The dungeon practice had ended, and the class had returned. Afternoon break had just begun, the room filled with the soft hum of chatter as the tension of battle faded into casual noise.
Students laughed, gathered their things, and drifted out in little groups. Some compared notes on their hunts, others bragged or complained.
I sat at my desk, detached from it all. Their noise barely touched me. My thoughts were elsewhere.
At Nexus Hunter Academy, every student was required to join at least two clubs. A pointless regulation, if you asked me—but one I couldn't ignore. The academy didn't tolerate slackers, and I had no intention of painting a target on my back over something this trivial.
So, I might as well get it over with now.
Pulling up the academy forum on my smartwatch, I began scrolling through the endless list of available clubs. Swordsmanship. Elemental Theory. Alchemy. Combat Drills. Beast Taming.
Every name screamed the same thing: desperate students trying to prove themselves even outside class. Too loud, too prideful. Not for me.
I wasn't looking for prestige. I wanted minimal obligations—something that wouldn't interfere with what really mattered. A club with rare meetings, no mandatory events, and no nosy members.
Naturally, that left me with almost nothing.
Gardening Club? Too messy. Duelists Club? Too flashy. Music Society? Not a chance.
And then, one name made me pause.
[Research Club]
"..."
Not exactly creative. Whoever wrote it had put in the absolute minimum effort. But my curiosity was piqued, so I tapped it open.
**Current Members: 2
Looking for: 1 Member**
"…So they just need one more to make it official," I muttered.
Three members minimum—that was academy policy. Which meant this was a newborn club, clinging to existence.
I scrolled down.
Activity: Research.
That was all. No explanation. No statement of purpose. No description of methods or goals. Just a single word.
For a second, I didn't know whether to be impressed by their audacity or speechless at their laziness. An entire page, and this was what they thought was acceptable?
Still… something about it caught my attention.
I could have just applied remotely—one click, done. But the vagueness of it gnawed at me. Who ran a club like this? And why?
With that question lingering in my mind, I rose from my seat and made my way toward the club building.
The building stood a little apart from the main halls, reserved entirely for student-run activities. Following the location pinned on my screen, I climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor.
Room 34.
I stopped before the plain wooden door, its number etched neatly on a brass plate. I studied it in silence. What kind of people would form a club with nothing more than "Research" to define themselves?
With a quiet exhale, I pushed the door open.
The room inside was… plain. A single wooden table. Two chairs. Bare walls. No shelves, no books, no scattered notes—nothing to suggest research at all. It looked more like an unused storeroom than an active clubroom.
But the room wasn't what caught my attention.
"Hello, Junior."
The voice was calm, melodic, carrying easily through the still air.
My eyes found her.
A girl sat at the table, raven-black hair cascading down her back in a silken curtain, pale skin stark against the dark strands. Her golden eyes regarded me with quiet curiosity, long lashes framing a gaze that seemed to pierce more than observe.
Beautiful—that much was undeniable. Too beautiful. The kind of face that could bring half the academy under her spell if she so much as smiled.
And yet… she didn't appear in the game. Not once.
That alone was strange. With her striking looks, she should've been impossible to overlook. Michael's original storyline was bloated with love interests—by the later stages, his harem numbered well past ten. Someone like her would've fit right in.
But she wasn't there.
I pushed the thought aside. Right now, I was here for one thing.
"I'd like to join the club," I said flatly.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me. The silence stretched.
'Don't tell me she's the one who wrote that pathetic description…'
Her composure, the sharp glint in her eyes—no, she didn't strike me as careless. If anything, she radiated control.
And then, finally, her lips parted.
"No."
"…" My brows furrowed. Out of all answers, I hadn't expected rejection. "May I ask why?"
Her expression remained thoughtful, chin resting lightly against her hand. Then, in a firm tone, she said:
"The reason is simple."
I waited. "And that is?"
"You look far too serious."
I stared at her, my mind momentarily blank. That was it? That was her grand reason?
Then—
"Pfft."
A soft laugh slipped past her lips. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth, but her golden eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Sorry," she said, waving a hand dismissively, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I couldn't help it. You looked so stiff, I just had to tease you. Of course you can join."
I exhaled slowly.
Yeah. She was definitely the one who wrote that lazy description.
"My name is Elara Vermillion, second year," she introduced smoothly, as though none of that had just happened.
Elara Vermillion… no memory of her at all.
"Arthur Dravenlock. First year."
Her eyes glimmered with amusement, playful and sharp all at once. "Arthur Dravenlock… quite the cool name."
I ignored her attempt at charm. She slid a sheet of paper across the table.
"Fill this out."
I lowered my gaze. The so-called application form contained four fields:
\[Name. Year. Email. Phone No.]
That was it.
"…That's all?"
She shrugged, unbothered. "Why make things complicated? If someone wants to join, they join. Simple." Her lips curved faintly. "Besides… it's not like we're drowning in applicants."
I gave a small nod. Fair enough. I filled it in and handed it back. No fuss, no evaluation. Just like that, I was in. Almost refreshing, in its own way.
I turned to leave—but paused.
"Senior," I asked evenly. "What exactly does this club do?"
The forum page had listed only one word: Research. And if she gave me the same vague answer, I was ready to walk out.
Her golden eyes widened slightly, almost innocent. "Research," she said.
I closed my eyes briefly. I should've expected that. Pressing her would only be a waste of breath.
I reached for the door handle.
"Wait, junior."
I glanced back. "…Yes?"
Her smile never faltered. "If you have any questions about the club—or about me—don't hesitate to ask."
"Sure," I replied curtly, though I doubted her answers would ever be useful.
She leaned back, her tone almost sing-song. "Then I'll see you at the orientation."
I nodded, relieved to be ending this bizarre encounter—until she spoke again.
"Oh, wait. Take this."
She held out two neatly wrapped chocolates.
I blinked at them, then at her. "…I'm not interested."
"Why not? Just take it." She stepped closer, hand extended stubbornly.
"I said no."
Her brows knit in confusion, genuine this time. "But… doesn't everyone love chocolates?"
"I don't."
Her golden eyes widened faintly, then lit up as if she'd uncovered some revelation. "Ah! You must've never tried this kind before! That's why you think you don't like them. Here, just taste one."
I stared, unimpressed. 'You thought for a whole minute, and that's your conclusion? Idiot.'
"No," I said flatly. "I've had them before. I just don't want them."
But Elara wasn't the type to back down. Her sly smile returned as she closed the distance. Too fast. My muscles tensed instinctively—her movement was sharp, precise, not what I'd expect from a casual tease.
She looked up at me, her golden eyes gleaming.
It was clear: she wasn't letting me leave without accepting.
After a long moment, I finally sighed and took them. "…Thanks."
"Hehe." Her giggle was light, almost childlike, but the satisfaction in her eyes was unmistakable.
I slipped the chocolates into my pocket and reached for the door again. This time, I didn't look back—at least, not until the unease settled in.
She was still seated there, smiling faintly, her golden eyes watching me.
A quiet prickle ran down my spine.
…Did I just make a mistake?