Twenty-One

After a few days of relative peace, the gossip about senpai seemed to have simmered down—finally. Or at least, that's what I thought. But nope, just as I'm starting to enjoy the silence, his name's back on everybody's lips. This time, though, it feels different. Like, when they talk about him, I can feel some of their eyes sneaking glances at me. Guess they're waiting for me to pop off again like I did last time. Maybe they're hoping for another show, wanting me to snap and defend him.

Well, sorry to disappoint. I keep my face straight, even as my curiosity starts eating at me. What the hell happened this time? I stand up, casually pack my stuff, and stroll out of the classroom like I couldn't care less. Cool as a cucumber, right? Except inside, my brain's already spinning with thoughts.

So, apparently, senpai lost his shit again. This time, the story's bigger—he didn't just beat one guy, he took on five people from the Contemporary Art Club. Five. At once. The rumour is he beat the crap out of them because they refused to join his club. Yeah, sounds crazy, right?

Walking down the hallway, I catch bits of conversations. People are either trashing him for his "problematic behaviour" or laughing about how his club might get disbanded because of this mess. Some even think it's good riddance. It's like they're getting their kicks out of someone else's misery. But me? I'm not laughing.

They can call me whatever they want—Maki's puppet, a fake white knight, whatever bullshit they come up with. I don't care. I head straight for the Nature Art Club, determined to figure out what's going on and maybe keep the whole thing from completely falling apart.

The clubroom's in the east wing of the school, all the way on the third floor. Tucked in the back after the library. I heard it used to be on the second floor, next to the Photography Club, but after everything that went down, they got kicked out and shoved into this tiny storage room. The school didn't even bother giving them a proper nameplate—just a crappy A4 paper taped to the sliding wooden door, printed with "Nature Art Club." Real classy.

As I reach the door, my hand's about to knock when I hear voices from inside. Female voices, mostly. I freeze, leaning in slightly, ears perked. What the hell's going on in there? 

"It's all because of me this is happening. I'm selfish, and I know you all think so."

I don't recognize the voice, but I'm not exactly sprinting to figure out who it is. I lean against the door, listening instead. The same voice keeps going. "Maybe Morikita-kun is right. Maybe this club should be disbanded."

Oh. Now I think I've got an idea who's talking—the shoulder-length hair girl always hanging around senpai. The club president.

So, they're already at the edge of calling it quits, huh? After all the effort it took to scrape together two new members, despite all the shit they've been getting from everyone else. They're just one member and a club advisor short, and now they're ready to fold under pressure. It's so unfair. So ridiculously unfair.

I don't know if what I'm about to do is genius or straight-up self-sabotage. It might completely wreck my carefully curated life—turn me from the golden boy into a walking scandal. But who cares? Every day's been nothing but predictable until now, and frankly, I'm ready for the chaos.

With that, I slide the door open.

The room is even smaller than I imagined, crammed with everything imaginable. Two desks are pushed together in the middle, surrounded by five chairs. A portable whiteboard leans in the corner, and stacks of painted canvases are piled next to a wooden cupboard on the right. On the left, there's a lower cabinet topped with random supplies, a tall steel locker shoved beside it, and seven easels awkwardly crammed in front of the locker. It's like a supply closet got confused and tried to become an art studio.

Standing in the centre of this chaos are three girls and a guy. They all turn to me like I just crash-landed a UFO. Wide eyes. Mouths slightly open. Classic stunned silence.

"Hasegawa-kun…? Is that really Hasegawa-kun?" one of the girls blurts, her voice full of disbelief. I can't even tell which one said it because my focus is locked on senpai. His brows are furrowed, his eyes blown wide. He's got that look like I've just stolen his last ounce of patience.

Before senpai can slice me up with whatever sharp words he's probably already forming, I speak first. Loud and clear.

"I know this might sound crazy, but I'm here to join the club."

"Eh?!" The girls' collective gasp almost shakes the room. Meanwhile, senpai's reaction isn't nearly as dramatic—just a slow shift from surprise to suspicion. Like he's trying to figure out if I'm playing some kind of long con.

The girls, though? They're practically buzzing with curiosity. I mean, yeah, it's not every day that someone like me, someone whose name's already known by half the school, just casually strolls into their little forgotten clubroom and drops this kind of bombshell.

If I were in their shoes, I'd be freaking out too.