“Anything, as long as I can be called a creator.”

“Argh.” Yamazaki tightened his right hand into a fist. Then, as if he had regained control of himself, he let out a heavy sigh. “Well, let’s just go with that. Okay then, Satou, what kind of skills do you have?”

“What do you mean, ‘skills’?”

“Like, can you draw, or write songs, or write amazing computer programs? There are all sorts of possibilities.”

“I can’t do anything. If I had to say something, I suppose I have a talent for solitude. I’ve been able to live for an entire year without meeting anyone-“

“That won’t do at all!” Yamazaki slammed the floor with both hands.

“Like I said, I’m worthless!” I screamed back.

Yamazaki stood and grilled me with greater force. “There’s no way someone with no skills easily could become a creator, is there?! It’s not right just to say whatever’s easy for you, all the time. Listen to me, you laughed when I told you that I was going to the Yoyogi Animation Institute, didn’t you, Satou? Oh, it’s fine, no need to hide it… Still, it’s clear that in terms of creative issues, I’m more accomplished than you are. Please understand this.”

As he’d been pretty convincing during his long diatribe, I nodded automatically several times.

Suddenly, Yamazaki’s body went limp. “No, thinking of the idiots in my class, I got overexcited. People like them make me the maddest—people who are all talk, huddling privately together, even though they can’t do anything themselves.”

It appeared I’d somehow irritated his issues with school life. I decided to make him drink some coffee to calm him down. Salvaging an unused paper cup from the litter strewn across the floor, I poured water from the hot pot set up in the cabinet. Then, fishing farther under the bed, I discovered an economy-sized pack of rice crackers.

Eating the crackers, we drank coffee.

Calmer, Yamazaki returned to the main topic. “Well then, let’s think about it more concretely this time. Music takes a lot of skill and discriminating taste, so that’s out of the question for you, Satou. As for programming, you’re no good at math, right? So, that’s out. Art also would be impossible, wouldn’t it? I once saw a picture you drew. So, illustrating manga won’t work. Then…”

Yamazaki suddenly slapped his knee. “Satou, you were a member of the literary club, weren’t you?!”

“So… ?”

“Novels! It’s novels!”

I twisted my face into a frown. “No, I don’t want to do that! I haven’t written any long compositions since they made me do it in middle school. For starters, novels are too boring. They won’t work—“

Yamazaki scowled at me again. Breathing violently through his nose, he muttered quietly, “Just get over it, won’t you?”