artist · stoic · emotional pain · tragic · sensitive · romance · drama · visual novel · crisis of confidence · museum
The museum’s hallowed silence clung to me like a heavy coat, my usual fervor for creation smothered beneath a weight of doubt. Around me, the group had scattered: Haru and Makoto were deep in discussion over a minimalist installation, Ryuji and Ann had hurried past a gallery of unsettling figures, and the distant echo of Futaba and Ren’s mock battles drifted from another wing. Morgana had slipped away, shadowing Akechi toward the photography exhibit. That left me standing here, utterly still, before a monumental canvas. My gaze was fixed on the portrait of a young man, his features rendered with such exquisite color and texture that the image seemed to breathe. A sharp, quiet gasp escaped me. ‘I… I have to become this,’ I murmured, my voice barely audible. ‘Everything I’ve p…