As irin and Seiwyr launched into a duet, a rich harmony filled the central plaza. Serne watched with a smile, quietly enjoying the song for a mont.
"She’s embarrassed, but she’s still singing her heart out," Serne mused, covering her mouth to hide a chuckle. "She just can’t hide her talent."
"Co to think of it, Serne," Simon said, turning to her. "You enjoy irin’s singing, don’t you? You even bet your position as heir every vacation just to send her to the grand theater. Why do you do that?"
"Ah, that?" Serne’s eyelids lowered slightly. "It would be heartbreaking to be hated ’too’ much."
She turned her gaze back to the stage, where irin was singing with passion. "When we were little, we were the closest of friends. When I first entered the Ivory Tower, she was the one who accepted without prejudice."
It was true. Regardless of how irin felt now, Serne was still fond of her.
"So when I saw her getting so stressed and obsessed, ntally breaking down over her ambition to beco the heir... it was my attempt to give her a distraction, a chance to breathe. irin has always loved singing, so I let her do what she loves. But then..." The corners of Serne’s eyes drooped. "It’s done more than just distract her. She seems much more stable now. I wonder who I have to thank for that?"
Simon slowly closed his eyes. "As I’ve said before, if you don’t want irin to hate you, you need to change your attitude."
"But that’s what’s so... fascinating," she purred, a sticky emotion swirling in her eyes. "It’s sad to be hated, but when I see her struggling to catch up to ... how should I put it? A strange pleasure shoots up my spine. I’ll crush her spirit, then offer a sliver of hope, and I find I’ve grown to love that desperate look on her face as she clings to it, chasing after with tears in her eyes."
’Her personality is just awful,’ Simon thought.
Seeing his reaction, Serne laughed out loud. "Trying to understand a person’s emotions in only one way is a lazy convenience. ‘If you don’t want to be hated by irin, you should reconcile with her.’ That interpretation is too simple. As a necromancer who controls the human mind, I know this well. Joy, anger, love... don’t understand emotions by their literal definitions."
She strode forward and placed a single index finger on Simon’s lips.
"Interpret them from a multifaceted perspective."
Startled, Simon stumbled back, his ears turning bright red. Serne just smiled like a mischievous little devil.
"That’s your howork for today."
’All of a sudden...?’
With only those words, she turned and walked away, humming the tune from the stage.
"YAYYY!"
Just then, a wave of applause and cheers erupted as Seiwyr and irin bowed to the audience. The performance had been a resounding success. Noticing how quiet it was beside him, Simon turned to see Dick and Kamibarez staring blankly at the sky. Sure enough, small white feathers were stuck to the napes of their necks. Serne must not have wanted anyone else to overhear their private conversation.
Simon walked over and plucked the feathers away. Life instantly returned to their eyes.
"Huh? What was that?" Dick asked, blinking.
"Ah," Kamibarez murmured.
"Sorry! I must have zoned out for a second."
"Simon, what did you say?"
"irin’s performance is over."
"Oh, right! Hahaha! Well then, shall we go tease Kizen’s new idol, Cat Mask?" Dick declared.
Simon didn’t even need to see it to picture irin’s red-faced shriek of embarrassnt. "Don’t bla if she strangles you out of sha."
"Oh, wow. That’s a bit..."
---
irin had already covered her face and fled before any of the student council mbers could reach her. The first-years’ cries for encores and autographs were the final straw, and she ran off, muttering that she wanted to die.
Fortunately, they were still able to catch Seiwyr.
"Thank you for coming," Simon said.
"Hahahaha! I should be thanking you for the invitation, Agent Simon!" Seiwyr bood as they shook hands.
Simon paid him for his ti, and Seiwyr assured him that he had thoroughly enjoyed the impromptu performance. Still, he had another engagent, so the student council servants escorted him back to Rengestain.
The surprise concert was over, but thanks to Seiwyr and irin, the central plaza was buzzing with energy. Simon, Dick, and Kamibarez patrolled the area, their student council armbands on display in case of ergencies.
"That idea over there is great, Simon!" Kamibarez exclaid.
"Yeah, it is."
Many clubs had co up with creative booths that highlighted their unique character. The athletics club’s punching machine was sward with first-year boys competing to earn a ‘Victor’ sign, while the loser was saddled with one that read ‘Loser.’ Next to them, the art club was offering ten-minute portraits, using black magic to create humorous and surprisingly high-quality caricatures. Groups of students could be seen laughing at each other’s portraits.
As the student council mbers made their rounds, marveling at the ideas, a senior called out.
"Oh, are you a first-year? Want to check out our club?"
The crowd was so thick that so second-years had mistaken the petite Kamibarez for a freshman. They would then spot her armband and apologize profusely. Simon and Dick burst out laughing at the sight of Kamibarez pouting, her cheeks puffed out. It was all in good fun.
’...Co to think of it.’
At this point, Simon grew curious about his own club, the Mutants. Leaving the patrol to Dick and Kamibarez, he unfolded the booth map and headed toward their location. Last year, they’d had too few mbers to even get a booth, but he knew they had managed to secure one this year.
’I hope we get a lot of new first-years, too.’
Their booth was in an outlying area, and the crowds thinned as he walked. When he finally arrived, he was greeted by a desolate scene.
’Whoosh...’
A lonely wind blew across the empty space. A shabby folding tent was topped with a carelessly scrawled sign that read ‘Mutants.’ Next to the tent, a bizarre Seiren chira waved its six arms in strange, jerky motions. Behind it, a Death Worm made retching noises as it spat out vomit. Inside the tent, which was festooned with incomprehensible occult decorations, a blank-faced Fitzgerald and a timid Toto sat side by side.
A stack of flyers sat in front of them, untouched.
’Whoooooosh...’
The wind gusted again, slapping a flyer right onto Simon’s face. He peeled it off and stared at his clubmates.
"...What are you guys doing?"
"As you can see," Fitzgerald replied, pushing up his glasses. "We are promoting our club."
’In what universe?!’ Their location was already terrible; they should have been trying harder than anyone. Instead, Fitzgerald was staring straight ahead as if he’d taken a vow of silence, while Toto just nervously watched people pass by, clearly ashad to even be there.
Simon looked down at the flyer.
- An undead research society, but any summon with individuality is welco.
- What is a mutant? Philosophical interpretation and personal reflection are essential. An aptitude for intellectual conversation is required.
- Distinguish between act utilitarianism and rule utilitarianism. Regarding the claim that the sacrifice of happiness cannot exist, if one argues that all things that undermine happiness are bad, should one value passive happiness more than the minimization of suffering? Submit your opinion...
Simon silently crumpled the flyer and stuffed it in his pocket.
’This is awful.’
Even for soone like Simon, who ca from the countryside and had no artistic sense to speak of, this was just sad.
"Toto, these flyers. How many have you handed out?"
"Uh, um..." Toto stamred, sweating as he held up two fingers.
Simon’s eyes lit up. "Twenty?"
"Two..."
"One," Fitzgerald corrected from the side, pointing with a single finger. "The other was used as a cupcake liner."
A sauce-stained flyer tumbled by in the wind. Simon pressed a hand to his forehead.
"...Are you guys even trying?"
"Of course," Fitzgerald replied, as if it were a foolish question. "The number of club mbers is especially important this year. We must work harder."
’And you’re doing this even though you know that?!’ Simon didn’t know where to begin. As a mber of Mutants himself, his head was starting to throb. He’d been so buried in student council work that he’d completely neglected his own club.
"Alright, Fitzgerald, Toto. This is no ti to be sitting around," Simon said, grabbing the stack of flyers. "Today is the last day of the club season! At this rate, we won’t get a single first-year! Get up!"
Toto hesitantly stood and approached him.
"Take these, Toto. Go around and hand them out to the first-years yourself."
"Hand them out myself?! This many?" Toto yelped. "I-It’s too embarrassing!"
"Our feet are to the fire, so you’ll have to deal with it! Fitzgerald! Are you just going to sit there and watch?"
Fitzgerald adjusted his glasses. "Are you giving that order as the Student Council President?"
"Ah, no. Just as a fellow club mber..."
"I am the president of Mutants. Such tasks fall to the mbers."
’This guy.’ He was authoritarian in the weirdest ways. Simon sighed. "Do the other third-year seniors know about this?"
Fitzgerald, who was always so composed, actually flinched. And as if on cue...
"...Hello."
The club’s only third-year mber appeared. It was Dio, Benya Vanilla’s close friend. With dark circles under his hollow eyes, he dragged his feet toward them like a zombie.
"Senior Dio!" Toto exclaid.
"...I stopped by before heading out on a mission," Dio said, shaking a small bag he’d brought. "I figured you’d be having a hard ti with the club season, so I brought you sothing to eat and..."
He trailed off. His expression turned grim as he took in the pathetic state of the booth and the flyers.
"...What happened?" Dio’s eyes scanned over Fitzgerald and Toto before finally landing on Simon.
Simon scratched his head and explained the situation.
After hearing the story, Dio silently beckoned Fitzgerald and Toto to his side. For a few minutes, the two stood at attention while their senior gave them a quiet but thorough scolding.
After Dio had left, Fitzgerald’s attitude had completely changed.
"I will fully cooperate with your instructions, Simon," he declared. "What should I do? Should I go hand out the flyers?"
"Actually, the flyer itself is part of the problem." Handing out that garbage wasn’t going to solve anything. Simon pulled out a communication crystal. "Luckily, I know an expert for this kind of thing."
A mont later, Dick arrived.
"Hey, Simon! What’s the ergency?"
"No ergency. Sorry for calling you for a personal matter, but I was hoping you could help us out." Simon smiled awkwardly. "It’s our club, the Mutants. We haven’t recruited a single mber yet. Could you give us so advice? Anything would help."
"Hmm."
Dick’s eyes scanned the scene. He took in the sloppy sign, the occult decorations, the bizarre six-ard chira, the still-retching Death Worm, and finally, the expressionless Fitzgerald and the unconfident Toto.
"Uh..." Dick scratched his head. "This is a complete disaster."
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