Fate is a whimsical thing. When it's not setting you up for a surprise, it's preparing the punchline for the flat, and often times disappointingly bad joke that comes afterward. No matter how much you plead, no matter how much you struggle against the sharp turns that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere, you'll always come up short on preparation.
That's because there's simply no time to prepare. On that note, I wasn't prepared at all when confronted by the creator of the magnificent art piece that my admiration drew me towards only moments prior.
Although the girl was wearing the academy's customary gray jacket, white blouse, and skirt instead of the casual wear I remembered that day, her freckled face was still easily recognizable. Apart from her attire, her short, curling locks were tied into an untidy tail, and from her frazzled appearance, it was clear things weren't going too well.
"...We've met before, haven't we?" I slowly asked the girl, who was frozen stiff.
Whether by surprise, fright, or an unforeseeable communication disorder, the poor girl was shocked into silence. Her terrified expression was a reasonable response. No doubt she viewed me as a vengeful Lovecraftian horror, come to consume her soul for slamming a door into my sensitive nose and face. What's more, her mute response to my words only proved that she couldn't handle my eldritch line of questioning.
The girl's furtive, tense posture told me she was considering whether or not to throw herself through the cardboard walls of the booth. It was a likely plan, but one that might end in injury if I didn't put a stop to it.
"Calm down, and listen very carefully to what I'm about to say, okay? That accident that happened a month ago? I forgot about it, completely. See? Was there an accident? I can't seem to remember!"
How did that make any sense? I literally admitted to remembering it by mentioning it! Regret poured from every pore on my body.
My lack of confidence didn't seem to instill any in the girl either. She took a step backward, her eyes darting to the back of the stall as she readied herself for a lunge.
It was then that I remembered the handkerchief. The lacy, pure white handkerchief that she gave me. Ever since that day, I always ket it in my uniform jacket pocket in the hopes of returning it, even though I couldn't. After our first encounter at the publisher, I hadn't seen her since.
Now, an opportunity presented itself, so it wouldn't hurt to try now. I extricated it from my jacket pocket to show her.
"You gave me this, remember? I haven't used it, so it's not stained or anything..."
For a moment, her terror mingled with a vague look of disgust. The Lovecraftian horror in her imagination must have sprouted suspicious tentacles, judging by her visceral response.
"No no no, not like that! I'm not a pervert, I swear! I meant the blood from my nose!"
Exasperated, I thrust the dainty article in her direction, "Just take it back, I don't need it!"
She jumped a little in surprise at my raised tone, and hastily complied by snatching it from my outstretched hand while retreating backward as though evading the snapping maw of some reptilian beast.
After that, was an awkward silence. Flustered by the near-misunderstanding about the handkerchief, I completely forgot what I was even doing. Though it looked like I had plenty of time to think about it. The mousy-haired and willed creature was locked into place by her own fretful nature.
"So..." I began, as my attention turned toward the artwork display. "Did you make this?"
She nodded vigorously. The curly tail on the back of her head bobbed this way and that, which would have been endearing if it weren't for the strands that stuck out at odd angles in her bedraggled state.
"Where's your group members? Aren't they supposed to be helping?"
Which was odd. According to what Victor said about this competition, it was to everyone's advantage to form groups of at least three or four, if not for the purpose of writing, then at least for extra sets of hands for unpacking and other simple yet laborious tasks. The lack of members was even more peculiar considering the sheer quality of her artwork.
But apparently, she did not understand what I meant, a confused expression replaced the one of fright.
"You... don't have anyone to help you?"
She shook her head.
"..."
So this girl did everything by herself? Not only did she create this wonderful portrait, but also unpacked, set up the booth, and handled the prints of her work? This was almost too much to believe. How much work did she have to handle all by herself?
"Hey, Travis, everything is unpacked now, we're almost done setting up the booth, but we're running out of tape. Could you go and get some from the janitorial closet? I can't reach it on the top shelf."
Melissa said as she approached the booth from behind me. She peeked over my shoulder at the art display, and then glanced over at the girl in question.
"Isn't that Luke?" She noted. Her tone was one of surprise.
"Wait, what?"
On closer inspection, the character did look like how I envisioned Luke to be. Though I don't remember ever describing him as wearing silver armor. Luke was free-spirited, in the sense that he wore no armor in battle, instead opting for the nimbleness afforded by armorless combat.
But that meant... that this girl was the one that asked for permission, Garden_of_Roses. Oh fate, what a surprise you've left for me!
The girl blushed at Melissa's immediate recognition of her work. Apparently, she didn't expect anyone to realize who the character was. She fidgeted with her hands and nodded slightly.
"But I thought Anon didn't allow anyone to make fanfiction of his work... how did you get his permission? Do you have any proof of it?" Melisssa probed, her skeptical glare piercing the girl's legitimacy.
The spontaneous interrogation session left the curly girl in a crisis, and the sudden realization of it caused her to regress back to the shaking mess from earlier.
Ack, I wasn't expecting that. Melissa struck my weakness mercilessly, and without hesitation. Her words were sharp, puncturing my shallow wish to hide my identity from her. So this was the punchline to fate's terrible joke.
Though I wasn't the one in the most trouble. No wonder Melissa was so skeptical, as I was the one that turned our group down a month ago. It was my fault that it ever got to this point, and If she mistakenly forced this poor girl to close down her booth for plagiarism, I wouldn't be able to live with myself.
"Maybe she does have proof, but she doesn't have any with her right now...?"
I glanced at the girl, hoping she at least took a screenshot of our messages as proof. But alas, her repertoire was entirely devoid of such a miracle. I could only look on, apprehensive while Melissa continued to harangue the girl with questions.
"What's your name? If you registered, you should have had a permission slip to give to the attendants, did you not? Did you skirt that by lying to them? Tell me, did you go into this without thinking about how you could hurt others with this ridiculous attempt at plagiarism?"
There it was. It won't be too long now until she goes to fetch the organizers. Her tone rose with every word.
Was there anything I could do? All that came to mind was revealing my identity right then and there. But that would lead to an even bigger problem, which was the complicated nature of my relationship with everyone in our group.
As I grappled frantically with the convoluted mess of thoughts in my head, I could hear the girl faintly sobbing.
There wasn't any other option. I had to...
"Melissa, I..."
"Whoah, what's going on here?" Victor's voice rose above the din of Melissa's scolding.
He quickly strode toward us and stepped in between the girls.
"Settle down a bit, and tell me why everyone is so worked up."
Thank god, the blonde-haired, blue and amber-eyed deity of benevolence and good timing finally arrived!