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"Hey—hands off. Letting you look is already generous. You actually want to touch?"
Kasumigaoka Utaha slapped away Eriri's curious hand, face full of disdain.
"Hmph, what are you so mad about? I'm trying to observe properly. How am I supposed to deepen the impression if I don't, you know, feel it?"
"And we're both women—what's the big deal? You can touch me too."
Utaha stared at her, speechless.
"There's not much on you to touch."
"Uuu—damn you, Kasumigaoka Utaha! Looking down on me! I may not compare to you, but it's not like I've got nothing!"
"Besides, in anime, girls with your, uh, abundant figure usually get drawn like a doujin stereotype and then get xx'd by some creepy old guy!"
A vein popped on Utaha's forehead. "So we've dropped 'Senpai' now? I go out of my way to help you and my flat-chested junior bites the hand that feeds her."
"Also, your petite 'loli' build is exactly the type the pervy uncles won't stop xx'ing in anime and doujins—have you no shame calling me out?"
The two young women roasted each other, and with his good hearing Hayashi Maki felt… awkward. Should he go in or not?
"I am not ungrateful—and 'flat-chested' was unnecessary! My figure is slim, but there's plenty to like. Some guys prefer slender!"
"Sure, sure—hope a lolicon picks you then. Anyway, are you done? If Kouhai-kun walks in, that'll be bad. Hurry up!"
"Ugh… what's the rush? I'm trying to get some hands-on understanding. You're the one stopping me."
Utaha: "…"
She suddenly regretted agreeing to help. Why did this doujin artist look like a certifiable groper?
A little while later, both girls—faces red—were dressed again. Bold a minute ago, now awkward. This was a guy's room, and they'd just ogled each other like weirdos. Just thinking about it was mortifying. Their brains must've short-circuited.
Hearing the bickering die down, Hayashi Maki finally knocked.
"Eriri, Senpai—I made juice. May I come in?"
"Ahem… come in, Maki-kun. Perfect timing—let's see if Sawamura has improved."
Hayashi Maki stepped in, handed them their drinks, and set a snack tray on the table. Then he and Utaha watched Eriri draw.
…But moments later, Eriri threw her pen down in frustration.
"Uuu—no good! Still no good!"
"I must be sick. I clearly saw Senpai's perfect silhouette, but the moment I start, that doujin 'cow-girl alien' pops into my head and takes over!"
Hayashi Maki and Utaha picked up the drafts. Speechless. It was still the same overblown "cow-girl alien," tongue out, face twisted in some near-climax expression.
"You can't turn this in," Utaha said gently but firmly. "You know that, right? Maki-kun can't submit this as Tsukimi Miyabi's design sheet."
"Uuu… I know. I know!" Eriri burst into tears. "Senpai, I'm sick—and it's mental!"
Utaha sighed, drew her in, and patted her back to soothe her. In that moment, her senpai gentleness showed in full.
Eriri, though, was unraveling. She was one step away from going legit as an illustrator—a mangaka even—and now this. She couldn't draw a proper character sheet. It was crushing.
Watching her cry her heart out, Hayashi Maki also sighed, a pang in his chest. Greedy as he was, he'd already mentally counted Eriri as one of his own—even if he hadn't laid a hand on her. He couldn't just do nothing while she sobbed like this.
"Maybe it's not as bad as it looks," he said. "I think I noticed something. Eriri, could you draw it again?"
"This time, don't think about Miyabi at all. Draw the cow-girl alien exactly as she appears in your mind. Every detail—don't skip a thing."
Eriri hiccuped a sob, but her dull eyes regained a spark.
"R-really? You saw something? You know what's wrong with me?"
Utaha watched, curious, but stayed quiet.
"Yeah," Hayashi Maki said. "So chin up. I don't want to replace such a cute illustrator."
"Eriri—one more time."
"O-okay." Flushed from being called a cute girl, Eriri pulled free of Utaha's arms, picked up her pen, and… focused.
This time, she followed Hayashi Maki's instructions and drew the 'cow-girl alien' from her mind in full, down to the patterns on her clothes. As she worked, Hayashi Maki saw a wisp of black miasma creep from her hand—reeking of malice. A curse sigil. Great.
Before long, Eriri finished. Staring at the sensual, wildly over-oppaied woman on the sheet, her cheeks burned.
"Um… Hayashi Maki, I'm done."
"Mm. And I saw it clearly too. Eriri—you've been cursed."
"Eh? Cursed?!" Eriri jolted, her whole body trembling. Utaha also looked at him with interest. He could see curses?
Facing their stares, Hayashi Maki nodded solemnly.
"Yes. A curse."
"The effect is to keep you from drawing what you intend. If we don't break it, you'll be stuck drawing this bizarre 'cow-girl alien' for the rest of your life."
"Nooo! I don't want to draw this forever! Hayashi Maki, since you can see it, can you help me break the curse?"
She believed in science, sure—but when something this absurd hit you in real life, disbelief wasn't an option.
Meeting her hopeful eyes, Hayashi Maki nodded calmly and smiled.
"Of course—though it's a bit of a hassle."
"Curses have sources. If we don't deal with the source, it'll keep coming back. We don't have time to hunt it down now—my novel's art is due. So I can at least suppress it for a while."
"You can suppress it? Please do! I can't stand drawing this thing anymore! Uuu… I never should have drawn doujins!"
At that, Hayashi Maki naturally slipped an arm around her slender waist and drew her into his chest.
"Alright then, here I go, Eriri."
He leaned in, his lips slowly closing in on hers.
~~~
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