Initially, Nick had no idea what he should draw on that sheet of paper.
Until it occurred to him that anything, as long as it was well-crafted, might perhaps count as something this system would approve of.
Not that he needed approval in the first place.
Slowly, though still a little anxious, he began by drawing a circle with quick hand movements, forming a tangle of crooked lines on the paper.
Nick was still trying to get used to holding a pencil again, as he hadn't drawn anything since his teenage years. And combined with this annoyingly young body, it felt like a major obstacle.
An obstacle he wanted to overcome.
Gradually, he adjusted to the proper way of holding the pencil in his frustratingly small hand, and his strokes began to slowly improve.
From the initial circle, details were added until it formed a male face.
Since Nick hadn't found an eraser, he smudged some minor details with his thumb as an improvised fix.
In the end, he had a moderately detailed drawing of a head and neck.
There was no whistle sound, no elegant flourish—nothing.
And that confirmed Nick's theory.
This system truly lives up to what it claims, if his theory was correct.
Being a so-called "entertainment system," Nick figured that, in theory, it should mean any rewards would only be given if he entertained someone—somehow.
That is, anyone other than himself.
So, Nick kept drawing. He continued until the artwork was finished.
Maybe minutes passed, maybe thirty, maybe an hour… He wasn't sure how much time had gone by as he remained completely focused on his drawing.
Then, he was done.
The drawing was as detailed as he believed he could make it.
Until—a trumpet sound played in his mind.
Looking at his system, the message read:
|| "Drawing" Acquired.
And then the message disappeared.
A new section appeared on the main screen.
|| Skills.
Nick pressed his finger on "Skills," and a small, pitiful list of abilities appeared before his eyes.
|| "Drawing."
He tapped the skill he had just acquired, but nothing else appeared.
Apparently, the system was basic enough to lack descriptions of what the skills could do.
Not that there had been any kind of "tutorial" on how to use it efficiently or what this system was even capable of.
Setting aside the discovery that skills could be acquired after a certain amount of training in a given area, Nick realized he knew nothing about this system.
All he knew was that he had to entertain not something, but someone, with art.
Any other functions it might have, he was completely unaware of.
"But what does this system consider art...?" Nick wondered, genuinely curious.
He decided to leave that question for another time.
When he felt a sneeze coming, he turned his head away and sneezed into his forearm.
He tidied up the messy desk a little and picked up the sheet of paper.
Standing up from the chair, he walked to the door and turned the knob. He had to stretch his arm to reach it but ignored the inconvenience.
When he stepped out of the room, he found himself in a small hallway. From his vantage point, Nick could see a red armchair where a tired hand dangled over the side.
He heard snoring.
Nick approached carefully, his steps slow.
He saw that the man from earlier was asleep, his snores and breathing the only sounds filling the living room. He was slumped in the armchair, his cap fallen over his face.
Nick glanced around and spotted a blanket on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. He grabbed it.
Gently, he draped the blanket over the man and hurried back to his room as quietly as possible.
"Nicholas?"
The nonexistent hairs on the back of Nick's neck stood up, and he froze mid-step.
Slowly, he placed his foot down and turned around, not bothering to hide the sheet of paper in his hand. He swallowed dryly and answered, "Yes?"
The man was silent for a moment before speaking, his tone slightly rough, "Show me."
Nick took a deep breath and walked over to the armchair. He handed the paper to the man, who took it and examined it, his eyes narrowing slightly.
The man's gaze sharpened, his mustache twitching. The lines on his face seemed to harden further.
Then his eyes turned back to Nick, and his expression softened slightly.
He handed the paper back and said, lightly ruffling Nick's hair, "Good job."
Nick gave a nervous smile and simply nodded, choosing to remain silent.
He was heading back to his room when he heard, "Your mother would be proud."
...
Nick, now lying on his bed, was analyzing what he had received just moments ago.
|| "Slam Dunk - Manga - Complete"
|| Receive?
|| Y/N.
And his earlier headache intensified as a whirlwind of images, artwork, panels, and pages was, in a sense, "installed" into his consciousness the moment he—without hesitation—pressed "Y" with his index finger.
Though "installed" wasn't too far off from describing how it felt.
It was like being a cheap laptop suddenly burdened with a massive file dumped into its storage.
An overwhelming sensation, but one he chose to ignore.
The night was still young, quietly giving way to a morning that began in the most irritating way possible.
His fever worsened, yet even sick, he refused to spend all his time resting.
"I have to act," Nick said, his small smile widening slightly.
The drawing of a tall teenager with a distinctive red spiky hairstyle, sketched in pencil and colored with cheap red crayon, slowly took shape on a plain sheet of paper.
"One step at a time."