The Student Council room was my sanctuary.
Everything within its four walls adhered to the principles of logic and order. Files were arranged alphabetically and by year. The whiteboard was wiped clean, save for a neatly written agenda in my own hand. The pencils in the pen holder all faced the same direction. This room was a microcosm of the world as it should be: efficient, purposeful, and free of chaotic variables.
The most chaotic variable at Seiryo High had a name: Renji Tanaka.
I tapped my pen against my clipboard, the rhythmic click-click-click a poor substitute for the calm I was trying to project. My encounter with him yesterday by the ficus plant had left a residue of irritation that even a full night of reviewing budget proposals couldn't erase. It wasn't just his laziness I found offensive; it was the sheer waste. He possessed a sharp mind—his retorts were proof enough of that—but he buried it under a mountain of performative apathy. He was a flaw in the system, a bug in the code, and his very existence seemed designed to test the limits of my patience.
"Ahem."
I looked up. Yuna Fujiwara, my ever-perceptive Vice-President, was smiling gently at me from across the table. "You're going to drill a hole in that clipboard, Akari," she said softly. "Thinking about Tanaka-kun again?"
My cheeks flushed with a heat I refused to acknowledge. "I was contemplating a potential loophole in the school's demerit system. Nothing more."
Yuna's smile didn't waver. "Of course."
Before she could press further, the door opened and Morita-sensei, our faculty advisor, entered, clapping his hands together. "Alright everyone, let's get started! We have a big one today!"
The meeting proceeded with its usual clockwork precision until we reached the final agenda item, the one Morita-sensei was clearly most excited about: "Agenda Item 5: Annual Cultural Festival Planning."
I cleared my throat and stood up, assuming my presidential poise. "As you know, the Seiryo High Cultural Festival is a cornerstone of our school's tradition. It is an opportunity to showcase our academic and artistic excellence. This year, I propose a theme of 'Classical Elegance.' The Literature Club, for which I will be overseeing preparations, is planning a traditional poetry reading café, featuring live koto music and readings from the Man'yōshū." I felt a swell of pride. It would be refined, sophisticated, and educational.
A few council members nodded appreciatively. Morita-sensei, however, was stroking his chin.
"Hmm, that's a fine idea, Hoshino-san. Very on-brand for Seiryo," he began, and I knew a 'but' was coming. "But... we need to ensure we're engaging the entire student body. We need something with a bit more... modern pop."
As if on cue, a hand shot into the air. It belonged to Daiki Sato, who was today's representative for Class 2-B. He was practically vibrating in his seat.
"Sensei! I have an idea!" he boomed, standing up so fast his chair screeched. "Our class wants to do a 'Web Fiction & Light Novel Cafe'! We'll dress up as famous characters, serve themed drinks like 'Red Potion' and 'Blue Potion,' and maybe even have dramatic readings of popular scenes! It'll be a huge hit!"
I had to physically restrain myself from sighing. A light novel cafe. How utterly frivolous. It was the literary equivalent of junk food—cheap, mass-produced, and lacking any real substance. It was everything our school's image was not. It was... well, it was something Renji Tanaka would probably enjoy.
"Sato-kun," I began, my voice a few degrees cooler than I intended, "while your enthusiasm is noted, the Cultural Festival is meant to be a showcase of talent and culture, not merely a celebration of fleeting trends."
"But light novels are culture!" Daiki protested. "And they're super popular! We'd make a ton of money for the school!"
"The primary goal is not profit, but enrichment," I countered.
The idea would have died right there, a merciful end, had Morita-sensei not intervened. "Now, hold on, Hoshino-san. Sato-kun has a point. We need to diversify. The proposal has merit." He turned to Daiki. "There's just one problem. An event like this needs a strong leader, a producer who really understands the material. Do you have someone in mind?"
Daiki's face went blank for a second before lighting up with the force of a thousand suns. His gaze scanned the room and landed on a figure slumped in a chair near the back, a figure I hadn't even registered was present.
Renji Tanaka had, of course, been sleeping.
"HIM!" Daiki shouted, pointing dramatically. "My best friend, Renji Tanaka! He knows everything there is to know about this stuff! He's a total otaku genius! He'd be the perfect producer!"
Renji's head lolled up, a thin line of drool connecting his cheek to the back of his hand. "Huh? Was my name mentioned in a legally binding contract? If not, I respectfully decline whatever it is."
"Excellent!" Morita-sensei boomed, completely ignoring Renji's protest. "Tanaka-kun, you are now officially the producer for the Class 2-B Web Fiction Cafe! Hoshino-san, you will oversee the Literature Club's Poetry Cafe. Let the spirit of friendly competition commence!"
My blood ran cold. I stared across the room at Renji. His eyes, now wide with a dawning horror, met mine. It was no longer a simple clash of personalities.
This was war.
That evening, the ordered sanctuary of my bedroom felt insufficient to calm my frayed nerves. I had spent the afternoon fielding ludicrous questions from Daiki Sato about cosplay budgets while simultaneously trying to coordinate with the koto master. The stress was immense.
I needed an escape. I needed to talk to the one person who would understand.
I logged into NexusWrite. The steady green light next to Kite's name was a balm to my soul. I opened our chat.
[Aria]: Kite, you will not believe the day I've had. The universe is actively conspiring against me.
[Kite]: That bad? I'm listening. My day was a special kind of hell, too. You first.
I poured it all out—the announcement of the Cultural Festival, my elegant plan for a poetry cafe, and the subsequent hijacking of the event by a tacky, low-brow web novel cafe, led by none other than my lazy, infuriating nemesis.
[Aria]: He's going to make a mockery of the entire festival! He'll probably just sleep through the whole thing and have his poor classmates do all the work. It's an insult to everyone who actually tries!
[Kite]: Wow. That's rough. I sympathize. In a strange coincidence, I also got roped into running a festival event against my will. And guess who my main competitor is? My arch-nemesis. The Ice Queen Student Council President.
I blinked at the screen. What a strange parallel.
[Aria]: No! You have to deal with her for the festival, too? What's her event? I bet it's something incredibly boring and stuffy.
[Kite]: You guessed it. A 'poetry cafe.' I can feel my will to live draining just thinking about it. Now I have to actually put in effort to make sure my event doesn't get crushed by her tyrannical pursuit of 'excellence.' It's going to be exhausting.
A shared misery settled over our chat. We were both silent for a moment. We were supposed to be working on a tender reunion scene for Stardust Sonata, but our real-world frustrations had killed the mood. Our characters, Leo and Seraphina, were supposed to be confessing their feelings, but I couldn't channel the right emotion.
[Aria]: I'm sorry, Kite. I'm too annoyed to write romance right now. I'm stuck.
[Kite]: Same here. All I can think about is how much I want to wipe that smug, holier-than-thou look off the president's face. The tension, the arguments...
He paused. I could almost feel the gears turning in his head through the screen.
[Kite]: ...Wait a minute.
[Aria]: What is it?
[Kite]: Aria. What if we use this? What if we channel this frustration? Forget the tender reunion scene for a bit. Let's throw a wrench in the works. What if we introduce a rivalry between Leo and Seraphina? Make them compete in something. A school event, maybe. The perfect, high-achieving girl versus the laid-back, misunderstood guy. Imagine the dialogue! The conflict! The tension!
I stared at his words, my own irritation beginning to morph into something else. Excitement. He was right. The 'rivals-to-lovers' trope was a classic for a reason. The emotional payoff when the animosity finally crumbled into affection was immense. And we had a deep, personal well of inspiration to draw from.
[Aria]: Kite... that's brilliant. That is absolutely, unequivocally brilliant. Let's do it. Let's make them fight.
[Kite]: Yes! We'll use our anger for art! This is going to be great.
A genuine smile touched my lips for the first time all day. My nemesis had inadvertently handed me the perfect fuel for my passion project. I felt a renewed sense of purpose. Together, Kite and I would channel our mutual aggravation into a masterpiece of romantic friction.
As I began typing, outlining the first scene of the new rivalry arc, I felt a deep gratitude for my anonymous partner. He was the only one in the world who truly understood. It was a shame he had to deal with a tyrant, just as I had to deal with a delinquent.
Little did I know, our demons were one and the same. And the war was just getting started.