PROLOGUE — Body Art: Cubism Is Truly Fascinating
Cubism is truly fascinating. It breaks forms apart, yet ultimately reassembles them into a single structure. Every point where the gaze pauses and flows is meticulously calculated, drawing you slowly into the depths of the canvas as you stare.
I also adore pointillism. Up close, it's just scattered colors, but step back a little, and they weave into an entirely different scene. The way the separated elements connect so fluidly into a whole—it's utterly beautiful.
Fauvism is appealing in its honesty. It doesn't hide the colors at all. The saturation pushes emotion ahead of form, rough and unstable, yet somehow that rawness brings the entire canvas to life.
Expressionism captivates me too. The more the forms crumble, the sharper the emotions become. Anxieties and terrors seep straight through the brushstrokes—it's so sincere.
Surrealism has a dreamy haze to it. The way it blurs the boundary between reality and dreams is elegantly refined. Familiar landscapes, yet somehow off-kilter, melting your sense of reality away as you gaze.
But above all, the most beautiful is Body School. The spine erects the core, the ribs embrace the space, and muscle fibers layer in precise directions. Watching all those structures interlock and connect... somehow, your gaze just can't pull away. Especially when there's still warmth lingering in the body.
...People love flowers, yet why do they fear the forms blooming within their own bodies? Isn't that right?
Clank.
The gallery door swings open with a dull thud. Students in uniforms of every variety file inside. Beneath the red lighting, countless sculptures dangle from the ceiling. Twisted limbs. Warped spines. Elongated joints beyond reason.
"...The smell."
"That's blood..."
I turn slowly.
"Welcome to my gallery, Teacher."
I bow my head slightly.
"And to my dear friends."
The teacher at the front speaks in a low voice.
"...Yura."
"Hehe... it's been quite a while. A month, perhaps?"
The teacher's gaze sweeps slowly across the gallery interior. Then, in a low tone, he reads it out.
"As the prime suspect in a string of serial murders, kidnappings and confinements, corpse desecrations, illegal human experimentation, and the disappearance of numerous students..."
A brief silence falls.
"...I've come to arrest you."
"Arrest? What a strange thing to say."
I lightly adjust a single red thread with my fingertip.
"Didn't you all come to appreciate my works?"
At that moment.
One student from the back points to the ceiling.
"...That one."
One student's face drains white. A trembling fingertip points at the sculpture.
"That's the kid who went missing from our school two weeks ago..."
The teacher's eyes flicker faintly.
"...Everyone, look away."
His low voice cracks a little rougher than usual. But even he can't tear his gaze from the face dangling overhead.
"Ah, this one?"
My voice brightens slightly.
"Isn't it wonderfully natural?"
I tug lightly on a red thread.
Thud.
The dangling sculpture's arm slowly lifts. The joint folds naturally, and its head tilts to the side.
The students' expressions harden in an instant.
"See? Anchoring it to the tendon below the trapezius makes the movement so much smoother. I've realigned the spine along the central axis too, so it doesn't collapse under weight."
The thread shakes again. The sculpture's fingertips slowly rise. As if alive.
"...It's alive, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't."
I laugh in a slightly excited tone.
"It looks that way, doesn't it? Oh, I'm delighted. That part was the hardest, actually. After death, the muscle responses all sever, so the natural flow doesn't come easily. But twisting the tendon connections just a bit brings out surprising vitality."
Tick.
The sculpture's fingertip trembles faintly.
One student swallows hard.
"—Especially the neckline. Get the angle wrong here, and it looks stiff right away."
The students' faces go stark white.
"...You fucking psycho."
"But isn't it truly beautiful?"
I gently cradle the sculpture's chin with my fingertip.
"It looks just like it's alive."
"...Why."
The teacher's voice quavers low.
"Why the hell would you do something like this?"
"What a strange question."
I slowly look up at the works swaying beneath the ceiling.
"You all say you love humanity."
"I merely peered a little deeper into that beauty."
Red light thinly grazes over my eyes. At that moment.
A familiar pink-haired student steps forward from the back.
Hoshino.
"...You."
His drowsy gaze slowly sweeps the works.
"...You really think this is art?"
Ah. A faintly regretful expression forms.
"...I thought you'd understand, Hoshino."
The gallery falls silent.
The red threads sway slowly.
"I told you before. Death isn't an end—it's the moment forms unfold."
Hoshino's expression hardens.
"Even when you lost the person you cherished most... I was right there by your side."
"We gazed together at how beautifully those traces lingered."
I lower my gaze briefly.
"...I still remember asking if you'd like to try it together."
Hoshino's expression wavers slowly.
"...Don't ruin even those memories."
"Well... you refused in the end."
I smile quietly.
"It was a shame. You were one of the rare ones here who looked beyond death."
"The moment forms crumbled, the landscape of consciousness quietly fading... you watched closer than anyone."
"I truly thought... you'd seen the same beauty as I do."
An orange-haired student grits her teeth and lunges forward.
Neru.
Her fiery temper is quite charming.
"Shut up... shut that insane mouth of yours!!!"
The gun barrel swings straight toward me.
Ah. Dangerous.
My fingertips move lightly.
Crack.
One sculpture from the ceiling plummets down in an instant. A twisted arm seizes the barrel and wrenches it aside by force.
"Guh?!"
The students recoil simultaneously.
And then.
The sculpture, limp until moments ago, slowly raises its head.
Red threads stretch taut along its spine.
"...Uh.... Ah..."
The air in the gallery freezes.
"Ah, you must be careful."
A faint smile curls my lips.
"You can't attack an innocent citizen, you know?"
"Why is that thing talking..."
"It's an Automata."
I stroke the sculpture's head lightly.
"I prefer ones with life in them, after all. They retain warmth, and the responses are far richer."
The red eyes curve slowly. I flick a red thread with my fingertip.
"Automata are much easier to sustain than students, in any case."
"The title is... Synchronization of Flesh to Mechanical Pulsation."
The sculpture's chest rises faintly. A rhythmic mechanical hum echoes softly from within.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
"...Kill... me..."
Hm. This is a bit troublesome.
"This one's voice mechanisms aren't fully tuned yet."
I gently trace the sculpture's jawline.
"I usually clean them up so no screams or noise linger... but with this piece, I focused more on the structure, so finishing touches ran late."
I ponder briefly and nod.
"Hmm~ Still, it brings out the emotions quite well thanks to that. Maybe this approach isn't bad. Learning truly has no end, does it?"
"...You bastard..."
"...Disgusting..."
One student from the back suddenly clamps their mouth.
"Urk...!"
The moment they lurch forward, head toward the floor.
My eyes widen slightly.
"Ah~ Not there, please."
I lightly point to the passage outside the gallery.
"If you step out, there's an empty space to the right. Even among the visitors to my old spot... some couldn't handle it."
"If it splatters on the works, it's a problem."
Why does everyone look so tormented? I'm puzzled.
I truly think it's beautiful.
"...You all say you love humanity."
"Why can't you appreciate humanity's most beautiful form?"
The red threads pull taut all at once.
Shadows on the ceiling begin to stir one by one.
Tick tick tick
I close my eyes briefly.
The red threads sway slowly, thin breaths layering over the mechanical hums. From somewhere on the ceiling, a faint sob echoes.
To that melody, a quiet smile spreads across my lips.
"...Then. From kitsch to avant-garde."
My red eyes curve slowly.
"The curation of Rakuka Yumesakai... Virtuoso of the Ring Finger."
"Please, enjoy it to the end."
