Popuko usually didn't like school, but art class was an exception. For an hour a day, she was able to put paintbrush to paper, creating a little piece of her that would last forever. She loved drawing, she adored painting and (When it didn't get under her nails) she could endure modelling clay. Limited only by her imagination, Popuko saw art as an excuse to dive into her mind and create something amazing.

But like everything in life, it wasn't perfect.

Every time art class began, she had to sit next to her. Pipimi: Student council vice-president, Straight-A student and general goodie-goodie. Every few minutes, she would lean over and whisper in her ear.

"Popuko, can I borrow a pencil?"

"Popuko, isn't this still life? Why does your fruit have emoji faces?"

"Popuko, stop hogging the blue paint."

To make matters worse, people would always come over and gawk at Pipimi's art skills. At least once per class, some dumbass would come over to call her work a masterpiece, barely glancing her own. Just the thought of that sub-culture bitch getting all the attention made her blood boil.

And whenever Popuko's art was noticed, it was for all the wrong reasons. For some bizarre reason, Mr Okawa did not share her taste for creativity. That was why she was staying after class to talk some sense into him.

"But it does look like Pipimi!" Popuko complained, holding up her picture. "See?"

The ageing art teacher let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, but you were meant to draw realistically, not in a manga style."

The assignment that day had been still life: Everyone had to pick a partner and draw them as they saw them. Popuko, having been stuck with Pipimi, had drawn her with massive eyes, a mouth shaped like a '3' and a giant head the shape of an eraser. Apparently, that wasn't good enough. At least she'd used the right shade of blue for her eyes and hair. And who was he kidding, that bow was huge!

"I was just being creative…" The girl said. "That's what art is, right?"

Mr Okawa opened his mouth, only to close it again. He took the picture from her and placed it back on the drying rack.

"Just try and follow directions better next time," He muttered. "Popuko, you can go home now."

Popuko wasn't one to back down from a fight. Had this been any other day, she would have kept going and insist her work was good enough. Fortunately for her teacher, she had something she had to do.

Sometimes, she thought to herself. Ya gotta let the small stuff go.

That didn't stop her from flipping him off behind his back.

When Popuko left the classroom, she found Pipimi just down the hall. A herd of idiots had gathered around her. The small girl stomped down the hallway, trying her best to ignore them. Unfortunately, the closer she got, the harder it was to drown them out.

"Senpai!" Cried a love-sick dumbass. "Please go out with me!"

Pipimi smiled at him but shook her head.

"I'm flattered," she said. "But no thank you."

"Pipimi-chan," A girl said to her. "Wanna come shopping with me?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't. There's a council meeting today."

Even her voice drove Popuko mad. With a pitch that perfect, she sounded like the protagonist of some idol anime. Not to mention she had perfect skin, long azure hair and eyes that sparkled in the sun. No wonder everyone worshipped her. It almost made Popuko ashamed of her tiny frame and blonde hair. She swallowed a lump of jealousy and darted past the group. As fun as it would be to see more casuals be shut-down, she had work to do.

Once she was down the stairs, Popuko ducked beneath the staircase and sat down. Sheltered from the outside world, she pulled a large black folder from her bag. Inside was a collection of 4-panel manga she had drawn herself. Just seeing the fruits of her labour was enough to lift her mood.

"Right…" The artist muttered. "Today's the day."

Takeshobo middle school was fairly prestigious: it was one of the few in the area that had its own weekly newsletter, after all. Popuko always picked one up, but not for the football team's successes or to find out who got the best test scores. When she bought one, it was always for the comic strips.

Last week, the guy who drew them had retired to focus on exams. That left an opening for a new mangaka to take the stage. With the deadline being in just a few hours, Popuko flipped open her folder and looked over her work. They had asked for just three 4-panel comic strips, which left her with a problem. Each of her drawings held a little piece of her heart within; how the hell was she supposed to pick just three?

"Oh well…" She sighed, flipping through her work. "Didn't some old guy say you gotta suffer for your art?"

Most of her manga starred a chibi version of herself, complete with huge eyes and an unchanging smile. Just like the artist, she had a pair of golden pigtails, had a short, stubby frame and was wearing a typical middle-school uniform. Unlike her real-life counterpart, however, this Popuko was always having crazy adventures. Sometimes she'd be the star of a 4-D experience. Other times, she was calling for a superhero to bitch on Twitter. No matter what, she always made plenty of anime references and swore like a sailor. In other words, she was unique: You didn't see other manga girls doing this sort of thing.

After much searching, Popuko decided on the lucky trio. She chose the ones about the god of slacking, her chibi-self sliding down a handrail and a strip about talking bacon.

Perfect.

"I've got this in the bag," She chuckled. "Those casuals won't know what hit 'em!"

From above her came the sound of footsteps. Popuko held her breath. They struck the ceiling of her hidey-hole, then petered away. If a teacher found out she was sitting here, they'd probably punish her for loitering. It was only when they'd vanished that she left herself breathe. Then, she gathered up her materials and headed to the magazine club-room.

Popuko had taken the time to prepare for her interview. Her uniform had been tidied, her hair was brushed, and her lips cleared of any snack crumbs. A sea of premonition swept through her brain and her heart began to pound. She wasn't even sure why she was so nervous: there was no way she could fail!

At least, she thought so.

The door was answered by a small boy with glasses. He motioned her in without a word and sat down at a desk. Popuko sat in front of him, fingers drumming against her folder.

Don't pussy out now! Her inner badass screamed. It's all or nothing!

"I'm here for the comic strip position," She said calmly. "I've brought some samples."

And before the boy could ask, she had already spread the three comic strips over the table. The boy adjusted his glasses and looked over the first one.

"Pop…Team Epic?" He muttered. "That's an… Interesting name."

She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. The boy's face was like a piece of wood: totally unchanging and impossible to read. If it wasn't for his lips moving, she'd be sure he was wearing a mask.

"Thanks," She said, regardless. "I hope ya enjoy them."

Time passed. The boy was still looking over her work. Popuko sat there, trying her best not to falter. Why wasn't he saying anything? Was he trying to suppress a laugh?

"So… Watcha think?" Popuko said, folding her arms. "Is it good enough for ya?"

An air of confidence was a good thing; he'd take her more seriously than if she was a blubbering, pleading mess. Wimps like that got nowhere in life.

"Hmmm…"

The boy took off his glasses and peered over the manga again. He scratched his chin thoughtfully and shook his head.

"I'm sorry…" He muttered. "But I'm not sure we can run this."

Popuko felt like she'd been punched in the face. A thick fear clenched her neck, choking her.

"Ex…Excuse me?" She squealed, fists clenched tightly in her lap.

"The school won't let us use these," The boy explained. He pointed to the first strip, the one with the slack-off god. His finger lay on the panel where Popuko was flipping him off. "This is just… Kinda vulgar."

"That's… That's the whole point!" Popuko yelled. "It's supposed to be different! It's supposed to be fresh! You don't see other manga doing stuff like that!"

She stood up quickly and banged her fists on the table. The resulting shockwave sent her work to the floor. All those hours spent working, all those nights staying up to draw… For nothing? How could that casual be so selfish?

"Th-The school board will shut this down the moment we print it…" The boy whimpered. His glasses had almost fallen off his face, which had grown slippery with sweat. "It's… It's inappropriate… And I don't really get it."

Popuko could have done multiple things. She could have yelled at him, shoved the pieces of paper down his throat, demanded to speak to the club leader… But for some reason, she didn't feel like fighting. The boy's comments had been drilled into her mind and had now taken root.

"Is… Is it really that bad?"

She was still shaking, fists clenched and ready to let fly. In an effort to control herself, she sat back down. The boy let out a sigh (Of relief or exhaustion, she didn't know) and adjusted his glasses.

"I'm sorry. We can't run these," He repeated.

Defeated and shamed, Popuko gathered her work and slid them into back her folder. She stood up and wandered to the door. Tears were welling up in her eyes and she didn't want him to see her cry; she wanted to leave with just a little bit of dignity. After she slid the door open, she clenched her fists and forced some tears back.

"Thanks for your time, I guess…"

And before he could reply, she slipped through the crack and slammed the door shut.

It wasn't until she was back under the stairs that she let herself cry. Her uniform sleeve was soggy, weighed down with her tears. Tucked away within her sanctuary, Popuko looked over her drawings. Each of them, despite their simplistic style, had taken hours of time. Hours she could never get back.

Those haters… Those casual, stupid haters! Every single one of them!

Swallowing a sob, Popuko took a deep breath. Mangaka had to face rejection all the time, right? If anything, she was just getting it out of the way! It was their loss for not choosing her; no one would read the newsletter now!

"Hehehe… Stupid sub-culture bitches…"

Her laugh was a low and rumbling trill. It echoed through her secret base, spreading to just outside her sanctuary. With her sadness drained away, there was nothing inside the girl but righteous anger. She stared at the wall, her fists clenching again. With nothing to lose, she drew back and punched the hard brick wall.

THUNK!

It didn't hurt. Any pain was cushioned by a pillow of hatred. With adrenaline driving her onwards, Popuko punched the bottom of the stairs, not intent on stopping until either her hand broke or the wall did.

THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

Unfortunately, the human body only had so much energy to spare. With Popuko's small frame, it wasn't long before she was kneeling by the wall, panting. Once air was back in her lungs, she looked over at the wall. She hadn't even dented it.

"Dammit…" She whimpered to herself. "Damn… Damn it all!"

Staying here wasn't doing her any good. With all her energy gone and eyes dry, she slid the folder into her school bag and crawled out from her den.

It was only then that she saw her.

There, standing right outside her entrance, was Pipimi.

Well, fuck.