reincarnated to Another World Where My OCs Become Alive, So Obviously I Will Make a Harem in that World with All My Beautiful Characters


Upon returning to the inn, my mind was swirling with a thousand thoughts, each more perplexing than the last. My eyes were instinctively drawn to the inn's rustic, barren wall that was as blank as a canvas for my flurry of musings. Just when I was about to lose myself in my introspection, the deep, resonant voice of Orym, the burly innkeeper, cut through the silence.

"There's something missing, don't you think?" He mused aloud, engaging in a conversation about the inn's décor with his wife. His dark eyes were critically assessing the ambiance. Orym's wife, a stout woman with a warm smile, nodded in agreement, her gaze drifting towards the bare wall. "Aye, a splash of color here and there wouldn't hurt," she chimed in.

"Come on, lad," Orym turned to me, "Didn't you mention you're an artist?"

"Ah, yeah," I replied, a bit taken aback.

I looked at the wall again, this time with a renewed perspective. Indeed, a vibrant painting would serve as a fitting centerpiece for the inn's cozy atmosphere.

A sudden burst of inspiration surged through me. In the world I came from, we would call it 'offering a commission.'

This is my chance. 

I turned to Orym and his wife, "Do you want me to paint a mural for you?"

Their gazes snapped towards me, faces morphing from surprise to delight. "A mural, lad?" Orym repeated, his burly figure casting a shadow over me. The critical gaze was replaced with twinkling excitement.

"Indeed," I confirmed, "It would be my pleasure to contribute to the inn's charm." And to be honest, I also wanted to find a way to pay for my stay.

Orym and his wife shared a look, before Orym extended a large hand towards me, "It's a deal, lad. We're looking forward to what you'll create."

"Leave it to me!" I announced with a confident grin. A surge of excitement raced through me as I rolled up my sleeves. This was the one thing I knew, without a shred of doubt, that I was really good at.

While I was engrossed in visualizing my artwork, the inn's rustic ambiance hummed with the lively exchange between Orym, his wife, and Pyuan. Their lively exchange about the mural echoed around me, weaving an auditory tapestry of camaraderie and warmth.

"Do you remember how our little daughter used to play with colors, love? Back when we first built this inn," Orym's voice softened with nostalgia, tugging my attention away from the wild tendrils of my imagination. A chuckle from his wife filled the room, a soothing sound, reminiscent of the soft crackle of a fire in the hearth.

"Oh, she indeed had a knack for it," she agreed, her eyes sparkling with shared memories, "You should've seen it, Nanang. When she got hold of the paints, the whole room would end up in a delightful, vibrant mess. Not a single spot was safe from her artistic outbursts!"

I chuckled. Their daughter seemed to be someone who can hangout with me. 

A playful glint entered Orym's gaze as he shifted his attention towards Pyuan. "And you, Pyu?" he teased, "You've got a bit of an artist in you too, don't you?"

Pyuan crossed her arms and tossed her head, trying to hide the amused twinkle in her eyes. "I'm more of a 'befriend-the-Jubjub' and 'chronicle-the-adventures' type of gal~pyu," she retorted, her words prompting laughter to ripple through the room.

Unable to resist the urge to tease her further, Orym laughed, "Well, Pyu, you know what they say about artists and their messy workspaces. Have you checked under your bed recently? Might find a long-lost Jubjub there!"

Pyuan pouted at Orym's teasing, her pretend indignation only fuelling the merriment. "Very funny, Orym," she huffed, yet her twinkling eyes gave away her amusement. "I'll have you know, my Jubjub friends are very well-behaved~pyu!"

"Hey, hey, don't let it get to you, Pyu," Orym said, his laughter subsiding as he offered a playful wink. "If anything, you've got your own charm. Who knows? Give it a few years, you might outshine even our dear Putri with your beauty."

Orym's words made Pyuan's ears twitch, a hint of blush dusting her cheeks. She hastily looked away, a small "hmph" escaping her lips. "O-Orym, j-just focus on your drink!" she stammered, her voice holding a subtle tremble of embarrassment. The corners of her mouth pulled into a slight pout, an indignant yet endearing sight, as she held onto her feigned indifference.

"But our Putri," Orym added, his voice softening into a tone of reverence. "She wasn't an artist, our she was the work of art herself." 

Wait, Putri? 

A wave of silence washed over me as the name 'Putri' hung in the air.

The familiarity of the name tugged at the corners of my memory, prompting me to delve into its recesses. It was a name that had once held a special place in my life, but from where? When?

Back on my world? Yeah, that name sounded like someone that came from my world. 

The wheels of memory began to turn.

Putri...

Putri...

How could such a name appear in this fantastical world?

I know a 'Putri' back in my world. She was someone from my highcschool–a pretty girl, I admit. But in this world...

Could it be...

A sudden sense of realization came over me.

The room, the voices, everything seemed to fade into the background, leaving only a single, resounding question.

"Sir, by any chance, are you referring to... a Putri Hirasawa?"

"Yes! Do you know our daughter?"

Uh-oh. How do I put this? 

"Maybe?" I responded hesitantly.

Putri Hirasawa.

That was a name I'd stitched together for one of my original characters, a tribute to a high school crush and... that quirky girl from K-On! But how did it travel from my sketchbook into this fantastical world?

The room went quiet, the weight of the unexpected connection pressing in from all sides. My thoughts swirled with uncertainty, caught in a delicate dance between reality and this fantasy realm I'd found myself in.

"So... Is Putri here?" I ventured, my question hanging in the heavy silence.

Bananang
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