Chapter 94: Akira and Aoi, Alone…

Saturday morning arrived with clear skies and the promise of a productive day.

Akira made his way to the school’s art room at 9 AM sharp, carrying a backpack with water bottles and snacks. The building felt different on weekends… quieter, almost peaceful, without the usual chaos of hundreds of students.

A few SPIU agents were still around, patrolling following the fire gate incident, but nothing out of the ordinary.

The art room door was already unlocked when he arrived.

Inside, Aoi was setting up supplies, wearing paint-splattered jeans and a loose white button-up shirt that was clearly well-worn from previous projects.

Her usually neat blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, though a few loose strands framed her face, giving her a softer, more approachable look than her typical class representative persona.

“Good morning, Akira-kun!” She looked up as he entered, her face lighting up with a genuine smile. “I brought sketches of my ideas. I hope you’ll like them.”

She spread out several detailed drawings across a nearby table. Akira leaned in to examine them, and his eyebrows rose in genuine surprise.

The sketches showed a mystical forest scene: old, twisted trees with thick roots, bioluminescent mushrooms that gave off a soft glow, hidden fairy rings in the plants, and paths that seemed to lead to other worlds.

“This is incredible, Aoi,” he said, meaning every word. “You have real talent. These could be illustrations in a professional fantasy novel.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she tucked one of those loose strands behind her ear… a nervous gesture he was starting to recognise. “I… I’ve been working on fantasy art for a while. It’s a hobby. Something I do when I need to escape from… everything else.”

“Well, your hobby is impressive. The Cultural Festival committee made the right choice, asking you to lead this.”

“Asking us,” she corrected softly. “You’re here too, which means I won’t have to do all the heavy lifting alone.”

They spent the next hour preparing the massive canvas: a 12-metre stretch of white fabric mounted against the back wall of the art room. It was intimidating in its sheer size, but Aoi had a clear vision, and her enthusiasm was infectious.

As they sketched out the basic composition with charcoal, conversation flowed naturally between them.

“So what kind of books do you like?” Aoi asked, carefully marking the placement of the largest tree.

“Fantasy, mostly. Some sci-fi. Anything with good world-building.” Akira worked on the opposite side, mirroring her marks. “You?”

“Romance,” Aoi said, then quickly added, “And fantasy. Fantasy romance, I guess.”

“Romance?” Akira raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the romance type.”

Her cheeks flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad. Just… you’re always so serious. Class representative, top grades, everything perfectly organized. Romance novels don’t really fit that image.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why I read them,” she said quietly, moving to a different section of the canvas. “Because my real life is so controlled and structured. The books let me escape to places where things are messy and passionate and… unpredictable.”

“Fair enough. What kind of romance, though? There’s like a thousand subgenres.”

Aoi was silent for a moment, her charcoal frozen against the canvas. Then, so quietly he almost didn’t hear: “Paranormal. Shifters, mostly. Werewolves.”

“Werewolves?” Akira couldn’t help but grin. “Really?”

“Don’t judge me!” Her face was bright red now. “They’re… compelling. The whole alpha dynamic, the pack bonds, the fated mates thing…”

“I’m not judging. Just surprised. What else?”

She hesitated, clearly debating whether to continue this conversation. “Reverse harem.”

“Reverse harem?”

“Where the female protagonist has multiple love interests. They all want her, they all protect her, and she doesn’t have to choose just one.” Aoi’s voice was getting smaller with each word. “It’s fantasy, obviously. Not realistic at all.”

“But appealing?”

“Very.” She turned to look at him, and there was something defiant in her expression now, as if daring him to mock her. “And since we’re apparently being honest about embarrassing things… yes, some of them are erotica. Explicit. Very explicit.”

Akira blinked, genuinely taken aback. The prim and proper class representative Aoi Saito read explicit werewolf reverse harem erotica. It was really hard to believe.

“That’s… actually kind of amazing,” he said finally.

“Amazing?” She looked suspicious. “You’re not going to laugh?”

“Why would I laugh? You have secret depths, Aoi. Hidden desires that no one suspects. That’s way more interesting than being exactly what everyone expects you to be.” He went back to his sketching. “Besides, everyone has their escape. Yours just happens to involve alpha werewolves and multiple love interests. Could be worse.”

“Could be worse,” she echoed, sounding relieved and slightly incredulous. “You’re really not weirded out?”

“Not even a little. If anything, it makes sense. Your whole life is about control and expectations. Reading about characters who get to be selfish, who get to have everything and everyone they want without apologizing for it… yeah, I get the appeal.”

Aoi stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. “You really are different, Akira-kun. Most people would judge. Would call it silly or inappropriate.”

“Most people are boring.”

She smiled a real, genuine smile that transformed her usually serious face. “Thank you. For not being boring.”

They continued working in comfortable silence, but something had changed between them.

After a while, Akira asked. “When you say your life is controlled, what do you mean?”

She was quiet for a moment, focused on her sketch. “My parents. They have my entire life planned out. Medical school, residency, and eventually taking over my father’s practice. They don’t see art as anything more than a distraction. A waste of time.”

“That sounds suffocating.”

“It is.” She moved to a different section of the canvas. “But they mean well. They want me to be successful, to have a stable future. Art doesn’t pay the bills, they say. Art doesn’t save lives.”

“But it does,” Akira said. “Maybe not in the same way as medicine, but it saves people nonetheless. Gives them something to believe in, something beautiful to hold onto when everything else is falling apart.”

Aoi stopped sketching and looked at him, her eyes wide. “You really believe that?”

“I do. I’ve seen what happens when people lose hope, when they have nothing beautiful left in their lives. It destroys them.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. “You’re different, Akira-kun. I don’t know, but you seem deeper than you let people see.”

“People change,” he said simply. “I hit rock bottom not too long ago. Decided I didn’t want to stay there. So I started working on becoming someone I could actually respect.”

“Is that why you transformed so dramatically? The workouts, the confidence, everything?”

“Part of it. The rest is just… learning to stop caring what everyone else thinks. Living for myself instead of for their expectations.”

Aoi nodded slowly, absorbing his words. There was something wistful in her expression, as if she was imagining what that kind of freedom might feel like.

Around noon, they took a break. Aoi pulled out two carefully wrapped bento boxes from her bag.

“I brought lunch,” she said, sounding almost shy about it. “Mei-san actually helped me prepare them yesterday. She said you’d probably forget to eat if left to your own devices.”

Akira laughed. “She’s not wrong. Thanks, Aoi. You didn’t have to go through that trouble.”

“It wasn’t trouble.” She handed him one of the boxes. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so Mei-san and I made a variety. I hope it’s okay.”

Inside was an impressive spread: rice balls with different fillings, grilled salmon, pickled vegetables, tamagoyaki, and even some fresh fruit. It was clearly made with care and attention to detail.

“This is amazing,” Akira said, genuinely touched by the gesture. “You and Mei-san went all out.”

“Well, Mei-san did most of the work. I just helped with the prep.” Aoi opened her own box, which was identical to his. “But I wanted to contribute something. You’re giving up your Saturday to help me with this project, after all.”

They ate together in comfortable silence, sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall, looking up at the massive blank canvas ahead of them.

The domestic intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on Akira… sharing a meal she’d helped prepare, working together on something creative, opening up about their lives and dreams.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Aoi said after a while.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep