As Kai had heard previously, Eru had been a part of the manga research society in middle school.
No club was ever comprised of one member. There were around ten other members, with a roughly even split in gender, and one of those girls had been Aina.
Even as seen from Eru’s eyes, she was out of place in the manga society. Aina’s looks were clearly unfit for the role; one glance between her and the other girls was enough to make you feel that they were worlds apart. Afterwards, unable to overcome her first impression and blend into the club, Aina often went home alone.
Aina may have been on her own, but that had applied to Eru, too. Eru had expected some amount of drawing and study from the manga ‘research’ society, but of course, that wasn’t the case. No matter the school, manga societies were generally not that passionate about the craft. It was usually a place for people who liked manga to gather and discuss the things that they liked, and there were often participants who had no plans to ever draw a manga.
It was easy for Kai to imagine a younger Eru, silently honing her skills all on her lonesome. The fun-loving crowd of ten, and one, and one. That was the club she had been in.
“If that had continued forever... I wouldn’t have minded one bit,” Eru added. But, of course, it had not been meant to be. With ten-some people came the guarantee of annoying interpersonal issues, and failure to fall in with a group—even if one wanted to be alone—meant dealing with the sparks flying about the room on your own, too.
The most influential person there had been a girl named Igarashi, who was also the manga club’s president. From Eru’s perspective, Igarashi’s art was far worse than her own; utterly ambitionless, and unfit to be appraised as anything more than a doodle. However, she was the most skilled in the club and had grown to be quite proud of that fact. Igarashi would draw fanart, receive praise from her peers, and grow ever more boastful.
In and of itself, that hadn’t necessarily been so bad. Igarashi must have felt that it was simply fun to draw, and that wasn’t something to scoff at. However, that only held true so long as one didn’t fall into the trap of using their talent to spite someone else.
“‘We can use my drawing, can’t we?’ she said,” Eru explained with a sneer. “Her head was obviously stuffed with flowers or something, so I just told her that crappy artists ought to know their place.”
Apparently, the trigger for the whole incident had been the culture festival. Every year, the manga society published a club magazine for the culture festival. According to tradition, the cover was to be drawn by ‘the club member whose art is the best.’
Besides Eru and Aina, Igarashi probably was the best artist in the club, and she herself prided herself on that fact. Still, Eru’s illustrations must have made their way into the corner of her vision. Thus, Igarashi had asked her, “We can use my drawing, can’t we?”
Eru had chosen to flatly snub the other girl. Her exact words were likely verbatim, “Crappy artists ought to know their place.” Naturally, this led to a fight, and there was no chance of Eru voluntarily choosing to bend. After all, she was the better artist, no contest.
So, the club president had hatched a plan: the two of them would each spend a week completing one illustration. Then, the other club members would vote to decide which was better fit to go on the cover. Eru wasn’t the type to back down from such a challenge to begin with, and had agreed to participate.
A week later, two pieces of art hung from the blackboard. Even without having seen the art for himself, Kai had no trouble imagining the overwhelming difference in quality. It should have been plain for anyone to see who was the better artist.
However, once the members of the club had tallied their votes in chalk underneath the drawings, the results told a different story. Eru’s piece only had her own vote, while all the other members cast their lots with Igarashi.
The competition had been rigged from the start. Rather, it hadn’t even been a competition at all. Instead, it was an exercise in pre-established harmony, maliciously orchestrated by a girl who liked being praised.
At that point, Eru found the whole ordeal to be pointless. Still, it wasn’t in her nature to back down quietly. She was standing up to cause a scene when a voice had interrupted her.
“Hmmm? Isn’t this weird?” The voice came from a spot separated from the rest of the club members, where Aina sat on an isolated island of her own, separate and distinct from Eru’s. With a questioning tone, she pressed, “But I can’t help but think this one’s better? Hey, I don’t know that much about art, but is this one really worse? Hmm, then leave it to me! I’ll take these two drawings and show them to everyone around! ♪ Then... we’ll be able to find out which one is truly the best, won’t we?”
As a result, the vote was suddenly overturned before Aina had a chance to enact her plan.
From that point on, the two of them began talking to each other—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Aina began talking to Eru. Eru would sit at her desk and draw, while Aina sat in front of her and talked.
Aina only ever spoke to Eru. She told her that, while she couldn’t draw, she was good at acting, and would sometimes improvise voice lines for Eru’s completed pieces. Her lines were invariably too good to think that they had all been ad-libbed.
“I let myself believe in her skill,” said Eru, who hadn’t known what kind of practice went into voice acting. However, all skill originated from effort and the use of countless hours of time. Eru believed in this principle. She’d believed that Aina must have gone beyond acting lessons, and was giving everything she had to the art—just like her.
Eru had believed that Aina was her only friend in the club. “...That was a terrible mistake,” she said now.
The incident occurred on a Saturday, which meant that club participation wasn’t mandatory. The only ones to show up on days like this were Eru and Aina. Eru only went to school because Nanaka was required to attend the fine arts club, and she had always found it strange that Aina showed up for the sole purpose of watching someone else draw.
That day, Eru arrived at school late. When she’d opened the door to the clubroom, she’d found Aina standing there with little pieces of torn-up paper at her feet. It was unmistakably the remains of the illustration Eru had poured her heart and soul into for the culture festival.
“That’s all there is to it,” concluded Eru, her voice devoid of both anger and sorrow. “I will never forgive her... for the rest of my life.”
If that’s true, thought Kai, then what do you mean by “That’s all there is?” Every. Single. Day. Whenever he’d see her, Eru was always engrossed in drawing. To see Kuroba Eru was synonymous with seeing somebody draw. For someone like her, it was wrong to say that was all there was to it. Still, to Eru, that was more than enough justification for her rejection of Aina.
“But was that really—” A few words of doubt escaped Kai’s mouth, and he instantly felt sick of himself. The image of Aina’s fingertips lovingly petting Miyo’s neck appeared in his mind. He didn’t want to believe that those same hands could do something so awful, and now he was doubting his friend as a result. A precious friend who had helped save him in his time of need, at that.
“You’re... I knew that vixen had you wrapped around her finger.” Eru shrugged her shoulders in disbelief—no, this time, it was scorn. “Don’t take me for an idiot like you, dear... I asked her, ‘Did you do it?’ She didn’t even bother to defend herself. I slapped her as hard as I could... and that’s the end of the story.
“Ugh, my chest hurts,” Eru muttered, and the sound of her voice faded into the background noise of the waves. “Now, you need to answer the question I asked you at the beginning.”
“What question?” asked Kai.
“I asked you, ‘Why?’ Why... are you here?”
“That’s because Nanaka-san told me you were missing, so I looked around—”
“That’s not what I meant!” Eru flared back with downcast eyes. She repeated, “That’s not what I meant... This is... Nanaka’s—and only Nanaka’s—secret spot.”
“Oh.” Kai finally understood. “Nanaka-san introduced me to this place herself. When I was... bottled up inside, she showed me this spot and told me she comes out here whenever she’s feeling down.”
The ocean winds howled, causing Eru’s long bangs to fly up. This was the first time he had ever seen both her eyes: they were frail and heartbroken.
“...Why?” she asked again.
“Kuroba-san...?” he asked uncertainly.
“I...” The words dripped from her mouth into the endless dark. “I never heard about this place from Nanaka. Nanaka... comes here when she’s sad? I... didn’t know. I didn’t... I...”
“I’m sure she just never had a chance to tell you,” he consoled.
“...You’re wrong,” Eru denied flatly. “I didn’t stumble across this spot by coincidence. On... On the days I spent drawing with her, I noticed she’d go somewhere the next day. I got curious, so I followed her and... That was how I found out she came here to begin... with. Of course, she didn’t tell me. How could you tell the very person who hurts you in the first place? Now it all makes sense... why Nanaka’s not here.” Eru’s gaze pierced through the night, and there was no telling what shone in her melancholic eyes.