The first period began promptly at 8:30. Noriko Sato idly spun the mechanical pencil in her hand. Her eyes appeared firmly fixed on the writing on the blackboard, but inside her head, a silent battle was raging. Then, almost unconsciously, she turned her head and glanced at the clock hanging at the front of the classroom. The second hand moved mercilessly onward, the hands pointing precisely to 8:45.
No. This game's daily reset time wasn't something people just made up. It was an ironclad rule: exactly nine o'clock in the morning, Japan time, without a second's deviation. That meant if she had logged off before bed the night before without restarting her idle resource collection, opening the free daily chest, or clearing her activity missions—everything would be ruthlessly reset to zero by the server at exactly nine. An entire day's effort would vanish into thin air!
Only fifteen minutes remained until nine.
At 8:46, she sat in the shadow of her desk. On the surface, she looked prim and proper, practically the model student paying close attention to the lesson, but her left hand had already slipped stealthily into her uniform pocket. The cool back of her phone pressed tightly against her fingertips, radiating the faint warmth of standby mode. “...I'll just collect everything real quick. No fighting, absolutely not. I'll minimize it as soon as I'm done.” She came up with ten thousand excuses in her head, while her fingers had already begun to tremble faintly beneath the screen.
Time peeled away one second at a time.
At 8:57, only three minutes remained until nine. Noriko had intended to hold out, but the instant the corner of her eye caught the arena interface, her resolve completely collapsed. Her ranking was stuck in an awkward place—not high enough to feel safe, but not low enough to give up—and someone could knock her down at any moment before the end-of-run results screen appeared! “...Tch.” Her heart tightened. The last of her rational defenses crumbled, and her fingers darted into the arena at lightning speed.
The game's auto-battles were the kind of high-speed matches you could skip through in just a few seconds. With thirty seconds left, she had no time to worry about an elegant formation. Her eyes locked only onto the few opponents with the lowest combat power, and she tapped the screen repeatedly, managing to force her way through five matches right before the countdown timer hit zero.
But the disaster wasn't over yet. Her ranking was firmly stuck at 512th place, just one step away from the safety line of the top five hundred. The anxiety of coming this close only to lose everything shot straight to her head. Noriko ground her teeth and muttered a curse, then opened the interface for buying additional diamond attempts. She bought three more matches in a row and kept throwing herself into them. Then, to make absolutely sure, she bought a fourth, forcibly pushing her ranking up to 418th place—safely inside the zone.
At 9:00, the instant the server's end-of-run results screen appeared, her ranking locked securely at 418th. Noriko didn't even dare breathe as she watched the safely secured rewards come in. Then she slumped back against the chair like her body had shut down, gasping for breath. “...This is basically psychological control.” Yet the moment the missions refreshed, she honestly and expertly minimized the game screen back into the background for idle farming. Then she raised her head and continued listening to the teacher at the front of the room without changing expression, as if she hadn't just lived through a battle for her life.
That continued until noon.
The final class before lunch finally ended, and the long ring of the bell sounded like music from heaven. Noriko casually snapped her notebook shut and let out the long breath she'd been holding all morning. At last, the huge weight on her chest was temporarily lifted.
The sunlight in the courtyard was perfect, spilling across the tender green grass and stone benches. A spring breeze drifted through the air. Noriko sat down beside a classmate on one of the benches, and they each opened their lunch boxes. Normally, at this time, her thumb would already have reflexively swiped open her phone, watching her character perform basic attacks while she ate. But today, her phone lay quietly in her uniform pocket, exuding an inexplicable air of aloof purity.
“Come to think of it...” Her classmate chewed on a piece of fried chicken as she turned to eye Noriko suspiciously. “Noriko, you didn't even take out your phone to eat lunch with today? That's rarer than the sun rising in the west. This is so not like you.”
Noriko's chewing visibly paused for a moment. Then, with the professionalism of a veteran actress, she swallowed her food without changing expression. She picked up the can of black tea beside her and took an unhurried sip.
“Ugh, don't remind me. I can live without that garbage game.”
Her classmate froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “Wow, listen to that tone! Your resentment is practically spilling over. Did those words really come from Noriko, who was staring at her screen and muttering nonstop just yesterday?” She leaned a little closer, her eyes sparkling with gossip. “What happened? Did you get into a huge fight with someone while playing yesterday, or did some big spender stomp you so hard your mentality exploded?”
Noriko squeezed the metal tea can in her hand until it made a faint crinkling sound. “Nothing happened. I just suddenly realized that spending my precious life on something like that is a terrible deal.”
“Oh, really?” Her classmate drew out the words, disbelief written all over her face. “So did you delete it completely?”
Noriko elegantly picked up a cherry tomato with her chopsticks and placed it in her mouth, her expression perfectly composed. “Deleting it would be such a hassle. The account data is still in the cloud, so I might as well leave it there and let it take up space. Besides, my heart is as still as water now. I'll worry about it when I get busier.”
Her classmate rolled her eyes dramatically. “Noriko, you sound exactly like the kind of player who says, ‘I am absolutely never touching this again,’ then can't resist the next day.”
Noriko's chewing stiffened again. “It's different. This time really is different.”
“How is it different? You're still clinging to it.” Her classmate waved her chopsticks dismissively. “Whatever. If you can really quit this stupid game, I'll write my name backward.”
Noriko snorted and took another sip of tea. “Who'd be bored enough to bother with a garbage game like that? I'm a high school student pursuing spiritual nourishment now.”
Yet at the exact moment she finished saying this, convinced that she'd sounded incredibly imposing, her phone delivered a system notification because her stamina had fully recovered. It vibrated faintly beneath the fabric of her pocket. Noriko's expression didn't change, but her heart skipped a beat. Without making a sound, she pressed her palm hard against the pocket through the uniform fabric, pinning the phone down firmly. Her tone had been so resolute that even she had almost believed herself.
The long afternoon of classes finally ended, and the dismissal bell rang. Noriko leisurely packed her textbooks into her bag one by one, hoisted the heavy thing onto her back, and headed toward the old school building on the other side of campus, a place she almost never visited.
Her destination was the Literary Club.
Compared with those hardcore mobile games that required endless grinding to raise characters, daily stat calculations, and constant chases against time limits, she felt that sitting quietly by a window and writing a few essays or stories was practically a spiritual paradise. It was infinitely more relaxing. The afternoon sunlight stretched the shadows along the hallway into thin, long shapes. She walked easily through the quiet corridor and stopped outside the old clubroom, its wooden door tightly locked. She raised her hand and knocked.
A clear female voice came from inside. “Come in.” A moment later, the lock made a soft click, and the heavy wooden door was pulled open from within.
Soft twilight spilled in through the windows, illuminating rows of wooden bookshelves and desks and chairs scattered with manuscript paper. Compared with the noisy ordinary classroom she'd just left, this place was so quiet it felt like another world, completely cut off from reality.
Two people were sitting by the window. The club president held an application form bearing the name “Noriko Sato,” her brows slightly furrowed.
“Takagi, are you serious?” The club president raised her head. Her gaze lingered on the application for several seconds before shifting to Yuma Takagi, seated across from her. “I don't think I've ever seen this girl come to the Literary Club. I don't even remember seeing her at the club orientation. And do we really want to accept someone who appeared out of nowhere halfway through the year?”
Yuma Takagi had been idly flipping through a thick notebook beside him. At her words, he stopped and slowly lifted his eyes to meet the president's doubtful gaze.
“I don't see the problem.” Yuma spoke calmly. “The club has been short on members for years, and this application fully complies with school regulations. Besides, having one more person around might make things interesting.”
The president's face took on a subtly stiff expression. She slapped the application onto the desk and rubbed her temples in resignation, lowering her voice.
“Every year, a whole bunch of people claim they want to join the Literary Club to write, when really they just want somewhere to waste time. I've managed to block several troublesome people already. If we just let anyone in...”
Yuma listened to her complaints without rushing to argue. He gently closed his notebook, glanced over the application on the desk, and then let his gaze fall meaningfully on the closed wooden door.
“We'll know with one look whether she's that kind of person.” Yuma spoke blandly.
The president paused, just about to object, when a regular, crisp knocking sounded from outside the door.
“...Come in.” The president had no choice but to swallow the words on her lips.
With a click, the door was slowly pushed open from the outside.
The moment Noriko stepped into the clubroom, the lively conversation inside stopped dead.
The only two people by the window both turned their eyes toward her. Noriko instinctively felt a faint twinge of awkwardness. She had assumed that an easygoing club like this would be full of people scrolling on their phones after school, with no one paying her any attention. So why had the discussion inside instantly dropped to zero the moment she opened the door?
“...Um, I'm here to apply for membership...” Noriko could only force herself to speak.
“Are you Sato?”
The president was the first to adjust her expression. She cleared her throat and casually pushed the application aside.
“Welcome to the Literary Club. I'm the president, and the person sitting across from me is Takagi.” The president pointed at Yuma. “Our activity hours are from after school until 5:30 p.m. Normally, we don't require members to produce anything specific, but the club's basic goal is to cultivate reading and writing habits. You'll need to turn in at least one short piece or reflection each week. Is that okay?”
...Wait a second. Noriko silently sucked in a breath. Why did she feel like she'd just escaped a hellish game whose server could reset at any moment, only to jump straight into another long-term grind game with weekly missions?
When she remained silent for a long time, the president softened her tone. “Don't worry. The requirements really aren't that strict. Since today happens to be your first day, just write a self-introduction or a reflection on the day, around three hundred words, as a little entrance test. You only need to turn it in before you leave.”
“Today?” The corner of Noriko's mouth twitched uncontrollably.
“Yes, before you leave today.” The president pulled a sheet of blank manuscript paper and a mechanical pencil from the desk and slapped them down with a smack.
Noriko stared at the painfully white sheet of paper. “...Got it.” She could only force herself to accept, pull out a chair, and sit down.
Seated on the wooden chair, Noriko stared at the blank manuscript paper, her fingers tightening slightly around the mechanical pencil.
A self-introduction? What was she even supposed to write about?
Her mind involuntarily brought up the ridiculous sight of herself at 8:46 that morning, sneaking glances at her phone and nervously watching the countdown, along with the absurd arena death match that had required her to throw diamonds around just to protect her ranking. She had told herself countless times, “Stop playing. Spending your life on this is ridiculous.” Yet the instant the missions refreshed, her body honestly continued the idle farming.
What difference was there between this life of being chased by invisible hands and merciless rules and her current predicament, sitting here and being forced to hand in three hundred words before leaving school? Weren't both of them just being bound by one absurd deadline after another?
At last, the tip of her pencil touched the paper. She didn't write a single sentence of a proper self-introduction. Instead, following this ridiculous train of thought, she wrote out her helpless complaint about being chased by time, one word at a time: “...When we think we're escaping a meaningless digital prison, we're often only changing locations before bowing our heads to another pointless deadline. What we call everyday life is nothing more than one endless schedule and settlement after another.”
She had only intended to complain a little, but as she continued writing, the words gradually revealed a sharp satire of the restraints of everyday life.
About fifteen minutes later, Noriko set down her pencil and pushed the manuscript across the desk.
The president took the paper and read it twice. Her initially casual expression gradually tightened, and her brows rose slightly.
“...Sato, what exactly goes through your head on a normal day? How did you manage to write something with this kind of style for a self-introduction?”
Noriko calmly leaned back in her chair, looking perfectly at ease. “It's just a casual reflection on everyday life.”
“Seriously?” The president clearly didn't believe her, suspicion filling her eyes.
“Seriously.” Noriko didn't change expression. “I don't even read literary fiction. I just happened to be inspired today and wrote down some thoughts.”
Yuma Takagi leaned forward slightly and took the manuscript. His long fingers held the page as his gaze lingered on the flowing handwriting for several seconds. “You thought of this this morning?”
Noriko raised her eyes to meet his gaze without avoiding it. “Yeah.”
The corner of Yuma's lips lifted into the faintest hint of an inquisitive smile. “Sounds like something you'd write.”
Noriko's brows drew together slightly, her tone a little guarded. “You've only known me for how long, and you're already acting like you understand me?”
Yuma leaned back in his chair, his tone matter-of-fact. “Just now.”
Noriko: “...” How could this guy be so irritating?
Just as she was rendered speechless by their utterly pointless conversation, a dull rustling suddenly came from the shadowy sofa chair in the corner. The club member Noriko had completely forgotten about since entering the room slowly rolled over on the sofa, stared at the ceiling, and suddenly spoke.
“The opening is genuinely good. There's an absurd sense of helplessness toward reality running between the lines. It has a lot of potential as a novel.”
Noriko jumped and turned toward the corner. “...Thank you?”
“You're welcome.” The club member immediately covered her face with the thick hardcover book in her hand. “The opening also feels suitable as the prologue to some kind of suicide note.”
The corner of Noriko's mouth twitched violently. “...Why did you suddenly jump to a suicide note? Isn't that a bit of a leap?”
“I don't know. The thought just popped into my head. It has that feeling of being completely dead inside toward the world, yet being dragged back into reality by some strange and boring force.” The person in the corner spoke as calmly as if she were reading an instruction manual, without a ripple of emotion.
Noriko fell silent. She stared at the thick hardcover book, the alarm bells in her mind going off wildly once again. How was this some peaceful, low-effort club? This was obviously another text-based mission game with no real-time battle screen, but just as much mental torment and psychological pressure!
Before she could recover from the conversation, the president had already gathered the manuscript with satisfaction and pulled out a thick club record book.
“But seriously, this short piece really has something. Oh, right—the school magazine is facing a shortage of submissions next month. With a little editing and polishing, this could be submitted as one of the magazine's highlights.”
Noriko jolted, wondering if she'd heard wrong. “...Huh?”
“Once you join the Literary Club, everyone is expected to take on writing assignments for the school magazine. This is a perfect way to start your membership.”
“The school magazine... How many words does that require?” Noriko felt her voice come out a little faint.
The president held up two fingers without changing expression. “Not many. Around two thousand words. It's due at the end of next month, so you have plenty of time.”
Noriko: “............”
That very morning, she'd gone into a frenzy over the server reset at nine. At noon, she'd sworn with absolute conviction that she would stay away from deadlines. In the afternoon, she'd finally escaped into the Literary Club for shelter—and now this place had handed her a long-term recurring mission of two thousand words.
Just how many endless deadlines had her life been contracted out to?
The sun finally sank halfway below the horizon. Noriko let out a long, despairing sigh, hoisted her schoolbag onto her back, and trudged heavily toward the school gate.
Just as she was about to step off campus and take a breath of free air, the pocket of her uniform suddenly gave a tiny vibration, as faint as it was like a demon whispering in her ear.
Her step stopped abruptly, and her entire body went rigid.
She slowly came to a halt, expressionless, and pressed her hand against the pocket through the heavy uniform fabric. It was the faint alert she knew all too well, coming from the mobile game.
—Your stamina has fully recovered. Please log in as soon as possible to clear your daily missions, or your resources will overflow!
Noriko stood amid the long, yellowing shadows of the campus at dusk, her face ashen as she remained silent for two full seconds.
Then she silently withdrew her hand, quickened her pace, and plunged headfirst into the evening darkness on her way home without looking back.