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The time had come. Spring break had ended, and it was time for students to return to their schooling. As students shuffled into Kosei High School, their conversations echoed through the corridors, each one melding with another. Complaints about the start of the new year and all the work it brought mingled alongside bragging about picturesque trips and otherworldly experiences. However, as a certain lanky student cut his way through the crowd, the murmurs couldn’t help but fixate on him.
Yusuke Kitagawa. Third year student. Student of Madarame— wait, no, ex-student now that the old man was locked behind bars. Despite the theatrical nature of the whole affair, many in their grade didn’t really care much for it, not after the initial shock wore off and their mouths had tired of whispering his name; after all, they had to prepare for third year, for the year in which they proved to universities that they were a worthy investment, and could be shaped into productive adults under their hand. There was no time for them to think about the pasts of others when their own futures were at stake.
Nonetheless, the name of Madarame still hung over Kitagawa like a spotlight. And how could it not, with how the old man’s influence bled from his every brushstroke and action? Was it not the reason why he shrugged off the company of others, not giving them the time of day as he single mindedly focused on his art? Nor why, despite all that, teachers and students still flocked to his pieces in amazement and jealousy? Sure, what Madarame had done was horrible, but it was undeniable that he had elevated Kitagawa to unreachable heights.
As he entered his new homeroom, all eyes were on him. What would he bring this year, the final year of his high school career? Would he exceed the class, raising their school’s reputation even further? Or would he fail, now that he was quickly approaching one year without his mentor’s guidance? No one else would want to support him, not with his outlandish personality. Only time would tell, and no matter which direction he took, the voices of Kosei were sure to let everyone else know.
As Thursday noon arrived, the students of class 3-B groaned. It was Mrs. Tsuyoshi’s class, and she, in her own words, “simply pushed everyone to succeed”. She woke up anyone who appeared to be dozing, smacking her pen on their desk to startle them awake. She called on students in the back row, often making examples out of them. One time, when she caught a repeat offender texting in class, she took his phone and threatened to read his texts to his girlfriend out loud to the entire class. Needless to say, everyone hated her class.
Thankfully for everyone else, today she found a new victim.
“Kitagawa! Don’t think I don’t see you! You know the drill, no phones in class.”
“Yes ma’am!” Kitagawa’s back shot straight up, as he clumsily shoved something into his desk.
Mrs. Tsuyoshi frowned before turning back to the board. “Now that I have your attention, please solve this derivation. Preferably without the help of… well, whoever it is that you’re texting.”
Everyone snickered. For Kitagawa, who often just spaced out in class, to be caught checking his phone and called out for it? Didn’t he know that he actually needed to pay attention in class, now that he was in third year? This content was sure to pop up on his entrance exams. But wait, no, he was so talented that art colleges just might overlook his subpar grades and his questionable socialization just to nurture his craft of drawing. Man, it must be nice to have been raised by a famous artist. Surely then even the most naturally untalented artist would have become the next Picasso. And not only would their skill be improved, but also their reputation; the sheer mention of Madarame’s name was usually enough to attract attention, especially after his misdeeds were revealed. To have been both taught and abused by such an esteemed artist, that was a heart wrenching story that would be sure to attract the hearts and minds of the college administrators.
“The solution is x + 2, is it not?”
“Why, indeed it is!” A grin blossomed on Mrs. Tsuyoshi’s face. “It looks like you’ve been studying!”
Wait, he answered the question correctly?
The mutters increased. Notes were passed. Where did he learn how to do that? Everyone knew that he barely paid any attention in class, and always used the time to daydream and work on sketches. No one would be surprised if it turned out that he paid someone to do his homework.
“Now, everyone,” Mrs. Tsuyoshi spoke, voice cutting through the soft undercurrent of murmurs, “I know it’s the last class of the day, but we still have a lot of content to cover. Unless you'd prefer to continue your chatter, and have me assign that content to your homework instead?”
The class fell silent. Please, no more homework, not on top of their ever-increasing workload from both high school and cram school.
Mrs. Tsuyoshi smiled, turning back to her board. “Alright. Let’s pick up from where we left off. Is anyone familiar with the chain rule?”
Since the start of the school year, Sakura from class 1-A had been reported to have been eating lunch alongside Kitagawa. At first, most had dismissed the rumors as simply an odd story some students came up with after being bored with the weekly gossip. After all, the eccentric painter and the shy first-year geek? Sure, they both had very odd attires, but the bright orange of Sakura’s hair clashed with Kitagawa’s odd but elegant style! They had nothing in common! However, as the school year proceeded, the two were spotted together, one time after another.
“Inari, you forgot your lunch again,” Sakura muttered, frowning as she pushed a lunchbox into Kitagawa’s hands. “At this rate, I’ll have to start feeding your portions to Sumire!”
“Ah, Futaba! Thanks for the food. I greatly appreciate it.”
“If you were really thankful, you would have remembered it in the first place. Man, I do everything for you, from bringing you food to teaching you math... Now, try the food! And tell me how good my cooking attempts are!”
The odd pair settled down at an outside table and started unpacking their lunches, smiling at each other as they babbled about their days. Featherman and painting techniques, “Ann” and “Ryuji” and “Makoto”. The conversation jerked around erratically as the two jumped from topic to another, like some kind of odd cipher.
In the shadows of the school gate, people whispered. Was Sakura his girlfriend? But such a short and uncoordinated girl didn’t deserve such a beautiful, talented boy. And wasn’t she held back for a year or something? How did someone like her attract his attention? Why couldn’t he have chosen one of them? Were their chocolates and love letters not enough? Nor the polite greetings, that were always met with half-hearted responses?
Others shook their heads, reassuring themselves that there was no way that Kitagawa would ever fall for a girl, especially one so unsightly and awkward and loud. So then, who was she? The sister of a paramour? A new roommate? Or perhaps even… a friend? But no, he was so cold, so aloof, it was impossible to hold a conversation without him turning the topic back to painting. It was a shame, he had so much skill, but alas, lacked any social tact. It was so bad that many had deemed his pieces to be impossible to sell, despite his obvious talent, as any future buyer would be put off by his personality.
The lunch bell rang, halting the speculation. Disappointed, the students went their separate ways, some to studio, others to classrooms, all breaking off into separate conversations that melded into the gossip of that day. But one thought echoed through everyone’s minds and whispers.
She couldn’t be a friend. There was no way Kitagawa could have a friend, not with how aloof and self-absorbed he is. A lover, maybe, as she would be blinded by looks and infatuation. But an honest-to-goodness friend, who brought him lunch and tutored him math just because she liked spending time with him?
To put it simply, that was impossible.
An odd thing happened in December. Hikari Watanabe, a bumbling, awkward fool in class 1-D, had apparently seen Kitagawa entering the planetarium. Insecure about the fact that she was by herself and not accompanied by her only friend, Arakawa Kazue, she had approached him gingerly and attempted to make small talk. Oddly enough, instead of brushing her off, or asking her to be his model, or the countless otherworldly actions that he was exponentially more likely to do, he actually replied to her feeble attempts. Not because they were really any good; anyone who’s ever heard of Watanabe knew she was awfully poor at communication, always stumbling over her words around anyone that wasn’t Arakawa. But despite all of that, aside from going off on unrelated tangents, the two odd people managed to hold a surprisingly… passable conversation. Apparently, it went so well that Watanabe almost asked him for his phone number. Everyone knew she was desperate for male attention, but to ask Kitagawa?
“But… but I couldn’t! Cause then this absolutely gorgeous, simply beautiful brown-haired boy walked in, and then stole him away from me!” She sighed, leaning on one hand while she used the other to poke at her food. “But he just scowled at me, and told Kitagawa that… well, he had better ways to spend his time. Which is a shame… He had such a pretty face too! Like, you could tell me he was on TV, and I wouldn’t question it. Actually, I might have seen him on screen a few times...”
She wished. There was no way that she would have met someone who was on screen. She was probably making it up, just to pique the other girl’s attention. Which it seemed to accomplish, based on how Arakawa learned further into the table. What a fool. She should know that someone as unpopular as Watanabe would make up such things, anything really, just to get some more attention.
“Oh, speak of the devil!” Watanabe suddenly stood up, waving wildly and half-shouting. “Kitagawa-kun! Do you want to sit with us?”
Halfway across the cafeteria, Kitagawa froze, staring with widened eyes at the girls. Of course. She was so loud, not even the most unpopular boy would want to take her up on her offer. Not even Kitagawa, who never sat with anyone from Kosei during his lunches, choosing instead to entertain either a canvas or, well, Sakura.
“Of course. I would love to join you.”
Was he that desperate now? Was Sakura, who was so dedicated to him that she had brought him food, fed up with him? Was that why he had to turn to Watanabe? Yeah, sure, Watanabe said that they got along, but she probably was exaggerating to prove that she could hold a conversation outside her friend group. Or perhaps she misinterpreted; given how often she stuck around Arakawa, she probably found loneliness to be more painful than awkward, stumbling conversation.
But no, Kitagawa actually sat down at her table, and gave her a smile. A genuine smile, that people only saw when he was painting, or talking to Sakura. And between bites of meals, they talked. Sure, Kitagawa replied with bold, grandiose words and Watanabe with tiny squeaks as Arakawa did most of the talking, and they proceeded at a stumbling, slow pace, but it was obvious that they were having some semblance of a conversation.
The impossible had been done. Despite their personalities, and lack of social skills, both Kitagawa and Watanabe had successfully acquired a new friend over the weekend.
They had huddled around each other in the warm atmosphere of LeBlanc, its sign flipped to “Closed”. It took a lot of work to gather everyone, given that they all went their separate ways. Nonetheless, Makoto managed to find a time where everyone could meet up… well, almost everyone. Sumire was at one of her training camps, working hard as always. Akechi simply refused to show his face. And Ren… he was still stuck in his hometown, unable to leave until he finished his courses. He had Morgana with him, of course, but it had still been months without them seeing their leader’s face.
Despite the fact months have passed since they last gathered like this, it felt oddly comforting. Like it had been a part of their everyday routine for the past seven months, this past school year. They comfortably slid into the booth, one besides another, as they started recounting tales of their past year.
“Ugh, I’m just so pissed! First they prank the first years, now they’re harassing them for their lunch money! I told them to stop, but… how long will that last? Dammit!” Ryuji threw himself back into his seat with a muffled thud. “I wish we could just go into Mementos and change their hearts, you know?”
“Well, we can still convince them…” Futaba’s fingers clacked away at her keyboard. “Say, Ryuji, what are their names?”
“Futaba.” Next to her, Makoto’s voice rang out in a warning.
“Come on! We can’t just let them get away with this!!”
“You have two years of high school left. If you get caught, we’ll do all we can, but the consequences will still be... severe.”
Silence fell among the table. They knew all too well how such a reputation could impact their lives. Especially for Futaba, who already garnered plenty of unwanted attention for enrolling into high school a year late. Sure, it was barely present in the back of her classmates’ minds, always ignored in favor of the more immediate and shocking gossip, but nobody at the table was taking that for granted.
“I would never get caught…” Futaba huffed, crossing her arms. However, her laptop closed with a soft click.
“You did the right thing, Ryuji,” Haru interjected from across the table. “We might not be able to stop them, but we can’t just stand by and do nothing. Though, the fact that this is happening is worrisome…”
At that, Yusuke put down his sketchbook, frowning. While he expected to hear that such troubles occurred at other schools, it was still disappointing to have his suspicions confirmed.
He looked up at everyone else. They were silent, looking away from each other. Perhaps they were considering similar thoughts.
“So…” Ann twirled her pigtails, eyes darting all over the table, before widening as they settled on Yusuke. “Oh, I know! Yusuke! Futaba! How’s Kosei?”
All the eyes around the table raised up and refocused onto the duo, brimming with curiosity. Quick to answer, Futaba grimaced, lowering her head as she leered at imaginary classmates.
“Classes suck. Like, I already know half of the stuff there. And everyone gossips so much! You should hear what they were saying about Inari!”
Yusuke sighed, shaking his head. That was true, but, well… “I will say, I simply do not pay them any heed.”
Futaba stared incredulously at him. He ignored her, and continued.
“While I am aware that people keep their distance from me, I don't quite hear what they have to say about me. I don’t believe it’s worth my time.”
“You don’t- I already explained it to you, and you still say the same thing?” Futaba yelled, before freezing in place and lowering her head once again. “Man, this is why everyone keeps calling you weird,” she muttered, “you ignore what they have to say, only to spend your time… painting? You’ve been spending more and more time holed up in that studio...”
“I have pieces to create. And I wholeheartedly intend to showcase the essence of beauty in all of them!” Yusuke rebutted.
“And this is why you have no friends.”
“Hey! That-that’s not true!”
Futaba grinned cheekily at him. Yusuke simply closed his eyes, ignoring her as he turned to the rest of the group.
“Contrary to Futaba’s words,” he huffed, side-eyeing her, “I have actually made two new friends recently. They are both first years, but I do not believe that either of them are in Futaba’s class.”
From his side, Futaba snorts. “They’re not. But Hikari’s really cool! She laughs at all my jokes, unlike a certain someone, and she’s also really into Featherman! She’s the best!”
Yusuke can’t help but smile as he continues. “And, of course, I do meet up with Akechi occasionally. Despite everything, we do seem to get along quite well. He has quite the eye for aesthetics.”
“For real?” Ryuji leans towards him, eyes widened in disbelief, before he catches himself and snaps back into his seat, crossing his arms. “Man, I try to hang out with the dude, but I always feel like he’s just about to snap at me…”
“Of course, Ryuji! With how careless you are sometimes, it’s a surprise he doesn’t snap at you more often!” Futaba teased.
“H-hey!”
As Futaba’s and Ryuji’s argument intensified, the others leaned towards the two, jumping in with their own opinions on why Ryuji still hasn’t befriended Akechi. Their postures create an interesting composition from his angle, two asymmetrical yet balanced blocks, an aesthetically pleasing depiction of camaraderie. Yusuke flips open his sketchbook outlining the scene. As he sketched in a rough outline, he couldn’t help but smile. Prior to last year, he wouldn’t have been able to get this close to a group of friends, at least not close enough to properly capture Ann’s beaming smile, or Haru’s amused face that she attempts to hide, or even Makoto’s furrowed brow as she tried to calm the table down. But here he was, surrounded by close companions. His companions.
Did others still mock him, calling him weird, in the hidden shadows of Kosei High? Yes, they did indeed. But at the same time, as he’s told Futaba countless times, he simply does not care. Why should he, when he has better things to attend to, like finding inspiration for his next piece, or practicing his techniques? What he does care for, however, are the bonds he’s made in the past two years. He knows that they will be there for him when he falters, when he loses his way.
“Yusuke?” Haru’s gentle voice cuts through his thoughts. Yusuke looked up at her; she had peeled herself away from the group, and was angled towards him, close enough to peer at his sketchbook. “Are you… drawing us?”
“Why yes, I am.” Yusuke smiled as he tilted his work towards Haru. “You simply make an interesting subject, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Whoa, really? Dude, lemme see!” Ryuji leaned over the table, craning his neck. Soon enough, the rest of the group had leaned towards him, smiling as they pointed out the details of the sketch. The glint of amusement in Ryuji’s eyes, despite his confrontational pose. Futaba’s wild smile, belying her small frame. The small things that, as they often claimed, were proof of their closeness.
He would later render the sketch out into a painting, magnifying the laughing figures onto canvas, and adding shadows and colour to the scene. On nights when he brought the piece home, Akechi would occasionally visit, commenting that there were much better topics to paint, as he kept his voice in a stiff cadence. In studio, where he worked on it during the day, Watanabe watched his brushstrokes in awe before turning to her own piece, wondering what exactly it was that spurred his passion. And when he came to Leblanc, weeks later, to hang up the completed piece, Futaba called him a sap as she watched from a distance, phone in hand to record the event.
It looked right at home at LeBlanc. To an outsider, it was a promise of pleasant times to be had, of new memories to be made. But to him, it was a precious reminder of those who had stuck by him during the rough times, when he needed them. And he couldn’t have asked them for anything more.