I Will Inspire Your Insipid Days - Volume 1 Chapter 4.4

interlude 2

When I visited Natsume-san and Yonon-san’s room as usual, the atmosphere inside was unusually changed. A wooden easel was toppled on the floor, canvases thrown aside, art materials scattered everywhere, and most notably, Natsume-san was crouched on the floor, clutching her head.

“What happened!? Are you okay!?”

Rushing over in panic, Natsume-san didn’t even glance my way, muttering curses under her breath.

“Why? Why did this happen? Where did I go wrong? Where did I step on a landmine? What’s Yonon’s landmine? Yonon could have been my paintbrush, so what’s the problem? I don’t understand. My biased mind can’t reach the correct answer. There’s no reason for this.”

“Natsume-san? What’s wrong? Where’s Yonon?”

“Yonon… Yonon…?”

Finally, our gazes met.

With a vacant look, she murmured softly.

“…Why?”

“You said you were going to have a meeting.”

“Why?”

“Let’s calm down first, okay? There, there.”

Rubbing Natsume-san’s back, her breathing slowly steadied. I’m not well-versed in handling people in panic, but I understand that shallow breaths can amplify panic. Without seeing how we ended up in this situation, I decided to address the immediate emergency one step at a time.

Eventually, Natsume-san spoke again.

“…Is this the price I have to pay? The compensation for projecting the scenes I see onto the world? If being rejected by Yonon—my first friend, my support character in school life, my supposed partner in creating works—means that “high school life” is but a pipe dream for me… What am I even thinking about?”

I don’t think her question was meant for me.

It’s impossible for me to guess what Natsume-san is thinking.

But that’s true for anyone. Understanding another person’s thoughts is impossible.

So, I offered an “answer” that wasn’t sought.

“Who knows? The thoughts of a genius are incomprehensible. Humans are constrained. Without words or writing, emotions can’t be conveyed. Even if Natsume-san draws, interpretations will vary with the viewer. To share feelings, you have to convey them in a way the other person can understand.”

Unexpectedly, she responded.

“That’s why I’m bad at living. My only means of self-expression is through drawing. My words twist and can’t convey properly to others.”

I retorted.

“Even geniuses have their own worries, huh? It’s refreshing to hear that everyone, even those who seem to have it all, yearns for the ordinary things they can’t do. It’s nice hearing this from an average person like me.”

“Do you enjoy watching people struggle? That’s a bad hobby.”

“Not at all. Thinking that geniuses struggle and wrestle with themselves just like us gives me courage. It’s a reminder that we’re all human.”

“What are you talking about? Did you think I wasn’t human?”

“I did. I thought geniuses belonged to a different species, with entirely different sensory organs, perceiving the same scenery differently, possessing a different level of problem awareness, and finding unknown solutions. Up until recently, that’s what I believed.”

“Weirdo.”

“Weird, right?”

“Komachi isn’t ordinary, though. You can converse with me and don’t dislike being around me. Besides, you turned the design I made into paperwork, finished the necessary applications the next day, and even managed the staff orders, right?”

“Nah, I’m ordinary. Being ordinary makes it exciting to figure out how to materialize the image a genius drew. Decomposing the charm of the stage direction Natsume-san imagines into what sound and lighting are necessary excites me. At the core, it’s because Natsume-san draws things beyond my imagination.”

“…But without Yonon, it won’t be complete. Yonon left the room… I’m repeating myself… the same cycle again—”

“Don’t worry. Yonon won’t run away or break.”

“Why? There’s no basis for that.”

“There is. Well, it’s more of an emotional argument.”

“…I probably won’t understand, but tell me.”

“Yonon is confronting himself for the first time in his life. He needs time to sort things out.”

“…Still, I don’t quite understand.”

“It’s okay not to understand. He’ll explain when he’s digested and swallowed it all.”

“…If that’s the case… what should I convey to Yonon?”

“I might not get your thinking, but if you need help putting it into words, I can listen. If I’m okay with you?”

So, I listened to her story.

In conclusion.

What a mess! What should we do!

As usual, Natsume-san was brainstorming ideas for a performance at the Hohaku Festival, using Yonon-san as an actor. A misunderstanding arose when Yonon-san returned, and he ended up leaving the room.

I see. So Yonon-san believes he’s not capable enough for Natsume-san’s project, and Natsume-san genuinely doesn’t understand why he left. Plus, he left with the same words as her former roommate, causing her distress.

I thought we’d find a solution through dialogue.

“So, by ‘paintbrush,’ you just meant euphemistically that Yonon-san has the talent to create art?”

“No.”

“Ah… not that? Then what…”

It’s complicated.

If this were a stranger, I could just laugh it off with “Ha! Geniuses think in inscrutable ways! Ha ha!” But that’s not an option for me now.

I tried asking again.

“So ultimately, do you want to paint a picture of Yonon-san?”

“No.”

“Not that either… So, it’s strictly about Yonon-san becoming a ‘paintbrush,’ right?”

“Yes.”

“So I got that part right.”

Natsume-san is just another human. The process leading to her conclusions might differ from others, but at the core, there’s a tangle of emotions and thoughts. We continue the conversation, trying to unravel that tangle… and then.

“It’s a waste. Yonon remembers everything. He said he can project images into actions. He’s never created anything himself. At Shumonzaka, students who create something are valued. I easily forget things, so canvases are convenient. I can see at a glance where I stopped. Yonon doesn’t forget, so he can draw out images based on his memory. So if I paint inside Yonon’s head, we can project it precisely. Live drawing is fine, or a drama, or a movie. Anything works. Considering my realistic resources, making Yonon the main character in a play or dance seemed the quickest way.”

She answered in one breath.

Nodding along, I summarized her claim.

“So, if I organize it—essentially, Natsume-san wants Yonon-san to replicate shared motions on stage, completing the performance. The reason for choosing a performance is because it’s the largest expression method Natsume-san can create alone… right?”

“That’s right!”

Natsume-san answered with a bounce.

I see. That’s the correct answer.

“I see. So ‘paintbrush’ means Yonon-san himself, who can trace Natsume-san’s concept and precisely represent it on stage.”

“Yes!”

Accepting her enthusiastic consent, I sighed.

“…Ah. Communication is really important. Natsume-san is frustrated because she feels misunderstood, and Yonon-san is mentally destroying himself because he’s shouldering everything alone.”

“Yonon is truly wasted. He has a camera eye, a talent not everyone has, yet he says it’s impossible to become a paintbrush for that. Impossible? What’s impossible?”

“Ah… well, to put it bluntly without mincing words—”

I muttered softly while resting my hand on my forehead.

“Both Natsume-san and Yonon-san are strange.”

“I know. But Yonon probably doesn’t realize he’s strange.”

“That’s likely.”

I tilted my head, gazing into the void for a while before speaking again.

“To Yonon-san, it’s normal to remember everything he sees once. So, he doesn’t think it’s special. Probably, even if someone tells him ‘It’s special,’ he might verbally agree, but since there’s no objective proof, he doesn’t trust it.”

That’s why he left. That’s a plausible thought.

I think we can manage now.

Yonon-san attends school normally. Meaning, he’s somewhere in the dorm. The most likely place is his previous room. Good thing I inquired about his room number during casual conversation.

After guiding Natsume-san to bed, I rushed out of the room.

Yonon-san, peeking out from beyond the door, seemed somewhat haggard.

Really, these people are troublesome…

Hiding my true feelings, I attempted dialogue with him, just as I did with Natsume-san.

“──I see. So, after failing to have a proper discussion, you fled to this room?”

“…That’s right.”

“That’s it, right? Running from Natsume-san is essentially the same.”

“That might be true, but…”

“Well, no worries, I owe Yonon-san one. I’ll listen to anything.”

At that moment, Yonon-san’s expression seemed to brighten slightly. Maybe I am suited to be a counselor.

Eventually, hesitantly, Yonon-san began to speak.

“As you know, I don’t forget anything I see. It’s been this way since I was a child, and I’ve always considered it natural.”

“Honestly, it’s a waste. I’ve been immersed in studies since elementary school, slightly understanding the pain of learning better than others. In that sense, having extraordinary memory like Yonon-san’s would give a huge advantage in exams. If he were from a family enthusiastic about advancing their children’s education, he might have attended a much better school.”

“…Is that really so? For subjects like math and chemistry, languages, where you need to convert one thing into another, I couldn’t understand at all… But if I hadn’t been born into the Hanabishi family, I might have lived a different life.”

“That’s likely. So, the essence of your worry is there, right? Lacking conversion ability, you can’t project Natsume-san’s drawn images into your own actions. You sense an issue there?”

Yonon-san swallowed nervously. “How did you know?” his eyes seemed to ask.

I get it.

“What, surprised?”

“…Is Komachi-san an esper or something?”

“If gaining understanding of others through interaction, guessing “This person would say this” or “This person thinks like that” counts as supernatural power, then maybe I am an esper.”

We confront our struggles head-on.

“──I do have the talent to remember anything, but I lack the talent to create anything. Such an obvious realization finally dawned on me.”

“…Hmm?”

Something doesn’t add up.

A crucial piece seems missing.

As I pondered, Yonon-san anxiously spoke up.

“…Did I say something strange?”

“Yes, you did. But we’re both strange in our own ways.”

And we both put our hands to our foreheads, pondering.

After a while, I articulated the doubt that had formed.

“I’ve always wanted to ask something.”

It might be delving too deep into her personal life, but I thought it was necessary to ask given the situation.

“Are you content with your situation?”

Yonon-san froze with a blank expression.

“…What do you mean?”

“Honestly, I can’t really grasp it. I don’t know the finer details of the Hanabishi family, but originally, Yonon-san’s sister was supposed to enroll, and it ended up being Yonon-san, the younger sister, with a directive to properly graduate. The only person aware of Yonon-san’s true identity at the time of enrollment was Teacher Satsuki. That’s an absurd request, isn’t it?”

To make her think, I continued rapidly.

“This is about Yonon-san’s feelings, so don’t overthink it. For example, if Yonon-san hadn’t enrolled at Shumonzaka, there’s a high chance she would’ve spent her entire life without leaving the family mansion, unaware of the outside world, right? Without ever having the chance to challenge anything, bound by the family’s circumstances, living the same routine every day?”

“…That might be true.”

“On the other hand, somehow coming to Shumonzaka, Yonon-san is now being tested for her own abilities. What do you think about that?”

“What do I think? Well…”

“Do you have any feelings other than fear… about creating something?”

Eventually, Yonon-san’s true feelings seemed to leak out.

“…At first, I didn’t care. If I could just drift through school life. All I needed for my student life was ‘graduation.’ Ambition or enthusiasm wasn’t necessary. But then Natsume-san asked me to collaborate… to exhibit together at the Hohaku Festival…”

“Asked?”

“…I was happy.”

“Then it seems like you’re fine.”

That was the answer I had prepared.

“Why not pursue what you truly want to do? Of course, I’ll help too.”