Capítulo 18: Literature club (1)
"Hm… this is the literature club?" I muttered, stopping just outside the door.
After a short walk through the school's quiet hallways, I found myself standing in front of what could only be described as a visual assault.
The door and the surrounding wall were covered in a chaotic collage of anime posters and light novel covers, some of them worn and curling at the edges.
Bright colors clashed with one another, and overly enthusiastic characters with exaggerated expressions stared back at me. It felt like someone had tried to turn the door into a shrine for every Shounen protagonist and romance heroine in existence.
It looked... weird, to say the least. Cringe, even. The kind of place that screamed, "Only die-hard otakus welcome here!"
I stood there, frozen in place, my fingers twitching as if they didn't want to touch the doorknob.
My face burned with secondhand embarrassment just from looking at it. It felt like the very air around me was charged with awkward energy, making me hyper-aware of the possibility of someone walking by and seeing me here.
I took a shaky breath, glancing around the hallway to make sure no one was watching.
The last thing I wanted was to be spotted outside this cringe-worthy anime haven.
My eyes darted back to the posters, lingering on one that was particularly bold. A scantily clad girl holding an oversized weapon posed dramatically, her expression a mix of determination and something else I didn't want to analyze too closely.
I cringed so hard I almost turned around then and there.
Why does it have to look like this? I thought, rubbing the back of my neck.
It wasn't like I hated anime.
Far from it. I had shelves of manga at home and had binged more than my fair share of shows late into the night.
But there was a line—a clear, invisible boundary—and this club had jumped over it with a running start.
This was the kind of place that practically announced to the world, "Look at me, I'm a proud weeb!" And that wasn't me.
At least, not outwardly. I kept my hobbies private, hidden away where no one could judge me for them.
I sighed deeply, staring at the door like it was some kind of test. Did I really want to do this?
"Well… I'm already here," I muttered, trying to convince myself. My hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitating.
What's the worst that could happen?
I sighed, letting the tension escape my chest, and reached for the doorknob. There was no point in standing out here, overthinking it.
It's not like I could just turn around now after coming all this way. Steeling myself for whatever I was about to walk into, I pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges sounding louder than it should in the stillness of the hallway.
The moment I stepped inside, I braced myself. Alright, deep breath. Time to meet the weirdos.
And, well... just as I thought.
The room hit me like a sensory overload. Walls lined with bookshelves groaned under the weight of novels, many of which had flashy covers with overly dramatic artwork.
Anime posters continued their domination here, competing for attention alongside character standees that were somehow even more eye-catching than the ones outside.
The faint scent of old paper mixed with a strange sweetness I couldn't quite place. Was that... melon bread?
Before I could take it all in, a loud voice erupted, making me jump.
"Welcome to the Literature Club!"
The greeting was so overly cheery, so absurdly enthusiastic, it felt like someone had turned up the brightness on an already ridiculous scene. My head whipped toward the source of the sound, my heart skipping a beat from the sheer volume.
Standing there was a girl, practically radiating energy. She had her arms thrown open wide, as if she were welcoming a long-lost friend, and her grin stretched from ear to ear.
It was the kind of smile that teetered on the edge of being endearing and downright annoying.
I blinked, caught off guard by the sheer force of her personality. "Uh..." was all I managed to get out.
The room fell silent for a moment, her excitement hanging in the air like an awkward spotlight.
I glanced around, half-expecting other club members to chime in with their own greetings or banter, but the room felt... oddly empty. The only presence here was the whirlwind of energy standing in front of me.
"..."
There was an awkward pause as I tried to figure out how to respond. Finally, I managed to force out a few words, though my voice came out quieter than I intended. "Uh... hello, I guess." I paired it with a weak, awkward smile, hoping it would suffice.
Even though her overly energetic demeanor wasn't exactly my vibe, she was being polite—overly so, maybe—but polite nonetheless. It only felt fair to respond in kind, even if I wasn't sure what I'd just walked into.
Her grin stayed plastered to her face as she studied me, almost as if she were waiting for me to say something else. Then, all at once, something seemed to click in her head. Her eyes widened, and she gasped dramatically, pointing a finger at me like I'd just stolen the crown jewels.
"Wait. You're that girl!" she exclaimed, her tone shifting from cheerful to panicked in an instant.
I blinked, completely caught off guard. "Huh?"
Her expression grew even more frantic as she rushed forward, her hands clasped together in a pleading gesture. "Oh no! Please don't cut our finances!" she blurted out, her words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. "We're barely scraping by with the members' own money! If you cut us further, we'll have to close the club!"
Her face had gone pale, and her eyes looked at me with genuine fear, like I held the power to destroy everything she cared about.
I stood there, frozen, utterly baffled by the sudden turn of events. "Wait, what?" I managed to say, my voice tinged with confusion.
Her reaction was so over-the-top, that I almost wondered if I'd accidentally wandered onto the set of some low-budget drama.
But the sheer panic in her voice suggested she genuinely believed I was someone who could decide the fate of the club.
"Hold on," I said, raising my hands in a calming gesture. "There's a misunderstanding here."
Her eyes darted around the room nervously before landing back on me, her expression still filled with dread. "Misunderstanding?" she echoed, her voice trembling.
"Yes!" I said firmly, though I couldn't help but feel slightly exasperated. "I'm not here to cut your finances or shut down your club.
I'm just..." I hesitated, unsure how to explain myself without sounding like a complete idiot. "...looking around."
"Wait, so did you mean that the Reaper didn't send you?" She furrowed her brown and brought out a title that I hadn't seen before.
"Reaper?" I asked, tilting my head, completely lost as to what she was referring to.
"You're Shinji Tsugimoto's close acquaintance and didn't know his infamous title?" Her jaw dropped, her eyes wide in disbelief, as if I'd just revealed some dark secret about myself.
I blinked at her, completely bewildered. What was she talking about?
"Reaper?" I repeated, the word sounding even stranger in my mouth. The title didn't ring any bells, and I couldn't help but wonder if I had missed something important in my interactions with Shinji.
I paused for a moment, my thoughts scrambling. Being famous, especially in school, always came with its fair share of odd and sometimes embarrassing nicknames.
I'd had my share, too—like when I was called "the Frozen Tear" back in middle school for freezing those bullies who never knew when to back off.
It had been mortifying at the time, but I had learned to live with it.
Still, the "Reaper" title sounded so over-the-top, so edgy that it could probably cut me just by hearing it.
I could see why Shinji never mentioned it. If it was true, he had left that bit of information out, probably to avoid me feeling embarrassed or, worse, worried about him.
Maybe it was another one of those things he kept hidden—just like me, I suppose.
I sighed deeply, rubbing my temples as a wave of frustration washed over me.
My original purpose for coming here seemed to slip through my fingers like sand.
The absurdity of the situation had completely distracted me, and now, I couldn't even remember what had brought me to this place in the first place.
"Anyway, just forget that I'm here," I muttered, my voice tinged with exasperation.
I turned away from her, doing my best to ignore her frantic presence, and made my way toward the reading room. I needed to clear my head and focus—though this place had become more of a circus than anything else.
But, of course, before I could even step inside, she was right there in front of me, practically throwing herself at my feet.
She lunged at me with such desperation that I stumbled back, barely catching myself. Her arms were stretched wide, and she was pleading like a shameless crybaby, her voice dripping with an intensity that bordered on melodrama.
"Hehe, so can you ask him to not cut our budget?" She begged, her eyes wide and sparkling with an almost frantic hope.
"Please! I beg you!" Her tone shifted, becoming even more pitiful, like a character out of a tragedy. "Today, when he stormed into the club, I could feel that impending doom! I swear, it was like the air turned to stone!"
The exaggerated way she spoke, coupled with her desperate pleading, made me feel like I was trapped in some bizarre drama, where every word was designed to make me feel like I had no choice but to rescue her from her imaginary crisis.
I stood there, taken aback by her urgency, but it was becoming clear that she genuinely believed what she was saying.
I sighed again, my patience wearing thin. "Look, I don't know what you think is going on, but—"
She cut me off with an even more desperate cry. "Please, you have to! I can't lose the club! It's the only place I feel safe!"
Her voice cracked on the last part, and for a brief moment, a pang of guilt stirred in me. Maybe I had been too dismissive, too quick to brush her off. But that feeling lasted only a heartbeat.
"Fine, but only if you let me go," I said, trying to extricate myself from her grasp. "Maybe I could talk to him."
I said it more to get her off my back than out of any real intention to help. The words slipped out like a reflex—empty, meaningless.
In truth, I didn't care about her club's finances or whatever crisis she thought was looming. I just wanted this to be over so I could finally leave and clear my mind.
But, of course, she took my words at face value.
Her face lit up, as though I had just granted her the wish of a lifetime, and she nodded eagerly, almost bouncing on her toes. "Really!? Thank you so much!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with unbridled gratitude. "I'm Ayaka, by the way! You can ask me anything!"
Her sudden shift from panic to overflowing cheerfulness caught me off guard. I felt a strange knot twist in my stomach.
There was something about her enthusiasm, her genuine belief that I was her savior, that made me feel... kind of bad.
Maybe I hadn't meant to promise anything, but now it seemed like I had. And as much as I wanted to pull away from this whole mess, her innocent gratitude somehow made it harder to do so.
I sighed quietly, my conscience giving me a nudge I didn't want. "It's fine," I muttered, though the guilt lingered, heavier than I'd like to admit.
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