Mocking Laughter

As they continued on, they covered nearly half of Kyoto. Mihara Chisa collected one batch of keyframes after another, and the pile on the back seat grew higher and higher. At last, the car stopped in front of an ordinary house with a yard in the suburbs.

The sky, which had been rumbling with thunder for some time, finally seemed unable to hold back. Rain poured down in sheets.

Mihara Chisa switched off the engine and leaned out from the driver's seat. She picked up the folding umbrella on the back seat, then reached to the side and found that she had run out of empty card sleeves.

She settled back into the driver's seat and watched the downpour outside, thinking it over. Then she drove a little farther ahead, opened the door, and braved the rain to the house.

Because of the rain, she knocked a little harder.

The door soon opened. A bespectacled man who looked like a refined fellow in his thirties, but was actually over fifty, opened it. He put a finger to his lips and gestured for Mihara Chisa to keep her voice down, ushered her inside, and closed the door.

The entryway.

"Sorry, my wife and kids are asleep. Let's keep our voices down," the man explained softly. He waved Mihara Chisa in.

She glanced at her rain-soaked ankles and skirt, then shook her head.

The man smiled and didn't press her. He walked down the hall alone, quietly opened one of the doors, and went inside. He soon came back out with a stack of keyframes, eraser crumbs still falling from them.

He must have finished them only recently.

He handed the keyframes to Mihara Chisa and said with a smile, "Mihara, you've really landed me in a tough spot. First you had me draw those complicated action cuts, then halfway through you said you didn't need them. After that, you had me draw these seemingly simple but actually troublesome everyday-life cuts. I'm about ready to collapse."

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

Mihara Chisa checked the keyframes briefly and found nothing wrong. After a moment's silence, she bowed deeply, still holding them.

"I was only joking." The man waved a hand. "I do the work, I get paid. Just remember to book me next time... Though 'book me' sounds a bit arrogant. Still, give me a heads-up beforehand. I'm doing work under a partial restraint fee for another animation studio right now. If they find out I've been secretly drawing so many cuts for you—and putting in so much effort—I'll be in trouble."

"I'll make sure to be more careful next time. I'm very sorry for the trouble."

Mihara Chisa bowed again.

She meant it.

This man, who was well regarded in the industry, had always looked out for her, ever since they first met. So much had happened since then, yet he remained just as considerate. He had truly helped Mihara Chisa a great deal with her work.

"When you want to thank someone, a bow alone isn't enough. Otherwise, the craftsman's spirit turns into the bowing craftsman's spirit. Keep your gratitude in your heart." The man put on a serious face and said it earnestly. It didn't sound like he was saying it for his own sake; it was more like he was teaching someone younger.

Mihara Chisa straightened up and nodded without saying anything.

"By the way, how are the action cuts for the final episode of the animation you're working on? No problems, right?" The man's smile returned.

After a moment's hesitation, Mihara Chisa said, "No problems. It's almost finished. I took a look earlier, and it should be done by the time I get back."

"Good. What's the other person like? Are they old? It's strange that I've never heard of someone with that kind of drawing skill."

"Not old." Mihara Chisa shook her head. As if on a whim, she added, "Actually, she's very young. Really young, and beautiful."

"Did you apologize to her?" The man didn't seem particularly interested in Mihara Chisa's comment about her looks. He abruptly changed the subject.

Mihara Chisa: "..."

The man sighed. "You still need to apologize properly. Not being trusted can really hurt. You're working hard, and yet the staff are already looking for someone to 'replace' you. Just thinking about it makes me feel awful. It's not easy for women, whether they're production assistants or animators. Being a woman already puts you at a disadvantage. You went through that stage yourself, so you should know how painful it can be. That's why you ought to be more understanding toward women, especially young women. I really hope you'll do that, even if it's just for your own sake back then."

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

"Sorry. The older I get, the more I talk. You're in a hurry to get back to the studio, right? Want me to see you off?" The man glanced toward the front door and listened to the heavy rain. After considering it for a moment, he turned to go inside and get an umbrella.

"No need to trouble yourself." Mihara Chisa shook her head, picked up the folding umbrella by the door, and opened it.

A gust of wind drove raindrops into the house, bringing a chill with it and soaking the already slightly damp hem of Mihara Chisa's skirt through.

The man looked worried and asked if she was really sure she'd be all right. When she assured him she was, he didn't insist. He stood in the hall and waved her off.

Mihara Chisa opened her umbrella and walked out into the storm.

It was dark outside, with strong winds and heavy rain—a stark contrast to the peaceful scene indoors. Holding the umbrella in one hand and the keyframes against her arm, Mihara Chisa gently closed the front door with her other hand. Then she took out her phone, turned on the flashlight, and slowly made her way across the muddy ground, guided by its beam.

Fortunately, the car was parked by the entrance to the yard. Otherwise, to keep the keyframes safe, Mihara Chisa would surely have waited inside until the rain eased before leaving.

As for asking someone for help, that didn't seem to have crossed her mind.

Why didn't she think to ask for help? As Mihara Chisa clutched the keyframes to her chest, doing her best to keep the raindrops off them, memories of the past came to her. She suddenly tightened her grip on her phone and umbrella, hating both the colleagues she had once worked with and herself.

Somewhat distracted, Mihara Chisa didn't even notice that her steps had grown unsteady and quickened.

Perhaps, deep down, she had sensed that her state of mind was becoming dangerous. She wanted to get back inside the closed, clean car and calm down.

But fate—or perhaps God—sometimes seemed to enjoy playing jokes on people.

Splash.

Because of the man's words, because of what Gu Xue had said in the restroom, because of her own actions, face after face flashed desperately through Mihara Chisa's mind as she stepped into a puddle-filled hollow.

If she had walked more slowly, nothing would have happened. But she was in too much of a hurry.

She stumbled.

By the time Mihara Chisa came to her senses, she was already falling backward, on the verge of hitting the ground.

The keyframes she had clutched protectively to her chest slipped from her grasp. A gust caught them in midair and scattered them in every direction.

A bolt of lightning struck at just that moment, illuminating the surroundings.

As she fell backward, Mihara Chisa saw the keyframes flying through the air. One faced her directly: a close-up of the protagonist, grinning with arrogant confidence, as if mocking her.

Thud.

Mihara Chisa's face went deathly pale as she hit the muddy ground, splashing water everywhere.