Miss Luna! Are you going to be my first investor?!
Getting a ten-year-old girl to sponsor his art—Ethan felt a little embarrassed…
"I'd be absolutely delighted, Miss Luna."
Ethan's eyes sparkled.
It wasn't like he had never considered submitting his work to newspapers or magazines before.
But the problems were always the same—no professional art supplies, too young, and no one with enough vision to appreciate his work.
One rejection letter had even said, "You should pay me compensation for the emotional damage caused by viewing this piece."
Bloody hell!
That had been a biology magazine! What was wrong with sending them detailed anatomical drawings with scientific accuracy??
But now—finally—Ethan had found someone who understood him.
Even if she hadn't actually seen any of his work yet.
Still, he would make absolutely sure Luna never regretted it.
Luna blinked, confused as to why the boy was suddenly calling her "Miss Luna."
But for some reason that required no logic, she was certain that any boy who could talk to her so easily must also draw beautifully.
"Alright, then it's settled," Luna said with a small smile, nodding.
"I'll talk to my dad when I get home. Oh, right—he's the editor-in-chief of The Quibbler."
"Hmm... I think we still haven't found a proper illustration for the article about how prolonged broom riding causes 'broom rash.'
Because, you see, everyone's still flying around on brooms. And those affected never willingly show their butts to anyone."
She said it with the utmost seriousness.
Ethan suddenly realized—
The reason he could talk so easily with this ten-year-old witch was that she actually spoke with clear logic.
Especially when she launched into longer explanations—she expressed her ideas clearly and coherently.
Most children spoke on impulse, jumping from one thing to the next, often making no sense at all.
…Maybe that was exactly why people found Luna's words so absurd—because they actually could understand her.
"I'll make sure people fully realize the dangers of broom rash," Ethan said, lifting his chin with a confident smile.
With the problem of supplies solved—and a publication willing to feature his work—Ethan's mood brightened like a clear summer sky.
Luna's pale face and golden curls glinting in the sunlight seemed to glow with a radiant halo.
Luna, my little angel!
At the same time, Ethan made a silent vow to himself. He would use his brilliant artwork to bring The Quibbler into the public spotlight.
And crush The Daily Prophet!
Meanwhile—
Back at The Daily Prophet, one of the staff shivered suddenly.
It felt as if some dark, evil presence had locked its gaze upon them…
Huh. Must be my imagination.
After all, the greatest terror—the "Dark Lord"—had already fallen, hadn't he?
After buying his school supplies, Ethan stopped by the bookstore to gather material for his illustrations.
He flipped through volumes such as A Complete Guide to 16th-Century Torture, Treating All Kinds of Injuries, and The Truth About Witch-Hunting That You Never Knew.
It was a fruitful trip.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, staining the sky crimson, Ethan finally parted ways with Luna.
"I'll write to you once I'm home," Luna said. "It's a pity—there's been a freshwater colorfish flood at my house recently. Otherwise, I'd invite you over."
"I'll be looking forward to your letter," Ethan replied with a smile.
The wind brushed his cheek, his black hair tousled. His cobalt-blue eyes curved gently as long lashes cast faint shadows over his face.
Even in worn, threadbare clothes, he radiated a striking charm that drew attention.
Luna stood frozen, watching him until his silhouette vanished at the end of the street.
"…I made a new friend," she murmured, eyes brightening again. "Dad's going to be so happy."
She ignored the stares of passersby and skipped off like a joyful little deer to where her father was waiting.
….....
Spinners' End.
Back home, Ethan didn't have to wait long. One misty morning, an owl from Luna's home arrived, flapping its wings.
It brought with it a full set of painting supplies.
A twelve-color oil paint kit and turpentine, a pad of oil painting paper, and three brushes of different sizes.
Nothing fancy or high-end—just the basics.
Back in his old life, in a studio full of "heavy-duty" equipment, these would barely count as leftovers—especially when even canvases were divided into grades.
But now, with paint-stained fingers, Ethan cradled the supplies like priceless treasure.
In his plain, cramped room lined with black-and-white sketch drawings, these were the only splashes of color.
Along with them came a letter from Luna:
...
To my dear friend Ethan,
Dad and I discussed everything, and he's happy to feature your work. He's very curious to see what you'll create.
I thought we could start with the illustration for "Broom Rash." Here's the article draft.
Once your artwork is done, please give the original to Carrot—he's the owl who delivered this letter.
We'll make copies at home and return your original artwork to you afterward so you can keep it.
Can't wait to hear back from you,
Luna
P.S. I hope I bought the right supplies. The paints are all "animal-sourced, pure flavor." I thought that was funny.
...
After reading the letter, Ethan couldn't help but smile.
He looked up at the gray-blue owl perched on the windowsill. The owl blinked back at him with wide, golden eyes.
"Whoo?"
Its neck swiveled ninety degrees as it blinked slowly.
Dumb bird.
Ethan chuckled and poured a dish of water for it. As for food— Well, in trash-ridden Spinners' End, there were plenty of tasty options.
Without wasting a moment, Ethan got to work.
He went to the pipe to carefully wash his hands, dried them thoroughly, and opened his sketchbook.
As his fingers brushed over the warm, creamy texture of the paper, his artistic soul caught fire.
A broom rash illustration, was it?
Perfect!
He would make sure no one ever dismissed that article as a silly joke again. In his rising excitement, inspiration burst from his mind like a spring.
Ethan picked up a brush—he still couldn't use Transfiguration to turn his wand into a personal brush yet.
He dipped into the red paint and began smearing it across the page, fully immersed in the process.
Gradually, a faint, metallic scent began to fill the room.
…...
As the sun rose and fell and dusk returned—
Ethan finally set down his brush.
By now, he was pale and breathless.
But his cobalt-blue eyes glowed like stars, locked onto the painting before him, entranced.
From the outside, he might've looked… unsettling. Perhaps even a little mad.
The once-blank page was now drenched in crimson.
Then—
[Extraordinary artwork detected. Automatically added to gallery.]
[Title: Broom Rash]
[Type: Painting]
[Grade: Tier 1 – White Rare]
[Description: "Haha! Broom rash? What kind of nonsense—wait a second. Which part of your body is talking to me right now?!"]
[Effects:]
① Causes intense discomfort in the viewer; may trigger broom PTSD.
② When used, causes mild red rashes to appear on the viewer's point of contact.
[Note: Can be upgraded when paired with appropriate spells.]
[Current Gallery Artworks: 2]
[Newbie Gift Unlock Progress: 2/5]
—Success!