Although he couldn't see it with his eyes, Takumi Sato clearly perceived the shape of the "gas".
It wasn't physical, but an icy breath ran through her mind, sweeping away the remnants of tiredness and leaving her clear like a clear sky after the rain. The blockades dissolved, the fog disappeared.
'This... It's a flash of inspiration.'
The idea came effortlessly. He didn't reason it: he just knew. It was the same creative impulse that had run through him before in the karaoke room, only now it didn't dissipate... it was still floating inside him.
A joyful vertigo rose through his chest. 'I can do it.'
Sing a beautiful melody. Draw accurately. Write a perfect kanji in a single stroke. I felt it. I knew it. Although he also sensed that this would be short-lived.
'Will I be able to take advantage of it?'
The emotion was so intense that he couldn't sit still. He just wanted to go home, to check if his hunch was true. But first, he had to wait for Yuki and Shiori to finish singing.
They both had good voices, but Shiori... His was crystal clear, tuned, with a warm hue that seemed to float between the padded walls. It was the kind of voice you don't forget easily.
"Pa, pa, pa!" Takumi clapped along with the rest to praise the performance. In the pause between songs, he got up.
"Are you leaving yet?" Yuki looked at him with feigned disdain. "Two beauties like us singing, and you run away?"
'Modest is not.' Takumi smiled. "I forgot something very important. I have to go home immediately."
Maybe it was age. Or the confinement of the last few months. But that party did not transmit the youthful energy he expected. The jokes, the songs, the gossip... everything was trivial to him.
The only surprise had been Shiori. But even she, beyond her imposing appearance, did not seem extraordinary. It was just... normal. A kind girl.
"If something happens, forget it." Shiori, on the other hand, did not protest. He calmly took out his cell phone. "Give me your number. So we can stay in touch."
Takumi dictated it as she wrote it down without hesitation. Then he grabbed his copy of Weekly Shonen and walked out.
The three of them—Yuki, Shiori, and Shinji Arai—escorted him to the door. When he left, Shiori followed him with her gaze. He sighed, barely audible.
"It's better than I thought. We could be friends."
There was something comforting about knowing that she wouldn't be completely alone when she arrived in Osaka.
"Why? Do you like it?" Yuki smiled mischievously.
Shiori was silent for a moment. Then he looked down.
"I like it. He has eyes... very beautiful." He did not deny it. But then he added, shaking his head:
"But it's impossible for me to like it. People like me don't fall in love like that. And neither does he."
Yuki looked at her strangely. "Why do you say that?"
"Intuition. Without logical reason. Just intuition." Shiori smiled calmly. "But when I get that feeling ... I am rarely wrong. Only girls with superpowers could reach it."
I had always known that I had nothing special. She was good in class, yes. But she wasn't athletic. Nor extroverted. Nor flashy. He was just someone who studied.
Takumi, on the other hand, radiated another energy. Confidence. Focus. Something impossible to define. An almost physical power.
'Too strong...'
Of course, Takumi had no idea what she was thinking.
He walked down the street with a brisk step, absorbed in his own world... when his phone vibrated unexpectedly.
"Editor-in-Chief Kurosawa? How can I help you?"
The identifier showed Kurosawa's name. Takumi blinked. He had already delivered the manuscripts for the next few weeks. What might I need now?
"Takumi, can you make another illustration with the same energy as the last panel of the first episode?"
Kurosawa didn't mince words.
"We need a promotional poster. As soon as possible. We'd like you to draw it yourself. The pay is 4000 yen."
Four thousand... Takumi felt a tingle of interest.
In theory, as a mangaka, his work was limited to delivering pages. Advertising and visuals were a matter for the editorial department. But Weekly Shonen didn't rely on outside illustrators. They preferred Mirai-sensei's stroke.
Takumi didn't understand why there was such a rush, but... 'Isn't this perfect to test if the flash is still there?'
"No problem. What exactly do you need?"
"We want the two protagonists of Detective Conan to appear —but emphasize the girl. It will attract male readers."
Kurosawa sounded animated. "We are against the clock. You don't need to send the original. Fax it to me as soon as you finish it."
"Can it be in a week?"
Takumi didn't need that much time. But he preferred to keep room in case something went wrong.
Hung. As I walked home, I thought about the two fans I had met that day. 'Could it be that Detective Conan is growing bigger than I imagined?'
And if Hinotori was investing in posters... it must have been serious.
"Home. Let's draw!"
He ran in. He prepared the paper and the brush.
He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. He tried to clear his mind. Clear it.
He did not need rituals or mantras. One idea was enough. A feeling.
And he knew it instantly: 'He's here again.'
The air mass began to dissipate. It melted into his thoughts. The impulse was as clear as the image forming in his mind.
A flash of inspiration.
Takumi bit his tongue. Pain. Eagerness.
Then he took up the brush. He would not be dragged along. He guided the energy, not the other way around.
The clock seemed to stop. Sweat ran down his forehead, down his cheeks, and dripped on the table.
All his concentration was on the page.
An hour later, his hand detached from the paper. Trembled. Hurt.
But he had succeeded.
Two teenagers were looking at him from the page: a boy with an intense gaze and a girl with a soft face, lotus profile and curved pupils like growing moons. The illustration was in black and white, but the effect conveyed color.
"This is... yes. This is it."
I had caught the image. He had lit the headlight.
The poster was not just a drawing. He was a symbol. A silent statement.
'I'm no longer here to copy what already was.' 'I'm here to make it better. To overcome it.'
The "air" in his mind didn't quite disappear. He left it latent. He retained a spark.
Because he understood it now: if he exhausted it, we would have to wait for another flash. And that could be... tomorrow, in a month. Or never.
Better to save a seed.