On the bustling streets of Tokyo on a weekend, a sea of people flowed like a tide, each chasing their own pace of life amidst the hustle and bustle. Yet, in this clamorous city, there was a young painter whose figure stood out from the surrounding world.
Harukaze Tetsu was as if in a quiet corner, completely ignoring the noise of the surrounding crowd, focusing only on the brush and paper in his hands. His eyes sparkled with a love and persistence for art, as if the whole world was condensed on his brush tip.
Occasionally, a passerby would stop, attracted by his artwork, and utter words of admiration. But most people just glanced briefly and continued on their way, because in this concrete jungle, most people were struggling for survival.
However, for Izumi-Spencer-Inori, a student from the prestigious school, she had enough leisure time to appreciate the works of this young painter. As a standout student in the Art Club of Toyosaki Private Academy, she had a deep interest and skill in painting. When she saw this young painter's work, she was immediately drawn to his exquisite technique and unique style.
The young painter was thin and handsome, but his eyes were full of determination and perseverance. His clothes were simple but clean and neat, revealing a unique temperament. Inori noticed that although the paints he used were not high-end brands, his paintings were full of life and infectious energy.
Just then, two fashionably dressed girls walked in front of the young painter, their eyes drawn to a sign on the ground. Inori then realized that the young painter was drawing portraits for people on the street. She curiously observed everything, wanting to see how the young painter would complete this creation.
"How much for two people?" asked the older girl.
"Five thousand yen." The young painter answered calmly, his voice revealing a hint of world-weariness.
"So expensive?" the girl was a little surprised, but seeing the young painter's serious expression, the brush in his hand, and his handsome face, they hesitated for a moment before finally deciding to give it a try.
The young painter prepared small stools for the two girls, asking them to strike their favorite poses. He picked up a pencil and quickly sketched an outline on the paper, then began mixing and applying colors. His movements were smooth and skillful, every stroke precise and powerful.
Soon, the first portrait was finished. The girl couldn't help but exclaim in admiration when she saw her image so vividly presented on paper. The second girl eagerly took a seat on the stool, eager to see if her portrait could be as excellent.
After a while, the second portrait was also completed. The two girls left the scene happily holding their portraits. The young painter gave them a slight bow before returning to his own creation.
Inori couldn't help but sigh to herself: in this busy and noisy city, it was truly not easy to find a painter like this who was dedicated to his dream. She decided to stay and continue observing the young painter's creative process, hoping to gain more inspiration and insights from it.
In Inori's sight, the young man's painting attracted her steps like a magnet. She couldn't help but slowly approach until the details of the painting became clear.
It was a painting of a steel city rendered with countless strokes, crowded with pedestrians on the street, but their faces lacked expression, as if each was a programmed robot, mechanically repeating their daily routines.
Day after day, years flew by, this group of people seemed to be forever bound by this way of life, what they evoke is not vitality, but endless dullness and despair.
The setting sun was in the distance, but in this black and white painting, it carried a kind of indescribable sadness.
Inori was deeply moved by the crowd in the painting. It was as if something in her heart was tightly gripped, yet she couldn't find the right words to express this feeling.
As she was immersed in the impact of this painting, the young man looked down at the cheap digital watch on his wrist, then quickly began packing his things.
He put his easel into his backpack with ease, and the paint palette was carefully wrapped in a clear plastic bag after being rinsed clean.
Finally, he hung the two folded stools on the sides of his backpack, his movements efficient and swift.
"This, for you." Before Inori could even think about what to say, the young man had already handed her the product of his afternoon's work.
"Oh, right, I call this painting 'Living'." As soon as the young man finished speaking, Inori accepted this unexpected gift, a strange emotion welling up in her heart.
Such a desperate scene, yet the name is 'Living'.
Izumi-Spencer-Inori was even more impacted.
Although this phrase is a bit awkward, it's really just literal, used to describe people's emotions, and it doesn't have any other connotation.
"Izumi-san, goodbye." After packing up, Harukaze Tetsu quickly ran towards the nearby subway station.
His little sister was waiting for him to make dinner at home.
Looking at the figure swiftly leaving, Inori was still immersed in the world constructed by this painting, completely unaware that the young man had just mentioned her name.