A Vulnerable Imagination

The library's tranquility provided a stark contrast to the brewing tension that hung heavy in the air as I confronted the individual who seemed to have been at the heart of the recent disruptions.

His eyes locked onto mine, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty swirling within them. It was evident that my accusation had caught him off guard, and now it was his turn to respond.

He shut his book with deliberate slowness, his gaze never wavering from mine. He reclined slightly in his chair, a veneer of calm masking the turmoil beneath. "I'm not sure I understand what you're implying, Endie," he finally replied, his voice even and composed, giving away nothing.

Meeting his steady gaze with my own unwavering expression, I spoke with measured determination. "You know exactly what I mean. The game you've been playing, from the very beginning..."

Leaning back slightly in his chair, he maintained a veneer of calm that belied the turmoil beneath. "Oh, Endie. Why waste so much energy this early in the morning? Just let it go," he finally said as he stood up, stepping closer until our faces were mere inches apart.

His words were an attempt to deflect, to downplay the gravity of the situation. However, they only fueled my determination further, causing a wry smirk to curl my lips. In a swift motion, I seized his collar, my grip firm and unyielding. "I won't be going easy, Enka. Why did you even start this? What was your motive?" I demanded, my voice laced with a mixture of assertion and curiosity.

Enka's response carried an air of nonchalance, a casual demeanor that contrasted sharply with the tension that crackled in the atmosphere. "Because your group deserves it, at the very least. And let me assure you, this is just the beginning. I will shatter your group's friendship in no time," he declared, his words punctuated by a calculated arrogance.

His admission struck a chord, a nerve that resonated with a potent mix of anger and frustration. It was clear that he had orchestrated the discord within our group, intentionally causing rifts that threatened the bonds we had forged. My grip on his collar tightened, my restraint waning as his words fueled the fire within me.

"Enka, that's enough—"

Before I could continue, a voice sliced through the charged atmosphere, resonating in the dimly lit library like a third presence bearing witness to our confrontation. The sudden interruption shifted our attention, and I turned to see Flaire, her presence unexpected yet not entirely surprising. Her expression carried a mix of annoyance and concern, her gaze flickering between Enka and me.

"Stop, both of you," Flaire's command held an authoritative edge, her tone demanding compliance. She approached us with a purposeful stride, her presence managing to assert control over the escalating situation.

Flaire's gaze settled on me as she spoke, her words carrying a veiled warning. "Leave him, or else I will have no choice but to complain to the professor."

Despite her warning, I remained resolute, my grip on Enka's collar unyielding. I met Flaire's gaze with an unspoken challenge, determination burning in my eyes. "Today, no matter what you say, Flaire, I'm not leaving him," I asserted, my voice firm and unwavering.

Flaire's response held a sense of calculated reasoning, her words were meant to provoke thought rather than stoke conflict. "Instead of expending your energy on trying to eliminate something, why not channel it into unraveling what has become tangled?"

Her words held a nugget of wisdom, a subtle reminder that focusing on understanding the situation might yield more fruitful results than a confrontation. Despite the tension that had gripped the library and the heat of the moment, her suggestion managed to inject a sense of clarity into the chaotic scene.

A heavy breath escaped my lips as I reluctantly released my grip on Enka's collar. His departure was swift, a parting message dripping with a veiled threat, "I will remember this and ensure you all get what you deserve." His final words echoed in the air, a lingering reminder of the unresolved tension that still simmered within me, even as he vanished into the distance.

Just as I was about to move towards him, Flaire's hand wrapped around mine, halting my steps. Our eyes met in a silent exchange, and I sensed a rare understanding between us. With a gentle squeeze, she released my hand, and my words were simple yet poignant, "You don't need to meddle."

Taking a seat, Flaire settled into a nearby chair, her art supplies arranged meticulously before her. The room's atmosphere held a sense of quiet contemplation, a canvas upon which thoughts and emotions were woven in delicate strokes.

As she dipped her brushes into paint and swept them across the canvas, her movements were deliberate, each stroke a manifestation of her creativity. I found myself watching her, my gaze alternating between her and the surrounding space. The silence seemed to cocoon us, interrupted only by the soft sounds of the brush against the canvas.

Unexpectedly, Flaire's voice cut through the quietude, breaking the silence with a question that carried a playful undertone, "So when do we begin our fight?"

I was momentarily taken aback by the question's ambiguity, seeking clarification as I responded, "What do you mean?"

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she corrected herself, her words infused with amusement, "Ah, sorry. I mean our art contest."

Her admission brought a hint of realization, and I found myself chuckling in response to her lightheartedness. "Now I know you're concerned about your friends, and that's why you declined yesterday. Well, I won't say sorry to you or anyone else, not even that old lady, because I don't know how to," Flaire's words were candid, a reflection of her personality that both intrigued and baffled me.

I couldn't help but sigh, the complexity of her character was a source of both annoyance and fascination. "That's what's so exasperating about you too."

Her gentle features broke into a smile, a rare sight that caught my attention. Perplexed, I asked, "What's so amusing?"

In response, she flipped her canvas, revealing her latest creation. The image depicted a rather childish drawing of me with a pirate hat, a one-eyed patch, and a left hand marked by a burn, all set against the backdrop of a seal. My confusion deepened, "Huh? What the hell is this?"

She continued to laugh, seemingly finding immense joy in my bewilderment. I leaned in, taking the piece of paper from her, my gaze alternating between the drawing and her face. Puzzled, I inquired further, "And why is it in black and white?"

Her laughter ceased abruptly, and a sense of seriousness clouded her expression. Her answer was measured, her tone tinged with a hint of vulnerability, "Because it's how I see everything."

My confusion deepened, and with a hint of disbelief, I inquired, "What do you mean? You're colorblind?"

Flaire's assertive demeanor seemed to crumble at my question, revealing a vulnerability that I hadn't seen before. Her voice carried a serious yet fragile tone as she responded, "It's not about reality. I can see all the colors just fine. But whenever I try to imagine, dream, or contemplate, everything turns into monochrome."

Thus, she added by showing her phone which has her previous art pictures, “Look here, this is why I am only able to select this color.”

The revelation left me speechless, the weight of her words sinking in. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between her bold exterior and the underlying sensitivity. My curiosity got the best of me, and I pressed further, "Then why are you even doing it? If it feels so uncomfortable?"

In that moment, she seemed to let down a guard she had held up for years, revealing a side of herself she had likely never shared with anyone. Her gaze turned distant as she murmured, her voice carrying a sense of deep conviction, "Because that's what I promised her."