It is paradoxical.

“Um—, something is not right.”

Whilst holding the brush, I fixed my gaze at canvas.
It does not feel right to me. Something is not aright. However, I cannot grasp what it is.
Teacher approached me with advise, as though unable to stay indifferent towards such me—solidified and motionless.

“I fancy it’s better to use a lighter colour here.”
“Ah—, right. I’ll try it.”

Run over the brush, give it a colour.
Indeed, it does appears to be improving upon, and it does not appears to be improving whatever.

“How about it?”
“I don’t know.”

An instant reply.
If teacher has no understanding, how should I, a student, know it.

“All you need is to create an article with which you will grow a　bond comprehension. Art is a self-complacency.”
“Indeed…”

Leaving a wise ish line, teacher proceed through to look at a situation of another student. Uh-huh, doctor may let hopeless patient die.
Within the classroom, beyond dozen a pupils faced the canvas, with their brushes set in motion, outpouring their heart and soul in it. Save for solitary myself, who leisurely peering at everyone’s state of affairs. Each and every of them is earnest and excellent. It cannot be helped, for I am not a cog in a wheel. Today the game is set. Unfortunately, I capitulate upon the halfway of the fifth period.
Whilst observing other people, the hands of the clock advanced forth and teacher announced the end of the class. Students set off tiding up in haste, for I have done it by now, however, I shall disperse afore others.
Upon me thought such, I had been arrested by one of a classmates.

“What are your plans after this, Kominato-san?”

A polite, and a soft voice.
Her hair is long, pitch black, which is rare for this university of arts, straight, and uncurled to the point of being enviable. This child was elegant, inspiring with a sense of freshness. I wondered have she not perchance got mixed entering some university of young maidens. She was so out of place that I reckoned thus.
Whereupon,

“Sorry, who?”
“Fu-wah?”

She was being the one whom I could not recall.
After she formed a pouting visage, upon a swift shift, the girl drew nigh me.

“You are terrible, Kominato-san! We’ve always been taking the same class, haven’t we? I am Maejima, Noriko Maejima!”
“Ah, um—, Maejima-san? Noriko-chan? Indeed, indeed!”
“This reaction—you definitely don’t remember, are you?”

Maejima-san, Maejima-san, er… Was there ever such a child?
I cannot help it, for I actually do not remember.

“Well, all right. After this, after this, after!”

What is upcoming?
The discouraged girl before me persist her speech:

“Do you have any plans after this? If you would be so good, let’s head to the cafeteria. I fancy to get to know you better, Kominato-san…”
“Ah—, I have a part-time job after this. Sorry—, well then.”

To plainly refuse the invitation of such a classmate, it was foolish of me.

“Er, er.”
“Sorry, sorry.”

Albeit feeling grieved, I hurriedly rushed from the classroom. I cannot afford a room to talk.
Cast a glance at my watch. Half past four.
Terrible; time of a part-time job is imminent. Well, I have never been scolded for tardiness. However, even though it is a part-time job, as an employee I shall be solemn, right?

The sky has began to dye orange.
At times such as this, I reflect: “I wish I could fly up in the sky, I should have, then, reached there in no time—,” however I cannot fly. I cannot utilise as convenient a witchcraft.
“Ha~,” I sighed, heading for the part-time job by my own feet.

“Welcome to our shop—.”

Part-time job at a convenience store.
University students have to pay for everything. For playing around, for playing around, and playing around.
But unfortunately I am probably spending my money fairly different than the most of university students. And the reason of this, for I am a second year at Ogikubo University of the Arts—a university where I study art. To do art, the money and the tools are essential. In spite of having allowance, this is the only path to make them of service at my own liberty.
For this store serves but seldom customers, the time commonly elapsing by my reading manga or looking at my phone. It is an easy job. I am more anxious that this store will ran out of business.

“Thank you for visiting us—.”

An office lady leaves without buying a thing. I wonder if she did not find what she wanted. Our store has truly poor assortment.
As the customer is gone, I read an old weekly magazine which was to be discarded.
In bold, flashy characters it recited the turmoil of society.

“Celebrities infidelity, and infatuation, eh—.”

By what means may everyone be so obsessed with love affairs of other person? For it is entertaining. Is it entertaining? What is the point to cognise​ a person’s love pathway? Does it makes one feel refreshed? Or is it moving? I do not suppose one might be moved by the infidelity—.
And movies and art and novels are often rested upon “love” and “affection.” I guess that is how crucial for human beings factors of love, affection, and loving someone.
“Love” which makes people obsessed, and which obsessed about the people.
I do not understand. No, I wonder if I used to understand it in the past?
However,

“It seems like this would be a good magical force—.”

I voiced thus, without a change of my countenance.

Today I have also finished my part-time job peacefully, and—albeit I have not sold anything even one yen’s worth—I am heading towards a home.
Hand grips a plastic bag. Therein a bento box, that I had received from store manager, which will expire today. As a student who lives alone, I am terribly grateful for this. I am not positive that convenience store lunches are staple food before one is in their twenties, however it is great just to eat regularly. I know nothing regarding nutritional balance!

“Eh?”

I halted.
Upon I proceed under the overpass, I have discovered a certain article.

“There are a people who keen on painting still, who could have thought—.”

The wall had been plastered with graffiti.
As an apprentice artist, I would like to give my credits for their willingness, however as a beauty chaser, I cannot disregard polluting the scenery.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Moving my finger to verify. Only few days had passed since this was written.
Yosh, I can do it.
The emotional residue as yet remained.

“Ho, hoi!”

It was not a magic word—I raised a shout.
In a flash, the graffiti glowed, and leaped out of the wall.
It whirled and kept whirling upon the spot, as if it were a living creature, which possessed a soul.

“Oh—, I can, I can do it.”

It should have made a ten rotations.
The momentum gradually abated, whereas the form turned transparent.

“Bye-bye—.”

And then the graffiti, “Snap,” made a clinking noise, turned a particles of light, and vanished into the night’s darkness.

“Um—m, something like this.”

For emotions were so weak, I could only maintain it for about ten a seconds. The person who had drawn it also have no strong feelings—it was probably for mere fun. It was inadequate as a magical force.

“Oh, well. Now, let us go home—.”

I, Tsugumi Kominato, am a witch.
Although, I cannot neither fly in the sky nor I hold any magical force, and cannot avail myself of a witchcraft by but my own force.

A witchcraft that is “Embodying Emotions.”
I am a witch, but a little unique, I do not hold my own feelings, that is magical force. Hence, I create a witchcraft out of emotions of others.
Graffiti.
The “malice” inhabit therein. That malicious intent was transmuted into an energy, that is in magical force, and then a witchcraft had been invoked.
Any emotions are acceptable.
Rapture, sorrow, fury, resignation, surprise, disgust, horror.
Whether positive or negative, it is fine as long as that is an emotion.
However, there is emotion which holds an utmost fitting for witchcraft, and that was the emotion which I lacked.
“Love.”
The feeling of love—of the young lady who fell in love brings forth keenest a magical force.
Accordingly, adolescent teenage witches are strong, and, then, unstable. As they grow older the magical force stabilises, however the aggregate amount of magical force gradually degrades.
Albeit, I cannot fall in love.

“Endeavour to fall in love—.”

Murmuring something akin to some sort of high school boy.
Well, I do not even consider doing it.