Chapter 52: Desire

"May I take a look?" At this moment, Yuki had already stepped away from the monster egg of King Black and approached a wooden table, his gaze falling upon a brown sketchbook lying on top.

"Wait, that—!" As Otani finally saw where Yuki's eyes had landed, he was jolted awake, so startled he didn’t even cry out to stop him; instead, he rushed over and snatched the sketchbook from the table.

Yuki didn’t intervene, merely standing there and watching as Uncle Otani frantically grabbed the sketchbook.

Swish—

He pulled it back too forcefully, and Otani felt the heavy sketchbook in his hand suddenly lighten.

He looked down; all that remained in his grasp was the brown cover, while a dozen sheets of drawings scattered along the trajectory of his pull.

Scarlet, bright yellow.

Bold swathes of warm colors burst forth from the papers strewn across the floor.

Giants, monsters, strange beings.

They stood in stark, striking contrast to the gentle landscape paintings hanging on the studio walls or resting in the corners, rendered with soft, delicate strokes.

Had it not been revealed, no one would ever suspect these two styles came from the same hand.

Otani’s eyes widened. He quickly crouched to gather the fallen drawings, but as he reached for one, the papers defied gravity, floating up in a neat procession toward Yuki’s outstretched hand, stacking themselves perfectly from largest to smallest.

Yes, when Tregia scattered these drawings all over the place, "Yuki" would never do such a thing. The persona mustn't break; he ought to help tidy up.

"Yuki, you…" Otani froze, his gaze at Yuki now fraught with suspicion and uncertainty.

Yuki—wasn’t he just… an ordinary human? What was that just now? Some kind of supernatural ability?

Or perhaps, Yuki was actually…

And so, in a flash, Uncle Otani mentally revoked Yuki’s status as a human. Completely unaware of this, Yuki placed the stack of drawings neatly on the table and handed them to Otani.

Otani, a bit stiff, accepted them, holding the drawings in his hands without putting them away.

Perhaps because the atmosphere had become so uncanny, Otani dared not make any sudden moves.

Seeing Uncle Otani’s lack of cooperation, Yuki began to reflect: had he overacted?

His aim, after all, was simply to subdue this battle-hardened man and have a proper conversation.

In the original series, Uncle Otani began by denying and rejecting Yuki, convinced that Yuki couldn’t help him—how could an ordinary human possibly understand the pain and helplessness of suppressing one’s combat instincts?

Besides, what good would it do to share? Even if you knew, could you relieve my suffering?

Later, Otani relented, willing to sit down and talk. The turning point was his discovery that Yuki was actually the human form of an Ultra Warrior.

That made things easier: Yuki might not be his kin, might not truly understand the pain of suppressing his instincts, but at least he could help him escape it.

Thus, Otani finally opened up, pouring out his story to Yuki.

This was how the plot unfolded in the original Taiga series. But now? Things were far trickier. Not only was Yuki not his kin, but even as the human form of an Ultra Warrior, he couldn’t transform. What could he use to persuade Otani to talk?

Perhaps Otani would simply repeat the denial mantra endlessly: "I’m not, I didn’t, don’t make things up." Like an NPC in a game unable to offer new dialogue because the prerequisites haven’t been met.

So all Yuki could do was display his own abnormality, at least to show Otani he wasn’t an ordinary human—don’t dismiss him with "You don’t understand, you wouldn’t get it," shutting him out.

Drawing Otani into his rhythm was essential for what came next.

After handing over the stack of drawings, Yuki took two steps to Otani’s side. Seeing Otani made no move to hide the artwork, Yuki leaned in closer.

"This is… a warrior beneath the evening glow?"

At those words, Otani’s heart trembled.

A warrior beneath the sunset… To him, this was a long-forgotten phrase, once a badge of pride, now discarded like an old shoe long ago.

Yet now, Yuki repeated it word for word. Though he was likely referring not to Otani himself but to the giant in the painting.

Was it coincidence? Or did Yuki know something, hinting at him?

The more Otani imagined, the more apprehensive he became, wishing to turn and flee. But his drawings were here, and so was his partner’s egg. He couldn’t run.

Yuki reached for the top sheet in the stack Otani held frozen in his hands—a drawing saturated with earthy reds, mature browns, vermilion, deep yellows, its colors intense and vivid—and displayed it before him.

"I can sense it—very clearly feel, Uncle Otani, your emotions as you painted this."

"Completely different from the previous landscape. You can feel it too, can’t you?"

It was, a giant beneath the twilight.

You could tell it was a giant because the mountains behind were so tiny, almost insignificant. Even considering artistic exaggeration, it was clear the artist had drawn the mountains as reference points, highlighting the giant’s majesty.

The giant stood with his back to the sinking sun, silent and upright, half his body shrouded in darkness, the other half gilded by the dusk, clad in a layer of gold and red. The color, blood-like, was even more vivid and dazzling than the sunset itself.

…!

A long-dormant impulse surged within Otani; instinctively, he wanted to back away from that brilliance, but his retreat was blocked by Yuki’s presence behind him.

Only now did Yuki realize why Gagula liked to press up against someone’s back—not out of ambiguous intentions or mischief. The truth was, by pressing closely against another’s back, one could keenly sense their heartbeat and thus grasp their emotional shifts. If the other tried to suddenly attack, even the slightest movement would be instantly detected, making it effortless to counter.

Simultaneously, this close contact secured the vital points, making it easy to strike wherever one pleased. The opponent could hardly protect their weak spots or evade.

It was a feeling of unparalleled security.

Yes, he’d learned something.

"Do you feel it?" Yuki asked again, but the only reply was silence.

…

Seeing Uncle Otani sink into silence, Yuki had no choice but to answer himself, lest the hard-won atmosphere dissipate in the lull.

He gave the answer directly.

"What I sense from the painting is… desire."

Uncle Otani stiffened, lowering his head to stare blankly at the artwork he himself had created.

That giant beneath the dusk.

Then, as if scalded, he suddenly leapt forward, putting distance between himself and Yuki.

Yuki: …??

Uncle Otani spun around, hurriedly retreating, shielding his partner’s egg behind him, and looking at Yuki with utter disbelief.

"I… I’m not! I didn’t!"

As expected, a flat denial… Is this just the inertia of the script?

Yuki felt resigned, but when he looked back at Uncle Otani, he saw the old handsome face flushed livid, a mix of urgency, annoyance, and embarrassment…

Hmm? Something seemed off.