I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 110

[TL:-Hey, I was originally planning to cut the whole Haruki and Ryuko interaction, but after thinking it over, I decided to keep it. I just fixed the earlier part where Haruki was in a cab—he’s not taking one anymore. Should be all good now!]

“Not interested,” Haruki said flatly, cutting off Ryuko’s invitation.

“Mizushiro-sensei, aren’t you hungry?”

“I had some takeout during the auditions. I'm good,” he replied, glancing her way. “You probably haven’t eaten yet—go grab something.”

Ryuko blinked at his guarded tone.

She couldn’t help but feel a little hurt.

Am I really that off-putting?

Why did he sound like he was constantly on edge around her?

Just then, a raindrop splashed against the pavement.

Then another. The sky quickly opened up, rain pouring down in streaks that turned the road slick.

You’ve got to be kidding me


Haruki glanced at the street. There were plenty of taxis around in this busy area, but all of them were taken. He’d already seen over a dozen go by, none available.

“Mizushiro-sensei, let’s get out of the rain,” Ryuko said, looking up at the sky. “It’s coming down pretty hard.”

She seemed a little pleased by the sudden weather, as if it gave her an excuse to stay longer.

“Take cover?” Haruki looked at her, skeptical. “Where?”

“There’s a cafĂ© just around the corner. We’ll be there in two minutes.”

Without waiting for a response, Ryuko grabbed his sleeve and tugged him forward.

“Hey, I didn’t agree to go anywhere with you—” Haruki started, but she didn’t seem to care, dragging him along before he could finish his sentence.




Two minutes later, they dashed into a nearby coffee shop, just as the rain really started to pour.

“Welcome in! Can I take your order?” a staff member greeted them with a polite bow.

“Mocha, please,” Ryuko said, brushing her damp hair back into place.

“Same,” Haruki muttered, still watching the rain as it pounded against the windows. “Looks like we’re stuck here until it lets up.”

The cafĂ© was cozy and quiet. There weren’t many people, and soft music played overhead—something familiar, though Haruki couldn’t place the name.

Soon, their drinks arrived.

“Alright,” Haruki sighed, turning toward her. “Let’s get to it. What did you want to talk about?”

“I’ll say this up front—I care a lot about fairness. If you came here hoping to convince me to go easy on you in the second round next week, then forget it.”

“If that’s what this is, we can just pretend we came here to escape the weather and go our separate ways when the rain stops.”

Ryuko blinked at him, clearly confused. Then her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Mizushiro-sensei, I think you’ve misunderstood.”

“The reason I was waiting for you outside Kazanami Studio tonight
 it wasn’t about that.”

“I just wanted to thank you.”

Haruki raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I already say it? You passed the first round because of your own performance. Producer Mori saw something in you that fit Meiko Honma’s character. It had nothing to do with me.”

“
I know.”

She looked down for a moment, then nodded.

“I understand you don’t want to admit it, and I won’t force you to. But after the audition, everyone—including Producer Mori—seemed disappointed
 except you.”

“If I made it to the second round, I know your opinion must’ve mattered.”

“Whatever the case, I just wanted to say thank you, Mizushiro-sensei.”

Haruki let out a slow breath, deciding not to argue.

He didn’t see it as helping her—just doing his job, recognizing when a voice truly fit a role. Still, there was no point trying to explain that now.

“
Fine. Let’s just wait for the rain to stop.”

“Well, since you’ve already said thank you, can we leave it at that?”

“
Not quite.”

Ryuko hesitated for a second, then added, “Mizushiro-sensei
 there’s something else I wanted to ask you.”

Of course. Haruki glanced toward the window.

The rain hadn’t let up. If it weren’t coming down this hard, he might’ve just walked out.

“
Alright. What is it?” he asked, resigned.

Ryuko looked straight at him. “Why did you help me?”

Huh?

He’d half expected a request for favors or some angle, not
 that.

“Oh, come on,” he exhaled. “If you really think I was ‘helping’ you, that’s up to you. I just thought your voice matched the Meiko Honma I had in mind, so I told Producer Mori. That’s all.”

“Whether you made it to the next round or not was entirely his call.”

“My voice
” Ryuko whispered, her expression shifting.

Then her eyes lit up.

So that was it. That’s why she’d made it past the first round.

Ever since seeing the results, she’d been confused—her audition had felt clumsy, even botched. Everyone, even the producer, had seemed disappointed
 except Mizushiro.

If he, the original scriptwriter, thought her voice embodied Meiko, then that was her advantage in the next round.

All the effort she’d put into approaching him tonight hadn’t been in vain.

“In that case
 Mizushiro-sensei,” she began carefully, “since the rain’s still not letting up, and we’re both stuck here
”

Haruki narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

“
Would you mind giving me a little guidance?” she asked, somewhat sheepishly. “There’s something I’m still unsure about regarding Meiko’s lines.”

There it was.

His internal defenses immediately went up again.

“I’m not really qualified to be giving guidance,” Haruki said. “I’m not a voice coach or anything.”

True, Ryuko’s audition had been shaky, but she was still a trained voice actress. Even if nerves got the better of her that day, Haruki didn’t think he was in any position to be correcting her technique.

After all, he wasn’t a professional in that field—just a writer who happened to have a clear image in mind.

“I know, I know,” Ryuko said quickly, picking up on his reluctance. “I don’t mean for you to ‘coach’ me or anything.”

“I just
 I want to get a clearer idea of the tone you’re imagining for Meiko.”

Before he could reply, she adjusted her posture slightly and looked directly at him.

Then she began to speak again—but this time, her tone changed.

“Mizushiro-sensei,” she said, her voice low, reserved, and distant—like someone burdened with quiet sorrow.

“Or
 would it be more like this?” she tried again, this time softer, almost vulnerable.

“Or maybe a little brighter, a bit more innocent?” Her voice shifted yet again.

Then again, more cheerful. Then more withdrawn. Then airy. Then teasing. In rapid succession, she explored a dozen variations—each one distinct.

Happy, cold, melancholic, curious, playful
 every line painted a different version of Meiko.

So this is what a real seiyuu (voice actor) can do.