The Superstar Recruitment Strategy
That year's Club Season was to be held over three days at the 1st Year Campus Central Plaza.
The upperclassmen threw open their club booths and threw themselves into recruiting new members, while the 1st-years wandered about in clusters, browsing for clubs that suited their tastes and enjoying the many hands-on activities along the way.
Trouble, however, had appeared on the very first day — and by the second, it had spiraled into a full-blown crisis.
"You're telling me 1st-year participation is dropping?"
Simon, hastily summoned back over the weekend, spoke as he shrugged on the Student Council President's coat. Beside him, Mayrin hurried along in quick little steps with an armful of document folders.
"Yeah. You'll see it the moment we get there."
The two of them arrived at the campus central plaza.
There was no doubt about it — the crowd was thin.
"There are fewer 1st-years than 2nd-years now. It wasn't like this last year."
"Mm. The cause is probably..."
Mayrin continued with grave eyes.
"...the overkill of the recruitment war."
Because of the Student Council's policy shift, securing club members had become even more important this year than last. Of course, retaining and managing existing members mattered too — but you couldn't maintain a club until you'd secured its members in the first place.
And so the 2nd-years, the backbone of every club, had thrown themselves into the work harder than ever before.
Naturally, the competition over 1st-years had grown vicious, and before long, students had begun recruiting well outside the central plaza that the school had designated as the promotional zone.
On the streets of the 1st-year campus, in the library, in the cafés, in the campus dining halls — everywhere they turned, 2nd-years with red badges materialized, flyers in hand. It had even gone as far as—
—Ahaha! Pardon me, Professor! Hi, everyone! We're the Dungeon Research Club, and—
—reckless canvassing inside lecture halls, right before and right after class.
Under the 1st-year curriculum, freshmen competed fiercely among themselves but had precious little contact with upperclassmen. For 1st-years who still found their seniors terrifying, this kind of approach brought nothing but discomfort.
And there was more. The actual club members had held themselves in check to some degree, mindful of their clubs' image — but it was the 2nd-years who'd grabbed flyers to "help out a friend" that were causing chaos.
—Hey, hey. You're joining, right? You're really not joining? I'm begging you this much.
—A senior calls you and you just brush him off?
—Kizen's gone completely to crap, seriously.
Thrilled to run into juniors after so long, they were doing to the 1st-years exactly what the 3rd-years had once done to them.
An atmosphere of fear had settled over what was supposed to be a festive Club Season, and the 1st-years had begun avoiding the central plaza and its booths altogether, overwhelmed by the pressure.
"Th-this is bad."
Simon wiped a thin sheen of sweat as he listened to the report.
Just then, a voice called out from a distance — Simon~!
Camibarez and Dick came running up.
"What in the world is all this panic on a weekend morning?"
Dick yawned hugely, hands jammed in his pockets. Behind him, the Student Council's direct minions were dragging in 2nd-year students who'd been caught recruiting outside the designated zone.
The captured 2nd-years smirked as they spoke.
"Yo, Dick. Tell them to let me go. Seriously, what's with everyone today."
Simon and Mayrin walked over. Mayrin heaved an exasperated sigh and crossed her arms.
"And these are seniors who survived a whole year at Kizen? Look at the state of this."
"That's right! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"
Camibarez planted her hands on her hips as she said it. The 2nd-year gave an awkward laugh.
"Oh, come on, cut us some slack. The kids won't come near the booths — what are we supposed to do? You've got to go out there and get the club's name known."
The 2nd-year beside him narrowed his eyes sharply.
"Uh, let's be blunt here — is this really all our fault? If the Student Council had actually promoted the plaza properly in the first place so the 1st-years would show up—!"
"Don't blame other people, you jerk!"
Mayrin kicked him full force in the shin. He howled — Aaaagh! — and hopped around clutching his leg.
"Get the order of things straight! It's because of your antics that the kids stopped coming in the first place!"
"Ow! That hurt like hell! Sss—! Does the Student Council get to just beat students up now?"
"Want another one?"
Mayrin lunged to grab him by the collar, but Simon held her back.
"All of you, go back to your dorms. If you keep disrupting the academic schedule like this when you're not even club officers, I'll have no choice but to recommend disciplinary action next time."
At the word disciplinary, their insolent attitudes vanished in an instant.
Having sent them off, Simon began assigning tasks.
"Dick — mobilize all thirty of our direct minions and crack down hard on the off-site recruiting."
"Got it!"
"Mayrin, Cami — gather the club presidents. The ones already on-site will do for now."
"Understood."
"Yes, Simon!"
In the end, the Student Council had no choice but to step in.
It was the height of Club Season, and most of the club presidents were already on-site, so a meeting could be convened immediately.
"The 1st-years' anxiety has reached a serious level. We'd like you all to exercise restraint from here on."
It was the price of runaway competition.
The club presidents all understood what was happening, and so they agreed to follow Simon's lead. The fiercer the external recruiting war grew, the fewer 1st-years in total were actually visiting the club booths — the very thing that mattered most.
"But, you see..."
One club president rested his chin on his hand.
"The image of Club Season is already wrecked, isn't it? Even if we tighten things up from now, do you really think the 1st-years will want to come to the booths?"
"Exactly. The Student Council needs to show us some kind of solution."
"The overcompetition was stoked by the Student Council in the first place. If you're going to call yourselves the Student Council of Kizen, you should have predicted these side effects."
Clubs unhappy with the new policy fired off their barbs one by one.
Mayrin's face flushed with fury, and she kicked back her chair and shot to her feet.
"Hey, you bastards!! You're the ones who caused all this, so why do you keep blaming—!"
"Mayrin."
Simon pressed down on her shoulder, urging calm, and steered her back into her seat.
Then he looked around at the presidents.
"All right. The Student Council will manage something, so trust us and focus your recruiting efforts inside your booths."
When the meeting ended and the club presidents filed out, Mayrin seized Simon's shoulders and shook him hard.
"Heyy! What's your plan? You went and said all that in front of the presidents — so what now?!"
"We'll figure something out."
As Simon said it with a smile, Dick came strolling over.
"Hey! Simon! Spread the minions out per your orders. Whatever instructions they got, the 2nd-year kids are all pulling back."
"Good."
"Meeting all wrapped up?"
"Yeah, went smoothly. But hey, Dick."
Simon turned to him.
"What's trendy among the 1st-years these days?"
"Trendy? Where'd that come from?"
"It's important."
Dick gave a thoughtful hmm and mulled it over.
"The hottest thing right now... probably the opera and theater scene?"
Mayrin scrunched her face up.
"Hey, is that actually hot? Something only old folks go watch — how is that a trend among 1st-years?"
Dick nodded.
"Oh please, you know perfectly well. A young megastar just exploded onto the scene at the Langestine Grand Theater, remember? Saywre — the one who emceed our entrance ceremony! That man is massively popular with young people, way beyond the stuffy noble uncles."
Mayrin frowned, half convinced, half doubtful.
"...That idiot is that popular?"
"You didn't know? Just during the last Mission Assessment, a ton of 1st-years took missions over toward Langestine just to watch Saywre's plays! I hear the 1st-year professors tore them all a new one for it."
Simon thought back. Come to think of it, they had used Saywre as MC at the entrance ceremony, and he really had been wildly popular.
"This is looking promising."
A smile crept across Simon's lips.
"Very promising indeed."
Dick picked up right where he'd left off.
The two boys exchanged a signal with their eyes — and turned in unison to stare intently at Mayrin.
"Wha— hold on! Why are you looking at me like that?!"
Mayrin flushed scarlet and wrapped her arms around herself.
The next morning.
The Langestine Grand Theater.
"Magnificent morning performance, Saywre!"
A crowd of pot-bellied elderly gentlemen swarmed around him, heaping on the praise.
"Your delicate gestures in portraying an age of severance and decline — they were like the second coming of Mortis, the legendary actor of fifty years ago!"
"A life built up layer upon layer — a masterpiece in its own right! Your performance poses the finest of questions!"
"Hahaha! Thank you, everyone."
Waving his thick eyebrows, a slick smile on his lips, Saywre shook hands with his aristocratic patrons.
After roughly ten minutes of fan service for his sponsors, Saywre strolled off whistling, his steps light and jaunty.
"Haha! Saywre!"
The theater owner, whose mouth had been stretched ear to ear ever since sales began exploding, hurried over and pulled him into a hug.
"Well done with the morning show. Rest up nice and deep, and give us a splendid evening performance too!"
"Leave it all to me."
"Fans are flocking in from every corner of the Continent just to catch a glimpse of you! Heh heh, where on earth have you been hiding all this time!"
Just as the owner was laughing and pounding Saywre on the shoulder, a commotion broke out at the back.
"No further, please!"
"What is the meaning of this?!"
It seemed at first like the usual swarm of Saywre's rabid fans — but something entirely unexpected was unfolding.
Thud— thud—
Three men and women in immaculate suits pushed straight through the security guards and advanced on them.
"Who are you people?!"
The owner shouted. The woman at the front removed her sunglasses to reveal her face, then drew a notebook from her coat.
"We're from Kizen."
The moment the theater owner saw the Kizen crest stamped boldly across the page, his face drained black. The bodyguards, who'd been closing in with suppression batons raised, froze stiff as if petrified.
She tucked the notebook away and spoke coldly.
"We are the Student Council's direct subordinate unit. I am called Mojo."
When Kizen came calling, the wisest move was to tread carefully. The owner bowed and scraped, sweat trickling down his face.
"K-Kizen, is it... What business could bring you all the way to a place like this...?"
"Escort him."
The two minions flanking her seized Saywre by both arms.
Saywre thrashed about in utter bewilderment —
Wh-what is this strength?
There was no resisting, of course. Watching him get subdued in a single motion, the theater owner nearly leapt out of his shoes.
"What do you intend to do with him?! Kizen or no, this is—!"
Mojo silently held a small slip of paper up before Saywre's eyes.
Your afternoon schedule is empty anyway, so stop fussing and get here for a paid performance.
— Mayrin
"HAHAHA!"
Only then did Saywre burst into booming laughter and turn to the theater owner.
"And here I was worried! Owner, my apologies — I must step out for a performance elsewhere."
"Right now?! Wh-where to?"
At last the minions released his arms. Saywre straightened his collar and grinned wide, baring his teeth.
"It seems the darling young boys and girls of Kizen want me."
"Listen, one and all! A toast to youth!"
BOOM! Bang!
Standing atop the stage of the central auditorium on the 1st-year campus, Saywre clutched a voice-amplification crystal and belted out a song with full force. At his every gesture, waves surged and storms whirled.
"O heavens!"
The sound exploded, rich and thunderous.
Below the stage, 1st-years could be seen leaping feverishly from their seats, chanting his name over and over.
It was popularity of staggering proportions. The moment Saywre's song rang out, the entire 1st-year class — some nine hundred students — seemed to have come flocking.
"Passion unto us!"
Having sung out with abandon, Saywre stepped back and gestured to his side. Dazzling stage lights swung over to a Kizen schoolgirl standing there, voice-amplification crystal in hand. A cat mask covered her face.
"Passion unto us!"
The instant the girl raised her voice with elegant poise, the eyes of the 1st-years who'd been swooning over Saywre went round as saucers.
Brows knitting ever so slightly, she hit the high passage in a heartbeat.
"A tooOOOast to youuuuth—!"
WAAAAAAAH—!
At the near-perfect high note that burst forth, the whole year erupted into a buzz.
"Who is that girl? She's wearing our school uniform!"
"Is she an actress? She's a real student?"
"She's amazing!!"
In this moment, her popularity rivaled Saywre's own.
Even as she soaked in the cheers coming from every direction, her face beneath the mask was flushed an unbearably deep red. Tiny tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes.
Why do I have to sing at MY OWN school?! No! No! I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT!
Regardless of her feelings, the performance's passion only climbed higher.
Simon and Camibarez watched with eyes sparkling, while Dick nodded gravely.
"You chose this performance yourself, Mayrin. See it through — by hook or by crook."
Simon smiled, a little dazed.
"She's really good, though."
"She is!"
Far from falling behind a genuine professional actor, Mayrin was now overwhelming him with the sheer color and power of her voice.
The performance that had begun at the central plaza was a roaring success.
Its momentum flowed naturally into a revival of the club booths. Countless 1st-years wandered into booths after coming to watch the show, and the 2nd-years, their burdens now lifted, finally relaxed and treated their juniors with easy warmth.
Just the day before, two or three 2nd-years had mobbed every single 1st-year in a bidding war — now it was the 1st-years who had to jostle for spots in lines in front of the booths. It felt, at last, like things were running properly again.
"President! What kind of magic did you work? Thank you, truly!"
Smiles bloomed across the club presidents' faces. The same presidents who'd stormed up to Simon in fury during the meeting were now savoring the festival to the fullest.
"Yeah — give it your all."
Simon waved back at them with a grin free of any grudge.
Having solved the freshman shortage in one decisive stroke, the Student Council's approval rating shot through the roof, as only natural.
A capable Student Council — one that could mobilize even a megastar like Saywre when the need arose.
Truthfully, who could have guessed that the man they'd crossed paths with briefly during last year's dispatch assessment would blow up into a star of this magnitude? Lucky in more ways than one.
"Oh my, what a fun little event."
Just then, a familiar voice drifted over from behind.
Simon turned to find Serne walking toward him, a sly smile curling on her lips.
"A mysterious cat mask, hm? It sounds awfully like someone I know."
Simon let out a laugh.
"O-oh, hey, Serne. You made it."