Shirai Shiori still had her gloves on and showed no intention of taking them off. She turned away and flatly declined.
"I'm not interested."
Once again, it was Anri Hitomi who stepped in to smooth things over.
"Shiori, don't be so quick to say no. Kuroba-kun really can read palms, you know? He's not just using it as an excuse to hold hands."
Shiori remained silent, unmoved, clearly unwilling to participate.
In the end, it was the soft-hearted Aizono Moe who couldn't bear the stiff atmosphere any longer. Pushing down her fear of boys, she gathered her courage and extended her hand.
"U-Um… then I'll let you read mine…"
The way she held out her hand, it looked like she was a death row inmate walking to the gallows. Akira couldn't help but give a wry smile.
"Alright, let's start with the right hand, then we'll look at the left."
"O-Okay! Please take care of me!"
Moe was so nervous she slipped into formal speech, her thoughts a tangle of shame and fear. A boy is actually going to touch my hand… Will he think it's gross…?
Because she knew—her hands were "dirty."
Seeing how tense she was, Akira decided not to touch her hand after all. He simply slid his chair closer and folded his arms.
"If you'd rather not be touched, just turn your palm upward and lay it out in front of me."
"Okay…"
That eased Moe's nerves a bit. She placed her hand in front of him, palm up.
"..."
And just like that, Shirai Shiori turned back toward them.
He's really not touching her? He's actually just reading her palm?
Shiori was a little thrown off. Kuroba Akira didn't behave like the typical, easy-to-read teenage boy. He was… hard to pin down.
Clearly lecherous, and yet oddly restrained. What's his game?
But Akira had already shifted all his focus to Moe's palm.
Talent? She has it.
Not top-tier, but at a solid B level—definitely gifted.
And the most important thing?
It was exactly the kind of talent he'd been hoping for.
[Drawing B]
A damn illustrator!
A B-ranked illustrator!
He checked the supporting skill levels:
[Fine Arts Lv3]
Level three—high, but not absurdly so.
After all, fine arts skill tends to correlate directly with drawing talent. Even the class rep had [Fine Arts Lv1] listed in her abilities.
That meant Moe had good fundamentals in sketching and composition—stronger understanding of space, perspective, shading, and color theory than most.
In simpler terms: good technique. She could draw what she imagined, unlike Akira himself—who could conjure stunning visuals in his mind but could only scribble awkward stick figures.
But good grades in art class didn't automatically equal becoming a professional illustrator.
That said, beyond Fine Arts, Akira saw three other lines of skill that made his eyes widen.
[Composition Design Lv2]
[Character Design Lv2]
[Background Design Lv1]
Design skills?!
Creative talents rarely showed up as skills in the system—because creativity couldn't be quantified the way repetition-based abilities could.
Akira had written scripts and novels, but he'd never seen anything like [Novel Writing] appear in his own status.
Just like he'd mentioned before: creative work was shaped by trends and audience reception. It couldn't be easily codified.
The closest thing to "creative" skills were design-based ones—[Architecture Design], [Fashion Design], etc.—and the people who had them were always full-fledged professionals.
But Moe was just a first-year high school student!
This was insane!
To already possess three design-oriented skills at her age, and to have two of them at level two? How obsessed with drawing must she be?
This soft-spoken, dainty girl with the massive chest—the reason her skin was so pale wasn't some natural quirk. It was because she never went outside, spending nearly every waking hour sketching indoors, far from the sun.
Her passion blazed so intensely, it practically radiated off her skill list.
Weak? Not even close. She's a hot-blooded artist through and through!
In awe, Akira's thoughts quickly turned practical.
"Aizono-san… you're seriously good at drawing."
"Eh? A-Ah… Kuroba-kun, you really can read palms?"
Moe blinked in surprise, then smiled with a mixture of wonder and admiration.
From the sidelines, Shirai Shiori was screaming internally. Don't fall for it, Moe!
She knew all the signs.
Years of drawing left traces on the body—slightly worn fingerprints, faint graphite in the nail beds, and stubborn pencil smudges or pigment stains near the thenar muscle (the fleshy base of the thumb).
There'd be a callus on the outer edge of the middle finger's first joint, and another near the pinky where it dragged against paper.
Anyone with decent observational skills could piece that together!
But Moe, ever modest and a little self-conscious, bowed her head and murmured shyly.
"I-it's nothing… I just doodle a little…"
"Come on. Just one look at your hand tells me this isn't just doodling. Are you planning to apply to Tokyo University of the Arts?"
"Eh? N-No way… Someone like me could never get into TUA…"
"I think you can."
Akira didn't say it to be nice. He said it with conviction.
To the average person, it would've sounded insane.
After all, the university he named—Tokyo University of the Arts—was known as a haven for artistic prodigies.
Applicants often had to repeat the entrance exam five years before getting in. Some never made it. It was that elite.
Akira knew that much from reading Blue Period, a manga that laid bare how brutal the competition was.
Even Tokyo University had an acceptance rate of 30%.
But TUA?
A measly 5%.
Still—Moe had the talent. And she had already converted that talent into skill.
Someone with both gifts and dedication shouldn't have to fear a university exam.
Anri Hitomi, watching from the side, once again felt that odd aura coming from Akira. The way he spoke—unshakable, almost prophetic—was just like when he'd told her she was born for cooking.
It was as if he could see people's futures through their palms.
"Our school's art club might not be great," Akira added, "but if you're willing to enroll in a prep school that specializes in art academy training, I think you could pass the entrance exam on your first try."
"Uu…"
Moe's face flushed bright red, overwhelmed by praise. She didn't even know how to respond.
What an easy girl to win over.
But Akira hadn't said all that just to encourage her into applying to TUA.
He had a follow-up in mind.
"But getting into TUA doesn't guarantee an easy life. Compared to most careers, the artist's path is razor-thin—like walking a tightrope. Very few artists ever make a living from their art while they're alive."
He was deliberately exaggerating—to shake her off the idea of becoming a traditional fine artist… if that's what she had been planning.
"I… I understand… I haven't really decided my future yet. Drawing is just… a hobby for now…"
That was what he'd been waiting to hear.
Akira's eyes lit up.
Bingo.
An urge, buried deep inside him, surged to the surface. He grabbed both of Moe's hands, firmly.
He would claim her now—make her his brush, his pen, his illustrator.
"Then let's team up and make a light novel together!"