[Divine Painter (Gold): Ink painting, printmaking, oil painting, meticulous brushwork... You possess an artistic talent that leaves all others ashamed in comparison. A one-in-a-million genius. (Use this talent wisely, and you might live to see your artwork skyrocket in value.)]
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Autumn had arrived. A soft drizzle fell last night, and by this morning, the temperature had dropped. An early frost had knocked the last fluttering leaves from the branches. They now lay still beneath the trees, covering the courtyard in quiet hues. The air carried the slightly bitter scent of damp earth.
Kitagawa Ryo bent down, his shoes crunching lightly over dew-soaked leaves. He removed his gloves and picked up a relatively dry one with his left hand. Following its veins, he crumbled the leaf into tiny fragments in his palm and flung them into the air.
"Good morning, Ryo."
Sakayanagi Arisu looked noticeably more energetic than she had two months ago. Word had it her father was already preparing the paperwork for her hospital discharge. According to the doctors, as long as she avoided strenuous physical activity, Arisu could live like any normal school-aged child.
Kitagawa understood clearly—Arisu wouldn't be here much longer. If her condition remained stable, she would likely leave by the start of the spring term next year.
Arisu was aware of this as well. Today, she wore a sky-blue jacket and thick pants that wrapped neatly around her ankles. Unlike Kitagawa, she didn't wear gloves. Instead, she walked up and naturally took hold of Kitagawa's right hand.
Even with top-tier medical care, Kitagawa's condition continued its slow, relentless decline. He could no longer bend his fingers like he had when they first met two months ago. Over time, he had gradually lost control over his right hand.
The gloves had been a gift from Arisu two days prior. She claimed it was because the weather was cooling, but perhaps she simply didn't want to see that hand.
Through the glove, Arisu grasped Kitagawa's right hand. The rough texture of the yarn reminded her of tangled grasses and leaves. The middle finger, which had once moved freely before her, now felt like a tamed beast—docile but stiff.
Still, Arisu knew his hand hadn't completely atrophied. She felt a small twitch from his pinky inside her palm. It wasn't much, but it was there.
Maybe it was his fingertip. Maybe it was the yarn. But it tickled slightly.
"Good morning, Arisu."
Kitagawa's tone was as calm as ever, giving nothing away—not even a hint that he had just played a small prank.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, like a doctor checking on a patient.
"When the doctor finished this morning's checkup, she looked really happy," Arisu replied softly. Her attending doctor hadn't shown any visible emotion for months, so today's smile had been especially memorable.
Along with the recent hints from her father, she now knew that her discharge would likely come after the New Year. She would return home, return to school, return to society.
"That's wonderful news," Kitagawa said.
But Arisu didn't respond. They continued their walk around the courtyard, hand in hand, retracing steps they had walked countless times before.
After their usual stroll, Kitagawa accompanied Arisu back to her room. Her hospital room, now over two months occupied, had begun to take on the subtle imprint of its resident. Arisu sat on the sofa, watching Kitagawa pour her a cup of warm water. A strange thought crossed her mind:
If a patient lived their entire life in one hospital room, would that room count as home?
She took the cup from Kitagawa and sipped. The water was neither hot nor cold—just the right warmth. It slid down her throat in a comforting way.
The table surface gleamed from regular cleaning—hospital staff wiped it down more than three times a day. Arisu lowered her head, and their silhouettes appeared faintly on the reflective surface, like shadows standing in a vast body of water.
If nothing unexpected happened, Kitagawa would stay here until the end... Or rather, he would be moved to a different ward once his condition worsened. By then, he likely wouldn't be able to care for himself anymore.
The walls and ceiling suddenly felt too white, too bright—like shattered glass stinging her eyes.
Kitagawa's room had far fewer decorations than hers. It felt sharp and cold in its emptiness. Her father had decorated her room to resemble a home, despite knowing she would only stay a few months.
"What's wrong? You seem down today."
Kitagawa smiled at her from across the table, still holding his own cup.
"Ryo, what's your favorite color?"
The question burst from Arisu suddenly. Kitagawa looked puzzled, lowered his cup, and scratched the back of his head with his left hand.
"I don't think I have one."
"Then what about colors you dislike?"
She pressed on.
"Hmm... Not really any of those either," Kitagawa replied after some thought. He truly didn't have a strong preference for any color. Still, he couldn't help wondering why she was asking.
He got his answer the very next day.
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"Are these... paints?"
Kitagawa Ryo looked on as Sakayanagi Arisu directed a group of staff to move large boxes of oil paints into the corridor. Thanks to their absurd financial backing, the entire building was reserved just for the two of them. If there had been other patients, someone would've surely complained about the commotion.
"Since when did you get interested in oil painting, Arisu?"
Kitagawa stepped forward. Thanks to his [Divine Painter] talent, he could judge the quality of the paints just from their scent. Unlike cheap mass-produced products, the paints Arisu brought in were of premium quality—an extravagant luxury for a beginner.
"Yesterday," she replied casually. After sending off the last staff member, Arisu excitedly tugged Kitagawa into the corridor.
The vivid colors of the paints reflected off the white walls, making them appear even more dazzling. Arisu pulled Kitagawa all the way to the wall.
"Pick a color you think looks nice, Ryo."
Kitagawa smiled and chose the bright red in the center.
To Arisu's surprise, he expertly began mixing the color. Crimson formed the base, softened with a touch of pale violet for a greenish balance, and completed with a dab of lake blue. With precise ratios and practiced technique, the resulting color was—
"Rose red."
The vibrant, transparent rose red was elegant and brilliant. Arisu didn't even bother to ask where or when he had learned such skill. Her eyes were fixated on the hue.
"It's beautiful."
"My grandfather taught me a bit. Unfortunately, I haven't had much chance to use it."
Kitagawa handed her the palette. [Divine Painter] was a powerful talent, but for someone destined to lose both hands, it held little practical use. If Arisu hadn't brought the paints today, he likely never would've used it at all.
"I was going to say..."
Kitagawa began to talk more about painting, but as he turned, he saw Arisu wildly dip her brush into the rose red and slap it onto the pristine hospital wall.
Though it looked like the mischievous act of a child behaving their age, it was Sakayanagi Arisu doing it.
"Hey, Alice..."
"Don't worry. If anyone finds out, I'll hide you behind a flowerpot," she said cheerfully, stuffing another brush into Kitagawa's hand. Though being naughty, her tone remained sweet as ever.
"So you don't have to worry about getting your head chopped off."
She winked mischievously. Her deep violet eyes sparkled with playful glee, like a little devil.
In Chapter 8 of Alice in Wonderland, Alice meets three gardeners frantically painting white roses red. They had planted the wrong color for the Queen of Hearts, and this fairytale solution was their only recourse. Ultimately, they failed to paint all the roses, and the Queen shouted, "Off with their heads!" But Alice bravely hid the gardeners behind flowerpots.
Kitagawa, having read Alice in Wonderland even earlier than Arisu, instantly understood. Smiling, he took the brush and mimicked Alice, slapping color onto the white wall.
"I don't like the Queen of Hearts, but... red does look better than white."
"Just wait until I mix you a blood red, then you'll see which one I prefer."
"Tch."
With no plan or technique, the two children began gleefully smearing paint all over the corridor. Their antics quickly drew hospital staff, but the two showed no signs of stopping. Given who they were, the hospital couldn't exactly forcefully intervene. Graffiti on walls was one thing—but if someone got hurt during a scuffle...
After contacting both sets of parents, the hospital was stunned by how similar the responses were:
"We'll pay for it! Let them play! As long as the kids are happy, it's fine!"
With no restrictions left, Arisu and Ryo painted from one end of the hallway to the other. The dazzling rose red spread across the entire wall.
Before their chaotic adventure ended, Kitagawa Ryo carefully painted a single vivid red rose on the wall across from his hospital room—using his left hand.
So that it would be the first thing he saw whenever he stepped out.
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The man carried a large thermal flask, packed with so many tea leaves it looked like a miniature forest. He smiled politely at Kitagawa.
"Hello, Ryo-kun. I'm Arisu's father. I believe this is our first time speaking."
"Yes."
Kitagawa nodded. Even while sitting on the sofa, he was much shorter than the man. Noticing this, the chairman of the school removed the stool beneath him and crouched down, making eye contact with Kitagawa.
Speaking eye-to-eye with children was a habit inherited from his own father, who had dedicated his life to education.
"Would you like to spend New Year's at our house this year?"
His smile was warm. Though he had served as Chairman of Tokyo Advanced Nurturing High School for over half a year, he still preferred talking to younger children—especially clever and thoughtful ones like Kitagawa.
Kitagawa understood right away. Not long after winter arrived, he learned he had a new biological brother. Even through a phone screen, he could sense the suppressed joy and excitement in the family.
When they had first found him more than six months ago, they had felt just as passionate.
But in the end...
The chairman patted Kitagawa's head gently. He knew all too well that after the newborn's arrival, Kitagawa Ryo had essentially lost his place in the family. Still, the family name entitled him to the best medical care—a token gesture that couldn't be called compensation.
"Are you coming, Ryo?"
Wrapped in a small winter coat, Sakayanagi Arisu peeked out from behind her father. Her scarf-wrapped face looked even smaller than usual, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold.
"Of course."
"If things go well."
Kitagawa nodded in agreement. It was the first promise he made during this simulation.
And the first promise he broke.
In the first winter since their meeting, with the north wind howling, Kitagawa ultimately didn't leave the hospital.
He lost the last bit of sensation in his right hand. The symptoms had begun spreading to his upper arm.
During the New Year shrine visit, Sakayanagi Arisu prayed for a charm for Kitagawa, bedridden and unable to attend.
She gently placed the omamori into his hand.
His pinky didn't move.
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