“Do you like calligraphy, Hiiragi?” Mr. Inui asked.
Ayu snapped her jaw shut and covered the lower half of her face with her hands. She didn’t even realize she’d separated from Juuzou and Mr. Inui and wandered into the middle of the club room. She must have looked like such an idiot with her mouth wide open and her eyes practically bulging out of her skull as she ogled at every stray piece of paper in view. Ayu’s cheeks burned and she hoped to God the blush wasn’t visible. At least none of the calligraphers busy practicing their craft had noticed her meandering through their workshop. Ayu would jump straight out of the fourth floor window if she somehow broke something or—heavens forbid—ruined someone’s precious calligraphy painting!
“Would you like to try?” President Saeki offered. He procured a piece of paper from a stack on the table behind him. “I believe there’s an open spot next to Shirogane.”
Ayu turned to Mr. Inui. He smiled at her and nodded. Juuzou had whipped out his phone and was absentmindedly scrolling on it. His eyes were glued to the screen.
“It doesn’t throw off our schedule at all, Hiiragi,” Mr. Inui reassured her. “Go ahead and give it a shot!”
“Here you are.” President Saeki handed Ayu the sheet of paper. “Shirogane? Shirogane, could you raise your hand, please?” A girl in the corner of the front row complied. “Yeah, see? Right next to Shirogane. There’s an open tatami mat for you, Hiiragi.”
“T-Thank you.”
“Oh, and Shirogane?” The girl glanced up at President Saeki. “Do you think you could show Hiiragi the ropes? Be nice to her, okay? Thanks.”
“Very well,” agreed Shirogane Rin.
Ayu shuffled next to her. She greeted Rin with a nod, who only stared back at her blankly. Ayu shifted uncomfortably under her sharp gaze. Her gray eyes were framed with blunt bangs and long white hair that flowed down to her waist. Despite her pale complexion and features, there wasn’t a splotch of ink marring Rin’s pristine appearance. She was like a snow goddess or an ice queen; Ayu felt odd just being near her. Ayu folded her legs on the tatami mat and placed her sheet of special hanshi paper over the shitajiki. Ayu clamped down a bunchin paperweight over her canvas and turned to Rin for more instruction. The suzuri was already filled with ink and the brushes were prepared, so…
“U-Um, hi,” Ayu squeaked.
“Hello,” Rin replied.
“Give her an example, Shirogane,” President Saeki called. Rin picked up her brush and dipped it in ink.
“Follow my example. Your arm should always be straight when holding the brush; try not to move your elbow too much. The brush should be vertical to the paper.”
In an instant, Rin deftly wrote the kanji for snow. Ayu blinked in awe. Rin’s handwriting was so quick and clean; even though it was written in the basic kaisho style found in textbooks, Ayu couldn’t help but think it emulated the crispness of freshly fallen snow. Ayu picked up her own brush and dipped it in ink. The kanji for “snow” wasn’t all that difficult to write. Ayu tried to imagine the few times she walked or played through the snow during wintertime. Neither Yokohama or Tokyo saw that much snowfall so although those moments were fleeting, well, that was what made them all the more special, right? Ayu pressed her brush to the page.
“U-Um, h-how’s this? How did I do?”
Ayu smiled nervously as Rin peered at her work. It probably wasn’t the best calligraphy Rin had ever seen in her life, but Ayu was decently proud of her first attempt! It wasn’t perfect; far from it, but Ayu liked how the character looked on the page. And it was hers: no one else could have made this piece. Ayu beamed.
“I’d say that overall, it’s not very good,” Rin stated.
“O-Oh.” Ayu blinked.
“Here: see how the topmost line is divided unevenly?” Rin pointed to the first horizontal stroke of Ayu’s “snow” kanji. “It makes the whole character unbalanced. And the four short lines are too close together; they blend into each other and make the kanji appear illegible. The line variation is all over the place. It’s not beautiful. There’s no fluidity. It’s too rigid. This is a very poor work of calligraphy.”
Ayu hung her head. Did she… Did she do something wrong? Rin probably didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. Ayu was just being overly sensitive, right? Right!? But even so, she couldn’t help the tears starting to prick at her eyes.
“Shirogane!” President Saeki cried. Ayu flinched at the roar of his voice. “That was absolutely uncalled for! Apologize to Hiiragi! Now!”
“Why?” Rin asked. Her expression remained placid and astute. “I was only giving her tips so she could improve. Critique is how one inspires themselves to do better, correct? Therefore, especially for beginners, there is no better way to prompt engagement and spur motivation than honest critique.”
“No. That is not how we do things here at the calligraphy club,” President Saeki rebuked. “We don’t criticize one another. We encourage each other. We offer advice to spur improvement. We don’t tear each other down. Instead of criticism, focus on the good. What did Hiiragi do well? Then, if she’s open to it, you can offer suggestions. Simply insulting her on her very first attempt isn’t going to prompt her to stay with us, it’s going to drive her away. See, look. Hiiragi got the bottom half of the character almost perfect. The pressure applied to the brush was very well done, too. It’s a decent first attempt and a great starting point for further study. You should be proud of yourself, Hiiragi.”
“T-Thank you.”
“Oh.” Rin paused. “I suppose I do see your point, President Saeki. I apologize for my unwarranted criticism, Hiiragi. I do hope that despite my mishap, you will continue to show interest in the calligraphy club.”
“Y-Yeah. I-It’s no biggie.”
Even so, Ayu rolled up her hanshi paper and hastily stuffed it into her backpack. She scurried back to Juuzou and Mr. Inui, already with one foot out the door.