The production progress of the 'RWBY' 'Red' chapter was steadily advancing. The Ruby Rose character designs drawn by Uehara Etsuki had brought the project to the ideal state Kamiyā Yuu envisioned. The programming for the MAYA 3D modeling software had also entered its final stage. All of this made Kamiyā Yuu increasingly eager to bring this work to life as soon as possible.
A level of visual quality far beyond the current technological standard of 3D animation in this world—not necessarily overwhelming, but perfectly suited to the theme of the short film. Music that matched the animation rather than simply aiming to impress. Exquisitely beautiful Gothic character designs. And, finally, intense combat scenes that uniquely embodied the aesthetics of violence.
Even if it were just a ten-minute animated short, Kamiyā Yuu couldn't think of any reason why the 'Red' chapter wouldn't spark a wave of excitement.
For someone like him, a debut work was extremely important. A strong debut could grant him an exceptional reputation, attract substantial investment for future projects, and even allow him to leap from a key animator to the position of animation director. Once he accumulated enough capital, he could establish his own animation studio. Becoming both a director and company chairman like the renowned Hayao Miyazaki from his previous world was not some unattainable dream—in fact, that was exactly his plan.
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"Yuu, what are you smiling about? Last time you made that kind of face, you brushed it off with a decent excuse—but if you keep grinning like that, there's no way I won't worry."
Leaning against Kamiyā Yuu's chest, Kamiyā Sora tilted her head slightly upward. Her cool, slender fingers pinched his cheek, pulling him back from his daydream. Her clear, calm voice carried a hint of dissatisfaction.
She wore a sleeveless Gothic-style white summer dress, lounging lazily in his arms as usual while watching TV. Her silver hair and snow-white skin complemented each other, creating an almost unreal beauty—so ethereal it felt like an illusion. Yet, within Kamiyā Yuu's embrace, that illusion felt undeniably real, stirring a quiet longing in his heart.
Snapped out of his thoughts, Kamiyā Yuu instinctively lowered his head. Seeing the seriousness and faint concern on her delicate face, he fell silent for a moment. Then he gently wrapped his arms around her slender waist, as if wanting to draw her soft, warm body closer.
"I'm working on an animation," he said softly. "All the preparations are nearly complete. It won't be long before you can see something I'm truly proud of."
Kamiyā Sora's body was light and soft, her temperature naturally lower than average—cool in summer, warm in winter. Simply holding her was a kind of sensory comfort.
It was undeniable that Kamiyā Yuu had begun to indulge in the subtle thrill of lingering near the boundaries of propriety. Before either of them had crossed that final line, they maintained a delicate balance, like walking a tightrope. Both were vaguely aware of each other's feelings, and both understood their own, yet they silently chose to maintain this ambiguous closeness, waiting for that final barrier to disappear.
As Kamiyā Sora sat in his arms, she suddenly felt a warmth she had never experienced before envelop her. Even with the air conditioning running, her cheeks flushed slightly. Her slender feet resting on the tatami stiffened for a moment before relaxing along with her body. Her trembling hand briefly clutched at his clothing before loosening again, the warmth leaving her feeling weak and unable to muster strength.
Before this, Kamiyā Yuu had never held her like this. Even when she sat in his lap, he had always maintained a subtle distance, as if there were an invisible line he wouldn't cross. Now, that line seemed to blur, and the unfamiliar shift left her feeling uncertain.
Her hand fell limply to her side. Usually quick-witted, her thoughts now felt hazy. Unable to fully process his words, she murmured, "Mm… I know. You've been busy lately… we haven't had much time together."
There was a trace of complaint in her voice.
Kamiyā Yuu could feel her body growing softer in his arms, her warmth increasing through the thin fabric between them. The usual coolness in her eyes had faded. From his angle, he could clearly see the faint blush on her pale cheek and her slightly parted lips as she breathed softly.
—This reaction is the opposite of what I expected… Shouldn't I be the one saying she's playing with fire? Why does it feel like I'm the one doing that?
He hesitated briefly. The cool, refreshing presence in his arms had turned into something warm. His hand, no longer deliberately keeping distance, rested lightly over the thin fabric at her waist, steadying her as if to prevent her from slipping.
"Sorry… I've only really been able to spend time with you on my days off lately," he said.
"That's your choice," Kamiyā Sora replied softly, biting her lip slightly before continuing in a faint, unsteady voice. "Yuu… lower your head a little."
Kamiyā Yuu paused, then leaned down as instructed. "Like this?"
"That's fine."
She gently rested her head against his face, her hand slipping into his and intertwining their fingers. Closing her eyes, she murmured, "I'm a little sleepy."
The faint fragrance of her silver hair drifted into his senses. He brushed a strand away from her face and smiled softly. "Then go ahead and sleep."
Their simple exchange carried an unspoken understanding. Neither wanted to break the fragile atmosphere.
The living room fell quiet. It was nearing noon, and bright sunlight poured through the window onto the balcony, filling the room with warmth. The distant sounds of car horns and cicadas blended, faintly reaching inside before being drowned out by the television.
—In every sense… it really is summer.
Kamiyā Yuu sighed inwardly. One hand rested lightly against her waist, while the other remained intertwined with hers. He gazed at her peaceful, sleeping face, then gently lifted her hand, studying it.
It felt delicate—almost fragile, as though it might break with the slightest pressure.
Her skin was smooth and pale, her fingers slender and refined. Paired with lace gloves, such hands would rival any work of art in beauty.
"Sora…"
Drawn by impulse, he lightly pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.
The more beautiful something was, the stronger the urge to possess it—to draw it closer, to make it one's own. Perhaps that was a feeling shared by many.