Months passed, and Miyako's world changed.
Her desk was always covered in sketches, ink pens, and empty cups of coffee. Every day after school, she worked on her manga — revising storylines, redrawing panels, and studying every little detail of anatomy, lighting, and movement.
It wasn't easy. She failed, erased, cried, and started again countless times. But one night, when she finally drew the last page, she felt it — that quiet, trembling joy of completing something she truly believed in.
A few weeks later, her manga — Two Worlds, One Dream — went online.
To her surprise, people noticed.
Students at her school shared it. The art club celebrated. Even a small online community of manga readers left kind comments:
> "The emotions feel real."
"You can tell the artist really cares about her story."
Miyako felt something warm bloom inside her. It wasn't fame or pride — it was the happiness of being understood.
---
One afternoon, as the art club was cleaning up, a girl Miyako didn't recognize stepped into the room.
She looked around, her gaze landing directly on Miyako.
"Hey, you're the one who made Two Worlds, One Dream, right?" the girl asked, smiling sharply.
Miyako blinked. "Yes, I am. Did you read it?"
"Yeah. You've got skill," the girl said. "Actually, I'm starting a new online project. We're looking for artists like you."
Miyako tilted her head. "What kind of project?"
The girl leaned closer, lowering her voice. "It's adult-themed. You know—sensual stories, art with… more detail."
For a moment, Miyako didn't understand. Then her eyes widened, and her face went pale.
"You mean… hentai?" she asked quietly.
The girl nodded without hesitation. "It pays well. People would love your style for that kind of thing."
Miyako's pencil snapped in her hand. "No," she said firmly. "Never. I will never draw something inappropriate."
The girl frowned. "Why not? It's just art. You'd get more attention — more money. Don't be so uptight."
Miyako stood, her voice trembling with anger. "Art isn't about that! I draw because I love it, because it means something. I will not turn it into something ugly."
The room had grown quiet. Ethan, hearing the raised voices, came over quickly. "Hey, what's going on?"
The girl rolled her eyes. "I just offered her a job, and she's acting like I insulted her."
Ethan crossed his arms. "Because you did. Don't try to use her talent for something she doesn't believe in."
The girl scoffed. "Whatever." She turned to Miyako. "You'll change your mind when you realize dreams don't pay bills."
"Then I'll keep dreaming," Miyako said coldly.
After a long pause, the girl sighed and walked away. The door shut behind her.
---
Silence filled the room for a moment. Miyako's hands were still shaking.
Ethan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hey… you okay?"
She nodded slowly. "I just… hate when people think art has no meaning. That it's only about money or fame."
Ethan smiled softly. "That's what makes you different, Miyako. You draw with heart. Don't let anyone change that."
Her anger faded, replaced by quiet gratitude. "Thank you, Ethan. For helping me."
He chuckled. "Anytime. You stood your ground like a pro."
Miyako looked down at her sketchbook, still open on the table. The next page was blank — waiting for her next idea, her next story.
She picked up her pencil and smiled faintly. "Then I'll just keep drawing. My way."
And as she began to sketch again, her lines flowed smoothly — clear and confident, like she had finally learned where to draw the line between art and compromise.