Chapter 951

And for ordinary, or even many professional painters, completing a satisfactory portrait within half an hour is a very harsh or even impossible requirement.

But for Natsume Chikage, who possessed a "special talent" or, say, a "bonus," that was more than enough.

As Natsume Chikage's paintbrush began to dance on the white paper, the tip of the pen and the paper rubbed together, making a dense and regular "rustling" sound.

On the drawing paper, Orito Orihime's contours, facial features, and charm also appeared at an astonishing speed, from blurred to clear, from lines to three-dimensional.

And Konoe Hitomi quietly retreated to a position not far or near behind Natsume Chikage's side, like a true sculpture.

She didn't say anything, didn't do anything, just focused on Natsume Chikage's dancing paintbrush, and the image gradually taking shape on the drawing paper with those eyes that always lacked emotion.

However, the more she looked at the portrait on the drawing paper that was gradually becoming lifelike, with every detail accurately capturing Orito Orihime's charm, the more complex and difficult-to-understand emotional waves couldn't help but ripple in the depths of her eyes that were originally calm and waveless.

And Orito Orihime, when Natsume Chikage was focused on painting, didn't deliberately maintain absolute stillness like an ordinary model.

Her gaze had long since moved away from the pine stones in the garden and landed on Natsume Chikage.

Her eerie and deep gaze was also looking at Natsume Chikage without blinking, carrying undisguised probing and focus.

He was carefully observing her, breaking down her image into light, shadow, and lines, and then reorganizing them on the drawing paper.

And she was also carefully observing him, observing his expression when he frowned and thought, observing his confidence when he made a decisive stroke, observing the trembling of his eyelashes when he blinked occasionally, deeply imprinting his figure, which was focused and seemed isolated from the outside world, into her mind and heart.

After a period of time.

Natsume Chikage's wrist paused, and he stopped his paintbrush.

He leaned his body back slightly, examined the painting in front of him as a whole, and then raised his head, looking at Orito Orihime, who still maintained her sitting posture, and said calmly.

"I'm done."

Hearing this, Orito Orihime's hands, which had been crossed and placed on her lap, moved imperceptibly.

She stretched out her hand, palm upward, her fingers hooking inward slightly, a silent and clear gesture of asking for something.

"Let me see."

Natsume Chikage followed her lead, carefully took the drawing paper off the easel, the paper making a slight crisp sound.

He stood up, walked to Orito Orihime, and handed the completed painting into her outstretched hand.

Orito Orihime took the drawing paper.

Then, she lowered her head, her gaze falling on herself in the painting.

In the painting, she sat upright on the chair, the background being the blurred garden scenery.

Every strand of hair seemed clearly distinguishable, the depth of her eyes and the faint arc at the corners of her lips were accurately captured, and even the subtle shadows cast by the light on her cheeks and neck were handled just right.

Lifelike, as if she were another plane of her.

Orito Orihime's deep and eerie eyes couldn't help but flash repeatedly the moment she saw the image in the painting.

Sure enough.

The conclusion in her heart that had been repeatedly verified but still made her feel incredible, once again received the most intuitive confirmation.

In his eyes, she was indeed "normal."

... In this disgusting world wrapped in endless flesh and corrupt breath, only he, Natsume Chikage, was the only, special exception who could see the "truth."

Thinking of this, an indescribable emotion mixed with confirmation, comfort, and even a trace of secret joy quietly spread in her heart.

The corners of her perfectly shaped mouth uncontrollably curled upward slightly.

A genuine and rare, pure smile that no longer carried any playful or probing meaning slowly bloomed on her face.

Sure enough—only Natsume Chikage was her only kind.

It's just that... after the smile, the light in her deep eyes didn't dissipate, but instead settled into deeper contemplation.

A huge question, like a black hole, hovered in her heart and wouldn't go away.

Why... only he could ignore the distortion and so clearly and accurately draw this painting that belonged to "reality" for her?

How exactly did he do it?

Orito Orihime frowned slightly, moved her gaze away from the painting, and looked at Natsume Chikage.

Speaking of which... from the first time she saw him today, she noticed... compared to a few days ago, he faintly had an extra layer of very thin, transparent 'Qi' on his body, she didn't know what it was.