The Worldview Where Everyone is Destined to Die

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.'

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.

'Or maybe they would? Would it be different if it were a club that thrived on decadence?'

I couldn't say, as I had never been in such a situation before.

The cadet with the golden hair, who opened the window first, overheard me and rummaged through a stack of banned books, retrieving a letter clearly addressed to me.

"Does anyone here know about this?"

"No, but why? It's from the Department of Classical Culture."

"A spy?"

I am not one to be overly polite in such situations, but if things seem amiss, shouldn't one apologize first? Well, considering that news of my joining the classical culture department spread much faster than expected, I doubt my ties with the writing club will improve.

"It's only been one day since I joined the classics club, and it seems word has spread much faster than I thought."

"That..."

A cadet with rounded shoulders and round glasses was visibly sweating as he spoke.

It was hard to tell if he was embarrassed to the extent of looking so flustered or if the glasses were exaggerating the sight. I just hoped that the sweet smell emanating with every breath he took wasn't what I suspected.

'Such a fool.'

I genuinely wanted to commend this club, which proved to be far more capable than I could have imagined.

Desiring a swift exit, I began to search for a way out.

"Are you going to leave me standing like this?"

I shrugged my shoulders excessively, attempting to convey a different attitude. Intentionally, I pushed the books covering the area, leaving onlookers shocked with mouths agape.

'The art of love of beloved Lady Mary... The Black Knight climbs the tower of night...'

Similar titles with red leather covers. Moreover, the sides of each book were colorful, indicating that these s featured images.

'Did they purchase all these books with the club funds? No? It couldn't be right.'

But at this point, their misuse of club funds wasn't even an issue. After gulping, I intentionally straightened up, acting normally to display a bit of nervousness.

Fortunately, my calm demeanor was well-received by them. Glasses, Deer A, B, and the gourd guy cleared their throats and awkwardly pulled the dust they had pushed in a very unnatural way.

"Well, I heard that the writing club is huge, but there don't seem to be many people."

"Today's meeting is for a select few, and the regular meeting is every Friday at 7 p.m."

It was my first time hearing about a separate meeting with a specific group of people, but it coincided with other clubs' meetings too. According to the Aegis Academy schedule, all lectures concluded on Friday afternoons. With the entire week ahead, it was questionable if this club gathered people on the same evening for activities.

I cleared my throat and said, "I hope you aren't too wary of me just because I am a latecomer. As graduation is getting closer, I have too many thoughts on my mind. And all I did at the Classic and Culture Club was get some tea."

I had obtained information through Judith about the Classics and Writing Club fighting over who gets to put up posters. There was no need to make it seem like I was already on good terms with the Classics Club.

The four people guarding the club room appeared a bit more relaxed.

"Well, for now... Even though it is informal, you will have to take the entrance test."

At those words, the glasses guy rushed over and took out a box containing white paper, ink, and a feather pen from a wooden drawer that looked like it hadn't been opened in six months.

"The writing department is quite...old-school."

The pen, made by cutting off the tip of a bird's feather and making it sharp, had clearly been in and out of someone's mouth, and the part where ink should be dipped was broken.

However, the real issue was the paper.

Most of the paper taken out was just pieces cut into the size of squares in the palm of one's hand. Glasses had to search in the basket for a long time to find one full sheet. As an outsider, I had no way to know if they did this intentionally or simply forgot the essence of their club, which was the writing club.

"What am I supposed to write here?"

"Well, um. Since this is the writing club, it has to be writing, right?"

As they answered my questions with more questions, I decided to give up. Typically, in such cases, one might choose to write poetry, a , or even a song.

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.