Disclaimer: DITTO


Luna was positively rendered speechless at the amount of white Fukuda was in. Everything, excluding his face and eye color, was white. Heck, even the gothic-looking watch he wore was white. His skin was a sallow yellow color, so white kind of looked good on him, if she did say so for herself. His white hair made him look like a delinquent, or the leader of a motorbike gang. His sharp, brown eyes, which differed from Nizuma's kinder ones greatly, raked over her in one smooth movement, and he turned to Nizuma, his face, unseen by Luna, a question mark.

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder without even acknowledging her. "Who is she?" His tone, or what Luna imagined, seemed to have an accusing note. The accusation was as sharp as his nose, Luna thought privately.

Nizuma stood up and hastily made introductions.

"Luna, meet Fukuda sensei, leader of Team Fukuda," Guess the 'leader' part was right. "And Fukuda sensei, Luna's my new assistant."

If he held his hand out, I would shake it, Luna thought. If he didn't, forget it. Unlike Mashiro or Nizuma sensei, Fukuda's hands were clean.

Fukuda looked at her over his shoulder, those beady orbs sizing her up. Was it her, or did he look disapproving for a moment?

"She's not as pretty as Aoki." He finally stated, digging his hands further deeper into his trench-deep pockets. The skull rings on his belt jiggled with the movement.

Luna bit back a retort as Nizuma, sensing the charged electricity in the air like an ant anticipating a morning rain, made amends to both sides.

"Fukuda sensei, Luna is not Aoki sensei, who is a mature woman that knows how to use what girls call 'makeup'. Please refrain from comparing the two of them. And Luna is not ugly in the least, either."

She cracked a pained smile when the Eternal Child looked to her for confirmation. She knew she wasn't 'ugly', but she wasn't so much as pretty as she was ugly. Plain and not special. Like a rusty Christmas ornament compared to the bright and brilliant star on top. She brought out the 'beautiful' side of people when she was plain, because it just made her less noticeable.

Fukuda waved a submissive hand at them, looking annoyed. "Whatever. Have you heard of Ashirogi's Detective Trap? On hiatus?"

Nizuma's face darkened at the subject. "Yes. I can't believe Sasaki-san would go that far," He balanced a pencil on his nose, and placed both fists on his hips, his legs open in a wide battle stance. His trousers tautened around his legs, emphasizing his skinny thighs and scrawny calves. "I wonder what Ashirogi sensei did wrong to deserve that treatment." He huffed.

"I know, right?" Fukuda, not bothering to get a chair, sat himself down on the wooden floor cross-legged. His eyes glittered as he continued, "But I have an idea that will kill off the editor's buzz for sure." He interlocked his fingers together, clenching and unclenching.

He let the bait sit for a couple of seconds, letting the curiosity and excitement grow. Clench. Let go. Clench.

"I am planning to boycott by putting Kiyoshi Knight on hiatus, and until Detective Trap is back on track again, I will not give in!" He announced with vigor. Luna trembled slightly as those unnerving brown pupils rested on Nizuma sensei hungrily.

"But…" He continued. "It won't have much of an impact if I do it alone…" His voice trailed off, leaving a suggestive blank for a specific someone to fill in.

Oh no, the new assistant thought, her heart lurching with dread. Sensei had better not…

"I see," Nizuma nodded in understanding.

In a smooth movement, he braced one foot on the edge of his desk, and one on his rickety chair. He shook his fists at the air, like he was pounding on a punching bag. "IF DETECTIVE TRAP IS ON HIATUS, THEN SO WILL CROOOOWW!" His white teeth shone as he grinned.

Fukuda was trying his hardest not to laugh at the Master's gullible and easily-manipulated personality, and his body was trembling non-stop, until…

"Fukuda," Her mind barely registered the fact that she had missed an honorific. This simply was no time for manners or etiquette. "If you want to put your own manga on hiatus, be my guest. But YOU, of all people who admire and praise Nizuma Eiji, can't pull this genius," She gestured towards her sensei. Her eyes were burning, and the two guys were giving her full and undivided attention. Nizuma was secretly marveling at the magnificence of her 'burning' eyes, wondering if his favored Mashiro sensei's would scorch like hers; while Fukuda had his eyebrows down in a trench-deep V shape between his forehead, thinking how the hell this girl would have the right to stick her fingers into their own plans.

"You," She stopped a bit to prepare herself. "simply can't pull this genius down into the muddy and messy conclusion of the cancel of a series. See here, Crow is a massive hit in my school and probably everywhere in Japan. If that manga goes on hiatus for God-knows-how-long, the popularity is sure to plummet, and I can't stand here and just watch! Nizuma sensei-"

"Shut up."

It wasn't Fukuda who spoke (though he would have gladly done so, given the ominous glint in his eyes were not very inviting).

"L-" The Eternal Child (well, not really looking like one in this case) hesitated for a split second. "Kanagashi-san, you have no right to be meddling with other people's businesses. You also have no control over what I do with Crow, as that is MY manga that I created. Crow's popularity, I assure you, will not go down. I will see to it myself." He pounded his heart, looking solemn but stern. Luna didn't notice the way his eyes lingered longer than a minute on her, his gaze almost guilty and full of regret, before turning to Fukuda.

"…So please work on YOUR own serialization before you start lecturing anyone else." Nizuma added, sounding unconvinced but forceful. He had his back towards her. Fukuda had closed his eyes to ward off an incoming headache of dealing with a stubborn female, but his ears were perked up for every single sound.

The fire and determination from her eyes dwindled, slowly dwindling into nothingness, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and shame. If that were possible, her hair would've fizzed up and stood on end. The corners of her lips shook a little, but she stubbornly bit down on it. She was not going to cry, but the foreign sensation at the back of her eyes was undeniably hard to control. She sucked in deep breaths as if her life depended on it. That did little to calm the turmoil in the pits of her stomach. It was like a million bees were buzzing in there, fighting to get out.

She glanced at her phone, her sight beginning to blur at the edges. She had to get out of here quickly.

She cleared her throat, testing her ability to speak coherently. "I see." She was loath to find that her normal confident tone came out in a half whisper, half choke. Her fingers pinched the skin of her neck, and it hurt. The red finger marks would be difficult to get rid of later… "I understand. I will work hard. See you tomorrow." A weak smile wobbled, and she grabbed her bag.

The night was chilly, and she hugged her windbreaker closer, finding nothing but another cold and alien layer lying over her skin, which was exploding with goose bumps. A few water droplets escaped her eyelids, but they were blinked away. As she huffed, white clouds of water vapor lasted in the air for a fleeting second, before dissipating and disappearing completely. Without a trace.

She thought she had been one step in figuring this enigma out. She thought she had known him, when she has no inkling of what was going on in that marvelous brain of his. He was always out of her reach, and it seemed that it would remain that way for a certain time… Now he'd pushed her away. Of course. He didn't need her for anything. Heck, he probably thought she was a nuisance; a barrier standing between him and his goals.

Should she quit? She didn't want to cause trouble for anybody.

Every single rational thought in her head were temporarily chased out by the overwhelming pressure of doubts and confusion. Now she started thinking about pessimistic things, like maybe her dream as a break-through manga artist was just an illusion. Or maybe her mother abandoned her because SHE was also a nuisance. Or Nizuma sensei secretly harbored dislike and contempt for her. Everything, from various, heartbreaking turning points of her life came rushing at her in full speed, and they collided together, nestling her mind for a certain visitor called, 'Headache'. Hurt, disbelief, sadness… she couldn't tell the difference between them.

Her pillow was her best friend of the day, Luna decided in a spontaneous moment of possible insanity and sarcastic humor.

"You know she likes you, right?" Fukuda said lazily, scratching the nape of his neck. Fukuda Shinta, as a rule, though brash and hot-headed in his own unique way, had always been a very observant person, even if his loyal assistants or the members of Team Fukuda didn't know that yet. The girl was crushed, he could tell, from her voice and her bent figure. How weak. Just a bit of advice, albeit a harsh one, and she's already on her heels, escaping.

Nizuma didn't hear him. But he was jerked back into reality when Fukuda nudged his foot impatiently.

"Huh? What did you say?" His pupils looked dilated. This kid has it bad, too, Fukuda thought in sardonic amusement. He decided to let go of the matter entirely. After all, manga was more important than unrequited love, on his part. Unrequited? No. Both of them are just too dense and innocent to realize anything. As far as he was concerned, the feeling was mutual. Young love… (He wasn't aware that he was only in his early twenties.)

"Nothing." He stretched, relieving the tautness in his limbs. "Have you visited them yet?"

"Who?" Nizuma resumed his usual posture, though somewhat lacking in confidence and enthusiasm.

"Ashirogi sensei, of course."

"No… I'm sorry, Fukuda sensei. I'm tired. Do you think we can continue this topic on a different day?"

They both knew it was a lie. Even Nizuma cringed from his weak excuse. Fukuda looked nettled, but he didn't let that get to him, instead nodding sagely, saying, "Sure. Tell me whenever you want company to visit Ashirogi sensei." He understood and sympathized, this white-haired guy. The last time the door swung shut, Nizuma took his pencil out and made speech bubbles, unnamed characters and countless, uncontrollable sound effects as he drew his feelings out. Anything that was in his head, he drew that out. Every exact detail was intricately drawn out, the medium being his blunting pencil. He was going on a ferocious pace. At the interval of every 3 minutes, he would fling them over his shoulder, and that piece of paper landed on a random place. It didn't matter if he can find them later; he just wanted to RELEASE. Frustration was a frequent visitor nowadays. Now it refused to leave.

Luna's face was constantly in his mind. He drew a stand-alone picture of her, and the likeness was close to 90%. The art and work of a genius. For that one minute, he sat and stared, letting her face being branded into his brain for eternity. From the narrow space between her eyebrows, to the bridge of her nose. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a breeze seemed to be blowing the soft strands, framing her oval face and curling around her chin. Her full lips were in a wide smile, though to him, the most impressing feature of all were her eyes. Of course it was her eyes. But his drawing was imperfect; her eyes burned far more than this. The shine and toning in her pupils looked wrong. Ugh.

When the pencil couldn't be used anymore, he threw that away too.

It looked like he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, either.


A/N: I really promise there will be more action next chapter. I know it seems like the plot is stagnant, (so are the chapters. Yeeeeee…) but there will be the hospital visit and Luna's possible serialization next up…