A lapis-colored sunset filtered through the high floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling across the spacious yet cluttered studio and casting long shadows on the unfinished canvas.
The air was thick with the scent of linen and the scorched aroma of a “creative block.”
Minazuki Ruri —
The girl with vibrant blue hair that flowed like rippling water, now tied back in a loose ponytail, stood barefoot before a massive easel.
The canvas held only a few messy and hesitant pencil sketches, outlining a blurry human silhouette that lacked the “soul” required to ignite her creative desire.
She set down the charcoal pencil, her fingertips stained with black dust, and let out a soft sigh.
It was a long and heavy sound, as if originating from the deepest corner of her chest.
“Sigh…”
The sound was exceptionally clear in the empty studio.
“As I thought, there isn’t a single spark of inspiration…”
This intangible, untouchable sense of emptiness was more irritating to her than any concrete failure.
She longed to capture that fragile reality between the mundane and the exquisitely beautiful, a texture that could strike directly at the heart.
However, the silhouette of that Muse remained outside the mist of her mind, refusing to descend.
Just then, there was a soft knock on the studio door.
The sound was restrained and polite, breaking the silence of the room.
The old steward, Steward Xu, walked in silently carrying a cordless phone.
His face held its usual respectful expression, though his eyes carried a trace of subtle concern.
“Miss, a call for you.”
Ruri did not turn around immediately.
Her gaze remained glued to the pale canvas, as if she were trying to force the hidden answer out with her eyes alone.
She simply asked back lazily, with a hint of an artist’s characteristic petulance:
“I assume you were actually able to find the call log this time, Steward Xu?”
She was referring to the last time an unexpected call from Su Yuqing had been cut off because her phone died.
Steward Xu bowed slightly, a helpless and indulgent smile appearing on his face.
“You must be joking, Miss. Your friend is currently waiting on the line right now.”
He held the phone closer.
The screen displayed Su Yuqing’s name and the ongoing call timer.
Only then did Ruri slowly turn around, as if being forcibly pulled from a deep state of thought.
She took the phone, her fingertips lingering on the cold plastic casing for a moment as if adjusting an emotional switch, before bringing the receiver to her ear.
When she spoke, the irritability caused by her creative block seemed instantly replaced by a calculated, lazy ease.
“Hello? It’s Ruri.”
She stated her name first; it was a habit and a way of asserting an invisible aura of control.
On the other end of the line came Su Yuqing’s familiar voice, filled with obvious timidness and tension, as if every word had been carefully weighed.
“Yes, yes, I’m here. I’m here.”
There was a sense of humility in that voice that felt both familiar and strange to Ruri.
A brief silence flowed through the airwaves, filled only with the sound of somewhat hurried breathing.
Ruri was in no rush to press her.
She was patient, like an experienced angler waiting for the fish to bite the hook.
She could even imagine Su Yuqing unconsciously twisting the phone cord or nervously biting her lower lip right now.
Those were the habitual little gestures Su Yuqing made when she was nervous in Ruri’s memory.
Finally, as if gathering her courage, Su Yuqing spoke, though her voice remained stumbling and hesitant:
“It’s… it’s about… that…”
She seemed to be searching for the right words, struggling to organize a sentence that was difficult to say.
“About what?”
Ruri spoke at the right moment.
Her voice was gentle yet possessed an unavoidable guiding force, like a needle softly popping the bubble of calm the other girl was trying to maintain.
“It’s about this weekend… we might… not be able to meet.”
Su Yuqing’s voice dropped suddenly, heavy with guilt.
“So… I wanted to apologize to you in advance.”
It felt as though that sentence had drained all her strength.
Ruri’s slender eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly.
The weekend date had been something she proposed on a whim.
Rather than a reunion, it was more like a re-examination and excavation of a long-dormant “creative subject.”
Su Yuqing’s rejection did not bring her much disappointment; instead, it was like a pebble thrown into a still lake, creating ripples of curiosity.
She drawled her words, her tone carrying a perfect blend of curiosity and regret.
“Eh…? You can’t come for both Saturday and Sunday?”
She needed to confirm the strength of this “obstacle.”
“Yes… neither day…”
Su Yuqing’s answer carried a sense of resignation.
“That’s such a shame.”
Ruri’s tone was appropriately tinged with a thin layer of disappointment, but it was light and not heavy, more like a social etiquette response.
She then changed the subject, her words like a precise scalpel cutting toward the core:
“Then, Yuqing, can you tell me exactly why you can’t come?”
Her voice remained gentle, yet it carried an unquestionable demand for answers.
“After all, we made this arrangement so far in advance~”
She deliberately emphasized the word “arrangement,” softly plucking the sensitive chord of “promises” from their memory.
There was a deeper silence on the other end, with only the faint hum of the electrical current.
After a long while, Su Yuqing seemed to find a relatively safe shield, her voice dry as she answered,
“Because of… my work.”
“Work?”
A flash of understanding crossed Ruri’s eyes, but she immediately responded with a tone full of pleasant surprise and admiration, as if she had just heard wonderful news.
“Oh, right, right! I didn’t actually ask you last time what you’ve been doing lately! I didn’t realize you had already started working and supporting yourself all on your own!”
Her words were like honey, carrying a warmth that encouraged a junior.
“That’s wonderful. My little Yuqing really is the best!”
Phrases like “My little Yuqing” and “the best” were like gentle traps, easily prying open Su Yuqing’s defenses.
Sure enough, Su Yuqing’s tone relaxed significantly.
She even sounded a bit bashful after being recognized, followed by a frantic modesty.
“Oh, no, not at all~ At most, I’m just a lowly manager. If it weren’t for those amazing idols, I’d basically be nothing.”
The corners of Ruri’s mouth curled into a subtle arc.
Following the girl’s lead, she asked as naturally as guiding a dance partner:
“So that means you can’t come out to meet me because your idol has a performance this weekend~?”
Her reasoning was perfectly logical, pushing Su Yuqing in the direction she had intended.
“Hehehe, little Ruri, your guess couldn’t be more right!”
Su Yuqing’s voice was clearly lighter now, even carrying a bit of the silly laughter she used to have when she was praised back in school.
That slip of the tongue, “little Ruri,” made time seem to move backward for a moment, returning them to their simple and close middle school days.
Unknowingly, the way they addressed each other seemed to have briefly returned to that past where no grudges existed.
This familiar sense of intimacy caused a tiny ripple in Ruri’s heart — one so small that even she didn’t notice it.
But she quickly composed herself and continued to lead the pace of the conversation.
“Then tell me.”
Ruri’s voice carried a gentle firmness that brooked no refusal.
“Eh? Tell you what?”
Su Yuqing was still immersed in the softened atmosphere, sounding a bit dazed.
“Exactly which performance is it?”
Ruri’s tone was light, as if she were merely a curious fan.
“I need to go buy a ticket quickly! Maybe I can even go to the venue to cheer for you.”
The suggestion seemed casual, but it was a carefully designed test.
She wanted to see how Su Yuqing would handle this request to “intrude” upon her professional life.
“Uh… it’s the ‘Idol Kasahara Chiai’s Weekend Special Fan Thanksgiving Return Performance’!”
Su Yuqing blurted out the name of the performance almost impatiently.
Her tone even carried a hint of reflected pride, as if she wanted to prove the “importance” of her work.
“Eh~! I’ve seen promotions for that performance online!”
Ruri showed exactly the right amount of surprise and admiration, as if she had truly just found out by chance.
“I never would have thought… such a cute and beautiful girl is actually working with my little Yuqing!”
She redirected the praise toward Su Yuqing again, reinforcing this illusory sense of complicity.
“It’s one thing to see the ads, but… but—”
Su Yuqing’s tone suddenly became urgent again, as if she were trying to stop something inevitable from happening.
“Hmm? But what?”
Ruri pressed patiently, sensing the arrival of the key point.
“But the tickets for both performances were completely sold out within the first hour of going on sale! Even if you wanted to come now, it’s simply impossible~!”
There was a sense of relief in Su Yuqing’s voice, mixed with a trace of unhidable regret.
She seemed to believe that the objective fact of the “sold-out” status would completely block Ruri from coming, thus maintaining their current fragile, safe distance.
However, Ruri’s reaction was entirely unexpected.
From the other end of the line, there was only a thoughtful hum.
“Hmm… as for that problem…”
Then, Ruri spoke with her characteristic mystery and certainty:
“I think you don’t need to worry at all, my little Yuqing.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it possessed a reassuring power, as if she were stating an established fact.
“Since I said I’m coming to see it, I will definitely find a way to be there.”
It wasn’t a discussion; it was a declaration.
“R-Really…?”
Su Yuqing’s voice was filled with unbelievable shock and a hint of… a trembling, flattered feeling from being valued so highly.
She had perhaps never imagined that Ruri would be so persistent about this meeting.
“Mm-hmm, really, really.”
Ruri’s promise was casual yet carried great weight.
“Tomorrow—by tomorrow at the latest—you’ll hear good news from me~! Trust me.”
She gave a specific timeframe, increasing the credibility of her promise.
“…Alright then, I’ll wait for you.”
Su Yuqing’s voice dropped, carrying a sense of submission as if she had given up the struggle, along with a faint hope that she couldn’t even clarify herself.
“Then… goodbye for now, my little Yuqing~”
Ruri’s farewell carried a lingering trail, like a feather lightly brushing against the heart.
“Okay, goodbye… Ruri.”
The call ended, and the dial tone filled the receiver.
Ruri slowly put the phone down, her fingertip sliding gently over the name on the screen.
A complex, unidentifiable light flashed in her lapis-colored eyes.
This conversation seemed to have allowed her to capture a shadow of that blurry “Muse”—
That complex emotion mixed with guilt, endurance, humble anticipation, and inescapable shackles—wasn’t that exactly the creative source she had been searching for?
Su Yuqing’s world seemed to be even more “interesting” than she had imagined.
On the other end of the line, Su Yuqing clutched the phone tightly, though the call had long since ended, as if it were her only lifeline.
She stared blankly out the office blinds at the massive sun slowly sinking into the city skyline.
The golden afterglow bathed her face, coloring her shock, confusion, faint hope, and deep-seated fear with an ethereal glow.
“Whew—”
She let out a long breath, as if she had just finished an exhausting journey.
Immediately afterward, a wave of immense joy flooded over her.
She could barely suppress a low cry:
“Yes…!!!”
Ruri was coming!
The one who had been all the light and shadow of her youth, the person she once viewed as her faith but who ultimately pushed her into the abyss, was actually going to step back into this muddy mess of a life she now led—a life held firmly in Chiai’s grasp…!
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