The Butterfly Summons the Storm (1)

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They call it the butterfly effect.

The theory that a butterfly flapping its wings far away can whip up a typhoon — that a tiny, trivial change can ripple outward into something enormous.

In my case, it meant that events which never happened in my past life could come into being.

"Gangjun! Why don't you join us in here?"

Wednesday, lunchtime.

I'd finished my morning lectures and was having lunch with Cheon Yuha at the student cafeteria.

The menu was hamburger steak. Apparently our tastes agreed, because Cheon Yuha had polished off three plates in one sitting and had just stepped away to grab a refill when someone seemed to address me.

No, wait — who on earth would talk to me? Aside from Cheon Yuha, I didn't have a single person I could call a friend here yet.

I turned to look, blinking at the stranger, my question still hanging in the air.

"Good to see you, comrade!"

"……Huh."

A face beaming with the innocence of a man who meant no harm to anyone. A hulking frame wrapped in densely corded muscle.

Even at Seondo, where free dress was the norm, this man always wore his uniform crisply and attended every class with diligence — Combat Department rank 12, the rising star who would one day earn the title of Sword Saint: Kim Gabsu.

That was the future, though. As of now, I knew nothing about the guy.

We shared the common ground of being Korean, sure, but we were in different classes and used different weapons. Kim Gabsu wielded the sword; I fought with fists and feet.

Because of that, he'd taken a different elective — Introduction to Weaponry — while I was enrolled in Introduction to Unarmed Combat.

Which meant that in my past life, I'd crossed paths with him maybe five or six times, tops. We'd attended the same school without ever actually connecting. The campus was simply so vast that we only occasionally bumped into each other in the cafeteria or the corridors.

So I'd assumed this time would be no different……

"Gangjun! Let's start a club!"

"……A club?"

Apparently, that assumption was completely wrong.

"The new-club registration period runs through this Friday! Our school's so international that Koreans are a pretty rare breed here, you know? So I took it upon myself to organize things! Here, look! The membership application!"

"……"

Kim Gabsu smiled with the dazzling radiance of a man bathed in direct sunlight.

Good grief. First Cheon Yuha, and now another hot-blooded type.

Feeling that particular nausea unique to encounters with natural-born social butterflies, I gingerly accepted the paper.

"……What in the world is this."

A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I clutched my head.

Had this existed in my past life too?

I'd certainly never heard of it. Maybe I'd never been approached because I'd shut myself in the training hall all day, every day.

'……How many Koreans were in this year's class again?'

Going by my hazy memory, there were probably around ten in the Combat Department alone.

If so, that meant at least one or two per class — was a club really necessary?

"……And why hasn't anyone's name been written down?"

Why was I the very first entry?

Frowning at my own unease, I stared at Kim Gabsu, who wore the same unrelenting smile from start to finish. Then, without a shred of conscience, he clenched his fist and declared proudly:

"Because we just founded it, that's why! I filed the application at the administration building and came out for lunch, and the first thing that happens is I run into a fellow countryman — how is that not destiny?!"

"……Honestly, I don't think I'll have time for club activities."

"No problem! Just put your name on the roster for now, and come by whenever the mood strikes. You'll always be welcome! We're a people of jeong, after all — warmth and loyalty run in our blood!"

'Obviously, right?' he murmured, shooting me a look that carried an uncomfortable weight of expectation.

Just as I was about to refuse, sensing that this would only become a headache later, Cheon Yuha — who had by now swept even the salad off her hamburger steak plate — threw her hands up and declared she'd join too.

"I shall join as well! I as well!"

Um, you're not even Korean.

But Cheon Yuha wasn't the type to concern herself with trivialities like nationality. According to her personal philosophy, no borders existed between friends.

"Is this not a school life that lasts but three short years! Would it not be wise to sample a variety of things — clubs or otherwise?"

It had been a while since I'd heard something so eminently reasonable that I found it hard to argue, busy as I was applauding the wisdom.

'……Ha. Three short years of school life, is it.'

To survive those three years, first and foremost, I couldn't get expelled. I had to build my internal energy and reach the Peak Realm.

But frankly, I'd been feeling impatient lately about my total internal energy reserves, and I knew from experience that these were exactly the moments when calm was essential.

'One wrong move and I'll end up in qi deviation from rushing my cultivation.'

Right. It was true that I needed a little time to catch my breath.

It wasn't as though I intended to throw myself into club activities centered on experiencing the Korean Wave, anyway.

And so Cheon Yuha and I negotiated a compromise on the condition of irregular participation and joined the club together.

Also, in exchange for joining, I made a private agreement with Cheon Yuha to take her somewhere.

"Oho, splendid! One must see the world to broaden one's horizons! Where dost thou plan to adventure?"

"I'll tell you later."

A sealed-off underground facility bristling with every kind of deadly mechanism, say. Or a dungeon crawling with super-sized monsters.

A premium course offering loot, training, and a leisurely stroll all in one — yet somehow, it felt wrong to mention it just yet.

'……Her eyes would sparkle a little too much.'

It hadn't been part of the original plan, but with promising leads on the elixir hunt turning up, it was a fairly satisfying deal. She'd probably ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠come along even if I just said let's go, but it's better when there's some give and take.

Anyway, two days passed, and Friday arrived. Kim Gabsu hadn't said a word since the application went in, so I figured it could wait.

I mean, how much trouble could there be in starting a club and having fun at school?

There was no pressing need to reach out first.

Apparently, there was.

"……Damn it."

I'd let my guard down for just a moment.

Students enrolled at Seondo enjoy a mountain of benefits. It starts with penthouse dormitories and extends to an unlimited supply of uniforms inscribed with all manner of protective spells, plus lectures delivered by the finest faculty anywhere in the world.

Beyond that, there's the student cafeteria staffed by world-class chefs, the meticulously constructed training halls and forging rooms — the most luxurious, state-of-the-art facilities on any campus anywhere.

After all, you can't have adolescents in their prime losing interest in growth just because the environment demands it. So the academy pours out support and perks without restraint.

The same went for club activities.

Every year, the academy promised maximum support to a total of twenty clubs, and its generosity extended to approving nearly anything, so long as it harmed no one and disrupted the academic schedule.

─Only for the twenty official clubs, that is.

Every year, the student council scrutinized all club activity through rigorous review, selecting five underperforming clubs for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠demotion to provisional status or outright dissolution. In their place, five new official clubs were chosen from among the countless freshly founded ones.

Their fate was decided primarily by the entrance exam scores of the members — mostly freshmen.

Yes, for instance……

A club devoted to nothing but meditation, with an activity plan even more boring than its name.

Yet the moment the student council officers confirmed the applicant on the paperwork, they stamped it without hesitation. After all, this was the undisputed number one in entrance exam scores.

KWAANG-!

And just like that, only four spots for official club approval remained.

"We did well last year, didn't we?"

"Hand over your proposal."

"……Here."

"Huh, this is actually solid? Okay, approved."

Even that last spot was snatched away — one club was demoted from the previous year, and its place taken by the provisional club Hunt, which had been biding its time for an opportunity.

That left a mere three spots.

Amid all this, the second-ranked scorer — the "angel" of Class 2 — applied for a club called Genesis, dedicated to exploring Seondo's remote frontiers and demon territories.

Class 6 — Inferno founded Naraka, fifty members strong, a statement that every cadet in their hell-doomed class would endure hell together this year.

And then the fourth-ranked in entrance scores — Kujo Kisara of Class 4 — established the club Imperial State in the name of savoring the culture of the Japanese mainland, and the projection seemed settled: three clubs, decided.

It would have been — if not for The 101st Korea Hometown Association, which submitted its paperwork fresh on Wednesday evening.

"……A Korea Hometown Association led by Cheon Yuha, vice-leader of the Heavenly Demon Cult, ranked 3rd in the Combat Department."

Cheon Yuha was neither the club president nor Korean, but to the score-obsessed officers of the student council, none of that mattered one bit.

KWAANG─KWAANG─KWAANG─!

And so, in keeping with the tradition that a club's members' scores came first and foremost, three clubs were approved as official: the second scorer's Genesis, Naraka with ranks 6 and 7 among its members, and Cheon Yuha's rank-3-backed The 101st Korea Hometown Association.

Then, on Thursday morning, Kujo Kisara received the news — and thought:

'Are they out of their minds?'

Recalling the Seondo tradition she'd once heard about, she promptly filed an objection with the student council.

And the Seondo student council, in turn, gladly accepted her perfectly legitimate objection.

─Thus spake the headmaster: all problems can be solved by winning a fight.

Yes. If grades and raw strength were what counted, then settle it properly, once and for all.

And so Seondo's signature form of insane negotiation was convened — the system where making eye contact across campus constituted tacit agreement to battle: the Brawl Match.

In accordance with the rules, the Imperial State club spent the twenty-four hours before the battle broadcasting announcements across campus that the two clubs would soon clash.

If, when the appointed hour came, the opponent failed to hold eye contact for five seconds or made clear their intent to refuse, the rules forbade attacking them.

But a fight between them couldn't be postponed forever. The side that kept dodging without ever putting forward an alternative was judged the loser — so The 101st Korea Hometown Association, too, finally abandoned avoidance and accepted the fight.

And the result……

"Hahaha. Sorry about dragging you out here so late……"

When I snapped my eyes open, Kim Gabsu — looking sheepish — scratched his cheek awkwardly. His left arm was in a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cast, leaving his right arm to move on its own, which made the gesture stick out oddly, unnaturally.

I committed that tangled scene to memory, then slowly took in the defeated soldiers sprawled around him one by one.

The members of The 101st Korea Hometown Association. Cheon Yuha was absent, so everyone here was Korean.

Every last one of them had gauze taped to their faces or broken limbs bound in casts.

The moment I'd checked the terminal I'd left behind in my dorm, I'd sprinted straight over — only to be greeted by this sorry spectacle.

'They got absolutely wrecked.'

The gloom hanging over their faces was heavy enough that even a total stranger to the situation would have been certain of it. To be fair, aside from Kim Gabsu, they were all cadets ranked outside the top hundred — mid-to-lower tier students.

The other side, meanwhile, had their president Kujo Kisara at the Super-Peak Realm, backed by two Peak Realm warriors standing at the threshold of that great wall. The gap in power was, quite simply, overwhelming.

"……I thought I could at least grab her ankle, but just holding my ground was all I could manage."

Watching Kim Gabsu speak with a bitter expression, I felt sympathy even as I privately concluded it had been a loss written in the stars.

It was rare enough for a mere First-rate fighter to beat a Peak Realm master, but for a Peak Realm warrior to beat a Super-Peak one? Rarer still. By common sense, it simply didn't happen.

'I mean, how would you even break through protective aura?'

Even so, I had no intention of blaming him for fighting a hopeless battle.

……The assassin's words about his one-on-one match. I'd trained until late last night, dragged myself to the training hall before dawn this morning, and spent the entire day doing nothing but conditioning. I knew nothing about any of this.

My schedule was as good as empty, I'd assumed I'd have no need of my terminal, and I'd left it in the dorm — so of course I got word far too late.

'Well, don't that beat all……'

Ghost member or not — my name was on that roster and nothing more — guilt crept up on me all the same. While these people were getting beaten black and blue, I'd been off enjoying myself.

In that situation, what right did I have to tell them they'd overreached and should give up the club?

"Hmm."

A faint sense of embarrassment settling over me, I turned my mind to whether there was some way out of this mess.

And — remarkably — I remembered one.

'Waaah, Heavenly Demon Papa.'

I had finally, truly, recalled the most shameless tactic imaginable.