Alice, at 25, had European features that attracted attention: golden hair, tall build, calm face. Born in Japan, although raised in multicultural environments, she had studied at a prestigious university in Tokyo. He had graduated in his 20s and had worked as a talent agent... until he completely changed course.
Now, she was a manga editor.
"From celebrity agent to comic book editor? Isn't that a leap something... "Abrupt?" Takumi asked, surprised.
"I've loved manga since I was a child," Alice replied with a serene smile, sitting down next to him. "I may not be able to teach you how to ink like an experienced editor, but I can help you with many other things."
From the front seat of the car, Kurosawa smiled as he heard them.
"Takumi, I checked your style carefully. You're freer when you don't have someone editing you with rules. Traditional publishers tend to limit ideas... and I prefer that your imagination has no leash."
Kurosawa turned his head.
"Alice has experience with artists. He knows how to deal with creative egos. You were not a casual choice."
The truth is that Alice had been assigned directly by the president of Hinotori Publishing. Kurosawa suspected that they wanted to make Mirai-sensei a public figure beyond paper and ink... perhaps in the face of a new generation of media mangaka.
The car stopped in front of a 12-story apartment building.
"This will be your home in Osaka. We paid three months in advance: 270,000 yen. We'll deduct it from your royalties next month." Kurosawa handed him the keys with a smile. "Haruki Suno and I are returning to the publishing house. Alice will accompany you."
"Okay," Takumi nodded.
He took the keys and, together with Alice, unloaded the boxes from the trunk.
Aiko, a little dizzy from the trip, preferred to wait in the back seat.
Four large boxes. Heavy. Full of memories. Most of the belongings had been left at the grandparents' house, but that was enough to get started.
They went up by elevator. Twelfth floor.
The door opened.
The apartment had three bedrooms, two spacious rooms. The walls needed painting, but the floors were clean and the furniture basic. For the price in Osaka, it was a bargain. Kurosawa had clearly moved heaven and earth.
Takumi and Aiko were satisfied. A new beginning. Literal.
The three of them began to clean up.
Alice, impeccable and with her blazer folded over a chair, did not object to dust or sweat. He even helped Aiko in the kitchen. Aiko wasn't used to such kindness, but by noon she was treating her like a younger sister.
"Sister, doesn't your husband get angry if you don't come home for lunch?" asked Aiko, as she stirred the rice.
"No. He can't really go home at this time either. It's part of the job."
"And the children?" Aiko insisted, curious.
"I don't have it yet. When they arrive, my parents will help. For now... my artists are my children."
Takumi watched from the bathroom door. Smiled. 'They understand each other well. That reassures me.'
He showered and changed. An old short-sleeved shirt that I no longer knew how many washes it had withstood
During lunch, he noticed Alice looking at him several times.
Suddenly, he spoke:
—"Mrs. Aiko... look at Takumi's shirt. It's broken."
Aiko turned her head. He saw the threads coming out, the frayed neck.
"Takumi," he said quietly. "That shirt... it's not for this city."
He put down the bowl gently. "We'll go shopping for clothes this afternoon."
Takumi frowned.
He looked at Alice. She smiled barely, looking at Aiko without saying anything.
At that moment he understood everything. 'It's a smart move. He wants to take her shopping for clothes without hurting her pride. And he uses his son as an excuse.'
"It's all right, Mom," she said without resistance.
The truth was that both of them — he and his mother — still wore clothes that didn't exceed 100 yen a piece. And that, in a city like Osaka, was practically a visual stigma.
After lunch, the three of them took the subway.
As soon as they entered the car, Takumi looked up.
A familiar advertisement occupied the upper part of the corridor:
"Youth without limits! Recommended by millions! The first volume of Detective Conan is coming out!"
The images were his. I had drawn them days before. To see them there, printed, illuminated by the dim light of the subway...
It gave him a little chill.
'I'm here. I'm really here.'
"Every time I see this poster, it gives me chills. It's so beautiful... I want to have him at home."
"Yes! It's everywhere! In stations, shopping malls, even on bus panels."
"They say that it was drawn by Mirai-sensei himself. I'm so curious to know what it's like. But he disappeared after sending that message..."
Two high school girls were talking animatedly in the subway car. Takumi listened, his eyes open, not daring to breathe.
'This poster... is it everywhere?'
Hinotori Publishing had not skimped on the campaign. They knew it from the contract. But listening to real people talk about their drawing... it was different.
Beside him, Aiko also saw him.
He covered his mouth gently so as not to exclaim. She looked up at her son.
Takumi, standing in front of the automatic door of the carriage, was in shock.
"When did you draw this...?" "Since when has his talent shone like this, without me noticing?"
Last time, he was mentioned on television. Now, they were surrounded by posters printed with his stroke.
Aiko's heart skipped a little beat. She believed in her son's talent. He always had.
But between one homemade lunch and another... without making a sound... That boy was already an artist. And the world was beginning to know it.
She felt excited. And also... Restless.
'What will become of you, Takumi, if your light grows larger than we can reach...?'
For a second, she remembered her husband. The one who left one day and did not return. The one who had also promised big, very big goals. And whose absence still weighed.
"Mom, Mom!"
Takumi took her arm gently. Aiko blinked. She had been gone.
"Do you feel bad? We are almost at the station."
"... I'm fine, just a little dizzy."
He took a deep breath. It was repeated that there was nothing to fear.
His son was not like him. Takumi always came back.
"Sister Aiko, do you want us to buy seasickness pills later?" Alice asked, in a gentle tone.
"No, you don't," Aiko smiled. "I just got a little distracted."
After getting off the train, Takumi insisted on going to the mall. She bought new clothes for him... and then convinced Aiko to do it too.
They spent about 20,000 yen.
"It's too expensive," Aiko protested, very uncomfortable.
"Sister Aiko, the son you raised is a professional artist. Now is the time to look like it." Alice said with a graceful smile.
Finally, Aiko relented.
When Takumi went to the bathroom, Alice looked at Aiko with a knowing air:
"Sister Aiko... was Takumi's dad that handsome?"
Aiko blinked, surprised. Then he shook his head.
—"I don't know... but Takumi looks like me. Not him."
—"Hmm... I'm not so sure." Alice looked down the hallway, still smiling.
"Takumi is still growing."
He had spent years observing artists. Reading the expression of future idols. His instinct rarely failed.
'This boy... it has something that is not taught.'
And it was yet to really shine.