Became a Manga Artist

By the time Junichi turned onto Kasugano Street, the sun had already vanished—and so had the cicadas.

The heat lingered like guilt.

And she was there, again.

Juketsu, as if sensing her presence before he did, leapt down from the windowsill, tail flicking.

Junichi walked up to the door and found Shirahashi Yukine seated on the steps, still dressed in her simple white one-piece, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

She looked up, her gaze quiet as always, but somehow even softer tonight.

Junichi said nothing at first. He unlocked the door and held it open.

She stood, brushed off her skirt, and stepped in.

Inside, Juketsu darted toward her in a blur of orange fur and mewls. Yukine knelt immediately and gathered the cat into her arms.

Juketsu purred, nosing into her chin.

Junichi poured tea with practiced movements, placing a cup beside her as she sat on the tatami.

They'd fallen into a rhythm these past few days. She visited almost every night—sometimes staying for five minutes, sometimes longer. Always for Juketsu.

Her family didn't allow pets. It wasn't much of a mystery why she kept returning.

Still, that didn't explain everything.

Junichi returned to his sketchpad and picked up where he'd left off—inking the faint outlines of a streetlamp flickering under drizzling rain. The scene looked oddly familiar.

After a moment, he asked without looking up, "Are we… friends?"

Yukine blinked. A beat of silence passed.

Then she nodded, slowly. "You helped me. I'm thankful. Of course… a friend."

Junichi's pen paused on the page. Something unspoken loosened inside him. Like a knot finally letting go.

He didn't know why he'd asked. Maybe he just needed to hear it out loud—from someone who'd once had every reason to fear him.

"Excuse me," Yukine said softly. "Where… is the cat food?"

"It's in the bedroom," Junichi replied automatically. "I'll go get—"

"No, I… I'll do it."

Her voice was so gentle that he didn't process what she meant—until she stood and walked off.

And then it hit him.

His body went cold. A thousand mental alarms blared at once.

"Wait—!"

Too late.

The door creaked open, revealing walls lined with photos. Photos of her. Candids, mostly. Some were of her in school uniform. Some during festivals. Some of her feeding a cat near Momiji Park.

He'd meant to take them down. He was going to. He just… hadn't.

Yukine stood frozen in the doorway.

Junichi stood frozen in the hall, heart pounding in his ears.

This was it.

The moment everything cracked.

"…What is this?" she asked, her voice almost unreadable.

Junichi swallowed hard. His throat was dry. "I—They're old. I didn't put them up. I mean, I did, but… that was before. I didn't— I should've taken them down. I was going to."

His words tumbled out, one on top of the next, clumsy and too fast.

Silence.

She turned around slowly. Her eyes locked with his. Calm. Unblinking.

Junichi forced a laugh—dry and cracking. "I know how this looks. You can call me a pervert if you want. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you."

Yukine tilted her head. "You… aren't."

Junichi blinked. "What?"

She didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just said it like a fact.

And somehow, that was worse than anger.

He felt a lump form in his throat.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly. "I… used to be someone worse. I can't change that overnight. But I'm trying."

A long pause.

Then she looked down. "The food?"

"Oh—right. Let me—"

He moved quickly, pulled down the photos from the wall, crumpling each one into a bag before grabbing the unopened cat food.

When he returned, she was already standing by the genkan.

"You're leaving?" he asked, cautiously.

"My family… they worry."

"Right. Of course." Junichi nodded, feeling the awkward weight of everything unsaid between them.

She stepped out, slipping into her sandals. But before she could go, he spoke.

"Hey."

She turned.

He looked at her—not just at her face, but through it, like trying to understand something he couldn't name.

"Thanks… for not freaking out."

A faint smile. Barely there.

Then she left.

As the door clicked shut, Junichi let out a long breath and slumped against the wall.

The words echoed in his head.

You… aren't.

She'd said it so calmly. Like it was obvious.

Maybe it was.

Juketsu returned to his usual spot on the balcony, grooming himself like nothing had happened.

Junichi stood in the middle of his now photo-less bedroom, letting the silence settle.

Then a soft chime sounded in his mind. Like a game notification.

A translucent screen blinked open in front of him.

[New Milestone Reached: Serialized Publication Confirmed]

[Reward Available: 1x Talent Lottery Draw]

[Initiate draw now?]

Junichi blinked. "Wait… now?"

The system had been dormant for weeks—quiet since the release of She and Her Cat. He'd almost forgotten it existed. But here it was, ready to pull him back into its strange mechanics.

He hovered over the prompt. "Yeah, sure. Start the draw."

A wheel spun in the air, glowing with symbols he didn't recognize. It slowed… ticked… and stopped.

[Congratulations. You've obtained: Talent – Cat's Mind]

"…What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Another screen popped up.

Cat's Mind: Derived from "She and Her Cat." Grants limited telepathic access to feline thought patterns. Accuracy may vary. Only applies to cats.

Junichi stared at it. "Seriously?"

Of all the possible powers… understanding cats?

He looked at Juketsu, still sprawled out on the windowsill.

"…I guess there's only one way to test this."

He walked over, crouched beside him. "Hey, Juketsu. Anything you wanna tell me?"

At first, silence.

Then—like a whisper carried on static:

"You expect me to survive on that dry junk again? I'm royalty, not a raccoon."

Junichi nearly fell over.

"…You can talk?!"

"Of course I can. Well, sort of. You're the one hearing me. Took you long enough. Where's my tuna?"

Junichi laughed—loud and sudden. The tension cracked like ice underfoot.

"You're unbelievable."

"Also, you forgot to clean my litter box. Just saying."

"You can wait until morning, your highness."

"Outrageous. I'll remember this treason."

Junichi leaned back, still chuckling. The absurdity of it all—the system, the stress, the photographs, the guilt—it all suddenly felt… manageable.

He went to the window and looked out at Kasugano Street. The streetlamps flickered gently. A breeze stirred the hanging laundry next door.

"You aren't."

The words floated through his mind again.

They weren't a promise. They weren't forgiveness.

But they meant something. Maybe more than he understood.

He turned back toward his desk.

The draft of his next story waited.

The system might've nudged him forward. But the stories—those still had to come from him.

And in this strange new life—between borrowed guilt and cats with opinions—it somehow all made sense.

For now.

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