I Will Inspire Your Insipid Days - Volume 1 Chapter 4.0

Interlude

I can’t simplify things.

So, every time, I think about things while following a chronological order.

There was only one interesting spot within my limited range of activities. But that’s just because I’ve placed restrictions on myself.

Through a process of elimination, I chose to go up to the rooftop, but it wasn’t too bad. The same scenery continues, but since the grounds are expansive, I can see far into the distance. Flames bursting from a broken window, the collective resentment rising from the cracked windows of inorganic buildings, everything fits into a single frame. For someone like me who rarely leaves the house, it was quite fresh. I’ve never properly attended school. Though, even as I say that, it’s hard to claim I’m attending even now.

Digression aside. Paint sky blue on the canvas.

I believe art is essentially unnecessary for humans. Listening to music won’t fill your stomach, reading books will eventually lead to sleepiness, and one doesn’t die from not viewing paintings. Yet, the fact that it has been passed down as intangible culture probably means there’s a constant number of people who would die without creating art. I’m one of them, and I think it’s a loss to have been born such a person.

Digression aside. Paint grey on the canvas.

Anyway, the rooftop of the student dormitory in the evening is a very calming space. It’s peaceful, the air is clear, and there’s nothing to become noise. Occasionally, a student comes by but doesn’t carelessly start a conversation. Though, during the day, sunlight obstructs the view, and it even makes the skin painfully tingle.

I once received advice from a psychiatrist I was seeing, “If you wake up at a set time, go for walks, and bask in the sunlight, your body will feel more at ease,” but for me, direct sunlight seems definitely harmful to health.

Mainly, I sign up for tiresome online consultations just to get my usual sleeping pills prescribed; if it’s just a ceremonial necessity, I’d rather they just send the medication by mail. I don’t really want to change my current situation. Well, I did manage to get into high school, after all.

Digression aside. Paint light blue on the canvas.

What was I thinking about again? About art, was it? Or the affinity between rooftops and paintings? Often, while I’m thinking about something, another idea pops up, distracting me, and the original thought disappears.

So, I have to pick up the paintbrush each time. It’s a troublesome trait, but I can’t help it. After living for 15 years, one naturally gets used to it. The SNS account I used as a memo pad has many followers, so it’s all good in the end. But, if there were someone in this world who could remember the entire process of creation, I’d want to share that ability.

Digression aside. Paint orange on the canvas──that’s when.

“Nice to meet you, Tachibana Natsume.”

I thought, wow, someone who totally gets it, huh?

I had a gut feeling this person could become my paintbrush.

The very means for me to paint what I cannot.

“It’s my first time trying to make a person into a paintbrush.”

Though I muttered that, Yokaze didn’t react at all.

When I first saw Hanabishi Yokaze, the image that sprouted in my heart was “conformity.”

No matter how much one disguises their appearance, looking at the skeleton and muscles, it’s immediately clear they’re male. Since Shumonzaka Girls’ Academy is, as the name suggests, a girls’ school, I supposed it was unusual for a boy of the same age to be there. The reverse scenario often becomes the subject of shoujo manga. Yet, Yokaze disguises his gender, perfectly performing as a woman in school life.

I thought, a man is pretending to be a woman in an environment where only women exist. There’s only one prerequisite for this to work: being forced to cross-dress and attend school due to unavoidable circumstances. If asked whether I’m curious about those unavoidable circumstances, the answer is a definite yes, but simply asking won’t yield the answer I seek. I decided not to inquire about his situation on the rooftop and waited for the right moment.

So, I was happy when Yokaze openly talked about his “unavoidable circumstances.”

I trust people too much. That’s what the doctor told me. (tln : this hit me really hard 🙁 )

It’s apparently something inherent. I take words at face value. I struggle to properly process sarcasm or allegory, and if I’m not interested in what someone is saying, I quickly look away or get restless, which made talking to people tiresome when I was in elementary school, so I secluded myself in my room. I was allowed to. Oh, right, I’ve also been told I talk too fast. To me, it’s just expressing my thoughts through my vocal cords into the open air. But it seems to be different for everyone else. They carefully sift through what they want to convey, choosing the appropriate words. I’ve been told even during voice calls with clients that my conversation tends to be one-sided. Still, I’m grateful to those who request my work, but in the end, I’m not good at what everyone else seems to do naturally.

──What was I thinking about?

──Ah, about Yokaze.

I knew within minutes of meeting him that Yokaze wasn’t an ordinary person. No, I realized he wasn’t ordinary in an instant. His method of processing information to identify me as Tachibana Natsume without knowing my face was too absurd.

Though Yokaze immediately explained himself, the act of instantly memorizing what’s seen and outputting it at the appropriate moment seems impossible to achieve overnight, regardless of training. It’s a natural talent. Genius.

But Yokaze isn’t aware of his ability. He doesn’t know how to utilize it. He said it’s because he was born and raised in an environment where it wasn’t needed. A talent that never gets the chance to bloom will remain dormant for life. What a waste.

That’s why I want Yokaze’s “eyes.” I want to create something I’ve never made before.

The method to realize the abstract proposition of creating something with Yokaze flashed in my mind instantly. I just need to transform the images in my head into illustrations and have Yokaze perform them. From what I heard, it seems like Yokaze memorizes what he sees as images, cutting out screenshots from those memories like scenes from a movie.

It’s not so much instant memory as it is continuous memory.

Then, a method of connecting illustrations and weaving Yokaze’s free will into the mix would be best. If I can trace back Yokaze’s unconscious output like tracing a carp upstream, I can access Yokaze’s eyes from me.

If I’m Yokaze and Yokaze is me, it can be realized.

But, there’s a wall that must be overcome: communication without excess or deficiency. Just looking at illustrations won’t convey intentions. I understand this through experience. Many have been moved by my casually drawn pictures, while others have labeled my self-punishing themed work as satirical, making me think, “I didn’t intend it that way.” It happens now and will continue to happen.

Digression aside. What were we talking about?

──Right, how to make Yokaze into a paintbrush.

Controlling the necessary steps for presenting a performance on stage is challenging. I plan to leave the color expressions to my illustrations projected on the screen and lighting, but corresponding sound is needed. And I have no knowledge of sound, so I’ll have to arrange it with the school, but there’s no connection there. It’s a big problem. Though troubled, I put it off due to my usual bad habit. I don’t progress when I’m worried, so I try not to think about it.

That’s when I met Komachi.

To be precise, Yokaze brought her to me.

Komachi told me she liked my work. Sometimes, the sensibility of “I didn’t intend it that way” comes in handy. I never expected to obtain the very person I was looking for again.

I’m told I speak too fast. Because I talk about everything I’m thinking from 1 to 10, I naturally become verbose. People who have no interest in me quickly end the conversation, and that’s actually why I stopped going to school, but Komachi was different. She returned fire with as much information as I gave. If I talked from 1 to 10, she naturally aligned the flow from 5 to 8 and then hit me with information around 10. I was happy to find someone I could converse with.

And then, Komachi was worrying about what to submit for the Hohaku Festival. It was exactly what I wished for. With this ability, she could interpret what I wanted from Yokaze accurately and convey it without excess or deficiency. She could gently scoop up the significant things I overlooked. If I were Komachi, it could be realized.

It should work out.

──What were we talking about again?

When I knocked on the doors of Shumonzaka Girls’ Academy, I had a personal interview with the principal, Shumonzaka Asuka. Though it was more of a meet-and-greet since I had been recruited beforehand. For some reason, Shumonzaka Asuka knew I was in my third year of middle school. Later, through text-based communication, I learned my father had personally contacted her.

I wonder what it’s like for normal kids. Maybe they have vague dreams or goals for the future and choose their desired school by matching it with their academic performance. Unfortunately, I can’t do such ordinary things. Maybe my father had his thoughts about me shutting myself in the house. I haven’t explicitly communicated about that, so I don’t know.

From Shumonzaka Asuka, I got her word that “if it’s a mental burden, you don’t have to attend school.”

However, the student dormitories are fundamentally two-person rooms. The special treatment was only in terms of curriculum; for private life, I was treated the same as other students.

Upon hearing this, I honestly felt “happy.” It was my first time living with someone of my age. Plus, Shumonzaka gathers unusual people from all over the country. People who choose the path of arts and entertainment at a young age. I thought I wouldn’t have to experience the bitterness I felt during my elementary school days.

I thought I would.

My roommate was a good person.

From my perspective, she had a very sociable personality, being considerate and not getting too involved with me, who has a messed-up sleep schedule. She understood my condition of becoming anxious in crowded spaces and left me alone.

To her, I hid the fact that I am “Natsume.” I’m not sure if “hid” is the correct expression. Strictly speaking, since there was no need to tell, I remained silent.

However, even such a roommate gradually drifted away. The reason is simple. Our daily rhythms were entirely different. When my roommate was active, I was asleep, and vice versa. Moreover, no matter how sociable, whether conversation is possible is another story. We had no common topics.

──What was I thinking about?

Ah, right──about my former roommate.

A month passed, and she finally lost her patience.

“Tachibana-san. What do you do all night?”

Naturally, since I had kept silent about my activities as “Natsume,” I hadn’t shown her my paintings. So, I couldn’t imagine how she would react to my tablet.

The smile she gave me when I entered the room before her had long faded from my memory. I can’t even remember her face anymore. But I remember the dark emotions that covered her expression.

“I can’t be the partner for Tachibana-san’s high school life.”

I wish I could forget, but why can’t I forget the things I want to forget?

Eventually, my roommate left school and became my former roommate.

I don’t know if my existence was the final push for her departure from Shumonzaka. It’s impossible to know. I can’t observe it. Perhaps the teachers know something, but I don’t bother to ask. The important thing is that I’ve become alone again.

I have to remind myself, or it won’t permeate my consciousness. Unnecessary thoughts pile up like noise, hiding what’s important. I had accepted it and resolved to live accordingly. “The Book That Makes Developmental Disorders Understandable,” “Everything About Asperger Syndrome,” “The Handbook for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder”──all were supposed to be useless to me.

But…finally, I found my paintbrush.

tln : finally we know about natsume back story and why she interested in yokaze