"I drew this before I even knew your name," he says. "At C77. You were sitting alone, fixing someone else's broken binding. You didn't even know me, and you fixed my comic's spine when I wasn't looking."
He blinks. Then laughs — not mockingly, but relieved. "Finally, someone who actually critiques. Most people just say 'good job' and run."
"You two are my favorite creators at C78," she says, holding a microphone. "But you're both idiots."
Shinobu's eyes burn.
"I read everything at C77. Your line art is sharp . But your pacing drags in the middle."
Haruki pulls out his sketchbook. Flips to a page he's never shown anyone. It's Shinobu — at their table, frowning at a misprinted page, ink on her cheek, beautiful and real.
Shinobu freezes. Haruki drops his drink.
A woman in a flawless Bakuman cosplay — not as Azuki or Kaya, but as an original character from Bakulove itself. She wears a manga artist's apron splattered with pink ink, a headband with mechanical pencils, and carries a prop sketchbook labeled "Page of Confession."