Day 1: Iroha
"Okay, hear me out."
I stepped back from the whiteboard, marker still in hand, admiring the very rough sketch of a spotlight hitting a stage. To my left, I had labeled: Fog, Music, Monologue. To the right: Game On.
The clubroom still smelled like boxed snacks and acrylic paint from someone's costume project, but the light coming through the window made everything look sort of… hopeful. New. Like we were about to build something worth remembering.
"We open with darkness," I said, walking them through it with my best 'student council president meets stage director' energy. "Fog rolls in. Light catches the four of us mid-step, each in costume, already positioned. Then I speak. One line. That's all it takes."
Rika didn't look up from the table. "What's the purpose of the line?"
"To grab their attention," I said, twirling the marker. "You know… silence the phones, snap the necks. Get them to look."
She flipped over a spell card, slow and deliberate. "And the fog is… essential?"
"It's not essential. It's iconic." I tapped the board. "We're setting a tone. The energy. You know, atmosphere."
She finally looked up. "So we're prioritising tone over clarity?"
My smile twitched. "I'm prioritising not being boring."
Rika blinked. Not insulted. Just… registering it.
From the floor, Naru raised her hand. "I vote we enter from the crowd. Surprise flank the audience."
Rika glanced at her. "We're not ambushing the audience."
He wasn't saying much, but he wasn't checked out either. His pencil kept moving, sketching something on the edge of a crumpled flyer. Not doodles. Shapes. Angles. Notes. He was building something. Or rewriting something. I couldn't tell.
"I'm not saying we need to memorise a script," I added quickly, tone bright but blade-sharp. "But we can't just walk out and say, 'Hey we're the adventure fantasy club, enjoy our chaos.' That's not a performance."
"It's not supposed to be," Rika replied calmly. "We agreed the point was to show what our club actually does. We improvise. We play. If we make it feel rehearsed, we lose that."
"We're not robots, Honour Girl."
"And we're not actors, Iroha."
It didn't sting. Not really. But I didn't have a comeback either, and that annoyed me more.
There was a beat of silence.
I saw Ranjiro look up. His mouth opened just slightly. Then he looked back down at his page like he'd lost his line.
I wanted to scream. Instead, I smiled.
Fake, pretty, controlled.
"I guess next you'll say my cloak's too dramatic," I muttered.
Rika looked at me, flat and unreadable. "It's a cloak. It's inherently dramatic."
"Wow. A joke. Careful, you're getting reckless."
She didn't reply. Just went back to aligning her components.
I turned to Ranjiro. "You've got thoughts, right? On the entrance?"
He blinked. "I mean… it depends. If we want it to feel like a session, then yeah, maybe just walking on stage is fine. But… the atmosphere could help too."
It was like he was trying to agree with both of us and neither of us at the same time.
I exhaled. Hard.
"So that's a maybe from you, a mechanics diagram from Rika, and a glitter bomb from Naru. Great. We're totally ready."
The words slipped out sharper than I meant.
Everyone paused.
Rika adjusted her sleeve. "I'm ensuring my abilities are consistent with the rules we established."
"Which no one's going to care about if they're asleep by the second minute," I snapped.
Ranjiro looked up, guilt in his eyes but no words behind them.
Naru blinked. "I'm… working on set dressing," she mumbled, holding up a potion bottle with googly eyes on it like it was proof of life.
I sat down. Slowly.
Smiled like nothing just happened.
"Cool. Let's call that a productive brainstorm."
From where she sat on the floor, Naru looked up, her gaze surprisingly steady for once. "I think we just need a cool opening line. One sentence. Doesn't matter if it's dramatic or chill. Just something that says 'hey, you're about to watch something fun.'"
I glanced at her. It was almost profound. Then she added, "Also I'm definitely entering with a flip. So whatever you plan, plan around that."
"Great," I said. "Noted."
Fifteen minutes later, Rika was quietly sketching out timing cues and positional transitions, Ranjiro was buried in encounter notes trying to streamline the pacing without losing tension, and Naru was still figuring out whether hot glue counted as a weapon. I started erasing the whiteboard.
Apparently collaboration meant working in the same room and ignoring each other.
I told them I'd workshop a few opening options tonight. "We'll test them tomorrow," I added, before anyone could object.
Rika gave the smallest nod. Ranjiro looked apologetic, like he wanted to say something but knew it wouldn't help. Naru offered me a sour candy and a thumbs-up.
I took the candy.
I stayed behind after everyone left. The room was quiet now.
I stepped onto one of the desks, stood tall, and tried a few lines.
"Welcome, brave adventurers… nope."
"Today, you witness not a play, but a living world… ew."
"This is what a dungeon party looks like—"
Still not it.
I imagined the gym. Rows of bored faces. Teachers. Student council members. People I'd spent years trying to impress. I could already hear the whispers.
"Isn't that the president?"
"What's she doing playing dress-up with the dice crowd?"
I used to laugh at this stuff.
Literally. Chapter 2. "Railed over a desk." That was me.
Now I'm here, stressing over the opening sequence. Why?
Because I get it. Because I played.
Because I saw what it really is. The chaos, the connection, the way a story pulls you in and doesn't let go.
And if I can make the crowd feel even a piece of that, then maybe they'll understand why I stayed.
But we don't get a second chance at a first impression.
So yeah. The intro matters.
It has to.
I stepped down. Grabbed my bag. Took one last look at the whiteboard before flicking off the light.
I didn't join because I believed in it. I joined for my own selfish reasons. A way to get myself to the top.
But somewhere along the way, with that dorky smile of his, he found a way to make someone who never really stuck around stay.
It feels like it's the first time I was part of something that wasn't a means to an end.
Something real.
This might've started as a joke.
But I swear, it won't end like one.
I won't let you down, Dungeon Boy.
Day 2: Rika
The idea was simple.
Too simple, maybe.
I'd written it out the night before, four cue maps. Folded neatly. Marked in color. One per person.
No one touched them.
Naru was too busy fastening the wolf ear headband and tail belt that Iroha had gifted her, preening like she'd just unlocked a transformation class.
Iroha was facing the window, speaking softly to her reflection. Practicing lines but I'm certain she was just admiring her posture. Or too busy staring at Ranjiro through the glass.
As for him, still buried in his notebook with the focus of a man drafting his will.
I cleared my throat. "Can we run a test?"
Iroha's eyes met mine in the reflection. "Now's not really the time for exam drills, Honour Girl."
"It's not an exam," I said. "I want to rehearse our performance flow. Transitions, beat pacing. So no one overlaps or stalls out."
She turned, picked up the sheet, and scanned it for all of four seconds.
"Didn't we already agree we're improvising?" she asked.
"We are," I said calmly. "But even improv benefits from structure. If people talk over each other or forget their beats, it kills the momentum."
"I think we'll be fine," she said, folding the sheet like a flyer. "We've done this enough. The chaos is kind of the point."
"Yes, but now there's a new variable," I replied. "An audience. If we don't execute proper timing, we risk losing their focus."
"I'll be on stage," she said, flicking her hair. "If they lose interest, I'll just demand it back."
"We don't all have that luxury," I said. "What about the rest of us?"
She smiled like she pitied the question. "I'll carry you."
"You won't be enough," I said. "Audience attention drops in under ten seconds without clear momentum. Relying on presence alone isn't a plan."
"And you think your diagrams will save us?"
"Yes."
She opened the sheet again. Unfolded it, jabbing a finger toward the top margin.
"This literally has timestamps down to the millisecond, you control freak!"
"It's a guide," I said. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"Oh, I understand," she snapped. "You think because you talk like a textbook and don't raise your voice, it makes you smarter than everyone else. But guess what it doesn't make you right. It just makes you—
"I think it's worth giving it a shot," Ranjiro said, stepping into view with my cue map in his hand.
He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at her.
Soft voice. Sincere eyes.
And just like that, Iroha stepped back.
Like a predator whose claws were ready for the kill… but chose not to.
I'm not sure why that bothered me more than whatever empty insult she was about to throw.
But it did.
Eventually, we stood in a loose cluster on the gym mats we'd borrowed for staging.
The props weren't finished. The lighting didn't exist.
But I needed to know if the sequence worked.
"On cue," I said, holding up my stopwatch. "Iroha begins dialogue. Naru enters on beat four. Ranjiro follows. Spell cue at marker six. Then I initiate combat."
"Right," Ranjiro said, looking too focused.
"Uh-huh," Iroha said, already adjusting her scarf in the mirror.
Naru barked, which I chose to interpret as agreement.
I started the countdown.
"Three. Two. One—"
"Let's give them a scene worth clapping for." Iroha declared, too early.
I blinked.
"That was the cue, right?" she asked.
"No," I said. "It was the countdown."
"I thought the countdown was the cue."
"It was the cue to cue."
"Oh my god," she sighed, rubbing her temples.
Take two. I reset.
"Three. Two. One—go."
This time, she hit the mark.
Naru missed hers completely. She was still trying to pick up a fake bush that had shed glitter all over the mat.
Ranjiro entered three beats too late.
When I initiated the spell cue, no one reacted. I stopped the watch.
"That was a buff," I said, flatly. "You were supposed to respond."
Naru raised her hand half-heartedly.
"Sorry… I thought you were gonna, like, say something after the spell. Then we react."
"No," I said. "That was the trigger."
"Ohhhhh," she said.
We reset a third time. And a fourth. No version worked. Everyone had their own rhythm, their own idea of what this was supposed to look like.
No one was wrong. No one was right. They were all improvising… together, but somehow still not with each other.
After the fifth run, Naru flopped onto her back with a sigh. "If anyone needs me, I'm joining the afterlife."
"Anyways, this was dumb and… I'm late for council," Iroha muttered, gathering her things.
Ranjiro stood nearby, silent for most of the run. But as I started gathering the cue sheets, he finally spoke.
"Hey," he said. "I think what you're doing makes sense. Even if the others don't say it."
He looked at the markers still taped to the floor. "It'll land better next time. I'm sure of it."
The group started packing up.
I hadn't said 'dismissed' but no one was waiting for it.
I stayed behind.
The room was still for the first time all day. Just me, the cue maps, and a plan that only works when people follow it.
I ran the cue one more time. Alone. It worked. Of course it did.
When no one interrupts, things tend to fall into place.
I folded my map. Straight lines. No creases. Then I went to collect the others.
They weren't where I'd left them. One had a bite mark on the corner. Another was folded but not neatly. More like it had been crumpled into a ball first. The last one was covered in scribbles: notes, corrections.
To my work.
Why would anyone change it? It was perfect.
I held them out in front of me, like a fan. All the same map, but each one destroyed in its own way. Nothing about it felt precise. But looking at it differently now, there was something... honest about the chaos.
I sighed.
Maybe she was right. I am a control freak. It's not that I couldn't stand imperfection, I just had this habit of making sure there wasn't any.
I joined this club because I thought it was my last chance. To do something different. To be someone different. To not be just the Honour Student.
But here I am. Forcing perfection. Again.
And all it's doing is giving them another reason to keep me at a distance.
Except for him. He always ran after me, even when I left a trail of ice behind.
And when he finally caught up, it was different. I was different.
I stopped thinking and just... started moving.
Creating moments that weren't planned. Weren't cued. Just felt.
It was messy. And unpredictable. And completely real…
I exhaled. "Damn it, Iroha."
I knew what I had to do next.
The maps were stuffed into my bag, lights clicked off behind me.
I won't let you down, Samurai.
Day 3: Naru
I was late.
Not dramatically late. Just late enough to make a dramatic entrance.
Except I didn't. Because the minute I opened the door, I could tell no one had blinked in twenty minutes.
Rika was already sitting. Straight-backed. Quiet. Fixing her costume, even though it looked fine. She hadn't looked up once.
Iroha was on the far side, stitching her cloak. Kinda fast. Kinda angry. She wasn't talking. At all. Which… yeah. That's not normal.
It didn't take a genius to notice Iroha was being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal, and Rika's silence was so unnaturally deliberate. Both of them were being quiet in the loudest way possible.
And Ranjiro? Just sitting there like everything was normal.
Of course he was. He probably wouldn't notice a fight unless someone threw a chair.
I walked in, dropped my bag, didn't say anything.
Thought about making a joke. Decided not to. Thought about making it anyway. Did.
"This room smells like despair. What? Are we sad because we had to promise not to fight over the protagonist anymore?"
Ranjiro blinked. "What?"
I didn't answer.
They didn't either.
They always do.
I sat down. The tension in the room had a shape. Not a fun shape. Clouds?
No. More like something sharp pretending to be soft.
Yesterday was a disaster. If Ranjiro hadn't stepped in, Iroha and Rika might've actually gone for each other.
Now everything's still. Not calm, just stuck. Like the argument's still happening, just quietly, under the table, while everyone pretends to focus on other stuff.
One of them better crack soon, or they can kiss the club goodbye.
Two of the smartest students in school and neither of them can figure out how to say sorry.
And Ranjiro? We can't count on him to fix it. Not because he's clueless, but because if he leans even a little too close to one of them, the other's gonna snap a pencil. Or storm out. Or accidentally set something on fire.
Honestly? Him staying out of it might be the smartest thing he's ever done.
I let out the biggest sigh I could manage. Loud enough for the school to hear.
"If I were either of you right now," I said, dropping into my seat, "I'd just lay down and die."
Both of them looked up.
Hook.
"Oh yay, we're finally using our eyes again!" I grinned, then pouted. "Can you two stop being so dramatic and just make out already?"
I pointed at Ranjiro. "Or him. I don't care. Just pick someone."
Line.
Neither of them blinked.
But both their faces turned red. The exact kind of red you get when someone accidentally says the quiet part out loud.
It was the only way I could get both of their attention.
"Look… I know I just joined," I said, softer this time. "But I really like you guys. You're really cool and weird and complicated and fun." I sat and curled into a ball on the floor. "But I talk too much. I move too fast and people usually decide I'm too much before I even finish saying hi. But you guys actually made me feel welcomed and didn't run away the second I started being me"
My voice cracked a little, just a little, so I covered it with a pout.
"I joined this club cause I don't really have anyone in my life who likes being around me, and I don't want it to fall apart either. And it will if you guys continue sulking over a dumb fight no one wants to admit they started. So if that means you two need to kiss and make up. Fine. Just… do it already. The kiss part is optional. The make-up part isn't."
And sinker.
Rika looked down first. Back at her costume. But she wasn't fixing it anymore.
Iroha blinked a few times. Sighed. Then stood up, walked around the table, and stopped right in front of Rika.
Eyes locked. Brows furrowed. Closer than necessary.
"I wouldn't kiss her," Iroha muttered. "She'd use tongue. As a power move."
Rika glanced up, almost offended. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Iroha shot back, this time with a smug little smirk.
Rika opened her mouth, then closed it again. Another beat.
"…I have to admit, I was a little too rigid with the cues."
Iroha raised an eyebrow. "A little?"
"Don't push it," Rika said quickly.
Iroha smiled, then sighed. "I'm sorry too. I should've taken your ideas more seriously."
Rika didn't say anything, but she smiled. And that was enough.
"Yay!" I launched myself across the table and pulled them both into a giant hug. "Now all you two have to do is sort out your shared crush on Dungeon Samurai-chan over there."
Rika's blush hit instantly. Iroha frowned. So, basically success.
Ranjiro smiled at us. Not because he heard what I said. Just… because he's like that.
Iroha looked over at me, still mid-hug, and sighed. "Thanks, Naru."
I grinned wide. Rika patted my head.
Ranjiro stepped in, a little confused. "Okay… not sure what just happened, but I'm glad everyone's getting along."
Iroha deadpanned. "You're lucky you're not bad looking, Dungeon Boy."
"You mean cute?" I added with a smirk.
"So I've been told." Ranjiro replied, suddenly unsure.
"By who?" Rika asked sharply.
Iroha raised a brow. "Obvious as ever, Honour Girl."
"And yet everything you say sounds nothing but flirting," Rika muttered.
Iroha smirked. "Wanna find out what I can do instead of using words?" She winked.
"Okay, team," Ranjiro interrupted, adjusting the notes in his lap. "We've got the costumes, the staging, and it finally looks like no one's stepping on each other's toes. All that's left is nailing the opening sequence and making sure the performance flows. If we do that, we're set."
I grinned. "Yay! Look at us! Almost functioning like a real club."
Iroha raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprisingly confident for once, Dungeon Boy."
Ranjiro gave a sheepish smile. "This group… it matters to me. And I know it matters to you guys, too. So if we go in with that in mind, if we trust each other… I think we'll be okay."
"Mhm" I nodded with a big smile. "We got this, guys! We won't let you down Samu-chan. This is gonna be a kick ass performance!"
Day 4: Ranjiro
This was nothing close to a kick-ass performance.
We were all in costume. The lights were mostly working. The cue cards were laminated.
But somewhere between Iroha's entrance line and Naru's flip, it all came apart.
I watched it happen like I was outside my body, like someone bumped the game table and none of the pieces landed right.
Rika's cue for the first spell came too early. Iroha was still talking. Naru was supposed to charge in on beat four, but she tripped on a prop bush. I started my narration too late because I didn't want to interrupt anyone, and by the time I got a word in, no one was listening.
Everyone was improvising.
But no one was improvising together.
I could see it on their faces. Iroha was trying to make every word land like a spotlight monologue. Rika was waiting for structure that wasn't coming. Naru was overcompensating with extra movement to keep the energy alive.
No one was arguing.
But no one was connecting either.
This wasn't a team.
This was a group of very cool, very talented people… trying not to disappoint each other.
Which is somehow worse than a fight.
We reached the midpoint of the sequence. The first major beat drop and it hit with the energy of a damp sponge. The fog machine sputtered. One of the backdrop sheets fell off its hinge. Iroha blinked, mid-sentence, visibly thrown off. Rika didn't move to cover. Naru whispered "uh oh" way too loud.
I exhaled. Quietly. So they wouldn't hear it.
This is not going to work.
I'd been writing all week, trying to get the final arc down. The story wasn't set in stone. It never is, but even improvisation needs direction. A shared narrative. Something we can all aim for together. That's what I thought I was doing. But somewhere along the way, I stopped actually telling anyone about it. I thought if I just kept writing, kept thinking, it would all fall into place.
It didn't.
Not the timing, not the flow, not the magic.
None of it landed.
Sigh.
I closed my eyes.
Everything went silent. Their voices that once filled the room, now distant.
But somehow closer now.
"Welcome to leadership. Trust me, once you're in charge of something, you'll get it."
"More confident. Less… hesitant."
"I think he should be the leader."
"Stop waiting for someone else to figure everything out for you."
Each one of them believed in me. They saw something that I couldn't.
And right now, I can't afford to let them down.
Okay, Ranjiro.
Time to take control.
I opened my eyes.
"Iroha-san," I said. "Your intro line's strong, but it's not landing because the rest of us don't know how to catch it. Let's try shifting it two beats earlier. You deliver, then break right. That gives Rika the visual cue she needs."
She blinked, a little surprised. But she nodded.
"Morisaki-san, lose the millisecond cues. Keep the spell moments, but let me feed you the timing. If I say 'Arc,' you cast. Simple."
She crossed her arms. "And if I miss it?"
"You won't."
A pause. Then a small nod.
"Naru-chan. You're coming in on beat four, yeah?"
"Uh-huh." She pointed at the bush. "But the scenery attacked me."
"Skip the bush. Come in from the other side. I'll give the cue. All you have to do is be you."
"Pfft," she grinned. "I was gonna do that anyway."
I stepped into the center of the mats. Looked at them all.
"I know we wanted this to feel natural, like a real game session. But even those have a GM. And that's me. So I'll call the beats. You follow the thread."
I held up my notes: smudged, creased, and completely lived-in.
"This is the story we're telling. Together. Not perfect. Not polished. But ours."
They didn't clap. They didn't cheer. Just nodded.
We all got into position.
Back to back.
I raised my hand. "Three. Two. One— Shall We?"
And this time, we moved together.