Chapter Text
I’ve always moved through the world quietly, like a shadow cast by silver moonlight. People often say my footsteps are soundless, my presence subtle, my words soft—not because I’m anxious, but because that’s just how I am. I like dim hallways, late-night bus rides, empty streets lit by pale streetlamps reflecting on puddles. My world is nocturnal, gentle, muted—a painting in cool tones.
Higuchi Ichiyō, though…
Higuchi is the Sun.
Brilliant and warm.
Radiant and overwhelming.
Every room she walks into seems to light up. Even in photographs, her smile carries a golden force that makes me blink. Her paintings—splashed with rich yellows, burning reds, and gold-leaf accents—look as if they’ve swallowed the sun and burst with its light. She’s already famous among art students, and now that she’s under the legendary Kouyou Ozaki, her reputation has exploded.
Everyone wants to be Higuchi.
Everyone wants to be taught by Kouyou.
Me? I just want one thing. To be near them.
And today… I get the chance.
The exhibition, Radiance, has finally come to my local art museum. Posters fill the streets, neon screens advertise it in the subway, even my professors keep mentioning it in class, telling everyone to “watch and learn from the rising star.” I’ve been counting the days for months.
I don’t care if my part-time job leaves me exhausted.
I don’t care if my friends tease me for having an “art crush.”
I don’t even care about the unsettling news about missing college girls in the city.
Nothing—absolutely nothing—can stop me from seeing Higuchi’s paintings in person.
Not even fear.
The museum is packed the moment I step inside. I clutch my sketchbook to my chest, hands trembling—not with fear, but with excitement that buzzes through me like static.
When I step into the main hall, my breath catches.
Higuchi’s paintings glow.
Not metaphorically—they actually shimmer, varnished and flecked with gold that scatters light across the room. Massive canvases surround a central sculpture: a bronze sunburst twisting upward, forming a woman holding her face to the heavens.
My heart swells.
I approach each painting slowly, reverently, afraid that touching the air around them might disturb something sacred. My eyes are already watery. I scribble notes, record the colours I see, the brush patterns, the emotions radiating from every inch of canvas.
Nearby, strangers murmur:
“She’s brilliant…”
“No wonder Kouyou took her in…”
“This style is unbelievable…”
I bite my lip.
I feel proud.
And jealous.
And hopelessly lovesick in a strange, distant way.
Because Higuchi Ichiyō…
The golden prodigy…
Will never know a moon like me even exists.
I move toward my favourite painting—Aureole, a woman sitting in a burning field, light dripping from her hands. I lean closer, studying the delicate lines around her eyes, when—
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I freeze.
I turn my head.
And there she is.
Higuchi. In the flesh. Standing only inches away.
She looks different outside of posters—prettier, actually. Her hair is tied up messily, cheeks flushed from the heat of the room. She wears a paint-stained jacket over a black turtleneck, gold earrings catching the light just enough to glow.
My heart drops straight down the museum stairs, probably all the way onto the street.
“I—I—” I stammer.
She smiles.
Warm. Radiant. Like frost melting on glass.
“Thank you for coming,” she says gently. She glances at my sketchbook. “You’re an artist too?”
I inhale sharply and nod.
“What’s your name?”
“…Gin,” I whisper.
She repeats it. “Gin. Pretty. Like something cool and elegant.”
I feel my insides combust.
We stand in silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward. I feel… safe. Her presence wraps around me like sunlight through a winter window.
“You draw beautifully,” she adds, noticing the half-finished sketches I’m holding.
I widen my eyes. “Y-you… think so?”
“Of course,” she laughs softly. “Your lines are delicate. Intentional. Like moonlight.”
I feel my stomach flip. I’ve never told anyone I think of myself as moonlight… yet she sees it instantly.
A museum attendant hurries through the halls:
“Please stay together and avoid the side corridors! Another girl went missing last night and police advise caution!”
People murmur anxiously. I shiver.
Higuchi glances at me. “You okay?”
I nod, though my pulse races. The missing girls have been abducted within three miles of the museum. No one knows who did it. Some say a lone man, some a group. Some say the victims were chosen deliberately.
“Stay close to the crowd,” she says. Firm, protective, not panicked.
I swallow. Even in danger, she shines like the sun cutting through storm clouds.
“Gin,” she whispers, “would you… like to see the private gallery?”
I stiffen. “The… private… gallery?”
“I’m supposed to show a few guests—but honestly…” She scratches her cheek, shy. “I thought you’d appreciate it more than the critics.”
I nearly faint.
She extends her hand.
Not metaphorically—literally. I place my hand in hers, slowly, gently, like touching something sacred. The warmth of her palm contrasts so sharply with my cold fingers.
Sun and Moon touching.
We walk through a secured hallway, passing staff and alarms, until we reach a quiet chamber lit by soft lamps.
Inside: unfinished works, sketches, trial canvases, practice sculptures, pages torn from notebooks.
I cover my mouth. “This is…”
“I show it to people I trust,” she says.
“Y-you trust me?”
She chuckles. “I can tell you’re sincere. And your eyes… you look at art the way an artist should.”
My knees go weak. I tremble as I move from piece to piece. She stands behind me, explaining her process, laughing softly at her own mistakes.
At one point, she leans close—close enough that I smell faint orange blossom perfume.
“You should apply to Kouyou’s program,” she murmurs.
I jump. “I—I’m not good enough—”
“Yes, you are,” she says softly. “Kouyou likes rare talent. And you… you’re lunar. Soft, but powerful.”
My cheeks burn. “You really think I can do it?”
“I do,” she whispers. Warm. Certain. Believing.
A guard appears, breathless. “Miss Higuchi! Kouyou is asking for you—there’s news about the missing girls.”
Her expression hardens, but she nods.
Before leaving, she looks back at me. “May I… see you again?”
I blink. “Me? W-why?”
Her cheeks flush. “Because I like your company. And I’d like to get to know you outside a museum hallway.”
I feel heat rush through me, like sunlight on ice. “I’d like that,” I whisper.
She grins—bright as dawn breaking. “Then it’s a promise.”
Before I can process, she gently brushes her fingers across my knuckles. Light as sunbeams. Lingering.
Then she disappears with the guard, leaving me under the museum lights, heart pounding like a quiet drum.
The Moon has admired the Sun for years.
But now…
The Sun has turned its face toward me.
And my world, once silver and silent, begins to glow warm gold.
Something impossible.
Something wondrous.
Something dangerous, perhaps.
But I don’t care.
Because for the first time in my life—
The Sun has noticed the Moon.