After school, the clubroom was bathed in slanting sunset light spilling across the wooden desks. As the ordinary members gradually finished packing up and left, the once somewhat noisy room slowly quieted down.
One member on the corner sofa had covered their face with a hardcover book and slipped into a half-asleep state, while a second-year girl by the window quietly flipped through a paperback. Beside the long table by the window, only the club president and Yuma Takagi, the vice president, remained.
The president had the last few club application forms piled in front of her. She lightly tapped the desktop with her ballpoint pen, her brows drawn together. “We’ve finally cleared out most of these people who only wanted something to pad their extracurricular résumé. Several joined this year thinking, ‘I heard the Literary Club is easy and you can sleep in peace here.’ Do they really think this is a free shelter?”
Yuma leaned back in his chair, his long fingers spinning a mechanical pencil. His tone was mild. “Isn’t that normal? Once you filter out the people who can’t even turn in a basic short essay, this is about the size of the remaining list, right?”
The president neatly arranged the passing forms, then casually pulled out one of them.
“Hmm, this one... The reason for joining is an absolute mess, and they went on a vicious rant about the word ‘deadline.’ But the writing in that test they submitted at the last minute does have some promise. I’ll put them under observation for now.”
Next, she pulled out another form filled in with painstakingly neat handwriting.
“This one’s more troublesome. The self-introduction is packed with literary references and grand dreams about the literary world, but they clearly have lofty ambitions and little ability. They haven’t even finished one decent novel. People like this usually don’t last a month.”
Yuma took a casual glance. “It doesn’t matter if their enthusiasm is short-lived. At least they’ll be energetic during their first month and can help move books. As for their writing ability, we can polish that over time.”
The president paused, then casually pulled out the last application form, buried at the very bottom.
She merely scanned the name field. Instead of tightening, her slightly tense brows relaxed, and a subtly peculiar look even appeared on her face.
Noriko Sato.
“This is the one.”
The president pushed the application form in front of Yuma.
“This is the person you kept saying we could accept this afternoon. Be honest, Takagi. What exactly were you thinking when you read that bizarre self-introduction where she dumped all sorts of ridiculous everyday anxieties into it? She looked completely distracted, staring at her phone every other minute. Don’t tell me she just wanted somewhere to hide out and scroll on her phone?”
Yuma stopped spinning his pencil, his gaze settling on Noriko’s application form.
The handwriting on the form was fluid and composed, carrying a cool, cutting sarcasm. In his mind appeared the image of Noriko sitting by the window that afternoon, frowning as she wrestled with the three-hundred-word test, then glaring at him with an expression full of wariness.
Yuma looked away, the faintest curve touching the corner of his lips. He spoke without concern.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”
The president blinked. “Huh? What do you mean, there’s nothing wrong with it? This is the Literary Club!”
“Whether she’s avoiding something or genuinely interested in writing, at least what she writes is interesting.” Yuma paused, his gaze drifting toward the campus darkening outside the window. “Besides, she seems to react more strongly than most people to things involving rigid rules.”
The president glanced at him. “So?”
“So I think she’s pretty interesting.”
The president stared. “...That’s it?”
Yuma smiled faintly. “What else would there be?”
Watching his completely unbothered, superior air, the president rolled her eyes helplessly and filed the application form away.
“Fine. You’re the vice president. Since you say so, I can’t be bothered to play the bad guy. Anyway, her probationary period is one month. If she can’t turn in next month’s two-thousand-word school magazine piece, or if she scrolls on her phone in the clubroom until she feels guilty enough to quit, I’m not taking responsibility.”
The president paused, then looked Yuma up and down before suddenly adding with a cold laugh, “Come to think of it, I remember that when you first joined a club as a freshman, you spent every day wearing that dead-fish expression like, ‘This is such a pain’ and ‘Why are we even doing this?’ What’s this, Vice President Takagi? You’re protecting her this much because you see your old self in her?”
Yuma stopped spinning his pencil and slightly raised his eyelids, calmly rebutting her.
“I didn’t spend every day frowning at my phone screen.”
“Close enough. You used to frown at manuscript paper, looking like you were ready to vanish from the face of the earth at any moment.” The president snorted and closed the file. “Whatever. You’re the one who said we could accept her. If this new student causes any trouble, you’re the first person I’m coming to.”
Yuma picked up his pen again and casually wrote a few words in his notebook. His tone was calm and certain.
“She won’t quit.”
The president pointed at the application form on the table. “What makes you so sure?”
Yuma smiled, his tone mild but carrying a hint of careless certainty.
“Because... she looks like she hates anything troublesome, but when something actually happens, she doesn’t really run away.”
The sunset sank completely below the horizon. Once its lingering warmth faded, the twilight carried the distinct chill of early autumn.
Noriko walked out of the Literary Club clubroom alone and gently pulled the wooden door shut.
The hallway was empty, so quiet that she could hear every one of her own footsteps. Just as she turned the corner, a faint chill inexplicably rose along her back, as if someone were hiding somewhere out of sight in the distance, passing judgment on everything she had done that afternoon.
“...Why does my back feel kind of cold?” Noriko stopped and suspiciously glanced back at the quiet hallway. “Don’t tell me... that weird club president and that vice president who looked like he was enjoying the show were drinking tea and talking behind my back in the clubroom?”
She knitted her brows and thought it over for two seconds before shaking her head indifferently.
“Whatever. Who cares? It’s probably just extra chilly in this old school building at dusk, plus autumn’s been settling in lately.”
She slipped her hands into her jacket pockets and headed down the stairs toward the school gate, mentally calculating how much stamina her mobile game would recover by the time she got home.
After changing shoes at the lockers and stepping out through the school gate, the evening breeze blew straight into her face, making her shiver lightly.
Noriko stopped and looked up at the sky as it gradually darkened. For some reason, her mind conjured up the chaotic club entrance test that afternoon, as well as the moment she had signed her name on the application form.
Now that she had confirmed she was joining the Literary Club...
She sighed somewhat helplessly and rubbed her sore eyes.
“Anyway, I ditched everyone in the Computer Club halfway through a ranked match this afternoon just to rush over to the Literary Club... I still have to go apologize in person and say something.” Noriko turned around and headed in another direction across campus.
“Come in—”
She pushed the door open. Blue light from the monitors flickered everywhere, and several older students were gathered together.
Noriko gave a slight bow.
“Sorry, everyone! I’m really sorry for ditching you in the middle of the ranked match this afternoon!”
The Computer Club president waved casually.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Personal choice is what matters most. Don’t worry about it.”
But a member beside him immediately chimed in with a laugh.
“But it really is such a waste for you not to join the Computer Club, kiddo! Are you really not going to reconsider?”
Noriko hurriedly shook her head.
“No, I’m not. I’m really sorry.”
“You went to the Literary Club today. Don’t tell me you actually decided to join?”
“...Yeah.”
“Then won’t you be running back and forth between both clubs from now on?”
Noriko’s expression instantly stiffened.
“...That’s exactly why I didn’t join the Computer Club.”
The member blinked, then burst out laughing.
“So that’s how you were thinking about it.”
Noriko bowed again.
“Anyway, thank you, everyone. I’ll be going now.”
She backed out of the clubroom and gently pulled the door shut.
In the final instant before the gap disappeared, the clacking of keyboards and game sound effects surged out from inside once more.
Noriko stood outside and glanced back.
“...Never mind.”
She turned and left.
One club was troublesome enough.
It was a modest one-room rental apartment. She had to budget her living expenses carefully, but at least no one cared what time she came home or went to bed. The only problem was that she had to deal with dinner herself.
Noriko casually tossed her heavy schoolbag onto the entryway floor, listlessly changed into slippers, and walked into the tiny kitchenette. She glanced at the little refrigerator. Other than a few cans of oolong tea and the bottled water she had bought the day before yesterday, it was so clean there wasn’t even a speck of dust inside.
“...Guess I have no choice but to rely on that.”
She sighed in resignation, turned around, and walked to the small convenience store at the end of the alley. She grabbed two microwaveable boxed meals and a can of corn chowder, then returned to her apartment carrying the lukewarm plastic bag to the familiar sound of the clerk’s microwave.
She casually tossed the empty containers from the microwave meals into the trash, sat down at the table, opened another snack, and picked up her phone.
The instant her fingertip unlocked it, the familiar mobile game logo popped up.
“...I’m only logging in to clear my stamina and check my progress. It doesn’t count as going back to my old habits.” She silently came up with a self-righteous excuse and skillfully opened the game interface.
As soon as she logged in, several messages popped up in the game’s built-in guild chat channel. Everyone was already discussing the night’s main event—the fortress battle.
Alliance Leader: @Everyone We’re meeting at exactly 9:30 tonight for the fortress battle! Remember to prepare your resources. We’re activating the 20% attack buff and making a push tonight.
Member: 20% is way too expensive! F2P players like us don’t have enough diamonds. Last time’s engineering battle nearly drained us dry. Can we just activate 10%? Let the frontliners turn on 20% to make a show of it, right?
Nibbling on her snack, Noriko watched the conversation in the channel with a sense of absurdity. During the day, the Literary Club had chased her around with deadlines at school. Now, back at her apartment, she had to watch a mobile game guild haggle over the percentage on a buff. Just how many bizarre numbers had her life been held hostage by?
She pursed her lips and casually typed a line into the channel.
I vote we stick with 10%. Us ordinary players need to save our diamonds for daily stamina.
The moment the message went out, the alliance leader tagged her.
Alliance Leader: Well, look who’s online early today! It’s rare to see you participating so enthusiastically in the discussion.
...I hit the button by accident. Ignore me. I’m just here to clear my stamina.
A string of “Caught you” and “Says she doesn’t care, but her actions say otherwise” stickers instantly appeared in the channel. Noriko had intended to “clear her stamina and immediately close the game,” but before she knew it, the topic had veered from tonight’s fortress battle to all the predatory pity mechanics in the latest mobile game update.
The guild members furiously complained one after another. Noriko despised how bored these people were, yet couldn’t stop herself from typing several replies. Before she realized it, the system clock at the top of her phone had advanced relentlessly to eight-thirty at night.
How had time passed so quickly?
Noriko stared at the time on the screen, blinking in surprise. Then she set down her phone with some irritation and began muttering under her breath.
“...This is ridiculous. Before, I would’ve been sitting in front of my computer at this hour, happily playing a AAA game or watching anime. How did I waste an entire evening chatting about mobile games with a bunch of strangers online whose faces I don’t even know?”
While harshly condemning her own lack of self-control, she precisely picked up her phone again and casually opened the sweep interface for the daily dungeon.
“This damn mobile game is to blame...”
Noriko sighed helplessly.
Well, it looked like she wasn’t escaping tonight’s fortress battle after all.