Chapter 41: The Freshman of Latecomer Club (2)

Chapter 41: The Freshman of Latecomer Club (2)

The writing club room turned out to be closer than I initially thought.

If we take the Great Dance Hall as the center, it becomes apparent that the writing club occupies the club room on the right. This is due to the U-shaped arrangement of the three club rooms surrounding the dance hall.

Knock, knock, knock.

"It's Arma Cruz."

I patiently waited for an opportune moment, carefully listening to my own knocks. There was a hurried rustling sound, giving the impression that they were unprepared for guests.

"I am entering."

Having declared my entrance, I promptly opened the door without further delay. As soon as I did, I was genuinely shocked by what unfolded before me.

"Ugh, ah, ah, not yet-"

The room was engulfed in smoke from a cigarette, saturating the air with a sweet and heavy scent, as if trying to conceal some wrongdoing. Although the building seemed contemporaneous with the dance hall, the walls had a faded color, in stark contrast to the shiny white walls of the dance hall.

The clear glass bottles scattered throughout emitted an unmistakable odor of a forbidden liquid, and items on the desk bore signs of hasty cleanup, with spills strewn across the floor.

For a moment, an uneasy feeling lingered---a sense of being unwelcome. However, this hostility extended beyond a mere aversion to the writing department; it emanated from another source.

'Why on earth did I bring a map of the island?'

The room was cluttered with papers featuring a complex diagram resembling an inverted star, drawings lacking interest, and books with covers proclaiming 'romance'. Dried herbs were scattered around, their uses shrouded in mystery.

'Is this an abandoned club?'

It seemed unjust when compared to the ballroom dance club, often labeled as promiscuous. After all, it was only natural to take precautions for the preservation of humanity after getting hit in the eye while dancing.

But what about this?

Had I unintentionally transformed the act of writing into something akin to a trance?

"Hmm."

No matter how composed I usually am, witnessing such a scene left me at a loss for words.

Meanwhile, in response to my abrupt presence, a cadet majoring in spear arts, who was using his body to shield numerous banned books, exchanged hushed words with a cadet specializing in religious art.

Both were so intoxicated that they struggled to stand upright, their hands and feet trembling as they leaned on each other like newborns.

'The look in their eyes is quite intriguing.'

The pair, with wide-open eyes, gazed at me. I observed them, but they were so engrossed in their own world that they didn't even notice my stare.

"Person from the Department of Classics and Culture."

'I can hear all of you.'Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience

Anyone sharing the same dorms knew that Dylan approached me every morning to persuade me. Dylan must have been aware of that and responded harshly.

Clack.

After a moment of silence, someone belatedly opened the window.

"Ah, it's hot."

"It is a little warm today."

Although the words didn't quite match the season, Deer A and B followed the cadet with golden hair who opened the window, drawing the curtains and letting in some fresh air.

Four individuals were currently guarding the writing club's room. Despite having different majors, they were all students in the Wooden Cross class. Due to limited interaction between classes (influenced by the island's shape), it wasn't uncommon for club members to show bias.

Above all, something else seemed particularly peculiar.

"I already included the visitation message; it seems there is a mistake."

Regardless of how vibrant the writing club might be, they probably didn't intend to showcase it like this to a new member who had recently submitted their membership application.

Shhh shhhh.

While I struggled with the page, the four people standing there all had blank looks and subtly hid the books around.

Even if they hid them now, I had already seen them, and yet, if it made them feel calm, then I wouldn't stop it.

Wanting to avoid awkward looks, I wrote faster.

"I am done."

It wasn't that difficult because I had memorized the words I needed to write down, having anticipated they would try something like this. The page I handed in said:

[Life is short,

The light is bright,

The road is all around.]

A simple piece that considered the rhythm and the ending of the first word was enough to prove that I wasn't joining this club without intentions.

Given the direction this club was heading, I didn't think I had to show my sincerity either. I felt like telling the person who mumbled, 'I think this person is from the liberal arts,' that I was a physical education major.

In the end, after taking their seemingly useless rite and the official membership being announced along with other clubs, I finished my task for today.



Perhaps because the schedule was tight, it felt like a more challenging day than usual. After quickly washing my hair, the view outside the window suggested night.

"Ugh, that hurt.

The scar that Theodore had engraved on the neck to trick Arthur still hurt. The wound, carved to look like a seal for a split second, was a small magic circle.

'That guy will surely become a great mage.'

I applied ointment to the wound and pondered everything that happened.

'First, the ballroom dancing club... There doesn't seem to be any particular suspicion.'

Clone appeared to be a fairly well-brought-up young lady, and I didn't know why she was in that club, which had been called numerous names. Maybe this was her reaction because her home education had been strict.

'It went in a different direction from Shirley.'

Actually, it is a change that anyone can make when protected youth gather in groups of twos or threes and dance all day long. But the writing club was clearly different from the ballroom dancing club.

"Writing club..."

A club that includes a person who had nothing to do with me but had been gossiping about me. The reason I joined all four formal clubs in the Wooden Cross class, including the classics, was because I thought that there might be a second or third person keeping an eye on me.

There was this group of people in Aegis Academy who had been stubborn about trying to ruin my name in the academy. But those unknown people were taking the initiative to pin the murder case and other happenings onto me.

"Things have turned complicated."

If possible, I wanted to restore my name, which had now slumped to the ground, and to find out what wrong I did for someone to have such a grudge against me.

It seems like I have jumped into trouble on my own.

Even if the writing department gets together and commits some kind of corruption, it has nothing to do with me, but wouldn't it be a different story with these people hating me?

"So I have to hang out with all of them then?"

Fortunately, Dylan's card, which I used, seemed valid.

I'll hang out for a while, and if the crisis of refusal comes,I plan to get out, using the excuse of the classics and culture club, which has bad ties with the writing club.

"No, I cannot let it get refused."

I lay down on the bed, brainwashing myself.

Arma Cruz, 24 years old...

I cry because I don't want to go to school at the age when I should be graduating.