Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Latecomer Club Newbie (1)
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Truth be told, I hadn’t planned on joining a club from the start.
It was just that the four major factions I’d spotted in the cafeteria seemed to have originated from clubs, and I could sense some shady movements centered around them.
The one who solidified that suspicion for me was none other than that hood guy.
‘He was way too interested in my every move. But what was weird was this hysterical edge to it.’
Like he was convinced I was guilty of something.
My guess was that there was some misunderstanding about me circulating among them—something that sparked their anger.
“Ugh, cold.”
Early morning.
After getting ready for my major class, the first place I headed was the Classical Culture Club, where they’d put in quite a bit of effort recruiting me.
Even from afar, the gloomy north annex still had that eerie black tint.
I walked down the creaky corridor—squeaking with every step—and knocked on the Classical Culture Club’s door.
“Come in.”
Dylan’s voice came from inside.
I already knew he’d been holed up here since morning.
Over the past few days, he’d been pitching membership to me but always left the north annex empty-handed.
“Hello.”
Despite the early hour, it wasn’t just Dylan in the clubroom—Eliya was there too.
Even as she greeted me, Eliya stayed slouched over her open book, not bothering to look up.
The book she was reading today was an introductory text for mystics called *Hints of a Lost Civilization*.
‘Her taste in books...’
One wrong step, and she’d dive into stuff like steam therapy or breathing exercises.
Hoping her reading habits were just omnivorous intellectual curiosity, I sat across from Dylan.
“I hope showing up this early isn’t rude.”
“Rude? Ha, don’t make me laugh. I’d open the window for you in the dead of night.”
“...”
Why are you so desperate to recruit new members?
I gave an awkward smile and accepted Dylan’s warm welcome.
“But what made you change your mind all of a sudden?”
“Feel free to speak casually, Cadet Dylan.”
“You sure?”
Fast or slow, I had a feeling this was the kind of relationship Dylan and I would end up with.
Maybe it was some mysterious charm he had that made anyone drop their guard.
“Then, Arma, you—”
“The reason I changed my mind is I want to borrow a bit of Cadet Dylan’s reputation.”
“Mm, got it. I respect your resolve. As expected, you’re straightforward.”
I cut him off bluntly—maybe even rudely—but instead of getting mad, Dylan just laughed it off.
I’d figured he was the type, so I’d acted a bit at ease, and it matched my expectations perfectly. Good.
‘Still, the distance feels off somehow...’
Not exactly approachable, but somehow disarmingly frank.
Someone who made you act carelessly without thinking was someone to watch out for.
You’d slip up or show a weakness before you knew it.
I preferred not to collect people like that.
“Hm. My reputation, huh. Whatever. Honestly, I’m excited—thrilled, even—to see how you plan to use it.”
“Hearing you say that makes me feel a little weird.”
Dylan flashed his teeth in a big laugh at my words.
It was the kind of situation and phrasing that could’ve offended him, but he just beamed happily.
It’d take something major to hurt Dylan’s feelings.
With his permission secured, I decided to ask a bit more about the club I’d nominally be joining.
“So, what exactly does the Classical Culture Club do?”
“As the name says: immerse ourselves in classical culture.”
Dylan’s answer didn’t really respond to my question.
It sounded plausible, but it was hard to guess what they actually did.
Catching my skepticism, Eliya—who’d been quietly reading—chimed in.
“Basically, it’s a slacker club. I don’t get why they’re recruiting so hard.”
“Slacker club.”
Dylan shot a glare at Eliya for butting in so annoyingly.
Eliya ignored him completely and kept going.
“For a socially active cadet like Arma Cruise, wouldn’t a proper club like the Social Dance Club be better?”
“That’s... actually, I’ve already applied. To all four official clubs of the Tree Cross Class, to be exact.”
“Huh?”
For once, Dylan’s ever-smiling face flickered with genuine surprise.
“Social Dance, Creative Writing, Current Affairs Debate, and Equestrian—all four?”
“Yes.”
I explained my plan to Dylan, who’d straightened up in his seat.
“Those guys keep following me around, badmouthing me. It pisses me off. Seems like the club activities naturally turn into sessions trashing me, so I figured I’d tag along and stir things up.”
Dylan listened with a furrowed brow for a while, then burst out laughing and cheered on my scheme.
*-Clang, clang, clang.*
“Oh, the preparatory bell.”
“Oops, we got carried away. Time flies.”
Dylan jumped up, opened the window, and pointed out a shortcut to the Tree Cross Class main building.
Unlike Eliya, who was hastily packing up, Dylan didn’t seem headed to class.
Eliya and I hurried—practically running—to our respective classes per our schedules.
***
“Classical Culture’s done. Now for the rest...”
Social Dance and Creative Writing left.
I quickened my pace, reviewing the schedule I’d planned in my head.
To visit all four clubs in two days, I needed to hit two clubrooms today at least.
‘I didn’t want to seem too obvious about my targets, so Social Dance first—but was that the right call?’
Truthfully, Creative Writing worried me most.
The hood guy had been so aggressive, and it was the first club that caught my eye.
Either way, I’d decided to check all four official clubs, so the order didn’t matter much.
The silver lining: the official clubs were clustered in similar locations.
“There it is—Social Dance Club.”
Through the large windows, I could see silhouettes of men and women twirling.
Social Dance Club, aka the Morals Debacle Club.
When scandalous rumors started swirling in the academy, they usually centered on the Social Dance Club.
The reason such extravagance was tolerated wasn’t favoritism from Makina Christi—it was that official clubs fell under the chancellor’s jurisdiction.
‘In other words, once you become official, you basically fossilize overnight.’
As mentioned, Makina’s iron fist of justice had nearly crushed the debauched Social Dance Club multiple times.
But with its deep history and huge membership, it enjoyed strong protection from the chancellor.
That’s why existing official clubs got excessive leeway, while new ones faced intense scrutiny from Makina.
Anyway, arriving at the entrance to the infamous Morals Debacle dance hall, I cleared my throat and greeted brightly.
“Hello?”
I used an archaic tone partly for show, but also because the club was full of high nobility.
“Come in.”
An archway separated the entrance from the stage—no separate door—so the music playing inside leaked out vividly.
“Pardon the intrusion.”
I headed toward the voice.
Unlike the near-ruinous Classical Culture clubroom, the Grand Dance Hall boasted ornate peach interior tiles and plastered ceiling frescoes in a lavish standalone space.
The checkered floor tiles gleamed, and the small raised stage for the band was framed in gold.
‘Way too luxurious for cadets.’
I glanced around the dance hall and smiled at the young cadets eyeing this latecomer newbie curiously.
A bit rough around the edges might make a good first impression.
Unlike the others, I wasn’t high-ranking.
“We were divided on your sudden application, but...”
A petite beauty—seemingly in charge of newbie orientation—stood ramrod straight to greet me.
Her name was Clione Drew, eldest daughter of Duke Derand, majoring in cello. Her bright yellow curly hair, feather-soft, was braided with a ribbon cascading down.
“Thank you so much for accepting me, Cadet Drew. As a clueless latecomer, I humbly ask for your guidance.”
In real high society, I couldn’t chat with an un-introduced Clione, but academy life skipped a lot of formalities.
Clione smiled faintly and extended her right hand.
The cadets in the hall murmured softly.
The looks aimed at me were definitely wary.
Raw hostility, laced with faint anger.
‘Huh? Did I misjudge?’
I’d thought the issue was with Creative Writing, but maybe the smear campaign started here?
Otherwise, this reaction was odd.
Trying not to show my fluster, I approached Clione’s outstretched hand.
“Of course.”
Only then did Clione subtly pivot to align our angles.
‘Ah, entrance test.’
I bowed lightly to Clione and clasped her small hand.
One hand around her shoulder blades, the other extended straight—dance position set.
A few onlookers scrambled onto the stage and grabbed instruments.
A sight unique to Aegis Academy, packed with top instrumentalists.
“You seem right at home in a place like this, Cadet Cruise.”
“Just mimicking, really.”
For the record, it wasn’t just mimicking.
My mother, Tessa Cruise, had drilled me mercilessly that year I decided on the academy—warding off every misfortune predictable in a stratified society, as her health allowed.
“Please treat me well.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Dresses with exposed arms and long gloves were standard for dancing, but with an impromptu band, no one fussed that much.
I was certain this test judged not skill, but ‘manners befitting nobility.’
“I hear you graduate next year. Any real reason for the sudden club join?”
“To make unforgettable memories from school life?”
“That’s a lie.”
I neither confirmed nor denied Clione’s words.
Instead, I led her to the floor’s center and moved smoothly to the music.
Clione danced far better than me, so our rhythm synced nicely.
Then—
*-Screech.*
An unnatural scrape from Clione’s shoe heel.
She flashed a mischievous smile and flung her upper body back sharply.
“!!”
If I hadn’t gripped firm, she’d have slipped away.
Her hair cascaded over her shoulder toward the floor.
I spun to the waltz’s rhythm and supported her solidly.
*-Thud.*
“Quite the prankster, miss.”
To keep her from falling, I slid my arm deeper around her back and leaned in a bit myself.
I smiled too, for a smooth finish.
Clione, arched back in my hold, tilted her head and laughed loudly.
“Looking forward to it, Cadet Cruise.”
No way someone dancing here daily botched something so basic.
Clione had faked the slip to test my reaction.
Replying in kind, I dipped her a touch lower before lifting—and ignored the male cadets glaring daggers from all sides.
‘So that’s it—the reason for the glares.’
A random newbie danced with the club’s top idol, Clione Drew. Hence the death stares.
But their anger over me holding her hand didn’t seem the type to escalate to throwing stones or framing me for murder.
“Senior Arma~”
As Clione curtsied gracefully and stepped back—
Someone slipped between my arms before I could even straighten.
“Neon.”
Neon Dazani, Tree Cross Class’s most famous violinist.
As Neon closed in and we started dancing, the cadets who’d set down instruments picked up the waltz again.
“What’s your real game?”
“I told Cadet Drew it’s for unforgettable memories.”
“Lame excuse. So many secrets.”
Neon teased just enough not to annoy, spun flamboyantly, and vanished.
Having danced with two of the Social Dance Club’s stars at once, I left the hall with an unintentionally flashy first impression.
“This place is better off than I thought.”
Despite the chilly weather, the dancing left me heated.
Fanning my flushed face, I crossed “Social Dance Club” off my notepad.
“They really were divided on it.”
Despite the morals debacle rep, the upper-crust kids didn’t outright shun me.
In the microcosm of high society that was Aegis Academy, that helped a ton.
In a hyper-aware world, the winning strategy was playing oblivious.
Anyway, their unavoidable glares started post-Clione dance.
So, my rep in Social Dance Club: ‘not as bad as expected.’
“Next up...”
Mondays with major classes ended early.
Plenty of time left after the test, so I strolled from Grand Dance Hall to the nearest—Creative Writing Club.
The club where that hood guy Shirley thrashed belongs.