My Essay is Wrong, As I Expected

Youth is a lie.

It is nothing but a deception, a vicious little trap. I thought I knew this well. People who cling to the illusion of youth dress it in bright colors, masking their flaws with hollow glitter, and parade around as if they've mastered life. It's laughable.

I used to think I was above all of that. While others indulged in the fleeting festival of life, I stood on the sidelines, watching as the flames flickered and eventually burned out. Because that's what happens when you deceive yourself for too long—reality catches up with you, and it doesn't care about your fantasies.

However, even that wasn't the worst.

No, the worst part wasn't the lies or the delusions that people wrapped themselves in to make youth seem precious. It was meeting someone who didn't care for those lies at all. I met someone who held a mirror up to everything I thought I understood, shattered it without a second thought, and handed me the shards as if they were nothing more than broken glass.

If my youth is a lie, she is the void that swallows it whole, leaving nothing behind. The Evil God. Even calling her that feels like I'm downplaying the disaster she was. She saw through everything—my detached act, my cynicism, the protective walls I spent years building, one stone at a time. And she tore through them like they were nothing. Like it was an afterthought for her.

You see, youth may be a lie, but being dragged along by someone who doesn't even pretend to believe in it is somehow worse.

Now, as I reflect on my high and middle school life, I realize that if I wanted to warn anyone about the dangers of self-deception, I wouldn't point them toward the happy, glowing riajuu or the ones trapped in their fleeting joys. No, I'd tell them to beware of the true danger—those average, seemingly normal people who hide the darkness of their true selves.

In conclusion, youth is evil, but it is far from true evil.

ㅤ

ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

ㅤ

Shizuka Hiratsuka sat before me, gripping the printed paper in her hand like it was personally responsible for her headache. Her eyebrow twitched as she read the first few lines out loud.

"What the hell is this, Hikigaya!?"

That wasn't a question. It was a verbal slap across the face.

I shifted in my seat, pretending the windowsill was suddenly fascinating. "It's… an essay?" I offered, leaning back like I hadn't just signed my social death certificate.

"Oh, this is an essay, alright. But what was the topic I gave you?" She shook the paper, waving it around like a wanted poster with my face on it. I half-expected her to start calling for a bounty.

"...Reflecting on High School Life."

"Exactly. So why does this read like a cautionary tale about eldritch horror? Are you trying to start an urban legend?"

"Would that get me extra credit?"

She squinted at me, lips pressing into a thin line. "Keep talking and I'll give you detention until graduation."

I shrugged, forming my best impression of being unaffected by this scary woman, "I reflected on my life. This is what came out."

Hiratsuka-sensei sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair like she was rethinking her entire career choice. I half-expected her to pull out a cigarette and light it on the sheer weight of her frustration.

"You know, normal students write about friendships, sports festivals, and maybe a heartfelt summer memory. Not—" She squinted at the paper. "—'Hidden Danger that shatters the illusion of happiness.' I mean, what is this bullshit?"

I may admit that I had no idea what to do about the title.

"Well, not everyone gets the honor of meeting one."

A rolled-up bundle of papers smacked me on the head.

"Try again."

"Yes, ma'am."

Her gaze softened if only slightly.

"Seriously, Hikigaya. I'd like to see you write something... normal for once."

"That's asking a lot. I'd have to be normal for that to happen."

Another smack.

I raised a hand in surrender. "Okay, okay. I get it."

The thing is, I could rewrite this. I could pen some lie about how high school was full of growth and discovery, sprinkle in a few clichés about how important friendships are, and maybe Hiratsuka-sensei would let me off the hook. But that's not the truth.

And while youth might be a lie, I guess some part of me still respects the idea of being honest, even if it earns me another paper to the head.

"…Do you have any friends?"

She asked like she already knew the answer.

I leaned back in my chair, not even bothering to fake a thoughtful expression. "Well, I've got a lot on my plate lately."

Like making sure Evil God doesn't try diluting my MAX COFFEE again when I'm not looking.

Hiratsuka-sensei smirked like she'd just confirmed something she'd always suspected.

"You know, Hikigaya, I sometimes wonder if you even try to fit in with your peers."

"I tried once," I replied, deadpan. "It was awful."

"…What about a girlfriend or something?"

I frowned. "Is this part of the essay critique or are you just gathering blackmail material for later?"

She arched a brow. "I'm just trying to get a sense of your life, that's all."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "Do you ask every student these kinds of questions, or am I just special?"

A slow grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "Only the special ones. Congratulations."

I sighed dramatically. "I guess that's one way to stand out. But since we're on the topic… should I be returning the question? Do you have a husband or something?"

The cigarette she had just pulled from the pack froze mid-air. Her eyes flicked to me, and for a brief moment, I saw the faintest twitch of irritation and released killing intent.

"…Are you asking because you're concerned about my happiness, or because you're trying to dodge the question?"

"Can't it be both?"

She tapped the cigarette against the desk once more, then slid it back into the pack with a sigh. "Hikigaya, I swear, sometimes I can't tell if you're just brave or have a death wish. I have an extreme desire to punch you."

"That would be illegal, Sensei. Please don't do that."

Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she shook her head, chuckling under her breath.

"Rewrite the essay."

"I'll do my best."

She picked up the paper again, glancing over it with one last sigh of exasperation. "You know, if you ever do get a girlfriend, make sure she's got a strong heart. She'll need it with someone in your state of insanity."

You don't understand, I'm already past that stage. Besides, I can't imagine anyone who could tolerate as much as me without some severe emotional damage.

"I'll be sure to let her know, Sensei."

I expected that to be the end of it. The usual good job, you survive another day, go home, and drown yourself in a caffeine routine. I was already mentally preparing for my exit as my mind was drifting to the nearest vending machine when, as if on cue, Hiratsuka-sensei broke the silence again.

"However, the fact remains that your current state and behavior have me worried. Were you never taught not to talk to a woman about her ag—marital status?"

Wait, what? Her age? What does that even have to do with anything? Is this about that 'husband' question?

I blinked in confusion, wondering if I missed a step in this already bizarre conversation.

"As a result, you are required to join the Service Club. After all, wrongdoings must be punished."

I stared at her, still processing. That made no sense at all. It was like being punished for something I hadn't even done. But then again, that's just how the universe works. If something doesn't make sense, it's probably because I've done something wrong without realizing it.

She didn't seem particularly hurt by any of this. In fact, she sounded more like she was enjoying herself than anything. She was practically cheerful.

"The Service Club… What is it actually?" I asked, already knowing this would end terribly.

"Just follow me."

She pressed the end of her cigarette into the ashtray, and just like that, she stood up. No explanations. No further details. Just go. I, on the other hand, remained rooted to the spot, unsure whether I was being pranked or if this was the start of a new adventure in pure misery.

She was already at the door, glancing back at me.

"Hurry up."

I narrowed my eyes but grimaced because she was right. I had no choice but to follow. What else could I do? Argue with her, make a sarcastic comment, and get sent to some other kind of punishment? Yeah, that wasn't going to help my situation. So, with the heavy weight of impending doom in the form of some mysterious Service Club, I trudged after her.

Then, in that brief moment of hesitation, something clicked. I stood there, staring at her as the truth dawned on me.

She had planned this. Every word she said, every little detail, it was all part of some intricate trap. She had prepared this 'punishment' ahead of time, carefully crafting her responses like a chess master setting up a checkmate. The way she'd prodded me with these comments about my essay and life was all a setup. A trap I'd walked straight into without realizing it.

Wait… no way. She even rehearsed this.

I could almost picture her standing in front of a mirror earlier, practicing the exact tone of voice she used when she gave me that ridiculous punishment. It was like she had been waiting for me to screw up just so she could throw me into this mess.

"Sensei," I said, my voice flat, "you planned this, didn't you? You knew exactly what you were doing from the start."

She turned to face me, looking genuinely surprised. "What are you talking about, Kid?"

I narrowed my eyes, not letting her play coy with me. "The whole thing. This punishment. The way you phrased everything. You even rehearsed it earlier but made a mistake, didn't you? I'm not blind, you know."

For a split second, she looked caught off guard, but then the smirk returned to her face, and she shrugged as if it was nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a teacher doing her job."

Yeah, right. "Sure you are, Sensei. Just a teacher doing her job by creating some elaborate web to trap me in."

She just chuckled, unfazed. "You're overthinking it, Hikigaya. Now, are you coming or not?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. The woman was a professional at this—I'd never admit it to her, but she had me fooled before I even opened my mouth.

"Fine," I said, resigning myself. "Lead the way."

Hiratsuka-sensei led me down the dimly lit hallway, her steps steady while mine dragged like I was heading to my own execution. It wasn't long before we stopped in front of a door that looked just as unremarkable as the others.

"We're here," she said casually like it wasn't about throwing me into a den of social interaction disguised as some club activity.

I glanced at the plain plaque on the door. There was nothing on it except the faint outline of where some letters had peeled off. Maybe whatever club this was had faded out of existence along with the sign. I could only hope.

Sensei didn't seem to care for my hesitation. Without knocking, she slid the door open, and I peered inside.

The room wasn't much to look at. A few chairs scattered around, the one table that had seen better days, and small bookshelves half-filled with worn-out tomes. It looked more like a teacher's storage room than a place for students to gather. In short, there is worth mentioning here.

This is the Service Club? Maybe "Service" refers to janitorial work. It wouldn't surprise me if I was about to be tricked into cleaning the school under the guise of "character building." That sounded like something Hiratsuka-sensei would pull.

But the room wasn't empty.

Sitting on a chair by the window was a girl. Alone. She rested her chin on her hand, staring at a book in front of her but barely acknowledging our existence.

Her long, straight black hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting sharply with the soft glow of the afternoon sun that filtered through the window. Her skin was pale, almost like she'd stepped right out of a classic novel, the type with heroines that never smiled but somehow drew people to them anyway. If this were a light novel, I'd expect her to start talking about fate or existential despair any second now.

Her eyes flicked toward the door, catching sight of us. She didn't look surprised, but there was a flicker of irritation in her gaze.

"Hiratsuka-sensei," she said in a calm, measured voice that barely hid annoyance, "I thought I told you to knock before entering. This isn't a teacher's lounge."

I almost choked. She actually said it. The trope was real.

"Relax, Yukinoshita. It's not like I walked in on anything scandalous," Hiratsuka-sensei replied, waving a hand dismissively.

Yukinoshita, huh? The name didn't ring a bell. Then again, I made it a point to avoid learning the names of people I'd never have to interact with.

Her eyes flickered toward me, clearly noticing my presence now. There was no curiosity or warmth in her stare, just a quiet assessment filled with distaste like I was an ugly new exhibit at a museum.

"This is Hikigaya. He's looking to join the club," Hiratsuka said, clearly enjoying how little explanation she was giving.

I raised an eyebrow but decided to roll with it. "I'm Hikigaya Hachiman. Grade 11, Class F." I paused for dramatic effect. "I've been informed by a certain someone that if I didn't join, she'd beat me within an inch of my life."

Yukinoshita's gaze lingered on me for a moment before shifting back to Sensei.

"…Physical violence against students isn't a very effective recruitment strategy, Sensei."

"Don't listen to him," Hiratsuka said quickly, shooting me a glare that could probably incinerate small animals. "He just likes to exaggerate."

I shrugged. "Hey, I'm just stating the facts. Besides, the fear of imminent bodily harm is pretty motivating."

Sensei's nails dug into my arm, making me wince but also smile secretly. She was regretting every decision that led her to this moment. Good, know I have become a menace.

"Hikigaya, quit it."

Yukinoshita closed her book with a soft thud and set it aside, folding her hands neatly on the table. "I see. So this is the sort of person you're recruiting now."

Her words had that subtle sting to them, the kind that wasn't immediately insulting but left you wondering if you should feel offended.

"Don't lump me in with some troublemakers," I said flatly. "I'm just here because Sensei dragged me along."

"And yet, here you are," she replied without missing a beat.

Oh, she's one of those people. The ones who somehow manage to turn your own words against you are like conversational martial artists.

"Well," Hiratsuka clapped her hands together, pleased with herself for setting this up. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted. I've got class prep to finish."

Class prep? Since when does she do that?

"Bullshit,"

Before I could finish the thought, Sensei was already halfway out the door. I watched her retreating figure, leaving me stranded with the rude girl across the room.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

"So," I started, "this Service Club… what exactly does it do?"

She regarded me carefully. "It exists to help others. Though, judging by your attitude, I doubt you'll be much help."

"Right," I said, letting the word hang uselessly. "And you are…?"

She blinked. For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised I didn't recognize her. Her eyes narrowed slightly like she was searching for some sign that I was fooling.

"…You don't know who I am?" she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.

"Nope." I met her gaze head-on, deadpan.

Her expression didn't shift, but I could practically feel the condescension radiating off her. "Yukinoshita Yukino," she said finally, enunciating each syllable like she expected it to trigger some grand revelation in me.

It didn't.

"Uh-huh. And I'm guessing you're famous or something?"

She let out a soft breath – not quite a sigh, but definitely in the same family. "I suppose it's not surprising. You don't strike me as someone particularly invested in the school's top performers."

"Top performer, huh?" I scratched my head lazily. "Yeah, I try to avoid paying attention to anything that doesn't directly impact my survival here. It's a pretty solid system."

Yukinoshita's lips curled slightly, though it wasn't exactly a smile. More like the expression of someone who had just spotted an interesting specimen in a petri dish. "A survival tactic that hinges on ignorance. Impressive. Though I imagine that approach leaves you at a distinct disadvantage."

I shrugged. "I wouldn't call it a disadvantage. If anything, I'm thriving."

"Oh?" Her tone dripped with skepticism. "In what way?"

"Well, for one, I don't get caught up in pointless rivalries or petty social drama. And I've managed to live this long without having to memorize anyone's name unless they're immediately relevant to my life."

"So you categorize people based on whether they serve a function for you," she said coldly. "How charming."

"Efficient," I corrected, followed by a slight widening of my eyes. I think I was starting to take after a certain person much to my horror.

I coughed to contain my unease, "Besides, if you're such a top performer, I figured you'd be too busy to care whether someone like me knows your name or not."

Her eyes lingered on me for a few seconds longer. Was she weighing the validity of my words? "I don't," she eventually said.

"Well, that makes two of us," I replied and took a seat as far from her as I could. "I don't care much for this either."

She raised an eyebrow. "I can see that. Your posture alone suggests a deep-rooted acceptance of mediocrity."

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm incredibly ambitious." I straightened up slightly for effect. "I've perfected the art of aiming low. Fewer disappointments that way."

Yukinoshita regarded me with disgust, though I couldn't be sure. "In that case, welcome to the Service Club. I'm sure you'll fit right in."

"Lucky me," I muttered and crossed my arms.

I already mourned asking her name.

I resisted the urge to sigh. Yep. This was going to be a long year.