I didn’t have the slightest intention of intervening. It’d be a pain, and if Eru was going to play the lone wolf, she needed to suck it up and solve her own problems. At least, that’s what I’d thought... until I saw Eru’s drawing.
It was like my eyes were fixed directly on a light source. Hung on the blackboard, Eru’s sublime work of art was radiant. I had figured she was good, but her real talent was so far beyond my expectations that it stunned me into silence. Igarashi’s crappy drawing next to it caught my eye so little that I don’t even know if I saw it. That’s how overwhelming Eru’s art was.
I couldn’t believe it when the others still tried to pull their stunt, and by the time I came to my senses, I was already running my mouth: “...But I can’t help but think this one’s better?”
Eru looked taken aback, but I was the most surprised out of everyone there. But since that’s how I felt, there wasn’t any helping it. Besides, there was another thing that surprised me, because the character in Eru’s illustration was unmistakably modeled after Yozakura Aina.
The me that she’d drawn was beautiful, dignified, and a far cry away from my actual dawdling self. I couldn’t feel a shred of remorse for the massive gap between the real me and the reflection that resided in her eyes; I was just mad at myself. It wasn’t like I’d suddenly recalled my teacher telling me to use my voice to become someone else. I naturally wanted to act. I wanted to be the beautiful stranger on the other side of this sheet of paper; a me who wasn’t me.
That’s when I started talking to Eru. At first, she was puzzled and annoyed, but she didn’t seem to mind all that much. After I’d improvised a few lines for the character she’d drawn, she opened up and we began to talk a little.
“Hey,” I remember asking, “Why are you in a place like this?”
“I could ask you the same,” she answered, thoroughly displeased.
“It doesn’t matter for me,” I’d told her. “I’d be fine anywhere, so long as I don’t stand out too much.”
“...You stand out plenty here,” Eru pointed out.
“And whose fault is that?” I’d asked, and Eru glared at me in dissent when I said it. She’d probably wanted to say that she hadn’t asked for my help.
It was true that she hadn’t asked—that I had, instead, acted of my own volition—as if you could call my unconscious outburst a decision. I really wanted to tell her, “For better or for worse, your illustrations have the power to move people. Keep that in mind!” But the thought of saying that out loud made me feel like I was losing somehow, so I kept it to myself.
“All I’m saying,” I’d continued, “is that you don’t need to be here to draw.”
“...Club participation is required, dear,” Eru reminded me.
“Yeah,” I’d agreed, “but wouldn’t the fine arts club have been a better fit?”
“...Nanaka’s over there.” The words got uncharacteristically caught in Eru’s throat. I think that was the first and last time I’d ever seen her like that.
“Nanaka...? Wait, you mean Aoi Nanaka?” I’d asked, feeling confused. “You’re friends with her?” I wasn’t in the same class as Nanaka, but at least I knew her name.
At every school, there were a few people per grade that everyone knew, and Aoi Nanaka was one of them. She seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t have had anything to do with Eru unless the world was ending. However, much to my surprise, Eru nodded. She and Aoi Nanaka were childhood friends who’d apparently spent their youth drawing pictures together. And apparently, that continued even now.
“...Wooow,” I’d said. “In that case, isn’t that all the more reason to join the fine arts club?”
“There’s no need for that,” said Eru, speaking with absolute faith. “Nanaka’s pursuing the same thing I am.” Then, when I tried to ask her more, Eru fell silent, pulling the headphones that dangled off of her neck back up to her ears. This was the sign that our conversation was over.
Then, the familiar, pleasant sound of pen on sketchbook reverberated throughout the air. Before my eyes, the lines converged to outline the exquisite shape of her next character.
Ever since the day I’d helped Eru out, I began to attend my lessons properly. Every time I dubbed over one of Eru’s characters, the feeling of turning into someone else seeped into my body. Neither Yozakura nor Aina, I was merely the voice of the character in front of me. As a voice actress, my work wouldn’t necessitate my face, and I could even change my name.
All these burdensome reasons aside, the powerful gust of wind which blew straight through my mind when I first saw Eru’s illustration had moved me. I’m sure that was the moment I knew I wanted to be a voice actress.
That hasn’t changed, even now, in the social game club. It hasn’t changed, but... just because her art opened my eyes, it doesn’t mean that I’m the type of person to let someone influence me forever.
Kuroba Eru might not need any friends, and it’s not like I want to be all buddy-buddy with her, either. The little amount in which I’ve conversed with her has only driven home how much of a pain she is. I can tell, since we’re of the same flock. Us getting along is foundationally impossible.
It’s not that I want to be friends.
It’s that I want to show you.
I want you to know that—though we may take separate paths—there’s someone beside you who’s spent the same hours you have.
I want you to believe that I’m seeing the same thing as you.
This time, I want to be able to convince you, you stubborn fool.