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With three high-quality illustrations finished in record time, Leo Vance officially entered "Slacker Mode."
He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the edge of the desk. On his monitor, an anime series played at 1.5x speed. For a normal person, the dialogue would sound like a chaotic chipmunk choir, but for Leo's enhanced brain, it was the perfect pacing.
He was conducting "market research." Or at least, that's what he told himself.
Internal Monologue: It's the same here as it was in my old world. For every masterpiece like 'Fullmetal Alchemist,' there are fifty trash-tier harems with zero plot and blown budgets. And the gems? Half the time the author goes on hiatus or passes away before the ending.
He dragged a folder labeled "Mediocre" to the trash bin and opened a new series. As a newly minted light novel author, observing the tropes—both the successful and the disastrous—was essential. He needed to know what the audience was eating so he could cook something better.
He checked the time. It was still early. There was an hour left before his scheduled gaming session with Utaha.
Time for a snack, Leo thought, his stomach rumbling on cue.
His apartment was stocked like a survival bunker for the elite otaku. The fridge was full of craft sodas, low-alcohol Chu-hi, and expensive puddings. The pantry held a treasure trove of snacks. He even had a bento from the convenience store that just needed a minute in the microwave.
He was about to get up when his phone buzzed on the desk.
Ping.
Leo raised an eyebrow. "Utaha? Did she finish her writing quota early?"
He picked up the phone, expecting a message about World of Warships tactics. Instead, he blinked in surprise. The profile picture wasn't Utaha's stylized book cover; it was a sketch of a golden retriever.
[Eriri Spencer Sawamura]: (Leo-kun, are you there?)
Leo stared at the screen. Eriri contacting him privately? The girl was a textbook Tsundere with a pride stat maxed out to 99. For her to initiate a conversation, especially after he had shattered her worldview with his art yesterday, meant something was wrong. Or she wanted something.
[Leo]: (I'm here. What's up, Eriri?)
[Eriri Spencer Sawamura]: (You don't have to be so polite. Just Eriri is fine. I... I have a small question. About painting.)
Internal Monologue: There it is. The Twin-Tail Prodigy is lowering her head. That must have taken a solid ten minutes of mental gymnastics.
[Leo]: (Sure. Send it over. I'll answer what I can.)
A moment later, an image file loaded in the chat.
It was a digital painting, clearly attempting to mimic the texture and weight of traditional oil paints. Leo zoomed in. It was a landscape—a forest path winding through dense trees, with the camera angle set obliquely to show the canopy above.
It was... fine.
Eriri was talented. Her composition was solid, and her linework was disciplined. But looking at it, Leo felt nothing. It was technically proficient but emotionally hollow.
[Eriri Spencer Sawamura]: (The lighting and shadows are weird. I've revised it seven or eight times, but it gets muddier with every pass. It feels... dead. Can you tell me what's wrong?)
Leo analyzed the image. The problem was obvious to his eyes. She was struggling with the transition between digital precision and atmospheric chaos. The light was flat, making the forest look gloomy and suffocating rather than mysterious or peaceful.
[Leo]: (It's hard to explain via text. Give me ten minutes. I'll do a paint-over and send it back. You can compare the layers.)
Eriri didn't reply immediately, likely stunned that he was willing to do a direct correction.
Leo didn't wait. He dragged the image into Photoshop.
"Let's see," Leo muttered, his stylus hovering over the tablet. "Technique isn't your problem, Eriri. It's the soul."
He created a new layer set to 'Overlay.'
The forest in Eriri's painting looked like it was stuck in a perpetual, cloudy afternoon. Leo attacked the color balance first. He shifted the mid-tones towards a warmer gold and the shadows towards a cool, deep violet.
Contrast. Depth.
Then, he added the light. He painted bold, diagonal beams of sunlight cutting through the canopy—the Tyndall effect. He let the light hit the forest floor, creating dappled pools of gold on the fallen leaves.
Instantly, the painting breathed. It shifted from a gloomy, stagnant path to a vibrant morning scene, alive with the promise of a new day.
"But it's still boring," Leo critiqued. "A landscape needs a story."
He created a new layer on top. With a few quick, confident strokes, he painted a silhouette in the middle distance. An old man, back turned to the viewer, wearing a flat cap and carrying a hunting rifle over his shoulder. Beside him, a small, shaggy dog trotted along.
Suddenly, the painting wasn't just "Trees.jpg." It was a scene from a 19th-century rural novel. It had history. It had a narrative. Where is the hunter going? What is the dog chasing?
Leo checked the clock. Eight minutes.
He saved the file as a .PSD. Most people would send a flattened JPG, but sending the PSD preserved the layers. It allowed Eriri to turn his changes on and off, to deconstruct exactly how he achieved the lighting effects.
It was a masterclass in a single file. A gift from a senior to a struggling junior.
[Leo]: (File sent. Open it in Photoshop. Check the 'Lighting' and 'Details' folders I added. You were focusing too much on the leaves and forgot about the air.)
He hit send and leaned back, satisfied.
Internal Monologue: That should keep the Golden Retriever busy for a few days. Now... where's that bento?