Too Many Losing Heroines! - Volume 1 - Chapter 1.2

Three days went by. It was Monday now, back at school. I leaned back up from the faucet, shut off the water, and wiped my mouth. City water was never any good, although that depended on who you asked. Granted, most didn’t know what I knew. Most were blind to the fact that water could, in fact, taste different from tap to tap, even within the same building. I, Nukumizu Kazuhiko of Tsuwabuki High School’s class 1-C, fancied myself one of the enlightened few.

“Now that’s the stuff,” I muttered.

It was just before fourth period. The first-floor sink in front of the library in that new annex was my current sanctuary. Early in the morning, this was the place to be for top shelf tap water. Being further from the rooftop water tank meant the chlorine levels were minimal, and you didn’t want any of that swimming in your stomach right before lunch.

My thirst quenched, I started on my way back to class, calculating in my head the perfect pace. Arrive too early, and there’d doubtless be a conversation happening right at my desk, and I wasn’t about to deal with that. A leisurely stroll would get me there just in time.

I thought back to last week—to Yanami Anna. The boys had made quite a fuss over her on the first day of school. She was pretty, I gave her that, but it was clear to me from the get-go that we lived in different worlds. I was content occupying mine and she occupying hers. Apparently, though, as evidenced by recent events, that understanding didn’t run both ways. I genuinely couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken with a girl for that long. She showed me flashes of charm, and she showed me flashes of insanity. I couldn’t make heads or tails of her.

But that was all in the past. Once I got my money back, that would be the end of it. I’d go back to my world, and she’d go back to hers, and I’d look back and think, “Yep, that sure was a thing that happened.”

I checked my watch as I slid open the classroom door. Thirty seconds to the bell—perfect.

I clicked my tongue. Not perfect. Yakishio Lemon of all people was sitting on my desk, that happy-go-lucky, tan girl on the track team. We’d come from the same junior high. She was literally always smiling, always talking with someone. She was magnetic. And she wouldn’t budge an inch until the bell sounded.

Taking the long way around the room, I slipped by my currently-colonized desk and reached into my pocket for the old receipt I kept specifically for times like these. In the time it took me to toss the thing, the bell rang. I made my way back, assured of my victory.

No one moved. The invaders remained. I glanced at the chalkboard. “4th period—World History, 10 minutes late, self-study,” it read.

I had miscalculated. None of these people were going to study. They’d just gotten an extra ten minutes added to their break. I wandered over to the notice board, wiping away the nervous sweat on my brow.

Wow, an inter-high rally? Boy howdy, and the archery club had made nationals for the third year in a row. I was so incredibly invested in this information. With enthusiastically feigned interest, I scanned the schedule for that rally thing: opening ceremony, July 22nd. Girls volleyball, 22nd to the 25th. Canoeing, 28th to 31st.

“We should totally do lunch together!”

I knew that shrill, immersion-breaking voice anywhere. It was Himemiya Karen. I snuck a peek and, to little surprise, saw Hakamada and Yanami with her. Honestly, though, I could feel the main heroine vibes from here. She had the looks, the presence, the…personalities.

Yanami had on her best smile. That was the biggest surprise. I’d expected, well…I wasn’t sure what I expected. Different worlds. Maybe in hers, relationships coming and going was the norm.

“I’m good.” Yanami kept smiling. “Don’t wanna be a third wheel or anything.”

“Don’t be like that,” the transfer student argued. “We’re still friends, you know?”

“That’s right,” Hakamada agreed. “You don’t have to try and be considerate. I see right through you.”

Yanami gave him an awkward elbow poke. “Speak for yourself. I’m trying to do you a favor here, bud.”

“Anna…” Himemiya Karen sighed.

“Yeah?” Before Yanami could get her next few words out, Himemiya threw her arms around her. “C-come on, now, Karen-chan. What’s all this for?”

“Thank you. You’re my best friend in the whole world,” said tits-for-brains (not my words).

“Come on, people are staring.” She patted her dear friend on the shoulder.

Evidently, I’d been worried for nothing. Yanami seemed pretty much over it—at a glance. That was when I noticed her legs trembling and her fists clenched white behind Himemiya’s back. Oh, she was over it. In an entirely different sense entirely.

“So, lunch,” Himemiya pressed. “How about we—”

“E-excuse me.” Just as I was starting to see steam billowing out of Yanami’s ears, I cut in. “Yanami-san?”

All three pairs of eyes centered on me. This, right here, was ­exactly what I was talking about with different worlds. Oh, the sin I had committed—the absolute travesty it was for the background character to butt into the main plot.

By some miracle, I managed to keep myself composed and my voice from cracking. “You’re on duty today, right? Amanatsu-sensei wants your help in the printing room.”

“Oh.” Yanami slipped away from her prison. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right there. Thanks.” She made for the door but turned around just before leaving the classroom. “You know what? I could actually use a hand.”

***

There I was, next to Yanami-san, walking down the hallway together. What was I even supposed to say? I glanced at her.

Yanami Anna. She was certainly pretty. Fluffy, flowing hair. Big, round eyes. Gentle features. I could see why she was so popular with the guys. Like, let’s just get it out there. This girl had the looks. Hakamada. My man. This girl was your best friend for over a decade? What were you thinking, passing her up? Sure, Himemiya Karen was potentially prettier, had bigger personalities, more grace…

“Whatcha starin’ at?” Yanami leaned over and peered at me.

“N-noth—uh, nothing,” I stammered, tearing my eyes from her face. Those thoughts were best kept to myself.

“So tell me,” she whispered real low, stepping in close. I swear she knew what she was doing. “Was that little act back there just for me?”

“I-it looked like you needed a hand. Sorry if I was butting in or whatever.”

“Nah. Thanks. I was straight up about to rip those udders clean off her chest.” She didn’t even blink as she said this. “Where are we going, anyway? The teacher doesn’t actually want me, I assume.”

“Only one reason Amanatsu-sensei would put us on self-study,” I said. “She forgot the printouts again. Might as well help her before all hell breaks loose.”

Amanatsu Konami was our homeroom and social studies teacher, and she was a chronic truant. Not on purpose, mind you. She just had a bad habit of mixing up the class schedule, forgetting her materials, walking into the wrong class, and she probably had trouble remembering to breathe too. Generally, self-study meant she had forgotten her materials.

I opened the door to the printing room, entirely unsurprised to find Amanatsu-sensei, yet somewhat surprised at the state she was in.

“Er, is everything okay?” I asked.

It was like a paper factory had exploded in there. Papers ­littered the floor, the table, and of course covered the printer with which Amanatsu-sensei was presently doing battle. She was a minuscule creature, easily mistaken for a student were she in uniform. And a creature she was.

“Ah, Yanami!” she said. “You should be in class, you knwakh!”

Amanatsu-sensei slipped on one of the papers on the floor, and down she went, flat on her face, sending yet more papers flying. Some called her clumsy. I called her a walking safety hazard.

“Thought you could maybe use some help,” said Yanami.

“Right you are! Be a pal and get me enough copies for the class, wouldja?”

We knelt down and started examining the paper carpet at our feet. Which sheets were we meant to be copying? Only God knew. The allotted ten-minute self-study time had come and gone by the time the three of us managed to fish out the right papers.

“I really nailed today’s lesson too. It’s gonna knock your socks off,” Amanatsu-sensei said proudly.

To her credit, she did put a lot of effort into her lesson plans. I took a peek at one of the copies.

“Sensei, we haven’t covered this material,” I said. “I thought we were doing Chinese history today.”

“Look, bub, I dunno who you are, but you must have a few screws loose,” she ranted. “Second-years cover the Byzantine Empire in July, and don’t you forget it. Which you won’t once you learn just how moe those guys were.”

“Ma’am, you’re teaching class 1-C.” Which happened to be mine, fun fact.

“I’m what?!” All our work fluttered to the floor once again. “I can save this! We’ve still got forty minutes. That’s plenty of time to get a lesson together!”

Maybe not enough to have the lesson, I thought.

Amanatsu-sensei flew from the printing room (but not before face-planting one more time). A real piece of art, that pedagogue.

The chaos settled, leaving us in its wake.

“Guess we should start cleaning.”

“Probably,” Yanami said. “She’s never gonna get a new act, is she?”

We got to tidying up, and the silence quickly became awkward. What did boys typically say to girls when they were alone together in a printing room? I wasn’t sure, but I did remember something important.

I cleared my throat. “So, uh, about the money I lent you Friday.”

“Oh, duh! I don’t actually have my wallet on me right now. Can you meet me at the old annex during lunch?” Yanami asked. “The fire escape stairs on the side.”

“Huh? Uh, sure, I guess. Long as I get my money.” She probably didn’t want her friends in class catching her with a dork like me—or the guy who friend-zoned her, come to think of it.

I picked the papers back up, completely unfazed by the ­implications, and handed them to Yanami. She tapped them upright against the table, straightening the stack.

“You’ve probably noticed that they’re dating now,” she said quietly, eyes like a dead fish. She continued tapping the papers against the table.

“Sorta, I guess,” I admitted. “I think you got those papers straight, by the way.”

“Did you hear them inviting me to lunch? Wonder what that’s about.” The papers crinkled in her grip. “What if they’re doing it on purpose? Trying to show off?” Scrunch.

“I mean, I only know him from group work, but he seems like a decent guy to me. I don’t think he’d do that, do you?”

“No,” she said. “No, you’re right. Sousuke wouldn’t do that.”

“We’re in agreement.”

“He’s an angel. Always has been. You should see his baby photos.” Yanami shut her eyes, seemingly departing planet Earth. “You can tell. It’s like he came straight from heaven. Oh, I just wanna post them online and watch the likes roll in!”

A good while passed while she giggled and reminisced to herself. After dawn, however, comes dusk. 

“I get it now.” Flames flickered in her eyes, dark and fore­boding. “It’s all her fault. She’s the problem.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Karen-chan’s trying to break me, squash me, stifle me, keep me down so I won’t touch her man,” she raved.

“Let’s take Hanlon’s razor to this, shall we?”

“And here I thought we were friends. Sousuke’s just under her spell. Yeah. That’s it. That little witch seduced him.” I recalled a time when Yanami had called Himemiya her “dear friend.” “There’s evil in those sandbags. Dark and pure and twisted evil. Tell me you’re with me, Nukumizu-kun.”

Personally, I sensed only hopes and dreams in them, but admitting that would have gotten me killed. I glanced at the door, praying to every god that my one way out would return. Moments later, the door miraculously flew open.

“Oh, thank god, you’re—”

“Viva Byzantium!” Amanatsu-sensei shrieked. Immediate red flags.

“What are you talking about?”

“Turns out I didn’t have jack for the first-years, so I was gonna just hide in the staff room until class was over. But then!” She had on the most smug grin. Society was doomed if these were the inheritors. “I was like, hey, why don’t I just enlighten the youngins? Come on, we’ve got Byzantine moe to proselytize!”

“Ma’am, please remember this is a school, not a church,” I said. I mean, I had prayed for this.

“Hey, I do my job just fine for the second-years.”

“What if you, I dunno, brought a textbook and taught from that?” I proposed. “That can’t be too hard. I believe in you.”

“Ehhh, but I haven’t prepared anything,” Amanatsu-sensei whined.

“Improvise.”

Somehow, my half-assed attempts at a pep talk worked. Amanatsu-sensei clenched her fist tight. “Yeah. Yeah! I’m a teacher! A teacher without a textbook.”

“We will get you a textbook.”

“D’aww, shucks. You’re a good kid. But you should really get to class, though. Your teacher’s probably wonderin’ where you ran off to.”

“You are my teacher, ma’am.”

I was starting to run dangerously low on quips.

***

That afternoon, I made my way to our meeting spot and took a seat on the fire escape stairs outside. The place felt foreign to me. It was empty, secluded away from prying eyes—a private oasis. My fascination with tap water was, in truth, beginning to wane after four months of using it as my getaway this semester. This would make a good secondary escape.

I started to grab some bread to kill time until Yanami deigned to show up.

“Nukumizu-kun. There you are.”

Yanami came trotting down the stairs. I looked up at her and was met with a face full of bare thigh.

“S-sorry!” I stammered. “I wasn’t, er—”

“Please, God, save me.” She plopped down. “Karen-chan just invited us to karaoke after school.”

Ah, karaoke. The extroverts’ art. That one such as her would seek my aid, well, a truly perilous art it must have been indeed.

“Uh, then go,” I said.

Yanami held her head in her hands and made a sound like a dying goat. “And listen to those two sing a friggin’ duet together?! I’d literally rather hurl myself off a bridge. Is that what you want?”

“Look, I’ve never been to karaoke.” What in the world did she want me to do about it? “I’m not an expert in what that entails.”

“Oh.” She frowned suddenly and got real quiet. “Oh. Wow, um… Sorry, I-I didn’t realize… Wow, I am so sorry. I don’t even… Forget I said anything.”

After all that? Seriously? Like, why, though? Was that necessary? Was my suffering really necessary?

“Can we just drop it, please? So about the money,” I said.

“They keep insisting that nothing’s changed, and, like, how it’s no big deal or whatever…”

Aaand she brought her lunch. Are we really doing this over food?

I sighed. “I guess just take their word for it. Now the money?”

“I only found out officially the night you spotted me the cash. That they started dating, I mean.” She stabbed her chopsticks into some taro. Again. And again. “Looong time for them to have gotten up to something.”

“Sure, you can make assumptions, but what if they were just busy?”

“Sousuke’s sister messaged me. She said she couldn’t get a hold of him. Wanted to know if he was with me. And, of course, he wasn’t.”

“Oh…”

I was in danger. I looked to my curry bread for support.

“Wonder what they were so busy doing. What do you think?” That taro was so unbelievably dead.

“M-maybe their phones ran out of battery? Happens all the time.”

“That’s true. I should have more faith, huh? Ha. As if I have any of that left.”

What is actually happening right now?

Yanami hung her head for a while before finally looking back up. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“Y-you’re good. I don’t mind listening, I guess.”

“Thanks. You’re the only one I can really talk about this with, Nukumizu-kun. My friends wouldn’t get it, and I definitely can’t dump on acquaintances, y’know?”

Ah. So I wasn’t even at acquaintance level. Noted.

“Let’s eat before the bell sneaks up on us,” I said. Complaining and food were about all there was between us, it seemed.

Yanami made a tired smile. “True. Lunchtime, after all.”

We ate in silence. I scarfed down my curry bread in no time before I let my eyes wander over to her. What a surreal sight. Me, eating lunch with a girl.

People of her status were surely used to the ebb and flow of relationships, of hookups and breakups. Yanami was a good-looking girl. She’d doled out her fair share of rejections before, I was sure. The roles were just reversed this time around, and she had to live with that. Rejection was a part of life.

Well, her life.

“You…” The words came out on their own. I had no idea where I was even going with this. “You’re…popular. With the guys, I mean. Personally, I think you’ve, y’know, got a little more going for you… Than Himemiya-san, I mean.”

Yanami blinked at me and made that same face from the classroom that I hated. It was like I’d called her out in front of a live studio audience or something.

“I’ll…take that as a compliment?” she finally said.

“Sorry. Weird. Forget it.” This right here was why you kept your head down, Kazuhiko.

I heard her stifle a giggle next to me. She made a funny smile. I looked away.

“The attempt was sweet. Guess I still had the wrong idea about you.” She carried a less-mangled piece of taro to her mouth.

Whatever her idea of me had been, something told me it wasn’t charitable.

“Anyway,” I said, “can I have that money now? This is the receipt.”

“Sure. Thanks again for that, by the way.” She suddenly froze. “Wait.”

“Something wrong?”

“What’s with that number? Am I crazy?”

“Well, you ordered that watermelon pancake right at the end. With ice cream.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

“And then you threw in the pork shabu-shabu udon salad on top of it.”

“Salad’s low cal,” she added. Honestly, I admired the inhuman amount of trust she was placing in the word “salad” to hold that word salad of a dish together.

After what felt like forever, it seemed like I was finally going to get that money back. Yanami stared at the receipt, then at my outstretched hand, and then back at the receipt.

She nodded to herself. “So, just an idea, but what’s your take on bartering?”

“Bartering?” I parroted. My interest was piqued.

Yanami blushed, fidgeted, and poked at some of the meat in her bento box with her chopsticks. “I-I could… Not that I’m all that amazing at it or anything, but, well, I’m short on cash, sooo… And Sousuke always liked when I did it for him.”

“Okay?”

Where was she going with this? I followed her chopsticks down to the moist, supple chicken she was mercilessly toying with. Moist, supple meat. A blushing Yanami…

Wait, I thought. Wait, no way! Is she implying what I think she’s implying?!

I shook my head at mach speed. “Wh-wh-what are you talking about?! We’re in broad daylight! And at school!”

“I know I’m not the best cook, but I can manage an extra bento maybe,” Yanami continued.

“A what now? A bento?”

“Uh, yeah?” She cocked her head to the side, completely oblivious. “What’d you think I said?”

“Nothing! Gotcha! Bento lunch!” I dug and scraped my mind back out of the gutter, then checked the receipt again. “I dunno if one’s gonna cover all this, though.”

I was rather proud of the nest egg I’d scrimped and saved up.

“Yeah, so what you can do is set a price for whatever I make you, and I’ll keep doing it until the whole tab’s covered.”

Homemade lunch from a girl was definitely valuable. Perhaps even priceless to someone like me. This may have been my only chance at getting to experience such a luxury. The money I’d save on food would add up too.

On the other hand, oh god. Did I really want to keep skulking around behind people’s backs just to play bento appraiser?

“Maybe we should—”

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Same spot,” Yanami interrupted. “Don’t forget!”

She grinned from ear to ear, stuffed her face with yet more chicken, and I didn’t have it in me to spoil her mood.

“Yep.”

***

The first bell chimed, sounding the end of lunch. I sank into my chair as exhaustion crashed over me like a wave. How had a simple monetary transaction gotten so out of hand? And I still didn’t have my money. We were going to “barter,” apparently. Instead of cold, hard cash, I’d be paid in Yanami’s homemade cooking.

Homemade cooking. Just for me. It still didn’t feel real. I had to be dreaming.

I was resolute in one thing: We were midway through July, and I was gonna keep my head down for the rest of it. None would perceive me the remainder of this semester. This, I manifested in my mind’s eye, and thus I was free from social interaction for the rest of the day. The technique had never failed me before.

“E-ex…excuse me. N-Nukumizu-kun?” The technique had failed me. A girl stood next to my desk and was making an extraordinarily valiant effort to speak words. “I-I’m…first-year. L-literature club!”

The girl choked on her own tongue and started to cough. I didn’t know what she wanted, but I doubted she’d find it with me.

“Who from what?”

“K-Komari!” she spat. “From the literature club! Komari Chika!” Komari clung to the hem of her long, baggy summer button-up. She stared at me through teary eyes. “I-I need to…talk to you.”

“About what? What do I have to do with your club?”

“Y-y-you’re in it!”

“Say what?”

“What?”

Silence. I searched my memory and recalled a few months back, right after the entrance ceremony. I remembered taking a tour of the lit club and writing my name down on…something. On reflection, it must’ve been a sign-up form.

“You know, maybe I am,” I said.

Komari Chika puffed a little sigh, then started mashing on her phone keyboard. When finished, she pointed the screen at me. It read, “The student council issued a warning to us about inactive members. We’re already low as is.”

Didn’t take much detective work to figure out who the inactive member was.

More typing. “Be there after school, please.”

“S-sure. I’ll be there,” I said.

It all came back to me. The lit club was all girls, except for the president. I’d felt too awkward to keep going, which was why I stopped. If the representative they’d sent to round me up was any indication of the culture there, I had a feeling I’d made the right call.

***

I stood deep in the west annex, contemplating my life choices and regretting them immensely. All I wanted was to be home.

“Guessing this is the place.”

Against my better judgment, I marched toward the club room door. It wasn’t my favorite way to spend my afternoon, but they were low on members. Deep down, I empathized with my fellow underdogs. I couldn’t bring myself to turn away, so I took a breath and reached for the doorknob.

“Oh. It’s locked.”

Time to go home. I had tried, and that was good enough for me.

I whipped around to find a phone screen in my face. “I have the key. Move,” it read.

Komari Chika squeezed by me and unlocked the door. It would have been so much easier if she just used her words.

I followed her inside. Komari made a beeline for a chair, grabbed a book, and that was all from her. Usually, the rude types were supposed to come with soft sides. You know, to actually make them likable. This one was clearly defective.

I found a folding chair on the other side of the room to call home and get a good look at the room. A bookshelf spanned one of the walls from floor to ceiling, books crammed anywhere they’d fit. I’d neglected to take it all in during my tour a while back, but this time I took note of the colorful blue spines standing out among the other aged hardcover volumes. Interesting. They had light novels.

“Komari-san, are we allowed to—”

“Bwuh?! Huh?! What?!” She fumbled around for her phone. Now I just felt bad.

“Never mind. Read your book.”

I scanned the shelves for an escape from the stifling awkwardness (and the boredom) and picked out something by Dazai. I was familiar in that I’d read some of his more famous works. He was a handsome guy, that Dazai. Surprisingly popular with the ladies. The image of a rushing river came to mind that I did not immediately cast away.

I flipped it open to a random page, shocked to find a modern-looking illustration. What scene was it from, I wondered. Some chapter called…“A Punishment Most Sweet.” Whoever Takuya was, he apparently had a “raging sugarcane,” and it was doing weird things to Haruta’s “winking eye.”

Wait a minute, this doesn’t sound like Dazai.

Just as I was removing the dust jacket, the book flew from my hands. Komari held it tightly to her chest, staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.

“N-n-n-no boys allowed!” she sputtered.

“Why not? It’s just Dazai Osamu.”

“Not for boys!” Komari repeated. I wasn’t even remotely following.

“I see the ice is broken,” came a third voice.

A girl with long black hair in pigtails entered. She had a mature look about her that her glasses accentuated. Komari leaped behind her, leering back at me.

“Maybe not.” Glasses Lady gently patted Komari on the head and smiled at me. “You must be Nukumizu-kun. Glad to see you again.”

Her grin was contagious. I smiled back, relieved to meet someone sane for once.

“Oh, hi,” I said. “Sorry I kind of ghosted you guys.”

“I’m just happy you came back to us. Do you remember me? I’m the vice president, Tsukinoki Koto. A third-year.”

“Yeah, I do, actually.” I did not.

Tsukinoki-senpai looked over at the book in Komari’s hands and nodded to herself. “Seems someone neglected to mention that all Dazai and Mishima works are off-limits to male club members,” she explained.

“Mishima Yukio and Dazai Osamu? Both of them?” I asked.

The lenses of Tsukinoki-senpai’s glasses flashed meaningfully. I did not know the significance of this, but my instincts were telling me to run.

Hands on each of my shoulders held me in place. “Wrong, my boy,” Senpai said. “Dazai first. Then Mishima. Dazai Osamu ex Mishima Yukio. Not the other way around. There are no switches here, are we clear?” Her eyes implied there was only one answer to this question. I nodded out of fear for my life. “I’m glad we could reach an understanding. Now sit, and I’ll get us some tea.”

I’d spoken too soon. Sanity was clearly in short supply around here. I averted my gaze and stared idly at the zipper to my bag resting nearby, where no one could hurt me.

Komari tapped my shoulder to get my attention. She held out her phone. “I’m on your side. It’s Mishima first. Mishima then Dazai.”

This debate was not for me, unfortunately.

“What sorts of books catch your eye, Nukumizu-kun?” the vice president asked as she set the tea down.

“Uh, mostly light novels these days,” I replied.

“Light novels, eh? Well, we’ve got plenty of those. Feel free to borrow any.”

That was welcome news. Thanks to a certain someone, my shopping schedule had been thrown out of whack.

“So who are the other members?” I asked.

“The president’s out right now, but there’s him,” Tsukinoki-senpai said. “He’s the third-year who showed you around during the tour.”

The description rang a bell. A tall, friendly, and handsome bell, as I recalled. Senpai took a sip of tea. Wait, was that it?

“Nothing like a hot cup of tea to spite the heat,” she sighed.

“Are…are there any others?”

“Nope.” She placed her cup on the table, grinning smugly for some reason. “The student council’s been riding us about that lately. We’ll need you to be present for the time being, at least ­until the heat dies down. You can help yourself to the tea, of course.”

I glanced at the shelves full of light novels. I could live with that.

“If you say so,” I sighed.

Tsukinoki-senpai grinned and then hopped up. “I should get going. Komari-chan, be a good host, will you?” Komari made a nasty grimace from behind her book. “That doofus Shintarou forgot he was on duty today, so I’ve gotta save his bacon.”

She had a boyfriend, huh? These high schoolers and their hormones. It was like they always said: In junior high, romance was an elective. In high school, it was pretty much a prereq. Whoever “they” were. Someone had probably said it. Either way, I was missing that credit.

“And again.” Tsukinoki-senpai stopped just before the door and turned around. “No Dazai or Mishima. I cannot stress that enough.”

With a wave, she left. Not seconds later, there was another phone screen in my face that read, “Mishima THEN Dazai! Don’t forget!”

Short on credits too, huh?

“I got it,” I said. “Mind teaching me what this club’s all about?”

“O-oh…” Komari made no effort to hide her displeasure.

“Who else am I gonna ask? The vice prez ran off to get her boyfriend or something.”

“H-h-he isn’t her boyfriend!” she yelped. “Sh-Shintarou is the club president. Tamaki Shintarou! They’re just childhood friends!” She started fiercely typing something on her phone but froze midway. “M-my battery!”

Komari began rifling through the nearest bag, which happened to be mine. I was about to make a quip when a knock came at the door. When it rains, it pours.

“It’s Shikiya,” a voice said slowly. “Student council… Is now a good time?”

“Uh, not—”

I shut up as soon as she entered. She was like a flash-bang, her hair wavy, bright brown locks adorned with little flower accessories. Around one wrist she had a scrunchie, and both sets of nails were loudly decorated. Her unkempt uniform and short skirt hung loosely from her body. At a glance, you’d assume she’d gone light on the makeup, but her eyelashes definitely popped. The white colored contacts were a nightmarish touch to cap off the look.

This was a gyaru. A genuine, true, in-the-flesh fashion freak. And an existence far removed from my own.

Shikiya scanned the room, then marched up to me. I gulped. Whatever she wanted from me, it couldn’t have been good. I was face-to-face with a gyaru of all things. My heart raced as I awaited the verbal lashing that was sure to come.

“Nukumizu-kun…” she breathed. “Club member?”

“Y-yes? That’s me,” I answered in the same sluggish way. This girl was throwing me off. This wasn’t the energy I was expecting. Not that I was complaining.

“I apologize… My duties require me to be thorough,” she said, slowly again. “Tell me… What sort of activities does the literature club conduct?” Shikiya-san leaned against a nearby wall like she was out of breath. I waffled between concern and confusion.

“I, uh, wouldn’t really know.”

“No? Are you…not a club member?” Her pale eyes pierced me.

Whoops. I’d nearly forgotten it was kind of my fault the lit club was under scrutiny to begin with. I looked to Komari for a lifeline. Unfortunately, she was too busy cowering in the corner, gripping her poor dead phone and shaking like a leaf. Very reassuring.

“Well, we’re the lit club, so we, uh, read books,” I said.

“Just read?” Shikiya-san tilted her head at me accusingly. What in the world else did these clubs do? “So…no activity.”

She started to step closer, swaying, her steps deliberate yet unsteady. Why was today such a horror movie? Was zombie-aesthetic in or something?

“We write too!” I blurted. “Write stories and stuff!”

“You write?” she repeated. “So you don’t just read.” Shikiya-san looked up at the ceiling, pulled out a notebook, and jotted something down without even looking. “Noted… Thank you.”

She shut the notebook with a thump before twirling around and leaving just as quickly as she’d arrived. It felt like I’d barely escaped with my life. Komari might not have been so lucky. She was absentmindedly tapping at the dead, black screen on her phone, and frankly, I didn’t blame her. That crap had shaved days off my life span.

I knelt down to my bag, which had spilled onto the floor in the chaos, and grabbed my charger. I offered it to Komari.

“I-I need that!” She snatched it from me and, after a few failed attempts, plugged it into the wall with shaky hands.

And then it hit me. I was a pretty normal dude, thank you very much.