The Faith of a Doujin Artist, Sparks of Art

To say that Tsukishima had faith in doujinshi would be an understatement.

In his past life, he didn't love novels—he felt words were too slow. He didn't love real people either—reality was too harsh and full of uncontrollable variables. He only loved manga, especially doujinshi that broke the laws of physics, challenged boundaries, and brimmed with humanity's most primal imagination. Those wildly exaggerated body contrasts—as if gravity had failed in specific places. Those heart-racing, mind-bending plots—logic was nothing but a cloud before desire. Every night, they made his beast blood boil, and he couldn't stop!

Back in the dorm, he locked the door and pulled the curtains shut. Tsukishima could no longer hold back. The corners of his mouth curled up wildly, and he let out the gleeful chuckle of a creator (and an old pervert). "Come on! Let the sparks of art (and mosaics) burn!"

But before that, he pulled out his phone and sent a message to Kushida.

[Tsukishima]: Don't come today. I've got something busy. This is an important moment for the future of human art. No entry for idle people.

[Kushida]: Huh? I was planning to blow off some steam! I just got pissed off by that idiot Sudo. I was going to come complain to you and scam you into buying me some milk tea! You bastard, pay me back for my milk tea!

[Tsukishima]: If you want to vent, go play Happy Beans yourself. I'm busy!

[Kushida]: You bastard, you use me and throw me away, don't you? Believe me, I'll spread rumors about you and ruin your reputation!

[Tsukishima]: Go play somewhere else. What good reputation do I even have left? Half a month ago, that cringey "Marshal and Corporal" performance in the hallway made me the school's "permanent chuunibyou case who never grew up." Even Ichinose messaged me asking if I was too stressed and needed psychological counseling. She even wanted to recommend a children's mental health clinic for me.

[Tsukishima]: I don't know how you pulled it off. We acted in the same skit, but all my buzz is negative, and your popularity skyrocketed again? The drama club even invited you to play the lead female role?

[Tsukishima]: Damn it, I acted pretty well too! I was the Marshal!

[Kushida]: Hehe~ That's the gap in acting skills~ Besides, people only want to believe in beautiful things. As for you... everyone just thinks you're a funny weirdo.

[Kushida]: No way, I have to vent today! I'm really angry!

[Tsukishima]: You're just trying to see what I'm up to, aren't you? Trying to get dirt on me? I don't believe you haven't been badmouthing me behind my back. You're chatting with me right now while asking for help in the girls' group chat, aren't you? 'That weirdo is harassing me again, what do I do, sisters?' Right?

[Kushida]: I did not! How can you not trust me? I-I gave you the most important thing I have! We're supposed to be on the same side!

[Tsukishima]: By 'most important thing,' do you mean those stockings of yours that are already fraying? And as for being on the same side, do you have any thoughts on the name 'Marshal Yuto'?

[Tsukishima]: By the way, do you still want those frayed stockings? If not, I'll sell them. Yamauchi will definitely buy them.

[Kushida]: I'm coming over right now! I want to see what you're up to!

[Tsukishima]: Fine, come if you want. Oh, and wash your feet. Your feet stink too much.

Tsukishima put his phone on the desk, clipped a piece of paper to his drawing board, and prepared to start creating. He had just learned how to draw human figures, so jumping straight to paneled manga was unrealistic. For now, he was drawing simple two-person scenes. Mainly practicing multi-character composition and backgrounds.

Knock knock knock! Knock knock knock!

Tsukishima unlocked the door and let Kushida in. The moment she entered, she exploded: "You bastard, where do my feet stink! Have you secretly sniffed them? You sick pervert!" She darted into the bathroom, pulled out the frayed stockings she had left there last time, and tossed them into the trash can. "Ha, disgusting. They smell weird!"

Tsukishima locked the door. "What's wrong today? I remember you just cursed out Sudo yesterday. Now you're cursing him out again today? Have some consideration for Sudo's feelings, okay?"

Kushida plopped down on the floor and kicked off her shoes. "That bastard gorilla, his brain can't hold anything except basketball! It was supposed to be study session time, and he was still playing basketball. And that bastard Hirata actually made me go call that gorilla! I got asked all sorts of questions by a bunch of basketball gorillas. Disgusting. They all reeked of sweat! The worst part was that gorilla asking me why I didn't come call him earlier! Do I owe him that? Why doesn't he just go die!"

Tsukishima returned to his seat and said casually, "Who made you the school's hottest saint? Hirata Superman probably thought, 'As long as I send Her Holiness, everything will be fine!'"

Kushida let out a cold laugh. "Hirata Superman. That nickname really fits. He has to rule the gyaru group with his girlfriend, beg and plead to tutor Sudo and the others, and constantly think about you little loners who drift outside the class. If he weren't a superman, he'd have died of exhaustion long ago. What a saint. I'm really curious what someone so dedicated to the class went through to end up in Class D."

Tsukishima kept drawing and hummed in response. "Past experiences inevitably provide lessons and methods for present actions. Maybe Hirata Superman's middle school class wasn't peaceful, and that unrest hurt him badly, which is why he cares so much about class unity now."

She had only asked casually, never expecting Tsukishima to follow up so deeply on the topic. She sat up straight, folded her hands on her knees, and a rare glint of curiosity flickered in her eyes. "What about you? Why were you placed in Class D? Someone like you... who clearly isn't normal, there has to be a reason, right?"

Tsukishima's hands didn't stop moving. The pencil scratched against the paper, and his tone was as flat as if he were telling someone else's story. "Probably because of family issues."

Kushida's hand quietly slipped into her pocket, her fingertip brushing against the cold phone case. She subtly softened her voice and asked gently, "Family issues?"

"My dad's an alcoholic. His daily job was beating me and my mom. My mom was a cult follower. Every day, besides getting beaten by my dad, she had to work to earn money, then donate it all to her god."

Tsukishima tilted his head, a faint expression of being lost in painful memories flickering across his face, while the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly:

"I've made it this far purely because the trash I picked up was good and my luck held out."

"Let me think... it was around my second year of middle school. A fat old man from the cult my mom was in came to our house, said our home was possessed by demons, and demanded money. If we didn't want to pay, 'paying with people' was also acceptable."

He paused:

"Then, I was taken away..."

Kushida sat up straighter, her breathing growing noticeably quicker. Suppressing the excitement inside her, she asked in a gentle voice: "So you just let yourself be taken like that?"

Tsukishima rolled his eyes: "How could that be? That old man left quite a bit of money behind—otherwise, would my drunk of a father have let me go?"

"After I was taken away, that old man tried to mess with me. Was I going to agree to that? I set the cult's hideout on fire. Probably because of that."