This year’s three-day club season was held in the first-year campus’s central plaza. Seniors manned their booths, eagerly recruiting new members, while first-years wandered in groups, sampling the various activities and searching for the right fit. However, problems that began on the first day had spiraled out of control by the second.
"The first-years’ participation rate is dropping?" Simon asked, shrugging on his Student Council President’s coat. He had been urgently called in over the weekend. Beside him, Meirin trotted to keep up, a stack of files clutched in her arms.
"Yeah. You’ll see it as soon as we get there."
When they arrived at the central plaza, the sparse crowd confirmed her words.
"There are fewer first-years than second-years now," Simon observed. "It wasn’t like this last year."
"No," Meirin said, her eyes grave. "The cause is probably the recruitment war getting out of hand."
Due to the student council’s policy change, securing new members was more critical than ever. Retaining them was important, of course, but you couldn’t retain members you never recruited. As a result, the second-years, the main drivers of club operations, had gone into overdrive. The competition for first-years intensified until it spilled out of the designated promotion area.
Soon, second-years with their red badges and stacks of flyers were everywhere—on the campus streets, in the library, at the cafes, even in the school cafeteria. It got so bad that—
"—Ahaha! Excuse me, Professor! Hey, everyone! We’re the Dungeon Research Club...!"
—they were even storming classrooms right before and after lectures.
The first-year curriculum was designed to foster intense competition among peers, leaving little room for interaction with upperclassmen. For students still intimidated by their seniors, these aggressive encounters were deeply uncomfortable.
And there were other problems. Students who were actual club members tended to show some restraint for their club’s image, but the second-years who were just "helping their friends" by handing out flyers were causing the most trouble.
"—Hey, you’re not gonna join? Seriously? After I asked so nicely?"
"—A senior’s calling you and you’re just gonna blow me off?"
"—Kizen’s really gone to shit."
It seemed that, excited to finally interact with their juniors, they were inflicting the exact same treatment on the first-years that the third-years had inflicted on them. A cloud of fear had settled over what should have been a festive season, and the first-years, feeling pressured, began avoiding the central plaza altogether.
"This is serious," Simon said, breaking into a cold sweat as Meirin finished her explanation.
Just then, a voice called his name from a distance. Kamibarez and Dick were running toward them.
"What’s all this chaos on a weekend morning?" Dick grumbled, hands stuffed in his pockets as he let out a massive yawn. Behind him, student council servants were rounding up second-years who had been promoting outside the designated zone.
"Hey, Dick, tell ‘em to let go," one of the captured students said with a sheepish grin. "C’mon, guys, what’s the big deal?"
Simon and Meirin approached them. Meirin crossed her arms with a frustrated sigh. "You’re all seniors who’ve survived a year at Kizen. What is this pathetic display?"
"That’s right! You should be ashamed of yourselves!" Kamibarez added, her hands on her hips.
One of the second-years gave an awkward laugh. "Give us a break. What are we supposed to do when no one’s coming to our booth? We have to go out and spread the word."
The student next to him narrowed his eyes. "Let’s be honest, is this really all our fault? If the student council had done a better job promoting the event, the first-years would’ve come to the booths in the first place—!"
"Don’t you dare blame someone else, you idiot!" Meirin snapped, kicking him hard in the shin.
"Aargh!" he cried out, hopping around and clutching his leg.
"You’ve got it backward! The kids aren’t showing up because you’re pulling stunts like this!"
"Ow! That really hurts! ’Hiss!’ You think you can just hit students because you’re in the student council?"
"Looks like you haven’t been beaten enough yet!" Meirin snarled, lunging for his collar, but Simon stepped in to stop her.
"All of you, return to your dorms," Simon said, his voice calm but firm. "If you continue to disrupt the academic schedule like this, especially when you’re not even official club members, we’ll have no choice but to recommend disciplinary action."
At the mention of disciplinary action, their smug attitudes vanished. After sending them away, Simon assigned roles.
"Dick, mobilize all thirty of our servants. I want you to strictly enforce the promotion boundaries."
"You got it!"
"Meirin, Kamibarez, gather the club presidents. Just the ones who are here right now will be fine."
"On it," Meirin confirmed.
"Yes, Simon!" Kamibarez chirped.
In the end, the student council had to intervene. Since it was the middle of the club season, most of the presidents were on-site and could be gathered for an emergency meeting.
"The anxiety among the first-years has reached a serious level," Simon began. "I’m asking you all to show some restraint from now on."
It was the inevitable result of overheated competition. The presidents, already aware of the situation, readily agreed. The more they fought over students outside the plaza, the fewer students actually came to the plaza itself.
"But, you know," one president said, propping his chin on his hand, "the damage is already done. Even if we stop now, are the first-years really going to come back?"
"He’s right," another added. "The student council needs to give us a solution."
"Besides, the student council is the one who instigated this competition in the first place," a third chimed in, clearly still bitter about the new policy. "For the student council of Kizen, you should have predicted these side effects."
Meirin’s face flushed with anger, and she shot up from her chair. "Hey, you bastards! You’re the ones who screwed up, so why do you keep blaming—!"
"Meirin."
Simon placed a calming hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back into her seat. Then he turned to face the presidents.
"Alright," he said calmly. "The student council will handle it. Trust us, and focus on promoting within your booths."
After the meeting ended and the presidents had dispersed, Meirin grabbed Simon’s shoulder. "Hey! What are you going to do? Why did you make a promise like that in front of them?"
"We’ll have to figure something out," Simon replied with a reassuring smile just as Dick returned.
"Hey, Simon! I’ve got the servants deployed like you said. The second-years are already clearing out."
"Good."
"Is the meeting over?"
"Yeah, it went well," Simon said. "More importantly, Dick, what’s trending among the first-years these days?"
"Trending? Why all of a sudden?"
"It’s important."
Dick stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. The hottest thing right now is probably... opera and theater."
Meirin frowned. "Seriously? You think something old people watch is trending with first-years?"
Dick nodded. "Oh, come on, you know what I’m talking about. That new superstar at the Langenstine Grand Theater? Seiwyr, the guy who hosted our entrance ceremony! He’s a massive hit with the younger crowd, way more than with the old nobles."
Meirin’s brow furrowed in disbelief. "...That idiot is that popular?"
"You didn’t know? During the last dispatch evaluation, all the first-years were taking missions near Langenstine just to see his play! I heard the professors chewed them out for it."
Simon considered it. Seiwyr’s popularity at the entrance ceremony had been undeniable.
"This could work," he said, a smile spreading across his face.
"It could ’definitely’ work," Dick agreed.
The two boys exchanged a look, then turned to stare intently at Meirin.
"W-Wait!" she stammered, her face flushing as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
The next morning, at the Langenstine Grand Theater.
"A magnificent morning performance, Seiwyr!" a group of pot-bellied old gentlemen gushed, flocking around the actor.
"Your delicate hand gestures, expressing an era of severance and collapse... it was like seeing the legendary Mortis reborn!"
"A life built layer by layer is a masterpiece in itself! Your acting poses such profound questions!"
"Hahaha! Thank you, everyone," Seiwyr replied, flashing a greasy smile and shaking hands with his aristocratic patrons.
After ten minutes of schmoozing, he whistled and walked away with a jaunty spring in his step.
"Haha! Seiwyr!" The theater owner, grinning from ear to ear thanks to the recent explosion in ticket sales, rushed over and threw his arms around him. "Excellent work this morning! Get some rest, and I’ll be counting on you for the evening show!"
"You can count on me."
"Fans are coming from all over the continent to see you! Hoho, where have you been all my life!"
As the owner was laughing and patting Seiwyr’s shoulder, a commotion erupted behind them.
"You can’t go any further!"
"What is this?!"
At first, they assumed it was just Seiwyr’s usual crazed fans, but the situation was far more unusual.
Three figures in immaculate suits pushed through the guards and approached them.
"Who are you people?!" the theater owner shouted.
The woman in the middle removed her sunglasses, revealing her face as she pulled a small notebook from her coat. "We’re from Kizen."
The theater owner’s face went pale at the sight of the Kizen emblem. The security guards, who had been advancing with batons drawn, froze as if petrified.
She coolly put the notebook away. "My name is Mojo. I’m with the Kizen Student Council."
When dealing with Kizen, caution was always the best approach. The theater owner began to sweat, bowing obsequiously. "Wh-What brings people from Kizen to a place like this...?"
"Take him," Mojo commanded.
Instantly, the two servants beside her seized Seiwyr by the arms. He struggled, utterly bewildered.
’Wh-What is this strength?’
Resistance was futile. As Seiwyr was instantly subdued, the theater owner panicked. "What do you think you’re doing?! Even if you’re from Kizen, this is—!"
Mojo, her expression unreadable, held out a single note for Seiwyr to read.
<We know your afternoon is free. Shut up and come do a paid performance.>
—Meirin
"Hahaha!" Seiwyr suddenly burst into loud, booming laughter and turned to the theater owner. "Is that all! My dear friend, I must step out for a quick performance."
"Right now? Wh-Where are you going?"
As the servants finally released him, Seiwyr straightened his collar and flashed a toothy grin. "It seems the charming boys and girls of Kizen have requested my presence."
"Everyone, raise a toast to youth!" Seiwyr bellowed.
’Boom! Pow!’
On the stage of the central auditorium, he held a magic amplifying crystal, his voice thundering across the first-year campus. At his gesture, illusory waves crashed and storms raged.
"Oh, heavens!"
The sound system boomed. Below the stage, hundreds of first-years jumped and chanted his name, their excitement palpable. His popularity was astounding; it seemed as if all nine hundred students had flocked to the plaza the moment they heard his song.
"Grant us passion!"
After belting out the line, Seiwyr stepped back and gestured to his side. A dazzling spotlight swung to a Kizen student next to him, who was wearing a cat mask and holding her own amplifying crystal.
"Grant us passion!" she sang, her voice rising with elegance.
The first-years, who had been captivated by Seiwyr, stared with wide eyes. The masked girl’s brow furrowed slightly as she effortlessly soared into the high notes.
"Listen! A toast to youth—!"
’Woooooooooah—!’
A roar went through the crowd at her nearly perfect high notes.
"Who is that? She’s wearing our uniform!"
"Is she a professional actress? Or a real student?"
"She’s amazing!"
In that moment, her popularity rivaled Seiwyr’s. But while cheers rained down from all sides, the face hidden behind the mask was burning with humiliation. Tiny tears welled in the corners of her eyes.
’Why do I have to sing at my own school?! I hate it! I hate it so much!’
Regardless, the energy of the performance continued to build. Simon and Kamibarez watched with sparkling eyes, while Dick nodded gravely.
"This is the performance you chose, Meirin. Grit your teeth and bear it."
"But she’s really good," Simon said, a dazed smile on his face.
"She is!" Kamibarez agreed.
Far from being overshadowed by a professional, Meirin was now dominating the stage with the power and color of her voice. The concert was a massive success, and its effects immediately revitalized the club booths. Countless first-years, drawn in by the performance, now streamed toward the recruiting tables. The second-years, finally relieved of their pressure, could now approach their juniors with relaxed confidence. Yesterday, two or three seniors had been fighting over a single freshman; today, the freshmen were lining up at the booths.
Things were finally getting back to normal.
"President! What kind of magic did you pull? Thank you so much!" one of the club presidents exclaimed, a wide smile on his face. Even the presidents who had angrily confronted Simon just a day ago were now enjoying the festival.
"Of course. Keep up the good work," Simon replied with a wave, holding no grudges.
By solving the recruitment crisis in one fell swoop, the student council’s reputation soared. They were now seen as a capable body that could mobilize a superstar like Seiwyr if needed. In truth, Simon had just gotten lucky. Who could have known that the man he’d briefly met during last year’s dispatch evaluation would become such a phenomenon?
"My, what an interesting event."
A familiar, sly voice came from behind him. Simon turned to see Serne approaching, a wicked smile playing on her lips.
"A mysterious cat-masked singer. Her voice sounds an awful lot like someone I know."
Simon chuckled. "Oh, Serne. You’re here."

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