Dungeon Streaming in a Chastity-Reversed World with 1:99 Male-to-Female Ratio! I Might Be a Rare Man, But I’ll Risk My Life to Find a Wife! - 32

Chapter 32: The Woman Who Paints and the Man Who Is Painted

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

“Fwaaah~”

“Sendo-san.”

“Yeees, sorryyy.”

After school in the art room. Out of the eight art club members, a tall girl let out a languid yawn. When glared at by the art club advisor, Hojo, she scratched at her short, bluish-tinted hair while apologizing. She was a second-year in Class 9, Sendo Sena.

Because of her 175-centimeter height, she was in high demand for sports clubs and even the Adventurer Club, but heaven had given her not just one or two gifts—she also showed talent in art. She had the talent, but… The problem was her motivation.

Since Sena was basically the type to get fired up easily and cool off just as fast, Hojo had a hard time keeping her motivated. Sena herself wanted to do something about her fickle personality. But that feeling, too, cooled quickly, and she found herself repeating the cycle of burning with a little passion, losing it, and then feeling disappointed in herself.

“Ah, Sensei. It’s about time, so I’ll be excusing myself.”

Sena stood up, towering over Hojo as she bowed, then quickly began packing up to leave.

“Hey, wait! Sendo-san! You’d better decide soon on what piece you’re entering for the competition!”

At the voice that chased after her from the art room, Sena furrowed her brow. It wasn’t that she hated art. Compared to sports or adventuring, it even felt enjoyable. But somewhere inside, she couldn’t bring herself to take it seriously.

She stared at her reflection in the hallway window, at her faded bluish hair. When she had first dyed it a vivid blue, her class had been excited, and she herself had felt a thrill. But before long, that too cooled off. Now all she saw was her own sleepy, jaded eyes staring back.

She wondered how she could lift up this sinking feeling, like emotions sinking deep into a dark ocean. As the reflection of herself in the glass seemed to fade thinner and thinner, Sena gave up on thinking and began walking absentmindedly.

From a young age, Sena had always been taller than her peers. Perhaps due to the Year 2000 Disaster, the old idea of men being taller than women was no longer the norm, but even so, she had never once met another student at school taller than herself. 

Looking down at others made them appear so childish, and she grew used to seeing things only from her perspective. Over time, she became somewhat detached, as though viewing life from above. The one who gave her a new spark of heat was a boy who stood at her same eye level.

“Nice to meet you! My name’s Ittou Itsukushima!”

A boy from the countryside. He had something the other boys at the academy didn’t. His build was slim, but it carried a sense of well-trained muscle, and every one of his movements looked refined. Sena felt something heat up inside her.

And then—the glimpse of Ittou’s bare body when he hastily changed his clothes, his stance inside the dungeon. Every bit of it was new, striking her heart like a thunderbolt.

A body as beautiful as a sculpture. A sculpture’s body was something crafted by an artist.

But Ittou’s body had been forged by his own will and his environment, with real life dwelling inside it. People said that great works of art carried life within them, and Sena herself had once been moved by that idea. But now, faced with a living artwork of flesh and blood, a single thought consumed her:

I want to create this body!

After burning Ittou’s form into her memory during dungeon training, Sena drew his body obsessively in her notebook afterward. From every angle. Adding imagination. Sometimes flat, sometimes exaggerated. And yet, she could never quite capture it. Her own lack of skill made her furious.

“Sorry, guys, I think I’ll head to the art club after all today.”

She told her friends, then hurried toward the art room.

“O-Okay! Um, Sena-chin! Can we all share those drawings of Ittou-kun’s body?”

“Sure!”

But to Sena, those immature sketches that failed to capture him held no interest. She wanted to create. That was all that mattered. Skipping the hangout she had planned, she strode into the art room. Sena usually only came once every two days, so when she appeared on her “day off,” Hojo blinked in surprise.

“S-Sendo-san? What are you—”

“Sensei, I want to get better…!”

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at Hojo with burning determination. All she wanted was to draw Ittou’s body. That single desire lit a fire in her. She sought advice from Hojo while drawing the form seared into her memory. The image she produced seemed as though it might leap off the page, so powerful that every art club member stared in awe.

“Sluuur—no, I mean! S-Sendo-san! Incredible! That dynamism! Wonderful!”

“…Grrr.”

“Huh?”

“Wrong! This isn’t it!!!”

Sena, trembling, suddenly glared at her work and tore it clean in two. Some students screamed, the art room erupting in chaos.

“Sendo-saaaan!?”

“No. This isn’t it. The divine body is far more… Beautiful!!”

“S-Seeendooo-san!!”

With wild eyes, Sena shredded the drawing into countless pieces, scattering them into the air. Her fellow club members scrambled to gather the fragments, beginning an impossible puzzle in tears. Ignoring the panicked Hojo, Sena turned back to the canvas. Later, her classmates would say she looked like a demon on the battlefield.

From that day forward, Sena came to the art room every day, seizing every chance to train her skills under Hojo. But the more time passed, the more she came to see Ittou’s depth and greatness, and the higher her goal soared. Create, despair. Create, despair. That was her cycle.

Incidentally, the works she produced were spared destruction—the club members decided ownership via rock-paper-scissors tournaments. One day, a bad rumor about Ittou spread through her class LIME chat.

“Hah? No way. That’s impossible.”

Sena could not forgive seeing the boy she intended to capture for all eternity belittled unfairly. That night, with an expression like a noh mask, she kept on drawing.

The next morning, Sena arrived at school early for the first time. Her classmates, used to her being the last to arrive, were all shocked. But without paying them any mind, Sena handed each of them a sheet of paper, saying only one thing.

“Believe in God.”

Her eyes were clearly gone, but without comment the girls all stared at what she gave them: a picture of Ittou with a gentle smile. For some reason, he wore nothing but a scrap of cloth. The image radiated pure goodness, the complete opposite of the rumors. Holding the picture, they all said the same words.

“We believe in God.”

Thus, apart from the Guardian Girls who had come with Ittou, most of the class was captivated by the god drawn by Sena’s hand. Later, when they saw the real Ittou, they snapped back to their senses, blushing at their overreaction and struggling to find the right moment to approach him.

Aaaaahhh! Why did I let anyone see something so immature!?

Sena regretted losing herself to anger. She clutched her tousled, pale-blue hair, realizing she had begun to feel cold self-disgust.

Ahh… I really am…

She was about to slump onto her cold desk when—smack!—someone struck her back. Startled, Sena shot up to find classmates surrounding her. They handed back the picture she had drawn with all her passion. Despite her fury that day, it was drawn with delicate, gentle strokes, carrying undeniable warmth, as though blood and heat flowed within it.

In that moment, she realized her classmates felt that heat too—and so did she. She stared at her hand. Faint stains of pencil and paint lingered. In the creases of her palm, cobalt blue remained—the color she had used to express Ittou’s deep kindness. Blue and burning.

Clutching that color tightly, Sena rose to her feet. The heat inside her shocked even herself. Behind her stood her classmates. She had never imagined she could stand at the front. But this was the one thing she would not yield. The closer she came to Ittou, the more her heart pounded.

She wanted to tell him. Her feelings overflowed. When she finally reached Ittou, she opened her mouth, heat still blazing within her.

“…W-We’re on your side too, Itsukushima-kun! Don’t you forget that!”

She had never imagined such words could come from her. Even she thought they sounded unbelievable. But Ittou was happy. He accepted them. It reached him. That alone was enough.

That day, for the first time, Sena exchanged words with Ittou. She poured his voice, his sound, into her art. The picture completed then was named God, and it was her greatest masterpiece. At the time.

Sena looked down at her hands and clenched them tight. The heat still remained. Once again, she turned toward the canvas. With the blue flame inside her, kindled by him, Sena faced forward without hesitation.

The art club members gazed at her back with burning eyes, preparing to enshrine her new work at the altar in the art preparation room.

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー