Became a Manga Artist

The sky, seen from the classroom window, was as blue as a polished wash basin—clear and limitless. Not a single cloud marred the vast expanse.

Aoki Junichi had taken a shower at Haruto's, chatted briefly with him over the phone, and then gotten ready for school. Before arriving, he needed breakfast, so he stopped at a local bun store. Under the bewildered gaze of the stall owner, he devoured over ¥1,500 worth of steaming buns in one sitting—fluffy pork buns, sweet red bean buns, and savory curry buns all disappeared into his seemingly bottomless stomach.

"Guess I'll need to start earning soon..." Junichi muttered to himself, shaking his head as he rode the tram, already calculating his diminishing funds. "At this rate, I'm going to burn through all my money just by eating."

When he arrived at school, it was still early, just in time for the morning reading session. Mr. Matsuda, the homeroom teacher, a weary-looking man with thinning hair, stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat.

"Alright, for this morning's meeting, let's talk about last week's monthly exam results. I'll read out the names and scores. If you can't hear me, feel free to check the posted list after class."

Junichi inwardly frowned. He had always hated this part—publicly announcing the results. For top students, it was a form of glory. But for others, it was more like public shaming. Of course, those who genuinely didn't care remained unaffected.

Junichi's scores had always been abysmal. In fact, he ranked second-to-last... and the only one below him hadn't even bothered to take the test. With only two months left until graduation, he had decided to stick it out until the end. Most teachers had already written him off as a lost cause. No one expected anything from the notorious delinquent in the back row.

So, Junichi often did his own thing in class. The teachers, worn down by years of the same routine, pretended not to notice.

He opened his school bag to dig out a fresh notebook, but instead, a small device and an old, dog-eared notebook fell out onto his desk with a soft thud.

"…What's this?" Junichi picked them up curiously. Flipping through the pages of the notebook, he immediately recognized the handwriting—it belonged to his "predecessor," the original owner of this body.

The very first page had a photo taped onto it. A girl with long hair, her features soft and serene, sat quietly in her seat, bathed in what looked like classroom light.

Underneath it, written in bold, somewhat shaky strokes:

To Shirahashi Yukine — I'm sorry.

Junichi blinked slowly, a wave of inherited regret washing over him. The rest of the notebook wasn't quite a diary—it was more like a long, agonizing letter of remorse. Page after page chronicled the crushing guilt and profound sorrow over something that had happened, something involving this girl.

He read it slowly, meticulously, all the way to the very last word.

"So much self-blame…" he murmured, closing the notebook, its pages feeling heavy in his hands. Even though he hadn't experienced it firsthand, he could feel the immense weight of those emotions pressing on his chest, a deep ache that wasn't quite his own, yet undeniably present. Maybe he had inherited more than just memories—maybe the regret, too, had become irrevocably intertwined with his soul.

The device beside it was a hearing aid. It was clearly broken, its small casing cracked and a wire dangling loose.

…Looks like I've got something I need to fix, he thought, a sense of purpose firming his jaw.

That afternoon, at Chiba County Junior High School, a boy glanced at Junichi's empty desk.

"Huh? Where's Junichi?"

"Oh, him? Pretty sure he climbed the wall and skipped," one classmate snickered.

"Heh, let him go. He's a hopeless case anyway," a girl named Kisaragi Miu said with a scoff, flipping her hair.

They weren't wrong.

Junichi had indeed slipped away. The weather was just too perfect to stay cooped up in class—a gentle breeze, warm sun. And besides, he had something far more important to do.

Chiba County Junior High had a well-worn escape route used by many "veteran" truants, a low section of the back wall hidden by overgrown bushes. He knew it well from his predecessor's memories.

Eventually, he found himself inside a quiet, local pharmacy. A young woman in a crisp white uniform approached with a warm, professional smile.

"Welcome. Can I help you find something?"

"Yes," Junichi replied. "Do you sell hearing aids?"

The girl paused for a moment, her smile unwavering, then gestured toward a section near the back. "Please follow me."

Rows of different models lined the shelves, from discreet in-ear devices to larger, more visible ones.

"Honestly, I don't really know what I'm looking at. Could you recommend one?" Junichi asked, feeling a little out of his depth.

"Well, they range in price. The more basic ones go for around ¥7,000–¥10,000. But we also carry premium models that cost ¥30,000 or more. Do you have a budget in mind?"

"Something decent, but under ¥10,000 if possible." He was already thinking about his dwindling funds, but this was something he felt compelled to do.

"In that case, this model here is one of our best-selling affordable options. It's ¥9,800 after discount—made by a reliable brand, good sound clarity, comfortable to wear." She picked up a sleek, almost invisible model.

Junichi took out the broken hearing aid from his bag. "And this one?"

The girl inspected it, turning it over in her fingers. "That's an much older model. To be honest, even our cheapest options today would outperform this in terms of technology and comfort."

Junichi fell silent, calculating in his head. He had about ¥35,000 left, but he'd already spent a good chunk in just a few days on food and his haircut. Still, he knew what he had to do. The weight of the predecessor's regret pressed on him. This was a direct, tangible way to address it.

"…Alright. I'll take it."

The girl nodded, her smile widening genuinely, and began to carefully wrap the small box.

After that, Junichi stopped by a fruit shop, bought a few things—a bag of sweet oranges, some crisp apples—then sighed at his shrinking wallet.

"This is going to be tighter than I thought…"

Following the address he found in the notebook, he arrived at a luxury apartment building. High walls, gleaming security cameras, and uniformed guards at the front gate—everything screamed exclusivity and expense.

But Junichi was no stranger to slipping past unnoticed. He waited until the guards were distracted, chatting by their booth, and then, with the casual ease of someone who belonged, slipped through the side entrance.

He walked down a pristine, hushed hall. The door ahead felt eerily familiar, even though he'd never been here in this life. As he stood there, fragmented memories, not entirely his own, flooded back—memories of crying, of helplessness, of pain. Emotions that weren't quite his, but still weighed heavily on his chest, a shared burden.

"…Let's do this," Junichi murmured, taking a deep breath. He lifted his hand and knocked, a soft but firm rap on the polished wood.

From inside, a woman's voice called out, sharp and cautious. "Who is it?"

The door opened a crack, revealing a tall young woman with long black hair tied neatly back, wearing sheer tights and a sharp, elegant dress. She was strikingly beautiful, her features refined and intelligent—but when she saw Junichi's face, her expression instantly turned cold, her eyes narrowing to slits.

It was Shirahashi Rika, older cousin of Shirahashi Yukine.

"What the hell do you want?" she said icily, her voice barely a whisper but full of menace. "Here to harass her again?"

Junichi quickly shook his head, his hands up in a placating gesture. "No—nothing like that. I just… I came to apologize. Sincerely."

Rika narrowed her eyes further, scrutinizing him. "Apologize? Bit late for that, don't you think? After everything you put her through?"

"I know. But I mean it. Please—can I see Yukine? Just once. I… I really need to say something."

"She's not here. Leave." Her tone was final, dismissive.

"…Really?" Junichi searched her face for any sign of deception, but found none. Her expression was hard, unyielding.

Realizing he wouldn't get past her, Junichi nodded, a fresh wave of disappointment mixed with resolve. He pulled something from his bag.

"This is a hearing aid I bought. It's new. And some fruit—fresh oranges and apples. Could you… give them to her for me?" He extended the small, neatly wrapped bag.

Rika didn't reply immediately, her gaze fixed on the bag, then on his face. After a moment, she accepted it silently, her expression still guarded.

"There's also this notebook," he added, handing it over with both hands, carefully, almost reverently. "Please… let her read it. It's… everything."

She took it with a wary expression, but said nothing, her fingers brushing the worn cover.

Junichi bowed deeply, a formal, respectful gesture that felt foreign but right.

"…Thanks for your time. And please, tell her… I really am sorry."

With that, he turned and slowly walked away, leaving the silent, judgmental gaze of Shirahashi Rika behind him.