Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Suspicious Traces (2)
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The Creative Writing Club, where that Hood guy belonged.
Since Hood hated me, it was naturally one of the clubs I had to watch out for, but there were plenty of other things that bothered me far too much.
I sat up, pulled out the "book with the letters" I'd hidden behind the drawer, and began sorting through recent events.
1. After the mass hysteria
- According to Judith, after the mass hysteria broke out, big and small unauthorized clubs sprang up like mushrooms.
- Afterward, they started tending to act in groups.
2. Hood's attacks
- I thought it was just trash-talking at first, but it was repetitive and vicious.
3. The Creative Writing Club's prickly attitude
- The club Hood belonged to. Even if it was just triggered by Hood's gossip, their reaction was hypersensitive in a weird way.
But that wasn't the most important part.
I drew a diagonal line from top to bottom to erase the notes, then wrote down new items like this.
[Creative Writing Club]
1. Sweet and heavy fragrance
- Different from regular cigarette smoke
2. Volatile liquid
- Different from the booze-soaked smell in the Debate Club. Possibly a synthetic liquid
3. Maps and drawings
- Upside-down pentagram diagram and suspicious sketches
4. Dried herbs, small-cut paper
"So, what this all means is..."
-Tap, tap.
I pressed the tip of my fountain pen meaningless against the paper, lost in thought.
The clues I'd uncovered in that short time all pointed to one conclusion.
I just hesitated to put the period at the end of it.
Realizing something about the Creative Writing Club and being able to handle what that implied were two completely different things.
'Like going to hunt a tiger and dragging out a dragon instead.'
I'd only planned to sneak into their base—the guys badmouthing me—stir up some chaos, and slip out.
I wiped the pen clean, put it away, and closed the book.
Without writing down the conclusion I'd reached in my mind.
Then I flopped back onto the bed.
'Drug-induced ecstasy, resulting hallucinations, and devil worship.'
The shadow hanging over the Creative Writing Club wasn't something simple or tangible.
It was something far more intricate and abstract—impossible to uproot.
The Creative Writing Club was in crisis right now, but they had no intention of escaping it.
***
The next day.
I decided to head to Dillon's room, since he was the dorm monitor.
The Applied Swordsmanship class in the morning slot had long been replaced by major courses, so attendance checks were lax.
There wasn't a single professor in this academy with the free time to personally show up at my private shooting range just to mark me present.
-Knock knock knock.
I knocked on the door at the very end of the dorm hall, known as Dillon's room.
The door looked especially worn and shabby compared to the others, and on closer inspection, it seemed like this one had weathered every storm—the frame and door were both crumbling.
Just as I realized the reason Dillon's door alone was falling apart was the cross-breeze from the broken glass in the corridor, Dillon opened it a step late.
"Huh?"
"Good morning. Sorry to drop by unannounced."
"No, no. Just... give me five minutes—no, three!"
"Take your time."
I'd shown up without warning, after all.
I smiled to keep Dillon from rushing and leaned against the doorframe.
But the sounds from inside weren't of someone scrambling to tidy up.
They were the smacks of someone slapping an unknown person's back.
"Get up, you lazybones!"
"Five minutes... no, three more..."
"I figured you'd say that, so I got you three minutes. At least put on proper clothes and wash your face."
'That's Eliya Allison.'
I recalled Eliya's pale face from our previous encounter as I listened to the familiar grumbling from the room.
Academy dorm students lived under pretty strict rules, so it was a mystery how they were using Dillon's room as a hideout like this.
"Ughhh..."
But what really floored me was this part.
A girl's voice had clearly come from in there.
"Isaiah!!"
"Two minutes..."
"Twins, double the trouble."
I quickly turned away from the doorframe toward the corridor and half-closed the already-ajar door.
I'd never imagined a girl would be in that room.
'No, the name sounds like a boy's. Did I hear right?'
Mixed dorming, of all places?
And with the dorm monitor?
While I stood there stunned, the door opened.
"Arma, come on in now."
"C-can I come in?"
Whatever state Eliya Allison was in wasn't my business, but if her twin Isaiah was there too, that changed things.
Heroes like Shirley or Judith wouldn't care about light attire, but surely not everyone was like that.
My worries turned out to be unfounded, though.
Peeking out alongside Dillon was none other than Isaiah, fully dressed in uniform.
"Hello?"
A white ribbon tied at the crown of her head fluttered along her dark green-tinted black hair, neatly arranged at shoulder length.
She had the exact same face as Eliya, yet how could her vibe be so different?
Isaiah's porcelain-doll cheeks—with a touch of color like those collected by noble ladies—and her rounded eyes exuded a pure, innocent charm, worlds apart from Eliya's cynical air.
I couldn't believe she planned to become a soldier after graduation; I let out a small sigh of admiration.
'Shirley looked just like that at thirteen.'
Now she was a spirited filly out hunting the teeth of other cadets, but when Shirley first entered the academy, she was exactly that kind of innocent girl.
Of course, it turned out to be a fake act imitating her peers' noble lady airs, and it took less than six months to see her true colors.
Shirley had dropped the mask the moment she decided she didn't need to put it on around me.
"Come on in."
With that, Isaiah slipped back into Dillon's room.
Dillon scratched the back of his head with an awkward expression—the first I'd seen since we met—then ushered me inside.
"Good morning."
I greeted while mindful of Eliya inside.
Eliya, sitting on Dillon's bed pulling on socks, turned halfway and nodded curtly.
It was a brusque attitude, but it was starting to feel oddly endearing.
"Surprised, huh? Ha, but... it's not what you think."
"What do you think I think?"
"How am I supposed to say that out loud!"
"That's ridiculous..."
An insolent remark slipped out before I knew it, but Dillon seemed relieved by my response.
"It's absolutely not that. I was just helping Eliya with her double-major assignment."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever."
"Please don't brush it off!"
"I'm not brushing it off."
Dillon looked half-ready to cry as he kept rambling excuses that weren't quite excuses.
"If it's to reassure you, I think I can guess the situation."
I glanced at Eliya, who was stretching with a late "Yaaawn~," then walked toward Dillon's walnut desk—painted red with dye—facing the entrance.
A mountain of assignments sat there, ink still fresh.
I pulled out the first and last pages, examining them alternately.
"If one person wrote this much, the ink on the first page should be bone-dry by now, but it's not. Means it was all done in a short time."
To churn out this many pages that quickly would've required three people working nonstop.
The handwriting was cleverly matched to look like one person's, but their habits varied enough that I could roughly tell who'd written which parts.
"And whoever wrote this observation log is left-handed."
At my words, Isaiah—who'd been blankly alternating stares between Dillon and me—held out her palm toward me.
"That's me."
Sure enough, the edges of Isaiah's palm and her shirt cuff bore streaks of dried ink from diagonal drags.
"But how did you know?"
Isaiah tilted her head.
She looked like a little black-feathered bird.
I tilted the observation log page diagonally.
"Left-handers usually tilt the paper when they write, leaving specific tells. This page will give it away."
"Kek."
I picked out a few pages thick with Isaiah's habits and handed them over; Eliya pouted and grumbled.
I chuckled, eyeing the hollow shadows under their eyes from pulling an all-nighter on Eliya's homework.
No wonder they'd all collapsed to sleep.
I probably shouldn't take up too much of their time.
"Uh, sorry again for barging in like this. I'm in a bit of a bind myself."
"Ah, yeah. What's up, Arma?"
The Eliya twins sat side by side on the bed, while Dillon and I pulled up chairs facing them.
Coming empty-handed this early suddenly felt rude, but I hadn't expected three people in here, so that counted for something.
I debated how much to share, then decided on the bare minimum.
"I was going to join the Creative Writing Club like we planned, but their state is worse than I thought."
"Ugh, those idiots. Total blockheads. It's obvious what happened."
Dillon leaned deep into his chair, arms behind his head.
The faint furrow in his brow proved the rumors of him clashing with the Creative Writing Club—posters and all—were true.
"They were just there to troll, and we planned to build some camaraderie in our club to manipulate their reputation a bit."
"Yeah, that was the idea from the start."
That was the conversation I'd had when I visited the Classical Culture Club.
I'd planned to exploit the big feud between Dillon's Classical Culture Club and the Creative Writing Club.
Pretend to join the Creative Writing Club and lure a few over to the Classical Culture Club, or use my unique position in both to give them heartburn...
"But I don't think we can stick to the plan."
I hesitated before saying it.
Dillon caught on that things were more serious than expected and sat up straight.
"Did something happen?"
"Nothing's happened yet, and there's no direct evidence—it's almost delusional at this point."
Even the usually apathetic Eliya sensed the off vibe and stared intently.
I looked at Eliya, Isaiah, and Dillon in turn, then spoke.
"I'm convinced the entire Creative Writing Club is addicted to drugs."
"...Drugs?"
I nodded at Eliya's question and laid out what I'd realized belatedly.
"On the first visit, I just freaked out thinking it was a den of delinquents boozing and smoking, but after checking the Debate Club yesterday, it hit me."
"What hit you?"
"The smells were different. Nothing like the booze-stink from the Debate Club full of drunks."
I recalled the heavy, cloyingly sweet scent permeating the Creative Writing Club.
They hadn't lit it to mask cigarette smoke; that was the scent of what they were smoking from the start. And piecing it together, I could even guess what it was.
"It's not the violent kind that incites rampages like Angel's Prank, but I know there's a hallucinogenic leaf tobacco out there like that. No idea on the supply route, though."
"......Damn."
Dillon grimaced upon learning that the snarky troublemakers he'd pegged the Creative Writing Club as were actually full-blown drug addicts wallowing in filth.