Taking the elevator, Van Gogh and the others arrived at the upper floors of the building—the living quarters arranged by the government. Except for Mizushino Sōta, who still had to go home every day, both the Created like Selesia and the Creators like Matsubara Takashi stayed here.
Living rooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, balconies. Usually, one room per person. Only Van Gogh and Shimazaki Yuna were special—sharing a room together.
"Want something to drink? No tea, but there's cola and milk in the fridge."
Welcoming Sōta and Kanoya Rui inside, Yuna asked politely.
Good thing this wasn't her actual home. Normally she and Van Gogh didn't entertain guests, and neither of them liked shopping, so their fridge was usually empty.
The government-issued housing, however, all had refrigerators. Since they didn't know what residents might like, they stocked all kinds of snacks and drinks. Very thoughtful.
"Cola for me, thanks."
"Water's fine…"
One easy, one awkward. Rui was at ease; Sōta, stiff and nervous.
Yet along with his unease, Sōta was also quietly excited. His eyes kept wandering.
So this is where Van Gogh-sensei lives… even if it's only temporary.
"Where's Van Gogh's manga?"
Rui glanced around the room. Unlike his own quarters filled with mecha models, this place was clean and uncluttered. His gaze drifted toward the closed door. "In there?"
"Yes. I'll grab some later—the room's a little messy."
Even without Yuna's reminder, Rui would never just barge into a girl's room. He might be thick-skinned, but not stupid. How else could he ever hope to chase a heroine?
He wasn't one of those idiotic protagonists who radiated kingly aura and made women throw themselves at him en masse. Those kinds of characters would never have the popularity to be summoned into this world.
Yuna fetched drinks from the fridge, then went into the room and came back with a few volumes of manga and some art tools.
For a mangaka, having her own books lying around was natural.
The art tools were for Van Gogh.
"Van Gogh really does love drawing, huh…"
Rui couldn't help but sigh.
Almost all of Van Gogh's free time went into painting. With such determination, she could succeed at anything.
Sōta, oddly enough, felt no jealousy toward Van Gogh. Talent might be heaven's gift, but effort was her own. Her persistence made people think, she deserves success, not resent her for it.
She not only had more talent than him, but also worked harder. What right did he have to envy her?
Rui cracked open a volume, starting from the "Burning Contaminated City" arc.
Meanwhile, Yuna struck up conversation with Sōta. Their interests were close, so the talk flowed naturally. Bit by bit, Sōta loosened, going from hesitant silence to even starting topics himself.
They chatted about manga, anime, novels.
They discussed plotlines and characters.
And as both were Creators, they even exchanged some of their own thoughts.
Still, to avoid bothering Rui as he read, they avoided bringing up Fate/Grand Order. Spoilers were the worst.
Of course, if Rui asked directly, they'd answer.
But there was one problem: FGO was packed with characters based on mythology and history. For someone like Rui—an otherworlder—some parts went completely over his head.
He could keep reading, but the experience was dulled.
No way could Yuna and Sōta stop to explain the backstory of every single Heroic Spirit.
At first, as he read the early arcs, Rui muttered aloud.
Like when he reached the "Hundred Years' War of the Evil Dragons" arc:
"Why's this manga's sea monsters so detailed? Even the textures? Looks just like those things we fought before… though the ones we fought had plant features too, not quite the same."
But later, he fell silent—completely absorbed.
The manga in his hands seemed to carry a strange power, dragging him into its world. The story unfolded before his eyes as if it were truly happening.
...
Time slipped by without a sound. By the time Yuna and Sōta realized, the sun was sinking, sky painted in blazing red, cold night spilling in from the other side.
It was winter. Night fell quickly.
"…We've been talking this long already?"
Covering her mouth with her hand, Yuna smiled apologetically at Sōta. "Sorry, I lost track of time."
Flustered, Sōta waved his hands. "No—that should be my line. I've never talked about my favorite things like this before… never this happily. Thank you, Yuna."
Her wide eyes blinked, surprised. Then her lips curved. Under Sōta's gaze, she smiled—gentle as water.
"I'm happy too. Thank you, Sōta."
The instant that smile appeared, Sōta's heart lurched. Heat rushed up his cheeks.
Even if he shut his eyes, even if he turned away, that smile burned itself into his mind.
As she stood, Yuna asked, "After all this talking, you must be thirsty. Want something to drink? Cola?"
"Y-Yes… yes, please…"
Even after she left the room, Sōta's face burned. His whole body sat stiff on the sofa. Just minutes ago he'd sat chatting with ease, but now he felt like he was sitting on needles. Every second stretched unbearably long.
Before, his mind had been filled only with Selesia's crushing defeat and ways to break the deadlock. Now there was only Yuna's fleeting smile. Probably for the best—at least he wasn't eating himself alive anymore.
Shaking his head, he glanced around, desperate to steady himself. That was when he saw Van Gogh painting.
Curiosity pulled him closer. He craned his neck to see what she was working on.
On the canvas stretched a field of gold—wheat. Warm yellows, deep yellows, gleaming golds, filling two-thirds of the painting.
Above the wheat loomed a sky of dark blues and blacks, heavy and oppressive. Just pigment on canvas, yet it pressed down like stormclouds, sinking into the heart.
In the wheat stood a lone figure. No face—just black. Lines of ink, countless, layered, twisting, forming something grotesque. When Sōta stared at it, the lines began to writhe, making the figure dance a warped, unnatural dance.
The painting's pull deepened. His mind grew hazy. His eyes locked, unable to blink. He couldn't look away.
And then—the figure in the wheat began to change. No longer shadow. It grew eyes. Nose. Mouth. Skin. Clothes. It smiled at him from beyond the frame.
And Sōta—
He blinked awake inside the painting. His feet on golden wheat. Above him a sky stained black with ink, heavy with rain.
...
"Wha—Jason?! Is he for real?! This clown is a Heroic Spirit? Engraved in human history? And these amazing heroes followed him? Why?! Why would someone like Heracles obey this guy?! Hey, Sōta, explain—what's the deal with Jason and the Argo crew?!"
Sōta jolted as if waking from a long dream. His eyes were fogged, memories fragmented. Reality and dream tangled.
"C'mon, tell me about the Argo! Medea, Atalanta, Heracles—top-tier Servants, right? How'd a loser like Jason become their captain? I don't see any charisma there at all!"
Rui suddenly leaned close, arm slung around his neck, manga in the other hand—FGO's "Sealed End of the Four Seas" arc.
Sōta's daze slowly cleared. He blinked at Rui in confusion.
Wasn't he just sitting on the couch reading? When did he get over here?
"Why aren't you saying anything, Sōta?"
Before Sōta could answer, Rui's eyes caught Van Gogh's canvas.
"Whoa—Van Gogh, you finished?"
"…Not yet. It's still missing one last step. But maybe… I could call it finished too? Ehehe… The last step… the paint's missing."
"Paint?"
Rui blinked, glancing at the paints beside her. "You've got plenty, don't you?"
"…A very special paint. Van Gogh doesn't have it here."
Her voice dropped low. "And Yuna won't let me… use it. Ehehe. Sorry. Forget I said anything…"
What kind of paint would Yuna forbid? Was it expensive? Dangerous? Rui didn't know, but he could see how much Yuna worried for Van Gogh. He let it go.
Instead he rubbed his hands, eyes gleaming. "Van Gogh, can we see your painting?"
Her eyes lit faintly brighter. "Of course… if someone wants to see… Van Gogh is very happy!"
Just then Yuna returned with drinks.
"Van Gogh, you're finished?"
"Yuna! Look! They want to see my painting! They asked for it! Not me pushing it at them, but them coming to me! Ehehe…"
"That's wonderful."
Yuna's eyes softened, genuinely pleased for her.
Neither Rui nor Sōta knew anything about "artistic value." But Van Gogh's paintings didn't need theory. They struck straight at the soul.
"Amazing…"
Sōta breathed without thinking. He couldn't say why, but the painting captivated him, irresistibly.
"I thought Van Gogh was already amazing in manga. But this? This is real art." Rui rubbed his chin. "I'm no expert, but I'd say her work belongs in a museum."
"I feel the same," Sōta added. He turned to her. "Even if you never made manga—just painting—you'd be just as successful."
It was praise. Recognition. Yet Van Gogh visibly wilted. Even her little "ehehe" sounded drained.
Puzzled, the others turned to Yuna. She scratched her cheek awkwardly.
"Actually… Van Gogh didn't start as a mangaka. Back then, she only painted. Oils, ink, that kind of thing. She was broke, unstable income, trying to live off her paintings…"
"…And then?" Rui pressed.
Clearly, something had gone wrong. Otherwise, how had the world never heard of her?
A laugh spilled out—dark, eerie, soaked in despair.
Her lips smiled, but her eyes did not. Grey and dull, drained of color.
"Ehehe… They all said my paintings were clumsy imitations of the Van Gogh. Nothing of my own. Ah, but Van Gogh likes Van Gogh's art too. Shouldn't I be happy they loved his work so much? Ehehe… I laughed…"
Her voice faltered. She bowed her head, hiding her face.
"Sorry. That was a lie. I wasn't happy. It hurt. I was jealous… I painted so seriously. Was that worth nothing? They said my art had no value… always worthless… always, always worthless… ehehe…"
Her words, heavy with resentment, left Rui and Sōta silent, lips twitching helplessly.
They turned to Yuna—who only shrugged, powerless.
Night had fallen. It was time to leave. Sōta had to go home. Rui couldn't stay either.
Since Rui hadn't finished the manga, Yuna lent him a few volumes to take.
But before leaving, Sōta did something that stunned everyone.
"Eh? Ehh?!"
Van Gogh's voice shook. "Y-you… want my painting?"
"Yes." Sōta's eyes were steady. "I know it's rude. But I really love your art, Van Gogh-sensei. Could I… could you gift me one of your works?"
His face was serious—no joke.
"I know if you sold it, it would fetch an outrageous price. But I'm just a student. I could never afford it. Yet… I truly want one. So…"
Her cheeks flushed crimson—tension and joy mixed.
"Th-thank you… for liking my work…"
Her eyes shimmered pink, starlight flickering. But then her brows knit.
"…But… I'm sorry. This one, I can't give."
The words struck him. His face fell.
"…I see. I was being presumptuous…"
"No! Not like that! Just… not this one!"
Panicked by his dejection, Van Gogh flailed to explain. "This one's only a whimsy… maybe not fit to give away. But—but! I can paint another!"
And then she smiled—bright as sunflowers, radiant with hope.
"Yes… I will paint it. A work worthy of being loved. A painting that satisfies everyone. Then I'll gift that painting to you, with my own hands."
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T/N: im back, did a poll on my patreon on the new schedule and releases for webnovel so yeah
beep boop