Tokyo: The Manga Begins with the Funeral of Frilian

Shiori Shirakawa's voice was soft and melodious as she gently pointed her finger at the boy in the picture.

"I've kept it all this time."

Kamiya Yuma was stunned.

He picked up the sketch paper.

The paper is thin and brittle.

In that painting, his own image was distorted and crooked. The theme of heroism was simply too grand. At that time, he was simply unable to paint a hero well.

"I told you then that the painting was blown away by the wind."

Shiori Shirakawa also pushed the envelope towards the other person.

Actually, I lied.

Kamiya Yuma didn't say anything.

He looked at the painting.

Scenes from my junior high school days flashed through my mind.

At the other end of the school building, a boy was drawing on a piece of white paper.

During a physical education class, there was a girl who squatted in the shade, hugging her knees tightly.

There was a gust of wind that blew a piece of paper used for sketching to her feet.

She picked it up and never returned it to him.

Shiori Shirakawa picked up the plum wine and took another sip.

"Kamiya-kun."

"Um."

  

There's something I've been wanting to ask you.

"What is it?"

"When you drew Frilian."

She held the cup in both hands, lowered her head, and stared at the pale pink liquid swirling inside.

Are you thinking about someone?

The lights in the living room shone down.

Yuma Kamiya looked at her.

"I'm thinking of someone."

Who is it?

Shiori Shirakawa raised her head, her eyes reflecting the light above her, which seemed to hold a thin layer of water within them.

"Someone I've cared about since junior high school."

Shiori Shirakawa gripped the cup tightly with her fingers.

"What does she look like?"

"She was dark-skinned and thin back then, and she would always squat alone by the playground."

Shiori Shirakawa paused for a moment.

"She's different now."

"She's very beautiful now."

"Kamiya Yuma said."

"And he's also very stubborn. Even though he's already exhausted, he still stays up all night to help me scrape the net spots. Even though he doesn't like sweets, he always buys plum wine for celebrations. Even though he's kept a tattered painting since junior high school, he still has it now."

Shiori Shirakawa's eyes reddened.

"When did you find out about these things?"

"Just now."

Kamiya Yuuma pointed to the envelope on the table.

"I guessed it when you took the envelope out."

"What did you guess?"

"Shiori".

Yuma Kamiya looked at her.

Do you like me?

Shiori Shirakawa opened her mouth.

She lowered her head, her forehead resting on the rim of the mug.

The tips of her ears were so red they looked like they were about to bleed.

"You've already said so much, why do you still need to ask this question?"

Her voice was muffled, with a slight tremor of embarrassment and anger.

"Because I want to hear you say it yourself."

"Kamiya Yuma said."

The living room was quiet for a while.

"like."

Shiori Shirakawa's voice was so soft it was like a mosquito's buzz.

I've liked it since junior high school.

She buried her face in the cup and refused to look up.

"You were drawing on the other side of the teaching building, and I was sitting on this side of the playground watching you. There was a group of small black dots behind the hero you drew. You said they were classmates. I was wondering if I was among those small black dots."

Kamiya Yuma stood up, walked over to her, and squatted down.

Shiori Shirakawa lifted her face from the cup.

The two people were very close.

So close that you could see the tiny water droplets clinging to her eyelashes.

"You're inside."

"Kamiya Yuma said."

Shiori Shirakawa stared at him blankly.

"Among those little black dots you drew, am I really one of them?"

"have."

Kamiya Yuma paused for a moment.

"But I drew terribly back then, and I drew you like a lump of coal."

Shiori Shirakawa couldn't help but laugh.

Tears fell as I laughed, and they landed in my mug.

"You idiot."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Then why didn't you tell me sooner? In college, you would always come and ask me if I needed help with the ball during volleyball class. I thought you would say something else, but you always just said the same thing."

"I'm waiting for an opportunity."

You're lying.

"It's true."

Shiori Shirakawa bit her lip.

"How long have you been waiting for this opportunity?"

"I've been waiting since junior high."

Shiori Shirakawa reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt.

Her fingers were still trembling, clenched tightly.

"Then you tell me."

"What did you say?"

"When will that crimson moon grass that belongs to me finally bloom?"

Yuma Kamiya looked at her eyes, which were covered with tears.

"It's already open."

Shiori Shirakawa was stunned.

"In that colored sheet on the drawing table."

Kamiya Yuma pointed in the direction of the master bedroom.

"The sea of ​​blue flowers on the night of the full moon, the color of Fleurian blue. When I was painting that page, I mixed three kinds of blue. Cobalt blue was too cold, ultramarine was too warm, and the third color took a long time to mix."

He looked at Shiori Shirakawa.

"You stayed up all night with me, and after we finished cleaning up the network, you mixed the blue color the next morning at dawn. It was made with the morning light from outside the window."

Shiori Shirakawa clenched her fists even tighter.

"That doesn't really qualify as Crescent Moon Grass."

"It's on you."

"Kamiya Yuma said."

"That page of crimson moon grass belongs to you."

Shiori Shirakawa's shoulders trembled slightly.

She buried her face in Yuma Kamiya's shoulder.

You could feel the dampness from her eyelashes seeping through her shirt.

When she lifted her face, her nose and eyes were still red, but her expression was incredibly serious.

"I want to see."

"What are you looking at?"

"I want to see that color page now."

Yuma Kamiya stood up.

"On the drawing table."

Shiori Shirakawa stood up, swayed, and bumped her forehead against his back.

"Let me help you."

Kamiya Yuma put his arm around her shoulder and led her into the master bedroom.

On the drawing table lay the colorful page depicting a full moon, a pale moon, and a sea of ​​grass and flowers.

The sea of ​​flowers under the moonlight spreads out as a gentle blue on the drawing paper.

Shiori Shirakawa stood in front of the drawing table for a long time.

She picked up the colored pages and held them up to her eyes to examine them closely.

What's the name of this blue color?

"It doesn't have a name yet."

Kamiya Yuma stood behind her.

"Then let's call it Shirakawa Shiori Blue."

She carefully placed the color brochure down.

She turned to look at him, her eyes still red from the alcohol.

"No, in Frilian's world, the Azure Moon Grass has another name, called 'Unspoken Words.' What should we call this color you've drawn?"

Kamiya Yuma looked into her serious eyes.

"It's called 'Words I've finally said after waiting for ten years'."