Chapter Text
The challenge was simple: write one story. Without using any type of visual art. Only words. Rohan’s new, no-nonsense editor had presented him with this ultimatum shortly after telling him he desperately needed to fix his storytelling process.
“Honestly, I don’t have a clue what has been happening in your last few issues,” she told him during their latest meeting. “I’m starting to think you’re losing inspiration.”
“That’s ridiculous. Any time I run out of inspiration I just go and look for more. It’s not that hard for someone like me,” he replied, shrugging.
“Are you looking for things that automatically fit into your vision? Or are you letting the inspiration come to you instead? Because I’m starting to think it’s the former.”
“Listen,” hissed Rohan. “I don’t need someone like you telling me how I should do things. My audience is just fine with everything I write. That’s all that matters. I have a story to tell, and I can’t have you getting in the way of it.”
“Really…? Because that’s not what the numbers are telling us. Sales have been steadily decreasing ever since you started on this new plot line. No one’s happy with this. I don’t even think you are at this point,” the editor told him bluntly, pausing for a moment to look him in the eye.
“We’re going to try something new,” she continued.
We? Rohan thought. This wasn’t going to happen.
“Consider it… a challenge. You have to go outside your comfort zone and write something different. And it can’t contain a single picture. Not even a small doodle on the corner of the page. You’ll have to find another way to evoke the same kind of imagery we get from your art. I’m putting Pink Dark Boy on a hiatus in the meantime. Let’s see what you can do within a month’s time.”
One story. It was incredibly simple. But the only thing that was standing in the way of this goal was Rohan’s massive ego.
“If you think I’ll agree to this, you’re wrong. I refuse to let my drawing skills deteriorate while I’m traipsing around doing your stupid little ‘exercise’. Do I need to take my series to a different publisher?” Rohan asked.
“You’re free to do that if you have enough money to cover the fee for breaking our contract. However, I’m fairly certain it’s a very large amount.”
Rohan bit his lip and frowned. She wasn’t wrong. He was still in the early phases of his new contract, and breaking it now might mean he would have to sell everything he had all over again.
“Tch. Fine. What are the conditions of this challenge?” he asked.
“I’ve already laid them out. It has to be something outside of Pink Dark Boy and it can only contain words, with no illustrations. We will provide you with a travel stipend if necessary,” the editor explained.
“All right, all right, ok, yes, sure, fine, let’s just get this over with,” Rohan muttered, getting up from his seat and starting to gather his things.
“I’m expecting great things from you, Rohan Kishibe,” the editor told him. “Please try to put some more effort in this time.”
Rohan turned around and gave her the nastiest glare he could manage.
What an annoyance, he thought. However, his mind kept wandering. Was it possible that his work truly was lacking something? He always made sure his manga was as realistic as possible… maybe his reality had changed.
Throughout the next week, Rohan found himself completely on edge. How was he supposed to accomplish anything without his sketchpad? He had resigned himself to bringing only a small notepad and pencil wherever he went, but no new ideas were coming to him.
He had walked all over S-City, thinking there would be at least one idea for a story there, but he was facing a severe case of writer’s block. Now he was back in Morioh, with fewer ideas than he had started with.
“Rohan Kishibe will not be defeated this easily,” he told himself. “There has to be another way I can do this.”
Maybe it was time to use his stand. After all, his stand could turn people into books. All he had to do was read through one or two people and take their most important memories…
No. That would basically be admitting defeat. But a part of him was curious. The next person he saw, he would try using Heaven’s Door on. Just for a minute or two.
“Hello, young man. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” a voice called from behind him.
Rohan turned around and saw an old man standing there. Come to think of it… this was the man who told him the details about the whole Reimi Sugimoto incident. He was really getting up there in age now.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Rohan answered politely, looking up at the clear, blue sky through the cherry blossoms above his head. “Can I help you with anything?”
“You’re out of ideas for your comic, aren’t you? I can tell. My grandson says the comics now are nothing like they were years ago.”
Who does this guy think he is?? Just coming up to me on the street like that- what an insult! Rohan thought. However, he kept his cool on the outside.
“I never run out of ideas. Your grandson’s taste has probably changed. And it’s changed for the worse, I might add,” Rohan said.
“Have you ever thought of writing about something you can’t capture on the page?” the old man asked him.
“There’s nothing I can’t capture on a page. Don’t be ridiculous,” Rohan answered.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Do you feel the sun beating down on your back right now? How would you draw that feeling? And I don’t just mean the sensation of heat.”
“That’s the only sensation you can get from the sun besides a sunburn, old man. You’re wasting my time right now,” Rohan sighed as he turned to leave.
“One ray of sunshine
is enough to warm my soul
while thinking of spring.”
“What? That made no sense,” said Rohan.
“Hmm… it’s a shame. You young people don’t care a bit about tradition. You could stand to learn a lot from poetry,” the old man responded cryptically.
“I’m not some sensitive type who goes around hugging trees and writing poetry. I make realistic art,” Rohan told him.
“And that is precisely why you should give it a try. But I’m just an old man stuck in the past. What do I know?” the man muttered, walking away.
After the old man left, Rohan pulled out his notepad and quickly scribbled down the poem from before. “I will absolutely not write poetry,” he told himself. “But I guess it might be worth researching, anyway.” He then headed in the direction of the library, determined to get some sort of writing done.
For the rest of the day, he didn’t even realize that he had completely forgotten about using his stand on anyone. This was only the beginning of a bizarre chain of events leading to the publication of Rohan Kishibe’s first unillustrated work.
Poets aren’t artists-
there’s no talent in writing
just three lines of words!
-Rohan Kishibe’s very first poem
Composed in the Morioh Public Library