"Draw manga… to extend my life?"
Youichi's attention locked entirely on those words: extend life. His heart pounded as if it had been set ablaze, each beat echoing in his chest like a drum of hope. It felt almost unreal. He had been staring death in the face, feeling the fragility of every second, and now—now there was a way to cling to life, a single lifeline in the darkness.
He didn't want to die. He wanted to live, to keep breathing, to keep fighting.
"It's just… drawing manga?" he muttered to himself, incredulous.
"Yes. I can do this. I will do this!"
Even if it meant dying in the art room, covered in paper and ink, Youichi would gladly risk it. To do what he loved in these final days… that was worth it. And now, with the system active, with this golden cheat nestled in his hands, death wouldn't come so easily.
"Master-level manga creation skills…" he whispered, a shiver of excitement running through him. He closed his eyes and let the flood of knowledge crash into his mind.
It was as if a waterfall of clarity poured straight into his brain. Drawing techniques, color theory, perspective, panel composition, scriptwriting, character design, dialogue, storyboarding… every element, every nuance of creating manga, imprinted itself deeply in his consciousness.
Youichi felt his understanding of manga leap to heights he had never dreamed possible. For the first time, the abstract and the technical merged into a single, vivid clarity.
"This… this feeling is incredible," he breathed, awestruck. "No wonder it's master-level!"
He could practically feel his hands twitching, aching to hold a pencil and bring the images in his mind to life, one stroke at a time. And yet, he couldn't. His body was too weak, still trembling from surgery. He felt like half a man, every fiber of his being exhausted.
But the gifts didn't stop there. He noticed his memory had sharpened to an extraordinary degree. Every moment of his life—both past and present—was stored as a crystal-clear, three-dimensional image in his mind. Novels he had read, songs he had listened to, manga he had admired, faces of people he had met—all were recalled perfectly, as if the world had downloaded itself into his brain.
"Wow…" he whispered, unable to suppress the exhilaration.
He realized what this meant. In this parallel world, countless great manga and authors he had loved either didn't exist or had never been born. But now, he had a chance. He could recreate those masterpieces himself.
Sure, plagiarism was shameful—but life, his life, hung in the balance. Every moral weight seemed to crumble before survival.
"Slam Dunk… The Prince of Tennis… Death Note… Detective Conan… Attack on Titan… If I can draw these, no one will take me away!"
For the first time since he had woken, Youichi didn't feel fear. Death no longer loomed as an inevitable specter. There was hope, however small, glimmering in his hands.
Then the system's voice sounded again, cold, mechanical, but unmistakably clear.
[Mission Released!]
[Create and publish a manga within five days. Achieve 5,000 views.]
[Reward: +5 days of life!]
Perfect timing. If he could pull this off, those five extra days might just give him the edge he needed. Though… five days? That seemed stingy. Youichi couldn't help but mutter a complaint under his breath.
As he considered how to start, the door of the ICU swung open. His attending physician stepped in, followed closely by a petite girl in a blue-and-white sailor uniform. Youthful, bright, unmistakably beautiful, with strikingly clear blue eyes and golden twin tails that seemed to catch the light like a halo.
Youichi recognized her instantly.
Eriri.
A classmate. A member of the art club. A living legend among their peers.
Their relationship had never been close—only a few words exchanged here and there—but in that moment, she was the only person who could help him.
"E-Eriri…" he croaked through the oxygen mask, voice faint. His face was pale, sweat beading across his forehead.
The sight of him shocked Eriri so deeply that she leapt forward and crouched by his bed, her eyes wide with worry.
"You… you're okay?" she asked, voice trembling, emotions raw.
Youichi forced a small, pained smile. "I'm fine… thank you for caring… cough, cough…"
A fit of coughing wracked him, leaving his face even paler. Eriri's heart clenched painfully as she realized he was pretending to reassure her. The memory of the doctor's words came flooding back. His life… only a few days left…
A living, breathing person, poised to leave the world so soon.
She had never faced anything like this before. Despite not being close to him, she couldn't stop the wave of sympathy and sorrow that washed over her. It was human nature—empathy, compassion, a helpless desire to protect.
"You… on behalf of the class and the club, everyone wants to see you get better," she said, voice quivering. "We all care about you. You have to fight and get through this."
"I… I just spoke with the teacher," she continued, trying to steady herself. "Your parents are on their way… they'll be here soon. Don't worry…"
There was a slight quiver in her voice, a touch of tears threatening to fall. Artists were often ruled by their emotions. Eriri was no exception. Every thought, every feeling reflected plainly on her face.
Youichi nodded weakly, offering a fragile smile. "Th-thank you…" He closed his eyes again, letting the pain wash over him.
"No… don't thank me," Eriri replied softly, watching his face intently.
For the first time, she took in his features properly. His face was handsome, sharp yet warm, his gaze steady even under the shadow of death. Yet now, he was utterly drained, the life slowly slipping from him.
A pang of sorrow stabbed her heart.
Suddenly, his eyes flickered open again, brimming with determination.
"Eriri… I have a request…"
....
Youichi's voice was weak, barely more than a whisper, but the urgency behind it pierced the quiet of the ICU.
"I want to draw… could you get me a manga manuscript book and a pencil?"
His eyes locked onto hers, filled with a silent plea. There was no time for hesitation. To survive, he had to create and publish his manga. And right now, the only person who could help him was Eriri.
He knew her secret.
Beneath the guise of a high school girl, she was a doujin artist of some renown in the community, writing under the pen name "Eiri Kashiwagi." Having a fellow creator's help, someone who truly understood the craft, would increase his chances of surviving drastically.
Eriri froze for a brief moment, caught off guard by his request. But then she quickly understood the depth of his need. She herself was a creator, and she knew exactly what it meant to be obsessed with bringing one's ideas to life. Seeing someone in such a desperate state, desperate to draw, touched a familiar chord in her heart.
She hesitated for only a second before she was about to nod in agreement.
"Not so fast!"
A voice cut through the moment—stern, urgent, impossible to ignore. The attending physician stood behind her, tone firm.
"You can't! You need to rest properly! Do you understand? Your body is already—"
He stopped mid-sentence, a look of frustration and helplessness etched across his face.
Youichi understood. The doctor meant well. But rest wouldn't save his life—it was a slow resignation. Only by creating manga could he cling to life.
"I know, doctor. My time is short… this is my one request. Please understand…" His words were labored, each one a struggle.
The doctor fell silent, conflicted, staring at him with a mixture of pity and professional caution. He was acutely aware that this young patient's life was slipping away, almost to the very end.
From a humanitarian standpoint, he should try to accommodate the dying boy's wishes. But drawing, especially under the strain of late-stage cancer, could only hasten his decline. No doctor would dare take that risk.
The ICU became deathly quiet, the kind of silence that made the ticking of the wall clock sound impossibly loud.
"All right… wait here!"
Eriri broke the stillness, jumping to her feet and sprinting out of the ICU like a gust of wind.
Watching her disappear down the corridor, a warmth spread through Youichi's chest, brief but comforting.
But in the next instant, a wave of pain ripped through him, sharp enough to tear him apart from the inside. The world blurred, and consciousness fled once more.
Eriri ran through the hospital, heart pounding. She searched nearby streets until she finally found a stationery store.
"Boss! I need a manga manuscript book and an automatic pencil!"
Hands trembling with urgency, she flung a 2,000-yen note at the counter and snatched the items from the shelf without waiting for change. She didn't stop, turning and racing back toward the hospital.
When she returned, the ICU door was closed, the display reading: "Emergency in Progress."
Her heart leapt into her throat. She paced outside, unable to stay still, anxiety gnawing at her.
Half an hour later, a young nurse emerged from the ICU.
"Excuse me, miss… how is he?" Eriri asked, desperate, gripping the manga book tightly.
The nurse remained calm. "His condition is unstable. He slipped into a coma, and the doctors are still performing resuscitation."
Eriri's hands tightened around the notebook. Her worry was almost suffocating. The nurse, seeing her panic, softened her tone.
"Don't worry. We're doing everything we can."
Eriri nodded faintly, lowering her head in silence.
The nurse regarded her for a moment, sighing softly, then spoke gently.
"Even if he survives this operation, he doesn't have much time left. You need to be prepared… and stay by his side through the end. Having someone you care about with you in your final moments… it's a blessing."
Even for someone used to life and death in a hospital, imagining a young life about to be snatched away like this stirred a deep, inevitable sense of sorrow. Fate could be cruel indeed.
Eriri blinked, realizing the nurse had misunderstood her relationship with Youichi. They were barely acquainted—hardly the romantic pair the nurse imagined. But it wasn't surprising; in Japan, high school romances were common, and they were both striking in appearance.
A girl visiting a gravely ill boy before his family arrives naturally seemed like more than a casual friend.
Eriri opened her mouth to explain, but at that moment the ICU door swung open. The attending physician stepped out.
"His condition has stabilized. You can relax."
Eriri's relief was immediate, but she was still desperate.
"Doctor… can I see him? I brought the pencil and manuscript book he wanted."
The doctor shook his head gently. "He's asleep. It's not a good time. Come tomorrow."
Eriri wanted to protest, but the nurse beside her spoke softly:
"Miss, give me the pencil and book. I'll make sure he gets them when he wakes."
"Okay… thank you," Eriri murmured.
She handed over the items and peered through the glass once more before leaving the hospital. Outside, her heart felt heavy. Images of his pale, fragile form haunted her all the way home.
Late that night, the ICU lights still glowed.
Youichi's eyelids fluttered open. The cold smell of disinfectant filled the room, machines lined the walls, and the air pressed heavily down on him.
A nurse came in for her rounds.
"Oh, you're awake. I'll tell the doctor…" She hesitated, then remembered something. She placed the automatic pencil and manuscript book on his bedside table.
"This is from your… girlfriend. She said she'll come see you again tomorrow."
The nurse left quietly, leaving Youichi blinking at the items, confusion washing over him.
Girlfriend? Who?