There are normal days.
And then there are Koharu days.
Guess which one today was?
"This is a terrible idea," I muttered.
"Correction: this is the best idea," Koharu grinned, yanking my arm down the hallway like a determined toddler dragging a very tired balloon.
We skidded to a stop in front of a door scrawled with red marker and duct tape:
"Occult Research Club – No Normies Allowed"
"You're not serious."
"I've never been more serious," she whispered dramatically. "This is step one."
"Step one of what?"
"Finding our story."
I blinked. "That sounds suspiciously like something a cultist would say."
She opened the door anyway.
Inside was… darkness.
Literal pitch-black darkness, broken only by the flicker of candles and the low chant of five students in hooded robes sitting around a pentagram made of bottle caps and chalk dust.
"Uhh," I began.
"Welcome," said the one in the center, pushing his glasses up eerily. "You've come to summon the Fifth Demon of Regret?"
"I came to join your club," Koharu said brightly.
"I came to leave," I said flatly.
"You brought a familiar?" the robed girl beside him asked, peering at me.
"I'm not a familiar."
"You smell like one."
Koharu grinned at me. "That's romantic. Kind of."
"It's really not."
Then the lights exploded.
A shriek.
A burst of powder.
A robed boy ran screaming with a frog glued to his face.
"We shouldn't be here," I coughed.
"We've always been here," whispered Koharu, eyes wild with glee.
We were chased out two minutes later by a girl with a bleeding nose and a very convincing vampire cape.
Koharu high-fived me in the hallway.
"One club down."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
"…We're trying another one, aren't we?"
"You catch on quick, Senpai."
---
Next stop: Art Club.
I should've known better the moment Koharu said "Let's embrace our inner expression."
The clubroom smelled like paint, turpentine, and chaos.
Canvas-covered walls. Smocks splattered like battlefields. One guy was crying into a cup of ink.
"Oh, this place is vibey," Koharu whispered.
"I don't trust your definition of vibes."
Before I could escape, the club president—an elegant third-year with long silver hair and eyes like frozen lakes—swept in front of us.
"You've come," she said in a tone that made me feel like I'd signed something dangerous.
"Uhh, we were just look—"
"Strip."
"…What?"
"We're in the middle of a live figure session," she said, waving a brush like a sword. "We need new forms. New muses. You two—remove your uniforms and embrace art."
Koharu was already halfway out of her jacket.
I choked. "YOU CAN'T JUST—!"
"Relax, Senpai," she grinned, pulling off her tie. "It's educational."
"I will die here."
"Then die beautifully," the president said, eyes glowing.
In a panic, I grabbed Koharu's arm and bolted.
Paint flew.
Someone tripped into a canvas.
A tray of watercolors exploded like confetti.
By the time we escaped, my shirt had three handprints, and Koharu had artfully stolen someone's beret.
"We're wanted criminals now," I said.
"But inspired ones," she beamed, twirling the beret.
---
I thought we were done.
But of course, we weren't.
Next: Theater Club.
"No," I said.
"Yes," she insisted.
We were halfway through a rehearsal when Koharu improvised a monologue about forbidden love between a vampire and a convenience store clerk.
It got a standing ovation.
Then they offered us lead roles in the next play.
Then she tried pulling me into a kiss scene.
That's when I ran.
Out of the auditorium. Down the hall. Across the field.
Koharu chased after me, laughing like she was in an anime OP.
---
We collapsed behind the gym, out of breath and covered in paint, sweat, and what I hoped was glitter.
I stared at the clouds. Koharu flopped beside me.
"I'm never trusting you again."
"Sure you will."
"I won't."
"You will," she sang. "Because you're curious."
I didn't reply.
Because, annoyingly, she might've been right.
"…Why are we doing this?" I finally asked.
She turned her head. Her bangs stuck to her cheek.
"I told you," she said quietly. "I'm looking for our story."
"You say that like it means something."
"It does." She turned to me. Her eyes were serious now. "Ever feel like everyone else gets a plot? A goal? A spark? And you're just… standing around, waiting to load?"
I hesitated.
"Yeah," I admitted. "All the time."
She smiled a little.
"I transferred a lot, you know," she said. "Different schools. Different uniforms. Same story. No one remembers me. Not really. I got tired of being the extra."
I looked at her. She looked away.
"So I decided," she said, brushing her skirt, "if no one's gonna write my story, I'll find it myself."
"And dragging me into weird clubs helps… how?"
"Because stories need co-leads," she said, grinning. "And you, Senpai, are the most tragically boring protagonist I've ever met."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome."
She nudged my shoulder.
I nudged her back.
The sun dipped lower. Light filtered through the gym windows, catching in her hair like a halo.
For a second, I forgot how weird she was.
For a second, she was just a girl. Brave. Strange. Brilliant.
And suddenly… dangerously close.
She leaned over.
"Hey, Senpai."
"…What?"
"Wanna kiss and traumatize the janitor?"
"…I hate you."
"Liar."
We didn't kiss.
But we did scare the janitor.
So... win?
---
That night, I looked at my uniform—paint-stained, glitter-dusted, and possibly cursed—and realized something horrifying.
Koharu Minami wasn't just changing my daily routine.
She was changing me.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
I didn't mind it.
Too much.
---
[To Be Continued]
---