Recognition Craving Monster
“Suddenly? A club has nothing to do with the topic we were just discussing.”
Half bewildered, half suspicious. That was the look Rone gave me.
Her wariness, which had nearly melted away during our counseling session, was surging back up. It made perfect sense. We'd been deep in life advice when I abruptly revealed a secret she hadn't shared with anyone else. And now, I was veering off into what seemed like a completely unrelated topic.
“It's not 'sudden.' And it's not unrelated, either.”
Maybe it was time to move. “Shall we continue this somewhere else?”
I gestured for Rone, who was eyeing me warily, to follow me.
I'd initially devised two main ways to restore her self-esteem. The first was to convince her to use her Gift in quieter situations, away from extreme scenarios like an academy raid. It was like deflating a balloon before it could burst—releasing the gas in advance to prevent it from inflating at all.
The second was to address the root cause: building up her low self-esteem. Since the academy raid stemmed from the void in her heart, filling that void would eradicate the ghost story at its source. In my view, it was the most perfect solution.
But the first option was out because her Gift relied on others' attention as fuel. The second was ideal in outcome but impossible given the academy's tight timeline.
In the end, restoring her self-esteem directly wasn't feasible.
“Rone, aren't you anxious that, in your academy life, your abilities will get buried among the other students, leaving you as some unremarkable nobody? Then couldn't club activities—honing your skills, racking up achievements through various endeavors—ease that anxiety?”
“...Club activities won't cut it. What I want isn't just being a little better than average. I want to be something special—something other students can't even compare to! Of course... I know this is just my selfishness talking. But the thought of going back to those days when no one paid me any attention fills me with dread...”
“What if it's not ordinary club activities, but something extraordinary?”
“...Extraordinary club activities?”
If braking at the edge of a broken cliff wasn't an option, then flooring the accelerator and soaring to the other side was another way. If I doused her in a mind-blowing dopamine hit that even an academy raid couldn't touch, wouldn't she forget all about such petty, modest fantasies?
As we talked, we'd arrived at our destination: the fifth floor of the 1st Main Building, at the end of the hallway in the most secluded corner room. Known as the sealed room.
The door wasn't locked. As planned, Elaine—who had the key—had left it open for us.
As I pushed it open, a musty smell of dust wafted out to greet Rone.
“...Is this the special club room you mentioned, sir?”
Rone didn't hide her disappointment at the cluttered, dust-covered storage space inside.
“Precisely, it will be. At this stage, the club hasn't been formally established yet.”
“...”
A wrinkle formed between Rone's brows at my words. She was clearly let down that I'd brought her to such a shabby, worthless spot.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Allen, but whatever club you had in mind, it seems far from what I was hoping for. Sorry again, but I'll have to decline the invitation.”
“Don't be so quick to shut it down—why not at least hear me out? We've come all this way; turning back without listening feels a bit rude, don't you think? Besides, who knows? You might end up begging me to let you join later.”
“I doubt I'd ever beg to join a club... but fine. You're right; it would be impolite to leave without hearing you out after coming this far.”
Her words meant she'd hear me out just enough to be polite before leaving. But if my bold prediction held, that wouldn't happen.
“The official club name isn't set yet, but the activities are. We'd collect and investigate the ghost stories and mysteries floating around among the students. Dissecting them from a humanities perspective, essentially. Hmm. Now that I think about it, adding something about actively resolving students' ghost story-related troubles would fit nicely.”
This wasn't some spur-of-the-moment idea to fix Rone's ghost story. I'd been planning it since the moment we vanquished Mr. Brandon.
I couldn't handle ghost stories alone. But their nature—growing stronger the more people knew—severely limited spreading awareness. In the end, a capable few had to resolve them.
I'd agonized over whether to entrust that to students, both humanely and practically. But in this isolated academy, cut off from the outside, students—with their Gifts and freedom to move without suspicion—were ideal for handling incidents here.
And a group form that let me work with them. Bonus if we could repurpose this sealed room from dusty storage into an official space.
The most natural fit for all that was a club.
“To be honest, Mr. Allen, your club sounds unique and intriguing... but it doesn't strike me as a serious activity. Certainly not special. A few oddball students might be interested, but that's not me.”
Rone turned to leave. But I blocked her path.
“What I just described is only the public-facing half of the club's activities. Actually, not even half.”
“Public-facing...? It sounds like there's a hidden side you don't publicize.”
“Of course. Rone, did you know ghost stories aren't mere fiction—they exist in reality? And it's not just ghost stories. This world is full of supernatural phenomena beyond common sense.”
“...Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I'm not joking with you.”
“I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're saying, sir. I need to head back—I've got the next class.”
“Shall we meet again later, then?”
“No need.”
She'd opened up to me for a moment, even leaning on me. But now, after suspicion and disappointment, she was utterly fed up.
It stung—as a teacher and as a person.
But what could I do?
“How about three hours ago, right here?”
“Even if you say that, I have no intention of mee—huh? Three hours ago? What do you...?”
She whipped around in confusion. But instead of words, I answered with action.
I raised my hand toward the room.
Through several observations, I'd roughly grasped the conditions for recognizing this sealed room's regression.
Why did activating regression here—with only one person—always register both Elaine and me? And why couldn't others perceive it?
The answer lay in the room's regression structure. Anyone inside the first time it regressed got registered as a regressor. Once registered, they regressed along with it, whether they triggered it or were even present.
So, with Rone now inside, triggering regression would register her too.
Flash!
A familiar light burst from the center of the room. As it enveloped me and regression began, one crucial realization hit in my fading awareness.
Ah, damn—now I have to teach class again.
Should've regressed before lecturing...
Thud.
Rone dropped to her knees before me, not caring that her skirt hem was getting filthy from the warehouse dust, and pleaded desperately.
“Mr. Allen, please let me join the club! I beg you!”
Elaine and I exchanged glances and smiled faintly at her earnest plea.
Recognition Craving Monster
Rone Yustria resolved the ghost story, purifying the grotesquery and absorbing the resentment.
The ghost story overlapping her body vanished, purified resentment melting into her. It was the resolution of the third ghost story.