I Risked My Life To Save The Cheeky Girl, And As A Result, I Lost My Right Arm.

The Third is an Artist (Part 1)

During the fourth period, in art class. Our teacher, Murakami sensei, stood in front of the blackboard in the art room, adjusting his glasses before addressing us.

“We will be handing out a piece of drawing paper to each of you, and I’d like you to draw a self-portrait on it.”

Murakami sensei turned around, wrote the phrase “Express your individuality” on the blackboard with chalk, and continued.

“Today’s fourth period is the last art class for second-year students. I encourage you to express your unique selves freely. The drawings you create will be displayed in this art room for a while.”

With that, the teacher distributed a sheet of drawing paper and a small mirror to each of us. Everyone began drawing their self-portraits using paints or colored pencils they had.

“Whoa! Your self-portrait looks awful!”
“Hey, you just don’t get it! This is the kind of art that’s in style these days!”
“Hey, Miki-chan! Do you have orange paint?”

“Yeah! Want to borrow it?”

Amid the noisy chatter in the art room, I sat alone, frozen with a pencil in hand.

The blank sheet of paper remained untouched. I tried sketching lines several times, but each time I disliked it and erased them, leaving behind only an increasing pile of eraser shavings.

The pencil wouldn’t move as I wanted it to, and each failure frustrated me more. I couldn’t stop clicking my tongue in annoyance.

“Tchh! Damn it!”

On my seventh erasure, my irritation turned into a quiet outburst.

The constant switching between pencil and eraser was tiring my left arm, and as time passed, my mood sank even further.

(huuhhh… Maybe I should just do something half-hearted. It’s not like I can draw a good picture with just one arm.)

While I began to give up on myself, the teacher was walking around, peeking at the drawings of other students.

“Wow, this is really well done. The way you’ve used blue is beautiful.”

He stood next to a girl, smiling as he spoke.

“I really love blue, so I used it for my hair and skin too.”

“That’s great, feel free to use any colors you like. Express your own unique beauty.”

As I overheard their conversation, something about the teacher’s words lingered in my mind.

“Express your own unique beauty.” …It almost felt like he was telling me not to draw anything that wasn’t beautiful.

I wasn’t sure if that was his intention, but that’s how I took it.

At that moment, I was probably feeling frustrated and twisted in my thoughts. The teacher’s words hit a nerve, and I decided, “If that’s the case, then I’ll draw something as ugly as possible.”

With a click of my tongue and unsteady hands, I used only a pencil and black paint to quickly sketch my self-portrait.

The outline was messy, and the overall vibe was unsettling. But this was all I could draw at the moment.

(This ugly thing is my face. Go ahead and tell me this is beautiful, teacher.)

I couldn’t draw a beautiful picture. I couldn’t capture a beautiful version of myself. So, I decided to go all the way and draw something ugly. Draw something filthy.

Because this… this is the real me.

***

For the first time in my life, I was completely absorbed in drawing. I lost track of time, moving the brush frantically, and somehow managed to finish the self-portrait.

(Ugh… this is such a disgusting drawing…)

But when I looked at the completed picture, my mind had calmed down significantly, and I was able to view my work objectively.

Honestly, it just looked strange.

If someone else had drawn this, I would have been a bit put off. It was that unsettling.

(I really don’t want to turn this in… I want to make it something at least somewhat presentable…)

However, I had no idea how to fix this filthy picture. As an amateur, I couldn’t even begin to imagine how to improve it.

(Well… maybe the black-and-white part is the problem. If I add some skin color, maybe make it a bit more colorful…)

As I thought this, I reached for the paintbrush.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

The chime signaling the end of class rang out.

I let out a silent sigh and stared at the embarrassing self-portrait I had drawn.

***

After lunch break, fifth period, and the usual cleaning session, the school day finally came to an end.

Classmates rushed out of the classroom, and the hallway was crowded with people, pushing and shoving like a giant group.

Cutting through the crowd, Hasegawa was waiting to pick me up. She stood by the classroom entrance, waiting for me.

“Sorry, Hasegawa. Just wait a second,” I said, waving at her as I shoved my textbooks and notes into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

Then, I jogged over to where Hasegawa was waiting.

“Sorry, Hasegawa. I made you wait.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not bothered at all,” she replied with a smile.

“Alright, let’s go home,” I said.

“Okay.”

Just as we were about to leave as usual, I heard a voice calling me from behind.

“Nakamura-kun, wait a second.”

Turning around, I saw Kurasaki-san standing there.

“Nakamura-kun, do you have any plans for today?”

“Today? No, nothing special,” I answered.

“Then, would you like to go hang out for a bit?”

“Eh?”

“There’s a new karaoke place near the school. If you’d like, would you come with us?”

“……”

“I’ve been invited by some other friends, and when I mentioned inviting you, they said it was fine. So, how about it, Nakamura-kun? Would you like to come with us?”

Hearing that, I glanced behind her. A few boys and girls were looking this way, and it seemed like they had invited Kurasaki-san, and she was now trying to include me in the group.

“……”

Karaoke, huh. Now that I think about it, I haven’t gone in a long time. It could be a good change of pace, and I do kind of want to go… but if I agree, it’ll mean Hasegawa will automatically come along too.

For Hasegawa, being around older people she doesn’t know, especially in a karaoke setting, would likely be uncomfortable. If I think about her feelings, it might be best to turn down the invitation.

“That’s fine, senpai. Don’t worry about me,” Hasegawa said, almost as if she could read my thoughts.

“But Hasegawa, isn’t it a bit awkward for just a junior to be there?” I asked.

“It’s fine. I’ll just be a decoration,” she replied with a smile.

“Decoration…?”

“I’m here to take care of you, senpai. I can’t leave you alone.”

“……”

Listening to our conversation, Kurasaki-san interrupted with a “Hey, Nakamura-kun.”

“Since Hasegawa-chan said it’s fine, why don’t you come with us? Right?”

“Well, that’s true, but…”

“I’m sure it’ll be fun if we all go together. And if it’s karaoke, I think you’d be able to enjoy it without any trouble.”

“……”

What Kurasaki-san said was true; karaoke is something you can do even with one arm. All you really need is an arm to hold the microphone.

…Even so, I hesitated to accept Kurasaki-san’s invitation.

‘Please, make it twisted.’

Hasegawa’s words from this morning, so filled with sorrow, echoed in the back of my mind.

After hearing such a sad request, it was hard for me to simply accept the invitation. I didn’t want to leave her behind.

‘I’ll do my best, so that you can be happy, Nakamura-kun.’

But at the same time, rejecting Kurasaki-san’s invitation felt painful as well.

She was trying, in her own way, to cheer me up. Even just accepting that was something I felt sorry for, and refusing her invitation would only multiply that feeling of guilt.

What should I do? What should I say…?

Caught between two people with opposing perspectives and personalities, I was struggling to find an answer when, just then…

“Nakamura Reijiro… is that you?”

A voice called from the other side of the hallway.

I looked toward the sound, and a girl I didn’t recognize was walking toward me.

She had short blue hair, with her left eye partially hidden by her bangs. She had a cute face but carried a somewhat androgynous aura.

Her figure was slender and tall, about the same height as me, which only enhanced the androgynous vibe she gave off.

“U-Um, who are you?”

When I asked this, the girl smiled brightly and held up a sheet of drawing paper right in front of me.

It was the portrait I had drawn during fourth-period art class.

“You’re the one who drew this, right? Nakamura-kun.”

Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm as she asked, and I, overwhelmed by her energy, stammered out a reply.