That the Creator of the Military Uniform Princess—Altair—turned out to be such a young girl… Selesia and the others were surprised when they first laid eyes on Shimazaki Yuna.
But it was only surprise. Nothing more.
For Matsubara Takashi, Mizushino Sōta, Mariné, and the other Creators, however, it was more than surprise. It was shock—shock so deep it overturned their worldview.
And that shock was not because of Shimazaki Yuna.
It was because of Van Gogh.
"Y-you—you—you… you're Van Gogh-sensei?!"
"You've got to be kidding me?!"
All eyes turned at once toward Van Gogh. Matsubara Takashi, unable to keep calm, even slammed the table, the sound so loud it startled Van Gogh like a frightened rabbit—she darted behind Yuna's back to hide.
The Created—Selesia and the others—could not understand why Matsubara and the Creators were so shaken.
Kanoya Rui scratched his head, puzzled.
"That girl called Van Gogh… is she some kind of really famous person?"
"Famous? Not just famous! There are barely a handful of manga in Japan that can even be compared to Van Gogh-sensei's works in popularity!"
Matsubara glared at Rui, then turned his gaze back toward Van Gogh, his voice almost breaking.
"But that's not the point! Yes, it's impressive, but that's not the issue! The real point is—Van Gogh-sensei debuted as a mangaka eight years ago!"
Only after several moments did Selesia and the others finally realize why the Creators reacted so strongly.
Debuted eight years ago… meaning she was drawing manga eight years in the past.
Yet the Van Gogh before them—how old did she look? Not even an adult.
So how old was she at debut? Ten?
Those who had worked in creation—like Matsubara—knew too well how grueling it was to become a professional mangaka. And now? Here stood someone who might have been ten years old when she debuted.
Of course, there were manga artists whose drawings looked like children's doodles but who succeeded purely on brilliant story writing. But Matsubara and the others had read Van Gogh's manga. They knew. Her art was not childish scribbles. Every page, every panel, was so exquisite it could be torn out and framed as art.
In their circle, Van Gogh the mangaka was a constant subject of discussion. For two reasons.
First, her mystery. Everyone knew of Van Gogh, but no one had ever seen her. No photos, no appearances, no signings. No one even knew her gender. Her manga's immense popularity rested solely on the sheer beauty of the artwork and the sweeping, almost epic stories she drew. Her treatment of detail was so lifelike it made even "Human Order Incineration" and "Bleaching" feel like real historical events.
Second, her discipline. Since debut, Van Gogh had never once been late on a deadline. Not once. In a world where missed deadlines were every Creator's curse, she stood alone. Not only was her art like fine art, she updated on time, without fail. Editors and fans alike constantly threw it in their faces: "Can't you be more like Van Gogh-sensei…"
"…Van Gogh-sensei, it's me. I'm Mariné."
Mariné stood, approached Yuna and the trembling Van Gogh hiding behind her. Her voice was cautious.
"Do you not remember? You guided me once."
Van Gogh peeked her head out, shivering, and blinked at her.
"…Mariné?"
"Yes! Yes, that's right! You remember me? Back then, I became an illustrator because of you—because I read your manga, admired you, and dreamed of becoming a mangaka like you. That's why I worked so hard to study art."
She paused, scratching her cheek with embarrassment.
"…Though, I never made it as a mangaka. I became an illustrator instead. I wasn't much good at writing stories… eheh."
"…But, 'Van Gogh'—that's actually your real name?"
Remembering Kikuchihara Aki's introduction, Mariné touched her chin, thinking aloud.
"I always thought you chose it as homage to the great Dutch painter."
At her words, Van Gogh flinched. A strange smile twisted her lips.
"F-famous great man… eheh… not that amazing really…"
"Hm?"
"Ah, nothing… Van Gogh didn't say anything… eheh… just… maybe a little jealous… really… just a little, okay…?"
Sōta sat silent, staring at her. His face was visibly conflicted.
He was excited—because he too was a fan of Van Gogh, loved her manga.
But in his eyes there was also envy. Inferiority.
He had always loved novels, manga, every kind of story. He admired those who created them. Just like Mariné admired Van Gogh.
So he had tried. He had written. Uploaded his works online. No one read them.
Reality crushed him. He realized he had no talent. His admiration and passion bled away.
Then, in the corner of his eye, he caught Yuna watching him.
…Strange. This was their first meeting. Why was she looking only at him?
There were so many people here. The Created: Selesia, Meteora, Yūya. The Creators: Matsubara, Mariné, Nakanogane Masaaki. Even Kikuchihara Aki, a government official. Compared to them, he was nothing special.
Was it because he was too ordinary, that he caught her eye?
"Van Gogh-san and Matsubara-san, Mariné-san… they seem like the same kind of people."
Kanoya Rui tilted his head. "But so far, no Created from Van Gogh-san's works have appeared, right? Doesn't that make her irrelevant? Was it really okay to bring her here?"
"If we could, we wouldn't involve unrelated civilians at all."
Kikuchihara pushed her glasses up, expression weary. "But according to Shimazaki-san, Van Gogh-san cannot function independently. She must have Shimazaki-san caring for her."
After a moment's silence, Matsubara stroked his chin and conceded.
"True. A genius who became a pro mangaka at ten… having a few shortcomings in other areas is normal. It was ten, right?"
He turned to Kikuchihara for confirmation. She checked her file, answered quietly.
"Not ten. Clytie Van Gogh is sixteen this year."
Her words made Sōta glance up. He was also sixteen.
So Van Gogh-sensei was the same age as him?
"…Then she debuted at eight? Less than ten?"
Matsubara sucked in a sharp breath, staring at Van Gogh with a complicated look. He scratched furiously at his thinning hair, nearly tearing it out.
"Why… why does someone become Japan's top mangaka before the age of ten—and beautiful on top of that—while I only start achieving something pushing forty, and every day I live in terror of my receding hairline?! Heaven's too cruel!!"
In his eyes, Van Gogh was one of those blessed by the gods.
Compared to her, Yuna, her assistant of sixteen, seemed utterly ordinary.
But soon, the focus returned to Yuna. She was, after all, supposed to be the central figure here. Van Gogh had only stolen the spotlight by accident.
That had been just a small digression. The true business began now.
The overhead lights were switched off. The room darkened. Everyone turned toward the large screen.
Yuna led Van Gogh to a seat near the front. But before sitting, she stole a glance at Van Gogh beside her, then at the door not far away. Her face flickered with hesitation.
Yet in the end, she said nothing, and sat down.
On stage, Nakanogane Masaaki stood ready to present. He had handled the research.
"Thanks to Sōta's suggestion, we searched through the cameras around Yoyogi Park that night. Fortunately, the battle between Selesia and Altair hadn't destroyed them all. From the angle of Altair's gaze, we narrowed it down to five people. And since we were looking for a Creator, only two matched—Van Gogh-sensei and Shimazaki Yuna-san."
"From Van Gogh-sensei's manga Fate/Grand Order, the character most resembling Altair was the Saber-class Servant Rani of Jhansi, Lakshmibai. Based on the Rani of Jhansi, famed leader of the Indian uprising. She appeared in the Indian Lostbelt arc—though not summoned by the protagonist, she aided them considerably."
As he spoke, her image appeared on screen.
Selesia, who had fought Altair face to face, frowned immediately.
"No. That's not her."
"We reached the same conclusion." Nakanogane nodded. "While there are similarities—white hair, uniform, saber and musket—skin tone differs, and more importantly, abilities differ entirely. We ruled her out."
"Our investigation stalled then. Van Gogh had only the one work. Shimazaki, only her assistant. So we tried another angle. Maybe Altair was a derivative, inspired by Lakshmibai. But then—we found something new."
The screen shifted. A website: NIWAVIDEO.
"What's that?" Rui asked bluntly.
Mariné explained kindly: "It's a site for uploading anime, illustrations, that sort of thing. Very popular with youth. Many professionals start there."
"…Ahh." Matsubara's eyes lit with realization. "That's why we didn't recognize it. Its trends aren't the same as the commercial scene."
Sōta's eyes locked on the screen. He knew the site. He had uploaded his own failed works there.
Nakanogane continued.
"Before assisting Van Gogh, Shimazaki Yuna posted her own creations there under the name Shimazaki Setsuna. They were well-received, some companies even considered contracting her. But once she became Van Gogh's assistant, she stopped posting."
"Her last work… is this. Please watch."
He played the video.
Its title: World Étude.
Its protagonist: Altair.
Silver twin tails. Eyes, red around the edge, blue squares inside. Deep blue cavalry hat. Russian-style double coat. Metal gauntlets. Knee socks. High platform heels.
Exactly the Altair they knew.
Altair—her true name.
"…Altair?"
The name slipped from Van Gogh's lips, dazed, her eyes fixed on the screen as though her soul had left her.
"What's wrong, Van Gogh?"
The gentle voice by her ear brought her back. She turned her head, met Yuna's gaze.
"Yuna…"
Her voice was tiny, body curling in on itself.
"Altair… Van Gogh… feels like she remembers her… feels like… there's an impression…"
"…Eh? No way."
Yuna blinked, surprised. "Altair is my creation. I don't remember ever showing her to you. You must be mistaken."
"Eh? Is… is that so?"
Van Gogh's eyes widened, wavering. "…But… but…"
"Van Gogh."
Yuna raised her hand. She stroked Van Gogh's head.
Leaning in close, so near their faces nearly touched, she stared into her eyes.
"You're just tired, Van Gogh. That's why your memory's confused. It's late. Why not sleep a little?"
Her voice was like a lullaby.
Van Gogh yawned before she even realized it. Sleep tugged heavy at her. She rubbed her eyes.
"…Maybe… maybe I am tired. Painted too much the last few nights… eheh… sorry, Yuna… Van Gogh… might sleep a bit…"
Yuna straightened, a smile on her face—gentle, tinged with affection.
"Really, what am I going to do with you. Fine then. Rest on my lap for a while. Don't worry. I'll wake you when it's over."