Chapter 9: 8

Eighth day of confinement

Translated by SoundDestiny
Edited by Kaepinned

 

The most enjoyable part of being confined is eating.

 

Bathing is just as much fun as eating but it’s not something I do every day, so if anything it’s the food.

 

Of course, sweets also make me happy but they are only snacks.

 

After all, there is no doubt that the main meal is what keeps me going each day.

 

However, today, the meals served are a three-piece set of yoghurt, jelly and supplements, which does not look different. It isn’t bad for a sick person’s diet but I am getting tired of it.

 

“Thanks for the food.”

 

With this in mind, I poured my lunch into my stomach and put my hands together.

 

“Osomatsusama.”

[おそまつさまexpression of humility said by the person who provided a meal after it is eaten]

 

“Oh, um, I know these menus are good for digestion. I’m feeling better now, so I’d like to have a more proper meal. Something with a stronger flavour, something with more bite.”

 

As she collects my tray and is about to leave the room, she says.

 

“I don’t have my tools.”

 

She puts the tray on the floor again, sits down lopsidedly. Then I open my mouth.

 

“Certainly, I got rid of all the dishes and cooking utensils before I moved.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

She nods vaguely.

 

“Aree, but these trays and spoons aren’t mine, are they? How did you get these?”

 

“Just stuff that was in my house.”

 

She says in a really random way.

 

After all, these silverwares are hers, aren’t they?

 

In light of her uniform, she must be born into a wealthy family.

 

“Then that knife too?”

 

“I bought the knife.”

 

“You have a tray and a spoon in the house but no knives?”

 

“No cooking allowed.”

 

It sounds like a complicated home environment in many ways.

 

“……I see. Well, if you bought a knife, why don’t you get other tools too? It’s not comfortable to just have a knife, because it’s like, you know, you bought a G-pen but you don’t have ink and paper.”

 

I appeal desperately, using a hand-held analogy.

 

“Would you like a home-cooked meal from me?”

 

She tilts her head and stares at me.

 

“Umm, yes, hopefully.”

 

I nod.

 

“I see.”

 

With a short answer, the girl gets up and walks out of the room.

 

“I, I’m sorry! Was I out of line? If that doesn’t seem possible, I’d be fine with retort food or instant food.”

You are reading story The Story of a Manga Artist Who Was Imprisoned by a Strange High School Girl at novel35.com

 

I am worried that I offended her, so I speak to the closed door, which replies to me in silence.

 

……。

 

……。

 

……。

 

‘Maybe I’m getting too carried away……’

 

It is probably ten minutes after I have entered a state of reflection in a sitting position.

 

The door opens again.

 

“──I’ll have it for you by tomorrow evening.”

 

She stands at the door, subtly averting her gaze from me and shows me the order screen on her phone. There, lined up in a row, is a set of highly reviewed cooking utensils.

 

Apparently, her earlier curt attitude is a cover for her embarrassment.

 

“Th, thank you. For listening to my wishes.”

 

“Don’t get your hopes up too much.”

 

After saying this, she collects her tray and leaves.

 

‘Even if she says that, I still have expectations…I’ve never eaten a woman’s home cooking other than my family’s.’

 

I am glad to see that there are new pleasures added to life in confinement.

 

“About the compensation…”

 

The girl peeks out of the doorway and says, as if remembering.

 

“…..Aaa, for food? Okay, you want me to paint some nail art on your fingers?”

 

I got the hang of it in the last work.

 

I’ll do it better this time.

 

“No.”

 

The girl shakes her head.

 

“Then what do you want me to do?”

 

“Draw me a manga.”

 

She answers immediately and gives me a sharp look, as if she can see through the back of my mind.

 

“No, but unlike sketching, manga is not something I can just draw because I’m told to. You see, you have to think about the story, the composition and all sorts of other things…”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

The girl interrupts my excuses and lets the tip of the knife peek through the door.

 

“……”

 

“Draw a manga.”

 

She repeats, as if to remind me and close the door.

 

‘If I could draw what I was told to draw, I wouldn’t have any trouble.’

 

Swearing in my heart, I face the liquid tab.

 

Even if I groan, hold my head and writhe, no new story comes to mind.

 

The sweet anticipation of homemade food has vanished before I know it.

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