Academism (8)
Trinity's morning was serene. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, stretching long across the pristine white corridor, while the distant tolling of bells slowly settled into the hallway.
I stand before the mirror, straightening my collar. Wild Hunt's black uniform. The red ribbon. And the sheathed sword nestled against my chest. My fingertips glide slowly over its surface.
...Are you nervous, Coste?
Worried that people might hate my work?
Hehe. It's alright, you see. You yourself had quite the rejection reaction at first, but in the end, you became my most beautiful piece.
This time will be fine too. Today will be a truly beautiful day, after all.
I step slowly out into the hallway.
The central plaza is already packed with students and guests. Trinity. Wild Hunt. And students from invited external academies. The General Student Council. Millennium. Gehenna. Red Winter. Shan Hai Jing.
Under the morning sun, the uniforms of each academy mingle in a riot of color.
Along both sides of the corridor, works submitted for this public exhibition stretch out in a long line. Paintings. Sculptures. Photography. Crafts.
A faint smile plays on my lips.
At that moment, an announcement echoes from the central platform.
"We will now commence the opening ceremony for the Trinity General Academy Sister School Exchange Event."
The eyes of students and guests naturally turn toward the center.
Moments later, the emcee student speaks again, calmly.
"Next, we have a speech from the representative student of Wild Hunt Art Academy, who is in charge of the central exhibition for this public showing."
"Student Rakuka Yumesakai of Wild Hunt Art Academy, please come forward."
Countless gazes snap toward me all at once.
I ascend the platform slowly.
But strangely, I don't feel tense. If anything—it's like stepping onto a stage.
Standing at the center of the platform, I quietly open my mouth.
"First, my thanks to everyone for gracing us with your presence."
My soft voice spreads gently through the hallway.
"Art is never completed by the result alone."
"What did you see? What did you feel? And what emotion lingered in your heart in that moment?"
"That entire process becomes a single appreciation—a work in itself, you see."
"The pieces on display in this space today are the same. Please, appreciate them in your own way."
I bow my head briefly, and soon quiet applause ripples through the hallway.
A refined, tidy response.
As I descend from the platform, students and guests naturally flock toward me.
Formal greetings. Light compliments. Brief impressions.
I smile politely and brush them off.
At that moment.
I feel a quiet gaze.
Seia Yurizono. She stands amid the crowd, watching me silently.
Moments later, she slowly speaks.
"...It's already too late."
A very low, calm voice. But the weight it carries is clear.
"Too late for what?"
Seia's golden eyes narrow.
"...I can tell from your eyes."
"The eyes of someone who's already finished all their preparations."
How intriguing.
A faint smile touches my lips.
"No artist ascends the stage unprepared, you see."
"Especially not on a day like today."
Seia falls silent for a moment. Her gaze flickers, ever so briefly, over the sheathed sword at my chest.
"...You still have no intention of stopping."
I slowly embrace the sheath.
"'Stopping' is a strange way to put it."
"I'm only just getting started, after all."
"...Do you even understand what you're about to do?"
I cover my mouth briefly and let out a soft laugh.
"Of course, you see. That's why it's all the more exciting."
"..."
Laughter from distant students echoes faintly.
But oddly, the air around us has grown chillingly still.
Seia stares at me for a long while, then exhales very softly.
"...I hope this exchange event doesn't end as someone's nightmare."
She truly never gives up.
But it's far too late to stop it now, you see.
With those words, I slowly turn away.
And walk back into the exhibition corridor.
The exchange event is already buzzing with energy. Students gather before works, debating them. External guests snap photos incessantly.
Before one painting, two Trinity students analyze the color composition with serious intensity.
"...The brushstrokes are really stable."
"The shading's well calculated too."
Not bad at all. At least some thought went into it.
On the other hand, one abstract piece on the opposite wall—
...Hmm. This is truly dire. No different from framing vomit from some back-alley drunk.
I'd have failed it before hearing any explanation. The name of art carries weight, after all.
I walk on, surveying my surroundings. I can feel eyes trailing me through the students.
"...That's Rakuka?"
"The one in charge of Wild Hunt's central exhibit?"
"She looks way more normal than I thought..."
How rude. Artists don't have to look gloomy or mad, you know.
At that moment, another announcement blares.
"The central exhibition hall will open shortly."
"All visitors, please proceed to the main hall."
...Ah. The curtain is finally rising.
A smile slowly spreads across my lips.
Now it's time to show you my work, you see.
At the end of the corridor, before the massive curtain-draped central exhibition hall, a huge crowd has already gathered.
Gazes brimming with anticipation. Suppressed murmurs. And an indescribable tension.
Even the patrons hesitate to speak.
A perfect response.
I step slowly into the exhibition hall.
High ceiling. Pure white marble floor. And a gigantic white curtain completely obscuring the center.
Just like a stage before the curtain rises.
At that moment, the guide student steps forward with a tense face.
"We will now unveil Mongyeong Nakto."
A brief silence.
And then—
Swish.
The massive curtain slowly parts.
In that instant, the entire hall falls silent.
Some swallow hard. Some stand frozen with mouths agape. Others stare up at the work with faces that have forgotten what they're even seeing.
A colossal sculpture modeled after an angel. Gracefully spread wings. Intertwined curves like a holy image. And hyper-realistic human anatomy.
An indescribable silence settles heavily over the main hall.
No gasps of awe, no cries of horror—yet. No one dares voice it.
Good response.
A smile touches my lips.
But soon, other reactions begin to trickle in.
"Honestly, I don't get it... but it looks impressive anyway."
"Yeah, there must be a reason Wild Hunt chose it for the central spot."
...How dull. They're appreciating the 'reputation' before the work itself.
No different from praising food in a famous restaurant before even tasting it.
Art isn't meant to be consumed that way.
At that moment, a young child passing by reaches out toward the sculpture.
I gently catch their wrist just before it touches.
"No, you see."
I smile softly at the child.
"It's more beautiful to appreciate a work with your eyes."
The child's body stiffens with a jolt.
Only then do the surrounding students' gazes turn toward us.
"...Rakuka Yumesakai?"
"She's the creator?"
"Wild Hunt's rep..."
Countless eyes focus on me at once.
But I slowly turn my gaze back to the work.
And quietly speak.
"...Everyone. Do you think this work is beautiful?"
...
Some can't answer easily. Some move their lips silently, unable to tear their eyes away. Others glance back and forth between me and the piece repeatedly.
I narrow my eyes in satisfaction at their reactions.
Yes. That's it, you see.
The moment fear seizes their gaze, that emotion itself becomes art.
I look up slowly at the work.
Gracefully curving wings. Intricately intertwined structure. And the realistic texture of skin.
I made it myself, but it's truly well done. Objectively, one of the greatest masterpieces of my life, you see.
...Ah.
"Are you jealous, Coste?"
I whisper very softly.
"It's alright, you see."
I slowly embrace the sheathed sword at my chest.
"You're still growing, after all."
"Someday, you'll surpass all my works and become my most beautiful masterpiece."
In that moment, the surrounding students exchange awkward glances.
"...Who’s she talking to?"
"...Talking to herself?"
I shake my head with a small laugh.
"Nothing at all, you see."
And turn my gaze back to the work.
The exhibition hall remains packed with people. Students circle the piece, sharing impressions. Patrons exchange meaningful looks.
Truly satisfying responses.
Afterward, the fervor around Mongyeong Nakto didn't cool easily.
Over the two days of the exchange event, crowds always flocked to the central exhibition, and the space before the work never quieted for a moment.
Students debated its structure. Patrons vied to offer sponsorship first. External guests snapped endless photos.
Some academies even began direct scouting offers. Millennium's Research Club. Shan Hai Jing patrons.
And—the most memorable was Gehenna, of course.
On the second day of the event.
"Ha."
A low laugh from behind.
The crowd of students parts instantly.
Red eyes. A military cap pressed roughly down. And an oppressive heat like it's crushing people.
The surrounding students swallow hard.
"...It's the Brain Emperor."
"Why is Gehenna's Student Council President here..."
But she ignores the stares, walking slowly to the work.
She gazes up at Mongyeong Nakto silently for a long while.
Then approaches me and stops, speaking in a very low voice.
"...You used humans as material for this, right?"
...
My breath catches for an instant.
But my face remains smiling.
"Humans as material...? I'm afraid I don't follow."
She snorts.
"Nah. You can't fool my eyes."
Her red eyes slowly turn toward me.
"Mad ones always have that telltale look."
...
My fingertips slowly drift toward Coste.
If she flips the table here... I might have to incorporate her into the exhibition, even if it takes some effort.
Our gazes lock head-on with her red eyes.
But she's smiling instead.
Moments later, she chuckles lowly.
"...You're thoroughly insane, aren'tcha? Heh."
A faint smile touches my lips.
"All artists are a little mad, you see."
"Wouldn't the truly sane ones be the odd ones out?"
She stares at me wordlessly for a while, then snorts again.
"Ha! Relax."
"No plans to ruin the show. No need to glare like that."
"...Thank you. I don't want the work damaged either."
She laughs shortly.
"Hey, ever thought of coming to Gehenna?"
"A nut like you would breathe easier there. No wailing doves crying over stuff like this, at least."
I close my eyes thoughtfully for a moment.
Then shake my head.
"Hmm... Sorry, but I have no intention of making art dictated by others, you see."
She clicks her tongue with a laugh.
"...Tch. Shame."
"Still, if you change your mind, drop by anytime."
With that, she turns and leaves without a backward glance.
...What a strange person.
And finally.
On the last day of the exchange event, the main hall's center fills again with people for the final review and work explanation.
Students. Teachers. Patrons. External guests.
All awaiting the finale.
Yet the hall is oddly quiet. People converse, but no one dares describe the work's form aloud.
As if voicing it would mean acknowledging something.
Still, their gazes remain fixed on the central exhibit.
Truly hot response.
The emcee student steps forward, face tense.
"Finally, the explanation for Mongyeong Nakto."
"Rakuka Yumesakai of Wild Hunt Art Academy."
The air in the hall shifts.
Anticipation. Excitement. Indescribable tension.
I ascend the platform slowly.
Countless gazes converge.
But no tension. If anything—it's like standing on the stage just before completion.
I slowly speak.
"...The title is Mongyeong Nakto."
"It means a paradise on the border of dreams, you see."
The hall quiets.
"This work was created to express the contradictions inherent in humanity."
"People crave beauty more than anything, yet they are the most fragile and imperfect creatures."
My fingertip points into the air.
"The central structure draws from motifs of saints and angels."
"But look closely: the wings, skeleton, pillars, and curves are all connected based on human forms."
Students' gazes concentrate.
"In this work, I used the human body as a sculptural language, you see."
"The curves bones use to support the body."
"How muscles connect forms."
"The angles at which joints bend most beautifully."
"I calculated it all and rearranged it into structure."
A breathless silence.
One student taking notes suddenly stops writing.
Some unconsciously rub their arms; others move their lips silently, eyes glued to the work.
A faint smile touches my lips.
"...Especially, this isn't just a 'sculpture to view.' I designed it to control the flow of the viewer's emotions, you see."
"Awe at first. Unease upon closer approach. And ultimately, unable to tear their eyes away."
Quiet gasps escape.
Even critics can't easily look away.
Watching them, a small laugh slips out.
"...Truth be told, I was a bit worried."
"Grotesque beauty isn't easily accepted, you see."
I look up at the work.
"So I captured gazes with the grand form and symbolism first."
"To make them feel beauty before revulsion."
"A bit cowardly, perhaps."
But.
No one denies it.
Everyone in this hall is already overwhelmed by the work.
And—with a nod to conclude the presentation, I bow slowly.
"That is all."
A moment of silence.
Then—
Clap. Clap clap clap clap—!!
Tremendous applause fills the main hall.
Students. Critics. Patrons. All applaud with faces full of awe.
Some even stand.
Truly hot response.
...Ahh.
Can you hear it, Coste?
I slowly embrace the sheathed sword at my chest.
They're all saying it's beautiful, you see.
This time, no one calls me a monster.
A faintly trembling breath escapes.
"...I'm truly glad."
The corners of my eyes grow faintly wet.
But I close them.
No. I can't stop here.
If I end with this understanding—they'll flee back into "art that's only beautiful on the surface."
That's not true appreciation.
True beauty must endure even after gazing to the end without crumbling, you see.
I breathe in slowly.
And raise my head again.
"...But everyone."
The hall quiets once more.
"Do you remember the grave robbery at the Wild Hunt cemetery a few weeks ago?"
...
The air in the hall sinks strangely.
But I continue nonchalantly.
"After that incident, I went through so many trials and errors, you see."
"Human bodies are far more delicate than expected."
I slowly turn my gaze to the work.
"Especially this time, I could only obtain female corpses, which was a bit regrettable."
"The skeletons are slender, curves soft—quite limiting for expression."
"Of course, that flexible silhouette itself was truly beautiful."
"Especially the flow from ribs to pelvis; an elegance hard to achieve with male bodies."
I close my eyes thoughtfully.
"On the flip side, the condition differences were severe."
"Freshly buried ones held shape easily, but older corpses had mushy or shrunken tissue, making fixation difficult."
A short retch echoes from somewhere in the hall.
But I continue as if unperturbed.
"The wings were particularly tricky."
"Too soft, and the curves sag; too rigid, and they lose that lifelike flow."
I look up at the work.
"I didn't want it to look like mere sculpture."
"It had to seem alive, on the verge of breathing."
"You mustn't feel the dead material, you see."
Silence.
Someone slowly pushes back their chair.
But I keep smiling softly.
"Ah, and the beastkin were fascinating."
"Basic structure similar to humans, but subtle differences in joint angles and balance made the overall silhouette far more complex than expected."
"One misplacement, and it turned into cheap taxidermy—I agonized over it quite a while."
In that instant, one student finally averts their eyes from the work.
Some cover their mouths; others can't even lift their heads.
But as if oblivious, I continue casually.
"And honestly, there were some regrets."
"I'd love to experiment with mechanical lifeforms like Automata someday."
"They must hold a different... beauty from humans."
Clink.
A cup drops from someone's hand at the back of the hall.
But no one even thinks to pick it up.
"...Material?"
Someone mutters in a trembling voice.
In that moment, everyone in the hall reaches the same conclusion.
But no one dares voice it first.
Acknowledging it would crumble the beauty they'd loved until now.
...
A faint smile touches my lips.
Humans always fear that final step before the truth, you see.
I look at the students.
And smile quietly.
"Yes."
"The culprit in that grave robbery... was me."
In that instant, the entire main hall freezes.
"...What?"
Mika's smile vanishes in a flash. Her yellow eyes waver.
"Whoa... Nagisa-chan, I didn't hear wrong, right? That's... for real...?"
Nagisa Kirifuji beside her stares silently at the work. Her ever-composed expression hardens for the first time. The teacup in her hand trembles like aspen leaves.
Only Seia Yurizono closes her eyes wordlessly, as if she'd known the scream was coming.
Even among the Justice Realization Department students on guard, unrest spreads.
"...She used corpses?!"
"That thing's real...?"
Hasumi Hanegawa stares wordlessly at the work. Her usually cool red eyes shake violently. Her hand has gone to her holster, but she can't draw it easily.
Even she hasn't fully grasped the scene before her.
Tsurugi Kenzaki, on the other hand—
"...Ha."
A low laugh escapes. But it's not joy—more like instinctive tension before a dangerous beast.
Her eyes slowly turn toward me.
Yet—even she doesn't move easily.
"Allow me to reintroduce it."
I slowly extend my hand toward the work.
"A masterpiece of the Body School."
"Installation Art No. 1, Mongyeong Nakto."
"Created by student Rakuka Yumesakai of Wild Hunt Art Academy."
"And—"
"Student Yura of the ring finger."
"Completed using a total of 73 corpses."
"That concludes the appreciation."
I bow slowly, like drawing the curtain on a performance.
And in that moment.
Click.
From somewhere inside the work, a mechanism engages with a sound.
Several students jolt their heads up.
"...What was that?"
"...What sound—"
Crunch.
Something inside the work slowly writhes.
And—
Splurt!!
Red liquid erupts like a fountain from within the work.
Screams.
Some topple backward; others clap hands over horror-stricken faces.
Red blood flows down the pure white sculpture.
Along the angel's wings. Along the saint's ribs. Across dozens of bodies.
As if the entire work has come alive again.
The hall descends into pandemonium in an instant.
"Kyaaah—!!"
"She's insane?!"
"Blood!! It's blood!!"
Ahh. So beautiful.
I close my eyes slowly.
Humans always love only the surface, you see.
The purified white form. Elegant curves. Sublime structure.
But in truth—what flows within is nothing but blood and flesh.
This finale isn't cheap shock from mere corpses and blood.
Nor lowbrow stimulation relying on instinctive disgust to hold gazes.
Until moments ago, they called this work beautiful.
Awe-inspiring. Sublime. Impossible to look away from.
So why scream now?
The form hasn't changed at all.
No—rather, this moment is closer than ever to the essence of its human material.
I gaze slowly up at the work, now slowly staining red.
"In the end, you can't endure the interior of the beauty you loved, you see."
A smile spreads across my lips.
The hall remains filled with screams.
"But I'm fine."
"This time..."
...because my work was appreciated to the very end.