Tsukishima had faith in hentai doujinshi.
In his previous life, he hadn't liked novels; he thought words moved too slowly.
He hadn't liked real people either; reality was too harsh and full of uncontrollable variables.
He loved only manga, especially the kind that broke the laws of physics, pushed boundaries, and brimmed with humanity's most primal imagination: hentai doujinshi.
The wildly exaggerated proportions—as if gravity stopped working on certain body parts.
The heart-stirring, mind-blowing plots—logic was nothing but a cloud of dust in the face of desire.
They made his blood boil every night, leaving him unable to stop!
Back in his dorm room, he locked the door and drew the curtains.
Tsukishima couldn't hold back any longer. The corners of his mouth curled wildly upward, and he let out the giggle of a creator—and a shameless pervert.
"Come on! Let the sparks of art—and the mosaic censor bars—burn!"
But before that, he pulled out his phone and messaged Kushida.
[Tsukishima]: No need to come over today. I've got something to do. This is a crucial moment for the future of human art. No loiterers allowed.
[Kushida]: Huh? I was planning to blow off some steam! That idiot Sudo pissed me off earlier, and I was gonna come vent to you and mooch some milk tea while I was at it! You bastard, pay me back for my milk tea!
[Tsukishima]: If you wanna blow off steam, go play Happy Beans or something. I'm busy!
[Kushida]: You bastard, you use me and then dump me, huh? I'll spread rumors about you and ruin your reputation, just you wait!
[Tsukishima]: Go play somewhere else. What reputation do I even have left? Half a month ago, that cringey "Marshal and Corporal" performance in the hallway turned me into the school's resident "chuunibyou who hasn't grown up." Even Ichinose messaged me to ask if I was under too much stress and needed counseling. She even wanted to recommend a child psychologist.
[Tsukishima]: I don't know how you pulled it off. We acted in that skit together, but all the attention I got was negative, while your popularity soared again. The drama club even invited you to play the lead actress?
[Tsukishima]: Damn it, I did a good job too! I was the marshal!
[Kushida]: Hehe~ That's the difference in our acting skills~ Besides, everyone wants to believe in beautiful things. As for you... everyone just thinks you're an amusing weirdo.
[Kushida]: No way, I have to blow off steam today! I'm so mad!
[Tsukishima]: You little shit, you just wanna see what I'm up to, don't you? You're trying to get dirt on me, right? I don't believe you haven't been badmouthing me behind my back. You're chatting with me while asking for help in the girls' group chat, aren't you? "That weirdo's harassing me again. What should I do, girls?" Right?
[Kushida]: I haven't! How can you not trust me? I—I gave you the most important thing I had! We're supposed to be on the same side!
[Tsukishima]: By "the most important thing," do you mean those runs in your pantyhose? And speaking of being on the same side, does the name "Marshal Yuto" ring any bells?
[Tsukishima]: By the way, do you still want those run pantyhose? If not, I'll sell them. Yamauchi would definitely buy them.
[Kushida]: I'm coming over right now! I wanna see what you're up to!
[Tsukishima]: Fine, come if you want. Oh, and wash your feet. They stink.
Tsukishima set his phone on the desk, clipped a sheet of paper to his drawing board, and prepared to start creating.
He had only just learned to draw portraits. Jumping straight into drawing manga panels wasn't realistic, so he was going to draw a simple scene with two people.
He mainly wanted to practice composing scenes with multiple characters and backgrounds.
Knock, knock! Knock, knock!
Tsukishima unlocked the door and let Kushida in.
The moment she stepped into the room, Kushida launched into an angry tirade. "You bastard, when did my feet stink? Did you secretly smell them? You disgusting pervert!"
She ducked into the bathroom and retrieved the run pantyhose she'd forgotten there last time, then shoved them into the trash can. "Ugh, gross. They smell weird!"
Tsukishima locked the door. "What happened this time? You just finished cursing Sudo out yesterday. Why do you need to curse him out again today? Spare a thought for how Sudo feels, will you?"
Kushida plopped down on the floor and kicked off her shoes. "That gorilla's an idiot. It's like the only thing in his head is basketball! It was study session time, and he was still playing basketball."
"Hirata's a bastard too. He actually made me go call that gorilla!"
"Being pestered by a bunch of basketball-playing gorillas was disgusting. They all reeked of sweat!"
"And the worst part was, that gorilla even asked me why I hadn't come to get him sooner! Like I owe him something! He can go die for all I care!"
Tsukishima returned to his seat and casually remarked, "Well, you are the school's beloved saint. Hirata Superman probably thought, 'As long as we send Her Holiness the Saintess, everything will be fine!'"
Kushida sneered. "Hirata Superman. That name really does suit him. He has to rule the gyaru crowd with his girlfriend, beg Sudo and the others to let him tutor them, and constantly worry about you tightwads who keep your distance from the class. If he weren't Superman, he'd have collapsed from exhaustion ages ago!"
"He really is a saint. I'm curious what someone who devotes himself so wholeheartedly to the class could have gone through to end up in Class D."
Tsukishima kept drawing and gave a casual little hum. "Past experiences inevitably shape your actions and give you a way of doing things. Maybe Hirata Superman's middle school class was unstable, and that instability left him badly hurt. That could be why he cares so much about class unity."
She had only asked offhandedly, but she hadn't expected Tsukishima to take the topic so deeply.
She straightened up and folded her hands over her knees, a rare hint of curiosity in her eyes.
"What about you? Why were you put in Class D? Someone like you... someone who seems so abnormal must have a reason, right?"
Tsukishima's hand didn't stop moving. His pencil scratched across the paper, and his tone was as flat as if he were telling someone else's story.
"I guess it was because of family problems."
Kushida quietly slipped a hand into her pocket, her fingertips touching the cold casing of her phone.
She softened her voice and asked gently, "Family problems?"
"My dad was a drunk. His job every day was beating me and my mom. My mom was a cultist. Besides getting beaten by my dad, she also had to work and earn money, then give it all to her god."
Tsukishima tilted his head and put on an expression that seemed immersed in painful memories, though the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
"The only reason I survived this long was that I was good at scavenging garbage and had a tough constitution."
"Let me think. It was probably when I was in my second year of middle school. Some old, fat man from the cult my mom belonged to came to our house. He said our home had been taken over by the devil, so we had to pay up. If we didn't want to pay, we could 'hand someone over' instead."
He paused.
"Then they took me away..."
Kushida sat even straighter, her breathing growing noticeably quicker. She suppressed her excitement and asked gently, "So they just took you away like that?"
Tsukishima rolled his eyes. "How could they? That old man left behind a lot of money. Otherwise, would my drunk of a dad have let me go?"
"After they took me away, that old man tried to do something to me. Did he think I'd agree? I set the whole cult hideout on fire. I guess that's why I ended up here."
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