Rita's brain short-circuited.
She had barely recovered from the sight of Mashiro barging in earlier—only for the girl to now unleash that move with practiced ease. Her delicate fingers, pale and graceful like sculpted white jade, formed gestures so skillful and precise it left Rita stunned.
And it wasn't just the technique.
There was something absurdly enchanting in the way Mashiro combined innocent beauty with a sort of mischievous boldness. The contrast between purity and provocation made Rita's cheeks flush with frustration.
"Ma... Mashiro?!"
"You… what on earth are you doing!?"
Rita's voice cracked as she questioned her sanity. Her eyes filled with tears—tears of disbelief, of helplessness, and of sourness so strong she could practically taste lemon juice in her throat.
"Hmph…" Mashiro turned to her, tilting her head slightly with that blank, unbothered expression. "Can't you tell? Mashiro is showing… that Nozomi belongs to her."
Rita gawked.
Mashiro raised her chin with quiet confidence. "Anyway, Mashiro's not going back to England. She's going to stay here and keep drawing manga."
"So, Rita, you should go back alone."
Rita's hand flew to her mouth as her chest tightened. She didn't respond right away—just stood there, stunned, heart aching.
That stupid man… Nozomi.
What had he done to make Mashiro this attached?
She was supposed to be the one Mashiro trusted most. From the beginning, it was always the two of them. Always Rita and Mashiro. She had been by her side through sleepless nights and endless deadlines.
So why now?
Why did it feel like Mashiro was slipping away?
"I'm not going back," Rita finally snapped, her voice trembling. "I'll bring you back myself, Mashiro!"
She took a deep breath and pointed firmly. "And if you don't want Mr. Nozomi to be snatched away by me, then you better listen up! Don't waste your talent on this! Your fingers—those hands—they were meant for more than this kind of nonsense!"
Mashiro blinked.
Then, without a word, she doubled down on her mysterious 'claiming' technique.
"No... wait, don't—!" Rita panicked, eyes wide.
But Mashiro remained calm and soft-spoken, even as her cheeks flushed slightly. "Maybe… Rita is right. A lot of people do expect great things from my art."
She paused, her voice suddenly distant. "But… this isn't what I really want anymore."
"I want to draw manga."
The quiet confession lingered in the air.
Mashiro's thoughts drifted back—back to the beginning, when this whole dream started.
She had been painting in silence, as always. Rita had been beside her, supporting her as she always did. But then, that day, Mashiro noticed something different. Rita was reading manga on her tablet—and smiling.
A smile unlike any she had seen before.
It wasn't the polite smile she wore during interviews, or the tired one she gave during gallery showings.
It was real. Bright. Free.
When asked, Rita had kindly explained what manga was, even showing Mashiro the silly pages that made her laugh. Mashiro didn't understand all the jokes, but what she did understand was this:
She wanted to create something that made Rita smile like that.
So, she asked Rita to help her learn. Rita taught her how to draw digitally, showed her panels, screentones, and storyboards.
And in her heart, Mashiro believed—Rita supported her dream too.
Back in the present, Mashiro stood her ground.
"Rita, I'm staying," she said calmly. "If you want to stay too, that's your choice."
Rita's fists clenched. "Then I'll stay right here. Even if it means sleeping in Nozomi's room, I'll wait—until you agree to come back with me."
Mashiro froze for a moment, then narrowed her eyes slightly, as if accepting a challenge. "Fine. Mashiro still won't go back."
Then she spun on her heel and marched out of the room.
Rita was left standing in stunned silence, cheeks burning, eyes trembling with a thousand emotions as she turned to glance at Nozomi, still asleep and blissfully unaware of the emotional war erupting around him.
Outside the door, Mashiro touched her flushed cheek lightly.
Mission… successful.
If Rita refused to return home alone, then she'd have to stay. And if she stayed, she'd be here. With Mashiro. Where she belonged.
Back in the room, Rita's chest rose and fell shakily as she stared in the direction Mashiro had gone. Her vision blurred with moisture.
"Why…?" she murmured under her breath. "I was the one who was always by your side first…"
Yet now, for the sake of a guy who already had a girlfriend, Mashiro was throwing everything away.
Her future. Her talent. Her career.
For manga?
It was Mashiro—Mashiro of all people—who had made Rita give up painting years ago. Her brilliance was so overwhelming that Rita, even after years of trying to keep up, had been utterly crushed by the weight of comparison.
And now… that very same Mashiro had cast aside that divine talent—just to draw manga?
"Is manga really worth it?" Rita whispered bitterly, her fists clenched.
Her eyes slowly drifted toward Nozomi's sleeping figure.
She narrowed them.
Then—twist.
Her hand shot out and pinched his waist with a precision honed by frustration and sisterly vengeance.
"How long are you going to keep pretending to sleep, you shameless pervert?" she snapped.
"You're the one who taught Mashiro all these weird things!"
Nozomi flinched and groaned, brushing away her fingers as he opened one eye reluctantly.
"I didn't teach her anything," he said, rubbing his side. "She learned that from reading strange manga on her own. Don't pin this on me."
"And besides," he added with a faint smirk, "do you really have the right to blame me? If we're talking about who raised Mashiro into an innocent disaster… it's you, isn't it?"
Rita blinked, offended.
"What did you say?"
Nozomi sighed dramatically. "I mean, come on. You've been with her for over a decade, haven't you? And you never once taught her about life beyond painting. Isn't that why she's so clueless about everything else now?"
"I wanted to teach her!" Rita shot back, face red with a mix of anger and shame. "But her family wouldn't let me! They ordered me to keep her focused solely on painting, to keep her world pure and undistracted."
Her voice cracked as she spoke, emotion slipping through the cracks of her usual calm.
"My grandfather… he wouldn't allow it. He said Mashiro had to stay single-minded. That any outside influence could ruin her gift."
Nozomi studied her carefully.
"I see," he said at last. "So that's the real reason."
Rita bit her lip.
"But I still wonder," Nozomi continued, his tone quieter now, "was it really only because of them? Or… was a part of you also afraid? Afraid of how far ahead Mashiro would go if she learned anything beyond what you had?"
Rita's eyes widened.
"You think I'm jealous of Mashiro?"
"Aren't you?" he said calmly. "You gave up painting altogether. I did my research, Rita. Since Mashiro and I got close, I looked into the people around her. You used to be an artist too, didn't you?"
Her face froze.
"I… I won't deny it," she murmured. "I gave up painting. Her talent—it was too overwhelming. I couldn't stand it."
"But even so, I never wanted her to waste that gift! That's why I came here. To bring her back. To remind her of who she was."
She took a step forward, meeting Nozomi's gaze head-on.
"You don't understand what her hands are capable of. Those fingertips were born to change the art world."
Nozomi listened silently, then nodded.
"I believe you, Miss Rita," he said. "It's clear how much you care about her. Anyone could see that."
"But you've seen it too, haven't you?"
"She doesn't want to go back."
Rita's lips parted, but no words came out.
"No matter how talented she is," Nozomi went on, "if she's not happy, then that talent won't shine. You said it yourself—painting requires complete focus. How do you expect her to keep painting if her heart's somewhere else?"
"She's not just drawing manga for fun. She wants this. She's happy. Probably the happiest she's ever been."
He stood, stretching lazily and pulling his shirt down as he straightened up.
"If you take her away now, can you honestly say she'll be able to paint like before? Can you really force her into a life she no longer wants?"
Rita said nothing.
The answer was there. Heavy. Unavoidable.
He was right.
Even if she dragged Mashiro back, the fire in her wouldn't burn the same way. Her heart would remain with her manga—always.
"Think about it," Nozomi said, waving as he headed toward the bathroom. "You owe it to her."
He got dressed, grabbed his bag, and walked out, tossing one last line over his shoulder:
"I've got class. No time to bicker with beautiful Onee-sans this morning."
The door closed behind him.
And Rita stood alone, her heart in turmoil.