Time passed gently like the turning pages of an old manga.
Kokoro found himself steadily immersed in the process alongside Sayuri, both of them completely focused on refining her manga project. The warm glow of the clubroom lights, mixed with the ambient hum of electronic tablets and the soft breeze wafting in through the open window, created an atmosphere so comforting it was easy to forget the passage of time.
Sayuri sat beside him, shoulders relaxed but her eyes sharp, full of passion. She tapped on her stylus with a kind of fervent energy, occasionally glancing toward Kokoro's sketches to sync her corrections with his linework. Every once in a while, she'd murmur something like, "Maybe the panel should break here" or "This scene feels a bit rushed" and Kokoro would nod, adjusting their shared vision into smoother frames.
Across the room, however, not everyone was still running on full steam.
"Uuuuugh... I'm dying..." groaned Momo, her voice stretching even more than her limbs. With a drawn-out yawn, she leaned back in her chair and nearly toppled over. "I can't feel my spine anymore... I've been coloring non-stop. Someone better praise me."
She blinked sluggishly, her oversized cat-ear headphones slightly askew, then looked up at the old analog clock perched above the door. Its hands inched toward 5:00 PM, each tick echoing subtly through the mostly quiet room.
"Sayuriiiii, it's almost five," she whined dramatically, rolling her shoulders with a satisfying crack. "I'm heading home first, okay? My bed is calling. Loudly."
Sayuri barely looked up from her tablet, eyes scanning Kokoro's redrawn panel. "Mhm. Be careful on your way home, Momo. Get some proper rest."
"Roger that! Rest and snacks await!" Momo chirped before stuffing her tablet into her bag with cartoonish flair.
Hearing Momo's declaration, the rest of the club glanced toward the clock almost in unison.
Ritsu, who had been hunched over his background sketches like a shadowy statue, let out a soft grunt and rubbed his eyes. "...Been staring at bricks and rooftops too long. Think I'm starting to hallucinate textures."
Tooru yawned, stretching like a sleepy cat. "Same here... My eyes feel like someone poured sand into them."
Yura, the shy twin-tailed girl, blinked her wide eyes and nodded, brushing her wavy bangs aside. Ena, ever the serious one, snapped her notebook shut with a soft sigh and began packing with military efficiency.
"Let's call it for the day," Ena announced quietly. "We all need our eyesight tomorrow."
Ritsu muttered something about going home to rehydrate with a canned coffee, while Tooru mumbled a half-joke about finally watching the new episode of Galaxy Idol Crisis. As they packed their things, laughter began to float around the room again, small jokes and shared references peppering their exit.
Momo, now with her backpack slung over one shoulder, peeked back into the room. "Don't overwork yourselves, lovebirds~!" she teased, throwing a wink at Sayuri and Kokoro before ducking out.
Sayuri's ears turned pink. "Ignore her," she muttered, waving them off.
Kokoro chuckled but said nothing, his eyes drifting to the doorway where the rest slowly filed out.
As the door shut behind the last of the five members, a hush settled into the room. It wasn't uncomfortable—just a quiet stillness, like the world outside had dimmed slightly to allow them their shared focus.
The room had a golden hue now, painted by the late afternoon sun. Dust motes danced in the slant of light pouring through the open window, giving the clubroom an almost magical quality. The once-busy space now felt more intimate, personal.
Sayuri exhaled and looked at Kokoro, a warm smile softening her face.
"Sorry you got dragged into this so suddenly," she said.
"You didn't drag me into anything," Kokoro replied, tapping the tablet lightly with his stylus. "It's fun."
Sayuri looked at him for a moment longer, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and curiosity. Then she turned her focus back to the screen. The two of them continued working in near silence, the soft rhythm of sketching and gentle rustling of clothes being the only sounds in the room.
Somewhere outside, the faint cry of cicadas could be heard as the day leaned toward evening.
And so, as the clock crept closer to five and the clubroom emptied save for two passionate creators, the story of May Your Wish Be Fulfilled continued to bloom in pencil lines and heartfelt frames—a quiet collaboration born under the soft light of the fourth floor.
__________________________________________
The soft rustle of paper and the low, rhythmic tapping of styluses filled the now serene Manga and Anime Clubroom. With the other members gone, the air had changed. It wasn't just quieter—it felt more intimate. Only Katsuragi Kokoro and Aikawa Sayuri remained, seated beside one another at the long central table. The golden rays of the afternoon sun spilled in through the large window behind them, painting the walls and wooden floors in amber light.
Faint sounds drifted in from the hallway—the indistinct chatter and laughter of students finishing their own club activities, the occasional thump of a closing door, and the distant creak of footsteps on the old floorboards. It was the sort of background noise that made everything feel alive yet detached, like the world was moving just slightly out of focus, allowing them to stay in this gentle bubble of productivity.
Kokoro hunched slightly over the tablet in front of him, his brows knitted together in concentration. The panel he was working on depicted the story's protagonist standing beneath a starless sky, head bowed in sorrow. Everything was ready: the brushwork, the mood, the composition. Everything except—
"What do I put in the speech bubble..." he murmured to himself.
He paused, the stylus hovering over the screen. Unlike when he was working on his own manga, where the dialogue flowed naturally from his mind to the page, this time he hesitated. This wasn't his story. It belonged to Sayuri. It was her vision, her message. He couldn't put just anything into the mouth of her character.
He turned slightly to his left, expecting to ask casually.
But the words caught in his throat.
Sayuri was deep in thought, her pink eyes scanning her own tablet as she adjusted one of the sketched scenes. The golden light coming through the window bathed her in a warm glow, causing her long pink hair to shimmer like strands of silk. Her expression was pure focus—lips slightly pursed, eyebrows softly angled downward. And somehow, despite the intensity in her eyes, she radiated a calming gentleness.
Kokoro stared for a second longer than necessary, a faint warmth blooming in his cheeks.
Beautiful, he thought involuntarily.
He quickly shook his head and took a breath. After all the emotional landmines Mika had set off in him, he'd developed a resistance—a kind of mental armor against the dizzying effect of beautiful girls. Still, Sayuri wasn't like Mika. Her aura was different. She wasn't trying to captivate. She just was.
"Uhm... Sayuri-senpai?" he asked, careful not to sound like he had been watching her.
She looked up gently, as if pulled from another world, and tilted her head toward him.
"Yes, Kokoro-kun?"
"For this panel—I wasn't sure what kind of dialogue you were going for," he said, gesturing to the panel in question.
Sayuri leaned over slightly, squinting at his tablet screen. She was close now, close enough that Kokoro could smell the faint floral scent of her shampoo. Her gaze softened as she recognized the scene.
"Ah, yes... I actually wrote a draft for that line yesterday. I can send it to you now," she said with a faint smile, fingers already moving over her tablet.
A few moments later, a soft ding came from Kokoro's device.
"Got it. Thanks," he said.
Sayuri gently waved her hand, brushing away the gratitude with a smile. "No, I should be the one thanking you, Kokoro-kun. You've been such a huge help. Really."
And then, like a cherry blossom caught in a spring breeze, she giggled.
Kokoro froze.
There was something strangely disarming about it. Her laughter wasn't loud or boisterous, but light—as if joy just naturally bubbled up from her. And in this room suffused by warm light, surrounded by sketches and dreams, that sound made the atmosphere even more surreal.
His cheeks betrayed him. A soft pink crept up to his ears.
He bent lower over his tablet. "R-Right. Back to work."
Sayuri didn't miss the blush. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her lips quirking upward in a sly smile. But she said nothing, simply humming to herself and going back to her own project.
Minutes passed. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. The sky outside turned from gold to orange, and the shadows in the room grew longer. Occasionally, their shoulders brushed lightly as they leaned closer to review each other's screens. It was innocent, subtle—and yet, it made Kokoro very aware of the space between them.
He glanced at the speech bubble again. Sayuri's draft was simple yet poetic:
"Even if the stars forget me... will you remember instead?"
Kokoro couldn't help but smile. "You write like a poet, Sayuri-senpai."
"Really?" she asked, voice touched with hope and surprise.
"Yeah," he said with a nod. "It's delicate. Emotional. You paint with words."
She chuckled again, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Coming from a manga creator, that means a lot."
There was a pause. Not awkward, just quiet.
Outside, a pair of birds flitted past the window, their wings casting faint moving shadows against the clubroom wall. From somewhere distant, a soft breeze crept in, rustling the corner of a manga page on the shelf.
"You know," Sayuri said after a while, still watching her screen, "I always imagined club work would be chaotic and noisy... but this? This is really nice."
Kokoro looked around. The empty chairs. The quiet buzz of electronics. The golden-orange glow.
"Yeah. It is," he said softly.
For a long moment, they worked in synchronized silence.
Just two artists, alone in a quiet room of dreams.
And as the sun slipped lower beyond the horizon, and the day transitioned gently into twilight, the bond between them grew—quietly, naturally, without either of them needing to say it aloud.