Vol 2 Chapter 49 – Direct Negotiations

Deciding it wouldn’t make a good impression to just show up unannounced, Takahashi-buchou made an appointment with Torako-san’s mother.

The reply was, “I am not free after school on weekdays or on Sundays. Please come on Saturday.”

In any case, the six of us, including Torako-san, loudly brainstormed ideas like in a business meeting, and Takahashi-buchou neatly summarized them into a prepared response.

Well, as the main shield herself said, it’s best to leave it to Buchou, who has the best communication skills.

The rest depends on how much I can be of use.

“It’s an art school, but it’s small — like a cozy little culture center with at most a dozen students. We are, however, treated as a prep school for art colleges.”

Torako-san explained her living situation while walking ahead, guiding us along.

Toudou-san looked visibly puzzled.

“Excuse me for asking, but can you make a living off of that?”

“Not at all. I doubt it even covers half of our living expenses. Her main profession is actually painting — selling her artwork or taking commissions from patrons. That brings in the bulk of the income.”

If she can make a living off of that, that’s pretty impressive.

I was genuinely impressed, but…

“It’s become an era where it’s quite lucrative for manga and illustration artists to earn a stable monthly income through membership support sites or by taking individual commissions. Commercial work, whether for manga or light novel illustrators, isn’t stably profitable, and erotic doujin is honestly better.”

Toudou-san leaked the subtly dark reality of the otaku industry, and Buchou smacked her on the rear as if to say, “Don’t say unnecessary things.”

“But it’s the truth…”

“Even if it’s the truth, don’t say it.”

Well, I’ve heard that unless they sell explosively, manga artists don’t make much money relative to their struggles.

Chatting about such otaku trivia, the six of us walked together in a group and eventually arrived at Torako-san’s family home.

There was a small standing signboard that read “Tachibana Art School,” with the first and second floors serving as tenant spaces. It was a splendid little building, with the third and fourth floors serving as residential spaces.

“Otora, is your family rich? This is a nice house.”

“It’s a home built on a 35-year loan. We seem to be struggling with the monthly payments. Fortunately, even as a sole proprietor, perhaps due to the strong trust of her patrons, she passed the mortgage screening.”

Torako-chan answered Toudou-san’s blunt question flatly.

“My mother said that if all six of you are coming, we should meet in the art school. A wider space would be better.”

Torako-san opened the door to the art school, acting like the master of her own familiar domain.

There was a faint smell of paint — the subtle scent of preservatives in acrylic paints.

The first floor was a spacious atelier, the floor stained with marks of spilled paint. Rather than finding it dirty, I felt it was somewhat artistic, my heart pounding as if I were breathing in a perfectly harmonized atmosphere.

A voice echoed through the atelier.

A woman roughly the same age as my own mother, who had been painting, turned around.

“Welcome. Welcome to my atelier. Is an introduction necessary?”

It was Torako-san’s mother’s voice.

She was dressed in a painter’s apron that reached below her knees, with a slightly strict, sharp gaze. Her beauty, however, made her blood ties with Torako-san unmistakably clear.

It seemed she had just been in the middle of a painting session. On the canvas, a portrait of an elegant old woman was depicted.

“We’ve heard a lot about you from Torako-chan, but shall we do this properly? By the way, what are you painting right now?”

“A portrait for a wealthy patron. These days, it’s an era where people prefer leaving traditional, analog portraits for their descendants rather than photographs. I actually get quite a bit of this type of work.”

Most likely, this painting too was somewhat beautified or idealized rather than strictly realistic.

While making that assumption, I simply waited as Takahashi-buchou amiably nodded and chimed in.

“Well then, allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Takahashi Chihiro. On my left are Toudou Hatsune, Segawa Ryoune, Takakura Emma, and Kajiwara Ichirou. Well, there’s no need to memorize all our full names — you’re welcome to call us whatever you like.”

Following Buchou’s words, we all politely bowed our heads.

“My, my, thank you for the polite greeting. I am Tachibana Torako’s mother, Tachibana Ryuko.”

She also politely bowed her head.

Well, she is an art school teacher, after all. She was probably different from the eccentric painter I had been slightly worried about.

After a short pause, we raised our heads at the same time.

“So, regarding the reason for our visit today — I hear that Torako-chan’s mother is opposed to her joining our Modern Culture Research Club?”

“Yes, I am here today fully intending to flatly refuse it.”

Yep, starting off with a stance of rejection.

Even while stating it clearly, her manners remained thoroughly polite. She didn’t seem like someone you couldn’t reason with, though?

“To ask frankly, we heard from Torako-chan that you are a closet otaku. Are you still opposed despite that?”

“I’d say I’m opposed because I know the industry — or rather, I’m opposed because of the painful experiences I’ve had as a closet otaku. You could also say my daughter’s motives for participating are far too impure. The reasons for my opposition are complex and numerous.”

That was exactly what we wanted to know. Would the answers we prepared in advance be correct?

I didn’t know if they would get through to Torako-san’s mother, but…

“Even if it’s just a provisional membership?”

“There’s actually an aspect of me opposing it because it’s a half-hearted provisional membership. If this child had naturally been an otaku since childhood, awakened as an otaku, and then joined your Modern Culture Research Club… If she had lived in the school caste known as ‘nerds’ right from the start. If that were the case, I would have had no room to object.”

Her mother — Ryuko-san — was essentially saying that it would have been fine if she had naturally awakened as an otaku on her own.

“The circumstances are different. I raised this child with the intention of sparing her, as much as possible, from the kind of painful persecution I experienced during my otaku days. I raised her desperately in my own way so she would be accustomed to interacting with people. A long time ago, whether it was Natsume Soseki or Osamu Dazai, reading novels was considered in bad taste and something that would make you stupid. Almost every culture, in the process of maturing, has to face various prejudices and persecution before permeating society and becoming general knowledge. Now, with that in mind, I ask you: is otaku culture truly accepted in society today?”

Ryuko-san must have gone through something awful — like when I was a kid in my previous life, reading a card game magazine and being mocked by everyone around me for being creepy.

Like how juvenile light novels were despised as something read by repulsive, perverted otaku.

She seemed to have tasted an experience far worse than that.

And regarding prejudice against otaku, she was saying the exact same argument that Segawa-san had proposed as persuasion material.

“I believe it has been accepted?”

Buchou was at a loss for an answer, unintentionally showing that, at the very least, she herself hadn’t suffered persecution.

“Is it respected more than playing the piano? Is it respected more than painting in oils or watercolors? A certain manga character once said that creating beauty from nothing is the greatest ability bestowed upon humanity, and I strongly agree with that. But even within that beauty, clear lines are drawn between noble and lowly genres. I wonder what the true public evaluation of manga artists and light novel illustrators is?”

In short, such public misunderstanding has softened in the Reiwa era.

The theory and response we prepared to persuade her.

Knowing all of that full well, Ryuko-san was still opposing it.

“That is — forgive my insolence, but in short, Mother, you…”

“Ryuko is fine.”

“Um, Ryuko-san, do you want Torako-chan to graduate from a music or art college?”

Buchou showed a puzzled expression.

We had also factored in that possibility beforehand. However, Torako-san had said she was never forced to choose such a path.

“Even if you work yourself to death, if you have bad luck, an artist cannot make a living, so I don’t recommend it. This is a path permitted only to the wealthy, whose families have deep pockets and economic capital, and who can casually bestow cultural capital upon their children. We don’t have that much wealth.”

It was a sad reality — I couldn’t help thinking Ryuko-san must have worked herself to death too.

“I suffered to death, too. I cannot recommend this path at all. I sincerely don’t want Torako to choose such a path.”

“But, Mom, you taught me how to paint.”

Torako-san pouted, looking somewhat unconvinced.

“That was nothing more than my selfishness as a mother. I just hoped — at the very least — I could leave you with even just one piece of cultural capital. I’m sorry.”

What a nice story. As a human being, I could honestly nod to that.

“I don’t think there’s anything you need to apologize for?”

I ended up involuntarily interjecting from the side.

“No, I believe I instilled halfway-decent basics into her. This is my mistake.”

She seemed somewhat self-punishing and pessimistic. Regardless of Ryuko-san’s way of thinking, I didn’t dislike her as a person — she could think carefully and logically.

But that’s beside the point.

“I understand well that you grasp reality far better than we imagined, Ryuko-san. But, well, what should I say?”

“However, well — how should I say this. As I said before, it’s a complex set of reasons. Takahashi-san, I am a closet otaku. It seems I couldn’t completely hide it from my daughter, but I am a closet otaku. I read manga, enjoy light novels, and sometimes even participate in doujinshi conventions. I also know about the circle you are all active in.”

“Yes, we are truly grateful that you have purchased our amateurish creations.”

Takahashi-buchou honestly expressed her gratitude and nodded.

She also knows that the Modern Culture Research Club is conducting circle activities. She knows about us and is still rejecting the club application.

Ultimately, even if it’s complex, what is the cause?

That was Ryuko-san’s…

“While most people say they’ll draw or write a novel and do absolutely nothing, you all earnestly publish a doujinshi once a month and run a circle. And all the members participate. The quality isn’t low, either. You must have worked hard. Your unity must be strong. You all get along well, don’t you? Yet into that space, someone who isn’t even an otaku tries to shove her way in, entirely unabashedly and openly declaring that she’s only doing it to get a man.”

She had no prejudice against otaku — rather, she possessed more than enough understanding and an objective viewpoint.

She even held respect and goodwill toward the Modern Culture Research Club.

“As a result, using the cultural capital I gave her and her own lust, she overcame a test that was clearly designed to fail her. She’s like a beast lacking reason, entirely inconsiderate of other people’s circumstances. I certainly don’t recall raising such an embarrassing daughter. This crosses a line. What on earth are you thinking, Torako?”

Rather, her daughter’s actions themselves lacked respect for otaku activities and for other people. It was a truly rational perspective.

Wait, isn’t Ryuko-san’s opinion the right one…?

Amidst that drifting atmosphere —

“Don’t speak about someone like they’re absolutely flawless trash!”

Struck by the atmosphere of “wait, isn’t she actually doing something pretty trashy?”, Torako-san let out a scream.

Well, having it explained so logically made me feel like it really was no good. That’s just how it made me feel — I still plan to properly persuade Ryuko-san from here on.

Be that as it may, I really think she should reflect on the fact that she made such a logical and intelligent mother sad.

While thinking that, I mentally prepared myself to assist in the persuasion that Buchou was about to begin.