"Ichijou. A word."
I stopped in the hallway. Leaning against the doorframe of the faculty office was Shizuka Hiratsuka, the language teacher and student counselor. She looked as exhausted as usual, her white lab coat draped over her shoulders, though my newly upgraded Level 6 Perception picked up the faint scent of menthol cigarettes and black coffee clinging to her.
"Good morning, Hiratsuka-sensei," I replied politely, stepping into the faculty room. "Is there a problem with my coursework?"
"Your coursework is terrifyingly flawless, which is its own kind of problem," she sighed, walking over to her desk and dropping into her chair. She pulled out a single sheet of paper and slid it across her desk. "The problem is your club registration form. It's completely blank."
I glanced at the paper. "I wasn't aware clubs were strictly mandatory."
"They aren't. But you're the older brother of a syndicate heir, Ichijou. When you vanish the second the final bell rings every day, the faculty starts whispering that you're organizing underground betting rings or extortion rackets," she deadpanned, pulling out a cigarette but not lighting it. "Even your younger brother managed to submit his form yesterday."
That genuinely surprised me. "He did? What club did he join?"
"The Cooking Club," she said flatly. "If the actual, terrifying future head of a Yakuza syndicate can spend his afternoons baking muffins to improve his public image, you have absolutely no excuse. I need you somewhere safe, doing something undeniably wholesome on school grounds."
"I see your point," I conceded. "Did you have a specific club in mind, or should I just write down the Literature Club and be on my way?"
"Nice try. I'm assigning you to the Service Club," she said, tapping the desk. "I will become the faculty supervisor for it, which means I can keep a direct eye on you."
I paused, tapping my pen against the desk. "And what exactly does the Service Club do under your supervision?"
"Exactly what it sounds like," she said. "They assist other students with their problems. Whatever they need—advice, conflict resolution, dealing with stalkers, academic stress, bullying. If a student is suffering from a severe issue, they bring it to the club, and the club fixes it."
I stopped tapping the pen, thinking something.
First, there was the supernatural angle. What were curses born from? Negative human emotions. Stress, fear, jealousy, hatred, and despair. If a student was dealing with a severe, localized problem like intense bullying or a stalker, their emotional state would be a radiating beacon for low-grade curses. The students would literally bring the negative emotional hotspots right to me. It was a legally sanctioned, highly efficient farming spot.
But beyond the curses, there was a much simpler reason.
I wanted to enjoy my youth. Helping students out was a genuinely good thing to do, and let's be honest it was also the absolute best way to meet some of the interesting, beautiful heroines I knew attended this school.
It was a chance to actually make friends, save the day, and maybe experience a bit of that high school romance Utaha and I had joked about.
It was an absolute win-win. A steady place to hunt curses, and the perfect excuse to meet girls and live a fulfilling school life.
My polite, rehearsed smile melted into something far more genuine and cheerful.
"You know, Hiratsuka-sensei," I said, my tone shifting into smooth confidence as I uncapped the pen. "I've been looking for a way to genuinely give back to the school community. If you are the supervisor, I would be honored to join the Service Club."
Hiratsuka blinked, the unlit cigarette freezing halfway to her mouth. She looked at me suspiciously, clearly thrown off by my sudden, enthusiastic reversal. She was staring at me like she was trying to figure out what kind of illicit syndicate scheme I had just hatched in my head.
"Right," she said slowly, watching as I signed my name with a flourish and handed the paper back to her. "Well. You start this afternoon. Room 2F."
"I'll be on my best behavior," I promised warmly.
Instead of heading straight to the estate for meal prep and boxing practice, I found myself walking down the quiet corridors of the unused second-floor building, trailing just behind Shizuka Hiratsuka.
She didn't bother knocking, simply sliding the wooden door open and stepping inside. I followed close behind.
The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun. A gentle breeze from an open window fluttered the curtains. Sitting alone at a desk in the center of the otherwise empty room, reading a paperback novel, was a girl.
She had long, flowing black hair that looked as though it had been spun from silk, and her posture was absolutely immaculate. Her uniform was worn with strict, textbook perfection. She was undeniably beautiful, but the aura she projected was one of absolute, untouchable frost.
She slowly lowered her book and looked at us. Her eyes—a striking, crystalline blue—were sharp, analytical, and completely devoid of warmth.
I paused in the doorway. Between Kaguya Shinomiya aggressively plotting in homeroom, Utaha Kasumigaoka's dangerously sharp teasing, the bizarre rumors I'd overheard about a third-year celebrity named Mai Sakurajima, and now this girl reading quietly in an empty room... Shuchiin Academy really was packed to the brim with high-maintenance, unapproachable prodigies.
"You're late, Hiratsuka-sensei," the girl said, her voice melodic but laced with sub-zero temperatures. "And I explicitly remember telling you I had no interest in your mandatory social rehabilitation program." Her gaze shifted to me, analyzing me from head to toe in a fraction of a second.
"And I see you've brought a rather intimidating guest. Has the school finally decided to convert this room into a syndicate outpost?"
"Watch your mouth, Yukinoshita," Hiratsuka sighed, walking into the room and gesturing between us.
"Ren Ichijou, meet Yukino Yukinoshita. Yukinoshita, this is Ichijou. The two of you are the founding members of the Service Club."
Yukinoshita's eyes narrowed slightly, glaring at the teacher. "Sensei, I only came here because you threatened to involve the student council regarding my 'lack of peer cooperation.' I did 'not' agree to partner with the older brother of the Ichijou family. A boy whose mere presence makes the student body nervous does not exactly inspire an approachable atmosphere for a club dedicated to charity."
"You don't exactly inspire an approachable atmosphere either, Yukinoshita. You push everyone away with your uncompromising, brutal honesty," Hiratsuka countered bluntly.
"That's why I'm forcing you both into this room. You isolate yourself behind your ideals, and he coasts through life hiding behind a polite, detached mask. You're going to work together to help troubled students, and in the process, hopefully learn how to interact like normal human beings."
I stepped forward, pulling up a chair and casually sitting across from Yukinoshita unbothered by her frosty glare.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Yukinoshita," I smiled effortlessly. "And don't worry about my family name. Sometimes solving a complex problem requires a pragmatic approach. You provide the elegant, intellectual advice, and I can handle the execution."
Yukinoshita let out a soft, elegant sigh, massaging her temples as if I had just given her a profound headache. "A 'pragmatic execution' usually involves extortion when a syndicate is involved, Ichijou-kun."
"That's enough," Hiratsuka interrupted, slapping a blank club registry form onto the desk between us. "Here are the rules. The Service Club is now active. And Ichijou—you're the Club President."
Yukinoshita's head snapped up, genuine disbelief cracking her icy facade. "Are you out of your mind, Sensei? You are putting a Yakuza affiliate in charge of a service organization?"
"He needs the leadership responsibility," Hiratsuka stated firmly, giving me a pointed look. "If I don't put him in charge, he'll just sit back and let you do all the work. Consider it character building."
She turned toward the door, pulling an unlit cigarette from her pocket. "However, there is a glaring administrative flaw. The Shuchiin student council guidelines clearly state that a club requires a minimum of three members to be officially recognized. There are only two of you."
Hiratsuka smirked around the cigarette. "Which means, as of right now, you are merely a 'provisional' club. You aren't in the official school registry yet. Your very first club activity as President, Ichijou, is to find a third member. Figure it out."
With that, Hiratsuka slid the door shut, leaving the two of us alone in the quiet room.
A heavy, incredibly awkward silence fell over Room 2F. Yukinoshita glared at the closed door for a moment, took a deep, steadying breath, and then picked her paperback novel back up, completely ignoring my existence.
"So," I began cheerfully, resting my chin on my hand and fully embracing my new title. "Any ideas on who we should recruit to meet the club quota, Yukinoshita?"
"Please sit quietly, 'President'," she replied without looking up from her pages, the title dripping with absolute sarcasm. "And if we are to share this room, I request that you emit as little noise as possible."
I leaned back in my chair, glancing out the window at the sunny courtyard, entirely amused. The Ice Queen of Service Club was definitely going to be a tough nut to crack.