Volume 1 - CH 3

Confinement - Day 3

Translated by Valentin

Edited by Valentin

I woke up.

I couldn’t tell if it was morning or night since the curtains were drawn.

It was late evening, according to the time displayed on the LCD tab.

Apparently, I’ve been sleeping for longer than I expected, despite the fact that it’s just been a few hours.

But, possibly as a result, I feel a lot better today than I did yesterday.

However, my throat is still a little sore, and my body is also a little numb, so I can’t claim I’m in prime shape.

Knock knock knock.

A knock sounded as if it was just in time.

It was a one-of-a-kind rhythm that I had heard somewhere before.

“Ah, yes. I’m awake.”

I responded in such a clumsy manner.

Clack…

She reappears, carrying a silver tray.

The tray’s menu was the same as it had been the day before.

And I, too, started eating mindlessly.

But, she didn’t walk out of the room today.

She leans against the wall, staring at me as I eat.

“Thanks for the meal.”

I eventually finished my meal and put the spoon on the tray.

“Did you make any drawings?”

She questioned abruptly, after a quick peek at the LCD tab.

“No, nothing.”

I shook my head.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to draw… I just don’t know what to draw.”

I wonder whether it’s because I’ve been rejected so many times.

I’m afraid to draw.

I know I’ll lose my skills if I don’t strive to imitate them, but even that is too much for me.

“I see. Well thenーー”

For a little moment, she inclined her head, as if pondering.

“Draw me.”

She said this matter-of-factly.

She spoke as though it were her inherent right.

(Draw her? What a joke.)

My mouth escapes a laugh that is neither self-mockery nor dismay.

“What’s so funny?”

The girl furrows her brow and flicks her knife at me.

“Nothing.”

I responded dejectedly.

“Then draw.”

With that said, she sticks out the kitchen knife in front of me.

“I understand… I will draw.”

I nodded reluctantly.

I hate to draw, but it’s not worth my life.

That’s what I told myself as I stared at the girl I was drawing.

Her hair was more than just black.

Her hair was darker at the roots, and there were slight brown undertones towards the ends.

Each lash is somewhat variable in length.

A mole on the neck.

Or, the hollow of her collarbone.

Piercing position.

Nail design.

Beyond the signifier of a “high school girl in uniform,” the characteristics of her as an individual being stand out at you.

(ーーCome to think of it, this is the first time I’ve ever sketched a real high school girl.)

It occurred to me.

I’ve drawn a number of high school girls in manga.

I’ve even used images of high school girls available on the Internet as a source of reference.

But I’d never had the opportunity to closely observe and draw the real thing.

In that sense, it may be a valuable opportunity.

(I hate to be the one to tell what to do, but I don’t have a choice.)

I push the tray against the wall and discreetly move the cardboard over in front of my body.

I opened the LCD tab and took up the pen.

“Pose?”

“It’s fine.”

I answered the toss and took a bite.

“…”

The girl began unbuttoning her shirt silently.

Her cleavage was exposed, as is the edge of her bra.

It has a light pink tone and is embroidered with exquisite floral design.

It’s nothing like my elderly mother’s brassiere that was drying at my parents’ house.

“A-ahem. No, I told you it would be just fine, why would you do that?”

I’d go in like that, but I can’t take my gaze away from it.

I mean, this is supposed to be the one I’m looking at, right?

It’s a drawing, right?

“Buzz Marketing?”

She cocked her chin.

“Haha, this LCD tab isn’t even connected to the internet, so what’s the point of buzzing about it?”

A dry chuckle escaped.

That misalignment made my worries subside a bit.

I have no idea what she’s thinking, girl.

(It’s amusing. After all, it’s bizarre. I can’t believe I’m drawing the person who is holding me hostage and threatening me with a kitchen knife.)

The rational side of me cautioned me, but the pen continued to move on its own.

I despised drawing, but once I started, I couldn’t stop myself from finishing it.

It was not a glorious thing to be considered a creative spirit.

It was more of a physiological, curse-like sensation, like not being able to stop defecating in the middle of a bowel movement.

(Still better than constipation, right?)

Rather than dying as a manga artist’s failure in a shitty mess, one could be better off twisting with the laxative of a girl’s blackmail.

I’m not in a position where I can confidently declare myself a manga artist right now.

Can I be proud of being a creator if I can still feel this way?

(But what good is threatening a third-rate manga artist like me? Why don’t you go to someone more successful if you’re going to threaten them? Why me?)

I felt antipathy and interest in the girl.

It’s an enticing feeling, similar to what you get after eating food that adheres to your teeth.

There were so many worries and questions, yet I continued moving my pen, thinking about this and that.