Page 89 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

Akane came scrambling up the steps, Tojin in tow. “Yumi?” she demanded, taking in the painter’s bag Yumi was holding. “What are you…” Akane trailed off as she saw the old woman through the window. “Sorry!” she said. “Um, merely some routine training of a new recruit! Please pay us no mind.” Akane seized Yumi by the arm and towed her down the steps, past a befuddled Tojin.

Seriously, where did they find clothes that fit him? Did they just stitch two regular shirts together? Painter sighed, following the group. Yumi looked back at him, her eyes wide, panicked. He shrugged, as hehad no idea what to say. Worse, his head was starting to pound from that encounter. Who knew that a ghost could get a headache?

“What (lowly) are youdoing?” Akane repeated at Yumi as they reached the street. “You haven’t been to training! You aren’t authorized to be out here!”

Yumi looked at the ground.

“She’s trying to cover for him,” Tojin said. “Nikaro is on ‘personal leave.’ I’ll bet he’s been goofing off, not doing his rounds. It’s like…before, Akane.” He walked over and met Yumi’s eyes, giving her an encouraging smile. “You’re trying to help out. Do your brother’s job, eh? Because you know it needs to be done, even if he’s too much a coward to do it himself?”

“Oh,Yumi,” Akane said, one hand to her forehead. “That’s sweet of you to try, but girl, youcan’tjust go out and cover a painter’s shift. It’s not like Nikaro works at an assembly line.”

“Painter’s not a coward,” Yumi said softly. She looked up. “And I’m not completely without training. He showed me a few things.”

Painter stifled a groan. She probably thought that would help, but it wouldn’t. They’d think him reckless for teaching her anything. And maybe he was.

Akane locked arms with Yumi and towed her away, more by force of personality than force of arm. “Tojin,” she said, “see if Ito and his team can cover for us tonight. I think we need to stage an intervention.”

“Sure thing,” Tojin said, jogging off.

Painter trailed behind the two of them as Akane steered Yumi—who was visibly shaken—toward the old familiar noodle house. And…Painter was surprised by how much at peace he felt with what was coming. He’d been dreading it, deep down. The truth had been burningat him like a fire that refused to go out no matter how much water he dumped on it.

Yumi was going to find out what happened to him in school. And…well, the fact that it was coming was actually arelief.

As they walked, Yumi choked out the story of what she’d seen. Which was good. It meant that Akane would double-check on that elderly woman—probably post a watcher from among the swing-shift painters—to make sure that when the thing inevitably returned, it would get painted out of existence.

The sole loser tonight was Painter. And…well, he’d really lost months ago, if not years ago. As they reached the noodle house, he realized that any hope he’d had of impressing Akane or reconciling with the others was long dead and gone. They thought that in his laziness, he’d sent his little sister to go out untrained and potentially get herself hurt.

It was over. He didn’t have to worry about his former friends anymore. There was a freedom in watching that door shut, entirely, forever.

Sure, ithurt. Like acupuncture gone wrong, all over his body, spiking him through the nerves and into his heart.

At least it was over. At least he knew.

Akane got Yumi seated and ordered her some warm broth to sip. The others arrived soon after. Tojin with arms exposed. Izzy in white and Masaka in black. They settled around Yumi in their usual places, and Painter took a seat at a nearby unoccupied table, gazing at Yumi as she came out of her shell. Food, warmth, and friendship soon soothed away the nerves of her first nightmare encounter. The others knew what that felt like. It was why they’d been willing to trade shifts to come talk to her.

He glanced at Design as she emerged from the kitchen, then returned to watching Yumi. She had such a reserved smile. Sure, there was something to be said for a smile that was given away freely—but he preferred Yumi’s. Revealed only when truly earned, her smile had a unique value. A currency backed by the irresistible power of her soul.

Design sauntered up to him, then huffed. “I’m supposed to act jealous,” she said, “that you barely look at me anymore. Maybe these curves are faulty. The math could be off. Is that a thing that happens with mortals?”

“You’re as perfect as ever, Design,” he said. “I’m just having an…unusual few weeks.”

She settled in a chair beside his. “I’m not truly jealous,” she noted. “I’m kind of a god, to some people at least. Envy would be unbefitting of me. But when he gave me this form, Hoid said I was supposed to watch how humans interacted. How they paired off.”

“Why give youthatinstruction?” Painter asked.

“I have some wildly inaccurate ideas about the ways humans form bonds,” she said. “It’s endearing and amusing.”

He looked at her; she grinned back. And he wondered: was she actually some bizarre inhuman thing like she claimed? He would have scoffed at the idea, except for…well, everything lately.

Design nodded toward Yumi. “Why do you like her?”

“I don’t. We’re forced to work together.”

“Nikaro. Do you want to try that again, and make it sound persuasive or something? Because I’ve only had eyes for a few years, and evenIcan see straight through you.”

He leaned down, crossing his arms on the table and resting his head on them. He didn’t argue. What was the point?

“Can’t you feel it?” he whispered.

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