Academism (5)
The corridor was silent. Only the moonlight spilling through the windows faintly illuminated the floor.
A girl with long pink hair cascading down her back—Reika Misono—walked toward the end of the hall with her arms crossed. Each click of her heels echoed lightly through the empty building.
A sneer played on her lips.
"That hick getting to represent the centuries-old Wild Hunt Art Academy? What a joke."
She hadn't liked her from the start. The students' stares. The teachers' expectations. And those gazes of admiration fixed on that Yumesakai girl.
"...Just because she sketched a few human anatomy studies well, everyone's making a fuss."
Her steps halted before the workshop at the corridor's end.
...Something's off.
Unlike usual, the lights were out. Yet the heavy iron door stood slightly ajar. Cold air seeped through the narrow gap.
She frowned. Just this evening, the girl had been overly paranoid—don't touch anything, stick to the path—like she was hiding treasure. And yet she hadn't locked the door?
She hesitated for a moment, then let out a scoff.
"...Scared of something?"
She pushed the door open with her fingertips.
Creak.
The old iron door swung slowly inward. The interior was pitch black. Without the sunset glow or dim lights from earlier, the workshop felt like an entirely different place.
Anatomy sketches plastered across the walls, works covered in cloth, scattered metal tools—all cast long shadows under the moonlight.
"...Talk about a creepy vibe."
She stepped inside slowly.
Clank.
The door rattled behind her. Her steps paused for the briefest instant.
...Too quiet.
A stillness settled over the space, as if someone were holding their breath, watching.
Then, a faint scent wafted through the air.
"Ugh... what the hell is that smell..."
Her nose wrinkled. The tang of iron. And a hospital-like chemical reek. Far thicker than the formalin she'd smelled earlier that day. As if... something had just been worked on.
A chill prickled up her spine for a moment. But she shook her head.
"...Ha."
She felt ridiculous for getting swept up in the atmosphere. She scanned the depths slowly.
"...It's cold."
She shivered slightly.
"Why's the AC blasting like this in spring?"
And at the far end of the workshop, a thick curtain came into view. Its shadow seemed to tremble ever so faintly under the moonlight.
Her lips curved upward. Right. So this is it.
The thing that so-called exchange event genius had desperately hidden.
She approached the curtain slowly. Her footsteps echoed unnaturally loud.
Click. Click.
Her hand reached for the curtain's edge.
"Well then... let's see~."
She yanked the fabric aside.
Shrrk. Damp air brushed her face. Cold, laced with formalin and the metallic stench of blood.
Beyond it, disassembled human bodies were neatly arranged like exhibits. Surgical lights hung from the ceiling. Arms and fingers lined a metal table. Red muscle exposed along incision lines. Walls filled with dissection sketches and structural blueprints.
...Her face drained of color in an instant.
"...What... the hell is this..."
She staggered back. Her trembling gaze swept over the severed surfaces and bloodstains.
"...This can't be real humans... right?"
Her voice quivered faintly.
"...Models... right?"
She had to run. That's what she thought. But her legs wouldn't move.
Her eyes stayed glued to the cuts and red muscles.
Pfft.
A quiet laugh slipped out at her foolish expression.
"Of course not... These are all real human bodies, you see."
Click, click. Slow footsteps emerged from the shadows behind.
Her body froze stiff.
What a raw, genuine expression. Like a gallery visitor stumbling upon the artist's process backstage.
"...I knew you'd come."
I stepped forward slowly. My shadow stretched long across the floor under the surgical light.
"You're the monumental first spectator of my art."
My fingertips gently brushed the structures on the metal table. Materials not yet fully organized. But that's what made them so vivid and beautiful.
"...So I suppose I should explain each one properly."
"Feel free to take your time appreciating them."
She staggered back wordlessly. Her pupils shook. Her gaze couldn't leave the table. Incised muscles. An arm hung on a metal hook. Nerves aligned along the spine. Her lips trembled.
"Fucking insane..."
The whisper escaped her.
"Real people..."
"Naturally."
I walked slowly to the table's side.
"I mentioned earlier today that the core of this exhibition is academism, remember?"
My fingertips trailed softly over the structure.
"Human proportions and balance. Movement and structure."
"But I find little meaning in merely recreating the 'exterior'."
She stared at me, barely breathing. What a delightful expression. Shock. Terror. Confusion at the incomprehensible.
"...Look here."
My fingertip lightly indicated the area near the severed ribs.
"I intentionally left air in this part to capture the tension right before inhalation."
"The ribcage movement just before drawing breath is truly beautiful."
"Especially from this angle—the way the intercostal spaces spread is perfectly revealed. And over here, I rearranged the joints to emphasize motion."
I moved quickly to the next piece.
"Hm~ This one's quite to my liking. Planned for the center of the exhibit, too."
"Oh, by the way, this work's title is Mongyeong Nakto. I wanted to express a paradise where humanity rests in its most beautiful form... using humans."
Her face went stark white.
"...Stop..."
"Yes?"
"...I said stop..."
"Ah... Was it boring? Sorry. I tend to get carried away when talking about favorites."
Her body trembled. Her eyes were on the verge of collapse.
"...No need to be so scared."
I smiled very softly.
"You're the first to witness my Body School art here."
"...Body... School?"
"Yes. Body School."
"What do you think?"
Her expression twisted completely.
"It's horrific..."
"...Yet you can't tear your eyes away."
I smiled in deep satisfaction.
"A splendid attitude toward the work as a spectator."
Her breathing grew ragged.
"...You crazy bastard..."
"...You think this is art?"
I listened quietly, then nodded.
"Indeed... Everyone reacts that way at first."
My fingertips slowly toyed with the edge of a dangling red cloth.
"The grotesque isn't easily embraced by the masses, after all."
"It's a movement that embraces discomfort, fear, and disgust as part of appreciation."
And I smiled again.
"But... even if not understood at first, when you gaze at the same work and share sensations with someone... eventually, understanding blooms."
"That's why I want to get close to you."
"Friends... aren't they just those who understand each other?"
Her eyes widened in shock.
"...What?"
"...I want to be friends. With you alone, not anyone else here."
I continued naturally.
"Oh, right—I haven't properly introduced myself yet."
I slowly brought my hand to my chest.
"My name is Yura."
"Previously, I was a student of the ring finger Body School in the southern part of the 'city'."
"Currently, I'm using the identity of Wild Hunt's Rakuka Yumesakai."
Her expression blanked out in confusion.
"...What are you talking about..."
"...City? Ring finger?"
She truly knows nothing. Fascinating.
"Would you introduce yourself?"
"...Ha?"
I smiled very softly.
"It's essential for understanding each other."
My gaze drifted to her uniform's chest. The small name tag clearly read 'Reika Misono'.
"...Of course, I already know your name."
My fingertip lightly touched her chin.
"But a name spoken directly carries different meaning."
"A person's name... it's the first form bestowed and the longest-lasting sculpture."
And I smiled very, very slowly.
"So please, introduce yourself."
The student staggered back.
"...Are you insane?"
She fumbled her phone from her pocket in a panic.
"I'm calling Valkyrie Police Academy..."
"It was you? That grave robber—"
Crunch— A short impact.
One punch crumpled the phone like paper and sent it flying.
Her breath caught.
I withdrew my hand slowly.
"...This is troubling."
I smiled quietly.
"I say I want to be friends, yet you keep building walls. Even I get hurt."
Her voice trembled.
"Why do you keep saying you want to be friends..."
I pondered briefly, then spoke.
"...Someone from the same Body School once told me this."
"Getting close to people is ultimately the process of deeply understanding each other."
"And once you do... you can create far more beautiful works."
Her face contorted.
"...Works? What the hell are you talking about."
I glanced quietly around.
Structures under the surgical lights. Organized muscles. Dismantled bodies.
"...As you see, I create works from human bodies."
"Ah, of course, students here don't die from ordinary trauma thanks to their halos."
Quite the intriguing discovery.
"But... I confirmed they're vulnerable to things like suffocation."
"So... there are still many methods I want to experiment with."
The blood drained completely from her face.
"Freaks like you... one word to my cousin at Trinity, and you're done..."
"Ah. You're nobility, right?"
"There were such people in the city's east and west, too. Folks who overvalue family name and bloodline."
I seized her hand. She flinched reflexively, but I held firm.
"...And once, during a public lecture, a certain Maestro from the Beast School said this."
"'The nobler the blood, the sweeter its taste.'"
And then. I crushed her fingertip hard.
Crack—
"Eek—?!"
A dull sensation of bone compressing, and red blood slowly trickled from her lips.
I dabbed the blood with my fingertip and licked it lightly.
"...Hmm."
I tilted my head slightly.
"Just tastes like blood, after all."
"...I still can't quite grasp the Maestros' sensibilities."
She screamed near the top of her lungs.
"You crazy fuck!!"
But in that instant. I pressed a chemical-soaked cloth over her mouth.
Her body thrashed wildly. Struggles. Choked groans. Slowly, the writhing form collapsed.
"Regrettably... it seems we can't get any closer than this. But no need to worry."
I carefully caught her falling body.
"You're my precious first spectator."
"So from now on, wherever I go, you'll be with me."
"...I'll meet that cousin of yours someday, too."
I gazed at her drifting-off face and smiled quietly.
"It's fine."
"Once you sleep, it all ends in an instant. No pain."
And suddenly, as if recalling something, I blinked.
"Come to think of it... the ones who advised me to befriend others... they often made weapons from their own bodies."
My fingertips slowly brushed her pink hair aside.
"Of course, this isn't the city, so the exact method won't work..."
I pondered.
"But instead, I want to leave you in a form that can stay by my side forever."
"A greatsword, perhaps?"
"...No, my name is Rakuka, so... Raku. That sounds good."
"Ah, Raku is a weapon from a video game I encountered while researching atmospheres back then."
"Its transformation was so elegant. A sword normally, but when it unfolds, the silhouette and form completely invert, ha... truly awe-inspiring. It meshed organically with blood-manipulating swordplay, too."
"Don't you think weapons shouldn't just be efficient, but beautiful in their deployment like a performance?"
"From that view, guns have shortcomings. Functionally perfect, but their forms are too linear and utilitarian. Sure, the revolver's rotating rhythm or the silhouette regaining balance post-recoil is quite sensual, but the moment the metal frame shifts and disrupts the central axis feels profoundly expressionistic to me. And for transformations, nothing beats the sensation when moving frames reconstitute the form itself—"
...Ah.
I cleared my throat lightly.
"Ahem... Sorry. I get overly immersed when diving into favorites."
"Ah, I even thought of a name."
"Misono Blade?"
...
"...Sorry, that was lame."
But soon I nodded in satisfaction.
"Still, I rather like it."
"Look forward to it. It'll surely become a beautiful form."
The next morning, the classroom buzzed with its usual atmosphere. Some sketched on tablets, others slumped asleep on desks.
I gazed quietly out the window, then lifted my head.
"By the way."
I scanned the room.
"Misono hasn't arrived yet?"
One student shrugged.
"Yeah, absent maybe?"
I rested my chin on my hand, staring out the window. A soft laugh escaped.
"Heh... Maybe she couldn't handle the pressure and fled the academy."
"Definitely... a few like that back then."
And I smiled very softly.
"For the reaction I showed her yesterday... she lacks grit."
Ordinary laughter filled the classroom. Some chatted about exams, others sighed over work prep.
In that moment. Ever so faintly, a familiar formalin scent wafted by.
To its lingering trace, I slowly toyed with the end of my uniform sleeve.