After the voice had ceased and quiet was,
Four mighty shades I saw approaching us;
Semblance had they nor sorrowful nor glad.
To say to me began my gracious Master:
"Him with that pen in his hand behold,
Who comes before the three, even as their lord.
That one is Tezuka, Mangaka sovereign;
She who comes next is Takeuchi, the shojo artist;
The third is Fujiko, and the last is Oda.
Because to each of these with me applies
The name that solitary voice proclaimed,
They do me honor, and in that do well.”
Thus I beheld assemble the fair school
Of that lord of the art pre-eminent,
Who o’er the others like an eagle soars.
When they together had discoursed somewhat,
They turned to me with signs of salutation,
And on beholding this, my Master smiled;
And more of honour still, much more, they did me,
In that they made me one of their own band;
So that the sixth was I, ‘mid so much wit.
But I told them fuck no, because I, Rohan Kishibe,
had literally no interest in working with other people.
Fuck off. Seriously. Fuck right off.