Ridicule

Traveling along the way, having circled through most of Kyoto, Mihara Chisa collected one portfolio after another. The animation cels piled higher and higher on the backseat until the car finally stopped in front of a modest residential house with a courtyard in the suburbs.

The sky, which had been rumbling with muffled thunder for some time, finally seemed unable to hold back any longer, and a torrential downpour began to fall.

Mihara Chisa killed the engine, leaned out from the driver's seat to grab the folding umbrella from the back, and then reached out to the side, only to discover that the empty portfolio bags had run out.

She sat back in the driver's seat, looked at the pouring rain outside, considered it for a moment, and chose to pull the car a bit further forward before opening the door and braving the rain to reach the front of the house.

Because of the sound of the rain, she knocked on the door with a bit more force.

The door was opened quickly by a man wearing glasses who looked refined and in his thirties, though his true age was already past fifty. He placed a finger to his lips, gestured for Mihara Chisa to be quiet, welcomed her inside, and closed the door.

The entryway.

"Sorry, my wife and child are both asleep, so please keep it down," the man whispered by way of explanation, waving his hand at Mihara Chisa to signal her to come in.

Mihara Chisa glanced at her ankles and skirt, which had been soaked by the rain, and shook her head.

The man smiled, not insisting, and walked onto the hallway alone. He gently opened one of the doors, stepped inside, and quickly emerged with a stack of animation cels that were still shedding eraser crumbs.

He must have just finished them.

He handed the cels to Mihara Chisa and laughed, "Mihara-san, you really gave me a huge headache. First, you had me draw high-difficulty action cuts, then halfway through you said they weren't needed, and then you had me draw these daily life cuts that look simple but are actually quite troublesome. I'm almost exhausted."

So, he was the freelance animator who had spoken with Mihara Chisa over the phone.

Mihara Chisa checked the cels briefly, found no issues, and after a moment of silence, bowed deeply while clutching the drawings.

"I'm just joking," the man waved his hand. "I get paid to do the work, but remember to make an appointment next time... though calling it an appointment sounds a bit arrogant. Still, you have to tell me in advance. After all, I'm currently under a semi-exclusive contract with another animation company. If they find out I've been secretly drawing so many cuts for you and putting in so much effort, I'll be in big trouble."

"I will definitely be careful next time. I'm very sorry for the trouble."

Mihara Chisa bowed again.

She did it willingly.

This man, who was quite highly regarded in the industry, had taken good care of her from the moment they first met. Even after so many things had happened, he remained the same, truly helping Mihara Chisa a great deal with her work.

"If you want to thank someone, bowing alone isn't enough. Otherwise, craftsmanship just turns into 'bow-manship.' Gratitude should be kept in your heart," the man said with a straight face, speaking earnestly—not as if for his own sake, but as if teaching a younger generation.

Mihara Chisa straightened up, nodded, and said nothing.

"By the way, how are the action cuts for the final episode of the anime you're in charge of? Everything okay?" A smile reappeared on the man's face.

Mihara Chisa hesitated for a moment and said, "No problem, it's almost finished. I took a look earlier, and I expect it will be done by the time I get back."

"That's good. What kind of person is the artist? Are they old? It's rare that I haven't heard of someone with that kind of drawing ability."

"They aren't old." Mihara Chisa shook her head, and as if possessed, added, "In fact, they are very young, extremely young, and very beautiful."

"Then did you apologize?" The man didn't seem to care about the beauty Mihara Chisa mentioned, shifting the topic abruptly.

Mihara Chisa: "..."

The man sighed, "You really should apologize properly. After all, not being trusted is very hurtful. You're working hard, yet the staff goes and finds someone else to 'replace' you—I feel bad just thinking about it. For women, whether they are production assistants or animators, it isn't easy. There is an inherent disadvantage based on gender. You went through that stage yourself, so you should know the pain. So, toward women, especially young women, you should be more tolerant. I urge you to do so, if only for the sake of your former self."

"...I understand." Mihara Chisa lowered her eyes and nodded.

"Sorry, I get talkative as I get older. You're in a rush to get back to the company, right? Shall I drive you?" The man glanced toward the front door, listened to the heavy sound of the rain, considered it for a moment, and turned to go inside to get an umbrella.

"That won't be necessary." Mihara Chisa shook her head, picked up the folding umbrella by the door, and opened the door to leave.

A gust of wind carrying raindrops blew into the house, bringing a chill while completely soaking the hem of Mihara Chisa's already damp skirt.

The man looked concerned and asked if she was really alright. After receiving an affirmative reply, he didn't insist, standing in the hallway and waving at her.

Mihara Chisa opened her umbrella and walked out into the wind and rain.

Outside, the wind and rain were fierce, and it was pitch black—a stark contrast to the peaceful scene inside the house. Mihara Chisa held the umbrella in one hand and clutched the animation cels to her chest with her arm. With her other hand, she gently pulled the door shut, then took out her phone, turned on the flashlight, and using its beam, stepped onto the now-muddy ground and slowly moved forward.

Fortunately, the car was parked right at the entrance of the small courtyard; otherwise, for the sake of the cels' safety, Mihara Chisa would have certainly stood inside for a while, waiting for the rain to let up before leaving.

As for the option of asking others for help, she didn't seem to have considered it.

Why didn't she consider asking for help? Mihara Chisa, who was desperately shielding the cels against her chest to keep them from getting wet, thought of past events and suddenly gripped her phone and umbrella tightly, hating both the colleagues she had worked with before and herself.

In her distracted state, Mihara Chisa didn't even notice that her footsteps had become unsteady and hurried.

Perhaps, in her subconscious, she sensed that her current mental state was precarious, and she wanted to return to the enclosed, clean car to calm herself down.

However, fate—or perhaps the heavens—sometimes really likes to play jokes on humans.

Whoosh.

Because of the man's words, because of what Gu Xue had said in the restroom, and because of her own actions, Mihara Chisa, with face after face flashing desperately through her mind, stepped into a puddle that had already accumulated water.

If she had walked slower, nothing would have happened, but she was too hurried.

She tripped instantly.

By the time Mihara Chisa regained her senses, she was already tilting backward, on the verge of falling.

The animation cels she had been desperately protecting slipped from her grasp, caught by the strong wind, and scattered everywhere in the air.

Just then, a bolt of lightning struck, illuminating the surrounding environment.

Mihara Chisa, falling backward, saw the cels flying in mid-air. One of them was facing her—it was a close-up of the protagonist, wearing a defiant, arrogant smile, as if mocking her.

Thud.

Mihara Chisa, her face deathly pale, collapsed into the muddy ground, splashing a large spray of water.