I Will Inspire Your Insipid Days - Volume 1 Chapter 4.7

Part 2 “Feeling”

Returning to our room after a week, it felt incredibly small. Well, it actually is small.

Natsume-san had, as usual, thrown her mineral water bottles around, left her art supplies out, and, most notably, there were many half-finished sketchbooks scattered across the floor. It was exactly like the day we met.

“Yokaze could become my paintbrush.”

I think that’s a very heavy statement, especially knowing her backstory.

“Why was it me?”

I cut straight to the point. This was a check.

“There must be others who could fulfill the role of your paintbrush, right? We met on the rooftop of the dormitory, a series of coincidences led us to live in the same room. There had to be other options…”

By chance, I was born into the Hanabishi main family.

By chance, Hanabishi Satsuki was at Shumonzaka Girls’ Academy.

By chance, I enrolled at Shumonzaka Girls’ Academy.

By chance, there was a student with school refusal in the same classroom.

By chance, Satsuki-san assigned me a task.

As a result, I met Natsume-san.

If a person’s life could be compared to a thin thread, the encounter between Hanabishi Yokaze and Tachibana Natsume was merely a point where two randomly overlapped threads joined.

Whether the joining points continue to form a single cloth is unknown. It’s uncertain if one side—in this case, me—possesses enough strength to endure being woven in.

“What are you talking about? There weren’t any other options.”

Yet, Natsume-san answered immediately.

Was she not listening properly?

Was she responding in her usual manner?

“For example, someone like Komachi-san──”

“Not like that.”

I was cut off sharply.

“Yokaze has talent. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be chosen.”

Her words left me momentarily speechless.

Talent?

“Sorry, this conversation isn’t making sense to me. I want to listen, but it’s not getting through.”

“I’ve never thought about what to draw. I just replicate exactly what I see. But human memory is fragile, always fraying at some point. But Yokaze, you’re different, right?”

She continued talking without considering my pace, inserting her words in between.

“Natsume-san is endlessly free… something I don’t possess…”

“But Yokaze, you have something I don’t.”

Unperturbed by my emotional rebuttal, she spoke plainly.

“Compliance, submissiveness. I quickly forget my own words. I’m not interested. I know my words lack value. I’m well aware I can’t have normal conversations. But Yokaze, you’ve been maintaining a facade in school life, something that can’t be done without a lack of deceitful skills. Also, when we first met, you brought me the application for the Hohaku Festival, which made me realize you’re someone who can accurately execute given instructions.”

Additionally, Natsume-san continued.

“Yokaze, you remember everything you see perfectly. So, if you relay what I’ve seen, you can recreate my world in real-time. Therefore, the only person who can perfectly replicate my thoughts around me is Yokaze. That’s why I chose Yokaze.”

What she spun was a sweet idealism, nothing but fanciful ravings.

No. For “Natsume,” it might be a feasible realm. Not a dream, but merely one of the intermediate goals.

But for me?

“To be honest… I’m scared. I’ve never been on stage. Everything is imitation, learned by observing. How can such a person suddenly create a work with Natsume-san?”

My fears and anxieties all stem from one source.

Hanabishi Yokaze has nothing. No accumulated efforts, no outstanding sense. Just the ability to remember what I’ve seen once. However, you can’t see what doesn’t exist in this world. And the students at Shumonzaka Academy are striving to create what doesn’t exist.

“Not limited to Natsume-san, it’s impossible to project one’s vision directly into someone else’s mind without first outputting it to another medium… like language or the paper and canvas Natsume-san often uses. In that process, inconsistencies will inevitably arise, right?”

“Is that so?”

“Is that so like…”

Startled by Natsume-san’s casual response, I was speechless. Yet, she continued.

“Not necessarily inconsistencies, just a high chance of them. If we continuously adjust our perceptions and unify our interpretations, it’s not impossible.”

“That’s a theoretical argument… be more rational, please.”

“Don’t expect rationality from me.”

An outrageous declaration was made.

“Such a thing is unnecessary in art, right? Or not?”

Then she stood up and headed towards her desk.

Pulling out a familiar bundle of papers from her ever-chaotic desk.

“Look at the stage concept I made.”

“…There are many similar drawings, though.”

“Similar, right? They’re not the same, right?”

“Uh…?”

“Look again,” she urged with a serious voice.

Closing my eyes, I tried to recall the composition of the paper.

Symbols representing humans on a rectangular stage.

At a glance, that’s all there was.

However, in another paper, only the position of the humans had changed.

“By the way, do you know how many of those image drafts there are?”

Responding to Natsume-san’s question, I answered honestly.

“…I didn’t count. If I did, I would remember.”

“I think I drew around 300.”

“Three hundred!?”

I couldn’t help but exclaim. Indeed, it was an unbelievable amount of paper, but to have that many on the desk… or rather, the situation where having 300 sheets of paper on a desk doesn’t seem odd is strange in itself.

“Those are rough drafts of the movements you will perform, so the content is rough, but it covers everything up to the last. Depending on Yokaze’s understanding, I plan to increase the number of pages so they can be recreated close to what I imagine for the actual performance.”

“More are going to increase!?”

To my astonishment, Natsume-san casually replied.

“Of course. To refine the granularity. It’s animation, after all.”