Chapter 15 - The Before and After of a Dream

Nanaka was frozen in a state of shock until Kai tried to talk to her, at which point she took off in pursuit of Eru.

Kai attempted to follow her, but stopped when Aya said, “Senpai, you shouldn’t go with them.” She spoke in a casual tone, but it was obvious that she wasn’t saying that half-heartedly. She had some sort of personal conviction behind her words.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Mm...” Aya tilted her head back and forth and mulled over her thoughts. “It’s ’cause that’s their problem. You and I aren’t a part of it, senpai. I guess you could say that you were kind of a catalyst to what happened, though.” Since Kai wasn’t exactly uninvolved, Aya explained, she had a hard time deciding whether or not to tell him what was going on.

“If I’m part of the reason that things turned out like this,” Kai insisted in reply, “then I want to know.” There was no need for hesitation. The sight of Nanaka crumpled on the floor, like a flower ready to snap, lingered in his mind. There was no way he could stand by and do nothing.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” Aya said. She seemed troubled, but there was a tinge of happiness to her voice. “If I’m gonna tell you,” she went on, “then you have to promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Senpai, I want you to resolve all this.”

“...I got it,” Kai said with a nod, despite the uncertainty of whether or not there was anything he could do.

“Woah, quick answer,” said Aya. “Welp, at this rate we’d have less than four people again and our club would get disbanded, so I guess that makes sense.”

It was just as Aya said; it didn’t matter what Kai could or couldn’t do. Eru had brought a club withdrawal form. If that got turned in, the social game club wouldn’t have enough members and would be at risk of disbandment all over again. Unless there was another transfer student like Kai, they’d need to drag someone out of another club. That was not a realistic solution. All promises aside, he had to do something.

“Senpai, c’mere for a sec,” said Aya, booting up the computer she always used. Then she opened up a shared folder that contained art assets pertaining to MiSt. MiSt had ten characters, with each character having a base sprite. The folder she opened contained those illustrations.

“This is the issue,” she told him as the cursor selected a second, nested folder within the current one. It was titled ‘Old_Sprites.’ This folder was home to the drawings of five characters. They seemed to be characters that existed in MiSt, but... frankly, the quality was far below that of Eru’s work in the final product. Kai speculated from the title of the folder that these were the original designs that Eru redrew into the characters that were in the game now. Once she was finished, these drawings had been shelved.

“...What are these?” he asked.

“I feel like you don’t need to ask,” Aya replied. “Nana-sen was the one who drew these.”

Kai had a feeling when he saw the illustrations, but hearing that his guess was correct left him at a loss for words.

“Initially, those two were both illustrators in this club,” Aya continued. “I heard that they wanted to make a game with both of their drawings in it since they were little, and they joined the social game club in high school to realize that dream. Out of the ten characters in the game, half were drawn by Kuroba and the other half by Nana-sen. But, well...” Aya paused for a moment and sighed. “When Kuroba’s drawings were lined up side by side with Nana-sen’s... I’m sure you can imagine what kind of reaction the users had.”

“...She got trashed?” Kai guessed.

“I think she would’ve managed if she only got trashed and told that she sucked,” Aya said. “But we got questions like, ‘Did you upload the wrong illustrations?’ or ‘Why do half of the characters have unfinished artwork?’ People treated her work like a bug that needed to be fixed. I’m sure you could guess, but it really got to Nana-sen to see her art being written off as a mistake.”

It wasn’t on a scale of good or bad; Nanaka’s artwork had become a defective product. Just imagining it was enough to put a vise onto Kai’s heart and grind it into dust. He subconsciously gripped the breast of his dress shirt, and the sensation of scrunching fabric in his hand only served to worsen his mood.

In social games—and especially in games like MiSt—the quality of the illustrations was of the utmost importance. In particular, MiSt didn’t have any character rarities. All ten characters were present from the beginning, and the gameplay loop revolved around collecting equipment for them to wear on stage.

So Eru’s drawings and Nanaka’s drawings were forced to line up beside one another. Earlier, despite having only looked at them for an instant, Kai felt that Nanaka’s drawings were bad. That was his blunt observation from comparing the two’s work. In terms of rarity, it’d be the difference between an SSR and R.

From the user’s perspective, it didn’t matter how hard the illustrator worked. If they were lined up together, they’d be judged together; trash would be discarded as trash. That wasn’t something to blame the users for. Rather, the management should have never let that situation occur.

“In the end, Nana-sen’s heart broke and she backed down from drawing,” concluded Aya. “Kuroba redrew these, and we re-released those characters.”

“...And Nanaka became a planner,” Kai said slowly.

“That’s right,” Aya agreed, “We tried to stop her, though. Nana-sen decided that on her own, saying, ‘I’ll cause problems for everyone again if I keep trying to draw.’ But there was no way Kuroba’d agree to that when they promised to draw together and... that led to what you saw earlier.”

Aya paused for a moment, reaching over to grab her cup. She put her lips to the rim and tilted it back, but then realized it was empty and placed it back on the table with a disgruntled expression. “That’s all that I can tell you,” she finished.

While listening to Aya talk, Kai thought back to the day that Nanaka cried. He’d praised her drawings, saying it was more than enough to be a planner’s weapon.

He had meant to praise her. Kai never imagined that those words would become a needle deep, deep inside of her heart, piercing her from the inside.

◇

After a while, Nanaka returned to the club room.

In her hand was Eru’s club withdrawal form. Kai could tell from her sullen expression that she’d failed to convince her.

Nanaka’s gaze wandered in the space between Kai and Aya as she put on a weak smile.

“...I’m sorry, you two. We managed to win the competition and all, but now...”

“I don’t mind, though.” Aya gave an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders to stress how little of a problem it was to her. “If you hold onto that form, she’ll just be a ghost member. No one outside of our club would know that we only have three real members.”

“That wouldn’t mean anything!” Nanaka gripped the edges of her skirt and wrung out the words. Kai had never seen her so openly emotional before. “...It won’t mean anything unless everyone is here. Please, don’t say that.”

“‘Everyone’?” One corner of Aya’s mouth rose up into a sneer, and she picked her words to match. To Kai, it was almost as if she was trying to rile Nanaka up on purpose. “When you say ‘everyone,’ do you mean you and Kuroba, Nana-sen?”

“That’s not what I mean!” Nanaka retorted.

“But if Kuroba was gone, you could stretch your wings and be our illustrator again, you know?” Aya suggested. “The difference in your skill wouldn’t matter, since you’d be the only illustrator we’d have. Are you sure you wanna let a chance like this—”

Smack. It was a dry, explosive sound—much like that of popping open a bag of chips—that reverberated throughout the room as the palm of Nanaka’s right hand cleanly connected with Aya’s left cheek. Aya’s face turned to the side due to the force of impact, and her cheek began to grow red.

Aya sighed. “Resorting to violence just because I hit the nail on the head? I can’t believe you, Nana-sen.”

“You didn’t hit anything on the head!” Nanaka yelled.

“H-Hey, both of you!” Kai attempted to break up the fight to no avail.

“While the three of us worked on the competition, you let Kuroba do whatever she wanted then, too,” Aya pointed out. “That’s what you call ‘favoritism,’ isn’t it?”

“That’s... This time we managed with the three of us, so it was fine,” Nanaka argued back. “Plus, Eru’s a bit—she has her own way of doing things.”

“Ohhh, I see? So you’re saying there was nothing you could do. If she helped out the entire time, Nana-sen, you wouldn’t have been making all those UI materials on your own,” Aya pointed out. “Don’t you think we coulda made more improvements? I guess it’s all peaches if you can say ‘everyone’ is here after all that.” Behind Aya’s statement was a thinly veiled, You can’t say it, can you?

“Nana-sen,” she asked next, “what do you want to do?”

“What do I... want to do?”

“Do you wanna make social games?” Aya persisted. “That’s not it, is it? At first, all you wanted was to draw pictures for a game, right? With Kuroba. You don’t want to be a planner. You still want to be an illustrator now, don’t you?”

“...I, just, I wanted everyone—” Nanaka started to say, before Aya cut her off again.

“Everyone, everyone, everyone,” Aya said mockingly. “If everyone is here, then does it matter what you do?”

Nanaka was at a loss for words, but Aya sighed in disgust and shook her head. “Nana-sen,” she said, “I like you... but I hate people who lie to themselves.” Having said that, Aya got up from her seat, picked up her bag, and headed towards the door.

Right as she was about to leave, she turned back and said, “I’m honest with myself, so I’d rather work and roll my gachas than sit around here playing at high school drama. Aight, senpai, I leave the rest to you.” Then she casually waved her hand and disappeared from the club room.

Nanaka collapsed into a chair. It had been so lively until a moment ago, but now the merriness of the snacks on the table and the silence of the room were at such odds that it seemed they only served to emphasize the fact that only Kai and Nanaka remained.

“...I’m sorry,” he said at last.

“Why are you apologizing, Kai-kun?” Nanaka asked.

“If I had asked why you cried that day... I’m sure this...” he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“‘Wouldn’t have happened’?” Nanaka finished for him. “...I don’t need your sympathy,” she said, with her face down. Then, she slapped her cheek with much more force than when she hit Aya. “...I’m sorry. What I just said—I’m the worst.

“I really am the worst,” she repeated, as if to beat herself up.

“...I heard that you were originally an illustrator,” said Kai.

“From Ah-chan?” When she saw him nod, Nanaka looked up at the ceiling in resignation. “It’s not like I was trying to trick you, you know? I really... I really wanted to do my best as a planner. But, I guess from your perspective, it’s basically the same as being tricked. Honestly...” Nanaka took a deep bow toward the table. “I’m sorry.”

“Nanaka-san, I am well aware that you were serious about trying to work as a planner... Er, I mean, I know that you were serious,” Kai told her. “I don’t feel like you tricked me. So please, don’t say that.”

Before the competition began, Kai couldn’t see the faintest glimmer of hope. The first moment he felt like they had a chance was when Nanaka brought him her specification document: it was rough around the edges, unorganized, and hard to read, but the passion that went into it was certain. No one would deny that her efforts were sincere.

But her sincerity was not the same as her truth.

If you were to sincerely give your best for something that didn’t align with the truth you saw in the world, one day your soul would wear away.

“Nanaka-san,” Kai said next, “what do you want to do?”

“...Kai-kun, you’re going to ask that, too? About... what I want to do. I... can’t bring myself to say I want to draw,” Nanaka admitted in a small voice. “Eru, and Ah-chan, and you, Kai-kun—you’re all amazing. If I hold you all back again with my drawings... I think I really will hate myself.”

That was her truth.

However, Kai felt intensely uncomfortable hearing Nanaka say it out loud. It wasn’t as if she was lying, or that her words seemed insincere. Still, he knew there was definitely something wrong about what she said.

“...I’m sorry,” Nanaka sighed. “It’s Friday, so I’ll go home and cool off over the weekend.”

As she said her farewell and left the room, Kai could do nothing but watch her go.

◇

“Ho ho ho!” chortled Misako. “Know me as the god who accomplished the great feat of turning in her manuscript a week before her deadline! Wait, huh? Kai? What’s all this? Are you going to eat all of those snacks?”

“...Oh, nee-san,” Kai replied.

Click. The sound of the lightbulb turning on was followed by light that filled the whole room. Where he had previously sat bathed in the dim glow of his laptop, the sudden bright light now caused Kai to subconsciously rub at his eyes.

On the other side of his laptop laid a mountain of snacks that he couldn’t leave behind in the club room. He’d left everything that was sealed properly or looked to have a long shelf life, but figured the ones that’d go bad would otherwise have been wasted.

“We had a victory celebration at my club today, and we had some leftover snacks,” he explained. “You can have some if you want, nee-san.”

“Ooh, don’t mind if I do.” Misako sat across from Kai as per usual, and then proceeded to eat some of the potato chips that were out on the table. She continued eating without a word until she got thirsty, and then she made and brought back two cups of tea. Afterwards, she resumed eating potato chips. The entire time she was doing all of this, Misako observed him as well.

Kai knew that he couldn’t ignore her gaze any longer; it would have been a pain if she began crying again. “What?” he finally asked her.

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” Misako asked dryly.

“You like seaweed-salt chips more than ones with just salt?”

“That’s correct,” she agreed. “But also wrong. You had a victory celebration, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“That’s it,” said Misako, whipping her pointer finger towards him. “That face. Would you like to explain why the face you’re making is so unfitting of a ‘victory celebration’?”

“That’s not true,” he protested.

“It’s pretty much a given that something happened at your club again,” Misako speculated.

All Kai had to do to avoid the conversation was give his sister a half-baked response, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“So easy to read,” Misako said to herself. As she chomped on some potato chips, Misako began with magnanimity, “The completion of my writings has left me most gay; I am verily in the highest of spirits. Do allow me to repay your hospitality by listening to your tale.”

Kai wondered what sort of character she was portraying. He felt that it may have been a noble from the Heian Period. Perhaps, he thought, she was writing some sort of historical novel. “...It’s nothing important,” was what he said out loud.

“Do allow me,” Misako insisted.

“I’m telling you—”

“Do you forget, good sir, that upon last discussing with this handsome, picturesque sister of yours, your troubles were found to be neatly resolved?”

“I think ‘picturesque’ is usually meant to describe scenery,” Kai said.

“Are you to claim that your sister’s smoking hot body is not the most charming of all scenery?!” Misako objected indignantly.

“No—you know what? Sure, that’s fine... yeah.” Should you really be saying that about yourself? Kai thought to himself as he took a closer look at his sister. Upon doing so, he noticed her eyes were a tad droopier than usual. She talked about finishing her manuscript and being in a good mood, so Kai realized that she must have drank a decent amount of alcohol before coming over. Misako already acted like she was under the influence when she was sober, but Kai knew all too well that he was no match for drunkards—after all, she was the one who’d taught him that lesson.

So, he gave in and explained everything that had happened today. As he spoke, he couldn’t shake the intense discomfort he felt when hearing Nanaka talk.

Not wanting to hold your friends back was a simple emotion, and one that Kai understood well. In fact, he felt that the entire time he’d spent at Tsukigase had been structured around the thought of ‘I don’t want to drag Akane’s name through the mud.’ He felt like he should have been able to empathize with the urge to not be a burden, but... what was it? The more Kai thought about it, the more uncomfortable he grew.

“...I see how it is.” Misako nodded along with a gentle expression. “You’ve progressed to the point where you call each other by your first names... Could it be, boy? Did you confess?”

“...Nee-san.” Kai intended on chasing her out right away if she began goofing around.

His intention must have gotten through to her, because Misako shrugged her shoulders and continued, “Come on, I can’t help but mess around a little. This story is so chock-full of immaturity and adolescence that the flavor is too strong for your older sister to listen to without some humor.”

“‘Immature’... We’re in high school,” Kai pointed out.

“No, Kai, that’s not what I mean,” Misako strongly rejected his protest, but her voice had a kind nostalgia mixed into it. “I’m not talking about your age, I’m talking about your immaturity as a creator.”

“...What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

“You should understand what I mean, too. Well, I guess it might be one of those things where if you’re too close it gets harder to see, but it’s a simple story,” said Misako, who then paused to snack on another chip before continuing. “It’s been five years since I started working as a novelist, but between now and then, there’s always been one constant that’s never changed. Now, what would that be?”

“...Deadlines are scary,” suggested Kai.

“That’s correct, but also wrong. You see, whenever you put forth your creation out into the world, it will be praised, and it will also be mocked,” Misako said solemnly. “This is an absolute given. Well, in my case as an author, it’s not often that I can say I held someone back. But if you broaden the definition a little, you could say I can hold back the artists who draw illustrations for me, my editor, or the employees at bookstores who stock my works. I think this is the same for any creator out there. If she wants to be an illustrator—and especially if she’s just starting out—it’s only natural that she’d get bashed, right?”

“...Right,” he agreed. The source of discomfort Kai felt had been tangled up into a ball of yarn, and now it finally slipped back into thread.

“—Boring, exceedingly. Start over from the very first line.”

“—Unchanged, practically. The differences between this and your first document are meager. Start over from scratch.”

“—Distracted, unfocused. Every location marked with a tab has an issue in the level design. Start over.”

When Kai thought back, there was no end to the times upon which Akane had berated his work. Even when his work got past her review, there were both users who praised it and users who completely trashed it. Every time that happened, it meant Kai dragged down the many people who worked alongside him in the club.

And drag them down he most certainly had. However, there wasn’t anyone out there who could avoid walking that path if they wanted to press forward as a creator.

“But!” Misako had one finger raised as she gave him a warning. “The fact that criticism is a matter of course is a slightly different issue from not wanting to hold someone back. You don’t like things that you don’t like, and that’s completely fine; no one wants to hold their friends back. I think it’s wonderful that Nanaka-chan is responsible enough to feel that way. But for you guys, there’s no need to worry that much, is there?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Kai, you said it yourself the other day,” Misako reminded him.

...The other day? What did I say? Kai racked his brain for a conversation with Misako that would fit here, but he had no idea what she meant.

“Kai, you guys are a club, right? You can’t forget that. If you were professionals, holding someone back could lead to debt and the company going under. You might not be able to put food on the table. But that has nothing to do with you guys,” Misako told him. “I’m not telling you to half-ass it, you hear? All I’m saying is that you should give it everything you’ve got. Hold your friends back, get held back, receive praise, and receive hate as you grow up together.

“See? I told you it’d be a story of adolescence.” Misako put on a dry smile as she intentionally began groaning, “I want more alcohol! My chest burns!”