Youth in the Academy
Scratch, scratch, scratch—the only sound in the tiny single room was the quiet dance of pens on paper.
In this suffocatingly cramped space that anyone would find stifling, five people were huddled together, drawing away.
"Why?"
"It's so cramped..."
"Sorry..."
Wiyu's chest, which took up far too much space, wasn't just invading Yamucha's spot—it was claiming territory like a pig rooting around. Thanks to that, Yamucha's hand, diligently sketching for dear life, kept bumping into the terrifyingly soft mounds that looked like they could swallow it whole.
A breathless scene repeating every five minutes: bump, apologize, resume drawing.
Sweat soaking through was one thing, but when even her breasts—part of her body—started dripping, the desk was on the verge of total devastation.
"Ugh, it's hot."
Finally unable to take it, she tossed off her top, and the two heavy, bandage-wrapped lumps went thud! onto the desk. How much did each of those masses weigh to send such a solid thump through the table?
Ignoring whether anyone was watching, she snatched the towel around Yamucha's neck and shoved it into her cleavage, scrubbing away.
"I'll wash this and give it back later."
"You don't have to."
"Huh? Then I'll buy you a new one."
<You fucking idiot, if you've got a dick between your legs like a real man, demand it back!!>
"Argh, shut your beak, old man."
Change, who had been abandoned in the corner with his beak tied shut with rope, roared in frustration until Kiduna wrapped him up again in bandages to calm him down.
That insane gravitational pull, impossible even for other women to ignore... or whatever.
Anyway, the manga club was pouring every ounce of effort into drawing manga today, as always. And as a bonus, the seniors watched over their juniors—the future leaders of the club—with fond gazes.
Normally, you'd expect someone to get embarrassed from all those constant bumps against their chest, but whether it was her unyielding "I'm a guy!" concept or her genuine belief that she was a real man despite those things dangling, she was sincerely apologetic for the hindrance and otherwise paid it no mind.
"As manga club vice president, I have to say, you two will die like that."
"I didn't say anything, Senior Kiduna."
"Sigh, no helping it... Satisfy yourself with my chest then."
Not one to lose, Echo boldly stripped off his top too, casually exposing his fake breasts right in Shovel Flag's face—the flat-chested second-year with the buzzcut and glasses.
Echo smirked as she tried to poke the fakes with her fountain pen, grabbing her hand to stop her.
Then Kiduna's knuckle-raps landed squarely on both their heads.
Flash—!
Jet-black lightning exploded in a merciless strike. The two collapsed over the table amid the black thunderbolt's fury.
And ignoring the three seniors entirely, the two juniors stuck close together—hips touching, chests brushing, shoulders rubbing—and kept on drawing diligently. With their height difference, Yamucha could see straight into her cleavage just by turning his head. Up close from below, her face might've looked comical, but from any angle, she was stunningly beautiful. Plus, she passively emitted that sweet, witchy fragrance, so much so that girls had knocked thinking it was a perfume club.
Maintaining perfect composure amid it all. Yamucha's face, serene like a bodhisattva's and soon to glow with golden light. To protect his true friendship, his focused gaze brimmed with near-Buddhist enlightenment.
"It's finally done!!"
After a whopping 5-6 months since joining the club—just counting the time—Wiyu's manga was complete. Technically Yamucha and Wiyu's manga, but why had it taken so long when she could draw just by thinking?
Her ability seemed simple, but surprisingly, she meticulously weighed her instincts, senses, and principles. Starting from "If I can fill an empty glass with beer by turning water into mana, I can make beer with mana too?" she filled in the gaps with academy-taught magic theory and her witch talent.
It looked instantaneous, but relative to her gifts, she trudged through ridiculously finicky steps. Partly because her power had no built-in brakes. And partly because she couldn't stand not understanding and explaining the principles of what she created herself.
Yet for No.1's function, she brushed it off as "all-purpose" without a care, which was kinda funny—especially since she acted like she couldn't recreate it.
No.2, surprisingly, she designed from start to finish and could remake it.
Anyway, rambling aside: they studied manga, learned composition, admired various art styles. Like AI training on drawings, they absorbed everything to find the optimal style. They meticulously researched panel division, directing, and more to craft it rigorously.
"Hmm, let me see... Don't expect too much from a first work, okay?"
After this long haul—bragging she'd seen comics for at least a millennium—Vice President Kiduna savored Wiyu's creation.
It's amazing... I thought with her power to draw by thought alone, she'd slack off somewhere, but no.
Amateur roughness lingered, but the pure pursuit of "fun" shone through!
Yes, comics just need to be fun... And no unpleasant content either!
"Perfect. As an amateur work, it's top-tier."
"Whoa, really?!"
"Yeah, some rough spots here and there, but that'll improve with practice. Yamucha's fine touches helped."
"Ah, thank you."
"You two... Such great chemistry for first-timers. The ultimate duo."
Wiyu and Yamucha beamed bashfully at the praise.
After that, lessons on story structure, panel breaks, directing focus. Flow of the reader's gaze in sequential panels mattered; double-page or single-panel spreads needed overwhelming impact.
"How about making the art pop out?"
"Nah, that's a cheap trick for amateurs lacking confidence."
It could disrupt the reading flow unpleasantly. Still, Kiduna valued that Wiyu, who could animate every image, chose to draw it as comics out of respect.
More handmade than ability-spat-out! Sure, envied the effortless tones, shadows, effects—but PCs could do that nowadays anyway!
"Ho, definitely solid. Echo could publish this right away."
"Heh... It's good, leaves you hooked for the next. Decided!"
Amamiya Echo, handling backgrounds, coloring, shading, effects, inking, storyboarding, research, and more for the club.
To him, their work brimmed with life, passion, and real success potential. Amateur bits were inevitable; pros could polish the rest.
For submission, they'd need at least five more issues—at their pace, another six months.
With the rough structure set, what they needed was speed!
"Huddle up and crank 'em out! This is our club's submission! No objections, Vice Prez?!"
"True, Shovel or my stuff's fine, but we need fresh blood... Newbies it is!"
"Uh, but we already submitted something?"
"Nope."
They'd built up this grand atmosphere, but weren't the seniors just the ones whose comics got viewed?
Kiduna mentioned they submitted shorts and such, but...
"Overexposure to comics makes drawing your own harder... Keeps feeling like you've seen it somewhere!"
"Finally, some results for festival time!"
"So what do the other seniors do while Echo draws?"
"Watch."
Why hasn't this club folded? Yamucha and Wiyu exchanged glances, suddenly dreading the next two years.
"Male witches live by skill!! I'll show you the grit of rock-bottom life!!"
He's fired up... Passion surges from a solid work!!
Gulping energy drinks, he breathed pro life into their fun storyboard. A twisted, passion-infused style infuses soul...!!
Truant problem child skips classes coolly, holes up in the clubroom, cranks out five full manuscripts.
Beside him, Wiyu and Yamucha tirelessly toned, dialogued, hands flying.
The other two seniors evaluated coolly for fun factor...!! Minor issues like Wiyu stopping Echo from pulling a knife.
From the first issue's six months to five more: done in under a week.
"Echo Senior, aren't you superhuman...?"
"If a male witch can't do this much, he's just a sex slave, punk!!"
So treat your childhood friend male witch right, got it? Introduce me!! I'm trying to impress!!
Wiyu nodded at her dying-but-still-talkative senior.
"Finally done... It got long, but photocopy and submit—you could debut anytime!"
<By the way, isn't this character modeled after me way too cool?>
"Huh? To me, Grand Duke's always awesome."
<Sigh, get the rope—time to hang.>
Too trash for such a sweet kid...! The charismatic, dignified devil from the manga—Wiyu's view of me? Just a perverted gentleman, the Grand Duke thought, lighting a cig and stepping out for a quick suicide break.
His verdict? Top 50 rankings easy!
Last, for confirmation—and to share their labored-first-fruit—they'd get feedback from the recipient.
"Our puppy's all grown up."
"Huh, why?"
"Just... Still vivid, you swinging that sword, vowing to protect Mom. Now academy, friends, making manga."
"Was the manga okay?"
"Sadly, Mom'll cheer whatever our puppy does. You always give your best, right? But as an adult to her kid stepping into society..."
Endless worries about her wandering child.
Unlike Mom, tons of friends, fun daily, good with profs. Cute daily calls chirping like a baby bird, no worries needed.
But knowing she couldn't cradle forever, bittersweet—but always cheering.
"If anyone ~ bullies you, tell Mom? Papers full of that lately."
"Uh, Mom can't even touch machines...?"
"Witches, right?"
Aris tilted her head—kid had dwarf blood, maybe okay—then shrugged, everyone's different.
Decided: Stock our puppy's handmade work in the library for witches.
Wherever it serializes, if editors bully an academy kid...
Maybe set up a witch kingdom publisher, Aris mused quietly.
"Want #1? Just say."
"Yup yup."
For her beloved, Aris'd wipe everything but puppy's manga.
Post-call, reread the manga.
Change's over-idealization tempted a scold, but kid's mom-view was absurdly worse—let it slide. Anyone she knew'd fight: "That's based on you? Wanna throw down?"
"...Even I think it's overkill."
If it blows up, even Mom might struggle.
★★★
"Ha, first club join was daunting, but push through and it works."
"Yeah! Kinda exciting what comes next, right Yamucha?"
Stick till finale, sequels together. Post-grad friends forever—easy thoughts from Wiyu.
Yamucha secretly wondered if he'd ever make "real friends" in life... Would she recoil at his secrets?
Unavoidable nagging doubts.
Friends often puzzled why cross continents from distant Chronicle Continent for this academy.
But sensing no one wanted to share, he stopped asking.
First-years: quirky, strong personalities—but good ties, he thought.
And most precious? Probably this self-proclaimed male witch.
"Academy stress from lagging studies, total mess—those days gone?"
"Ugh, but back then I thought you were commoner, didn't know you were witch."
"Yeah, now seems fun with friends, seniors, profs—relieved."
"Right? First friends ever at academy. Honestly, every day's a blast."
Luxuriously joyful days.
Bicker over grades, etc., but happy enough to hope it lasts post-grad.
"Heard you're acing classes lately—what's the best time?"
—Same answer returned.
Wiyu gazed sparkling-eyed at the precious manuscripts hugged like treasure.
Sometimes chilling sadism peeked, but so did pure sparkle.
Strangers'd fear her, but first-years knew she cared deeply.
Foolish, blunt, accident-prone—but without that, academy'd feel sterile?
Awkward groups chatted forever on Wiyu topics.
Ultimate problem child bonding everyone, friends with all—first-year's purest romantic fool.
Whoosh—
"Rain! No umbrella!"
"Can't help—can't miss submission."
Clueless to her charm's extent, troubling others.
But that ignorance-born kindness fueled fun memories.
Uniform off as umbrella, dashing through academy.
Rain okay, but not wetting precious manuscripts.
Youth drama scene: sprinting field excitedly.
Window friends' intrigued gazes, waving.
Showing off unknown manuscripts proudly to them.
Otter bragging fave stone—friends burst laughing.
Tomorrow: cafe gossip spreading it.
Her power drawing people closer—maybe more special than witch abilities.
"Hope it works."
With hopeful words, manuscript copy into mailbox.
Chat fodder for days; results whatever, more effort ahead.
That age: burning passion heedless of time's waste.
"Next, digital—I'll teach ya."
"Thought witches explode machines like Mom—maybe better."
Even if their senior-helped work flops.
Self-made achievement sense propels forward.
And tight bonds shine brighter friendships.
