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それで、おれに勝ったつもりかああっ！？②

『吼えろペン』シリーズは、漫画家目指す人は必ず読んでおきましょうw 技術的なこと以上に「折れない心」がいかに大切かという事を、これでもかと教えてくれます😊

เผยแพร่เมื่อ Nov 3, 2026

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2boys, two mangaka, bust-up, close-up, facing each other, eye contact, profile, (((white rugby headgear))), (((white rugby headgear on head))), (((red tracksuit))), (((wearing a red tracksuit))), (((messy black hair))), muscular male, large build, broad shoulders, (((slicked-back long hair))), stubble, (((round red clown-like ball on the tip of the nose))), fierce burning eyes, glaring, (((diamond-patterned clothing))), (((expression combining hot blood, madness and anger))), evil yet passionate expression, determined expression, intense expression, shouting, open mouth, wide open eyes, clenched teeth, sweat, sweat drops, holding G-pen, right hand, pen grip, dynamic pose, leaning in, anger, confrontation, burning manga studio background, flames, intense focus lines, speed lines, 1980s manga style, retro anime style, gekiga and shonen manga brushwork, high contrast, dramatic lighting. A bust-up from a low three-quarter angle, the two men squared off across the frame with their faces close enough that every tendon in their necks reads; on the left, the first man — {{{white rugby headgear}}} strapped tight over his skull, {{{messy black hair}}} pushed out around its padded rim in stiff black spikes, {{{red tracksuit}}} collar bunched at his throat and its zipper half up — leans in toward the right, shoulders rounded forward, weight on his front foot, chest turned half away so he comes at the other man on a diagonal. His right arm is thrust up between them, fingers locked around the slim black shaft of a G-pen whose nib juts toward the opposite face; inside the nib's slit a bead of ink not yet fallen. His left hand is fisted at his hip. Brows knotted down over wide-open eyes, mouth stretched in a full shout that pulls his jaw long, teeth showing, sweat beads sliding from his temple down past the headgear's strap and stopping at his jawbone. On the right, the larger man rears up a head taller and far broader, {{{muscular, imposing build}}}, a long neck and slab of shoulder rising from the {{{diamond-patterned clothing}}} whose bold harlequin lattice of dark rhombi and pale rhombi warps as the cloth strains over his chest; {{{slicked-back long hair}}} pulled hard back from his forehead and falling behind his shoulders, {{{stubble}}} shadowing his heavy jaw, and {{{a round red clown-like ball fixed on the very tip of his nose}}} sitting there absurd and bright against the dark of his shouting mouth. His eyes burn under a lowered brow, the whites fever-bright, and his expression holds hot blood, madness and anger all at once — one corner of his mouth dragged high, the other fighting it, tendons corded in his throat as he bellows straight into the other man's face. His right hand swings a G-pen up on the opposite diagonal so the two nibs nearly cross in the air between their chests; his left fist is planted against the edge of the drawing desk behind him, knuckles blanched. Their gazes lock dead center between them, pupils meeting, each man's shout aimed at the other's face, the space between them compressed to a hand's width. Behind and around them the manga studio burns — stacked manuscript pages curling and blackening at their edges, a lamp glaring through the smoke, flame light flaring orange from below and behind so that every upward-facing surface takes the glow and the undersides of their chins, noses and the little red ball fall into hard shadow; heat haze warps the far shelf of ink bottles. Intense focus lines radiate from the point between their faces out to the frame edges, thin and black, and along them drift ash flecks and sweat. The palette is disciplined to fire orange, deep blood red, hot white and black ink, with the tracksuit's red and the lattice cloth's black-and-cream cutting through the flames. Hard cel edges, screentone dot shadows at the neck and under the jaw, rough brush hatching in the lines. Hot-blooded, explosive.

それで、おれに勝ったつもりかああっ！？②

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