The evening had already slipped into a noisy curtain of neon as the Izu streets were filling with the usual chatter of students leaving the clubs, but Stevan was standing in front of Grand Blue's entrance as if preparing to enter a battlefield. The muffled crash of laughter and clinking bottles was leaking through the sliding door, and the distinct shouts of the diving club amplified with every second. He took a steady breath, adjusting the collar of his hoodie, already aware that the night ahead was going to be dangerous. His curse had been reacting all afternoon, flaring each time he crossed paths with Iori or Kouhei. It was like the universe itself wanted him wrapped in trouble.
Inside, the atmosphere was boiling. The floor was scattered with plastic cups, half-open beer crates, and at least one human body in the shape of Tokita Ryuu asleep—or unconscious—under a table. Azusa was arguing with someone about the scandalous lack of tequila while Chisa was trying, unsuccessfully, to salvage a tower of empty cans shaped like a diving cylinder. Iori was on top of a chair, shirtless already, yelling an improvised speech about the spiritual purity of alcoholic devotion.
Stevan pushed the door open just enough to glimpse the chaos. He was hit by the smell of beer, grilled food, and inevitable degeneracy.
"Hey! Mystery foreign guy!" Iori shouted the moment he saw him, immediately losing balance and falling off the chair. "You came back for the initiation! That's the spirit!"
Stevan winced. "I told you earlier, I'm not doing any ritual where I wake up naked in public."
"That's not every ritual," Kouhei said, appearing behind Iori, cape swirling from his latest cosplay attempt. "Only the classic ones."
Before Stevan could answer, Azusa intercepted him with frightening speed. She leaned close, smile dangerously sweet. "Stevan, right? Good timing. We were just discussing what to do with newcomers who refuse to drink."
"I didn't say refuse—"
"You hesitated," she cut, eyes narrowing. "Hesitation is treason in Grand Blue."
Stevan swallowed. His curse pulsed at the base of his neck, faint but insistent. His instincts warned him that denying alcohol right now would provoke a chain reaction, and not the good kind.
All right. Stay sharp. Don't get stripped. Don't get killed. Don't end up on YouTube.
"I'll drink," he declared, raising a hand. "Within reason."
A collective gasp echoed around him like a religious miracle.
"Reason?" Tokita said, waking up from under the table as if resuscitated by the sheer insult. "What is this word? I reject it!"
Imamura Shinji appeared next, holding a bottle twice the size of his forearm. "Then let us remove this 'reason' from your vocabulary."
The curse throbbed harder. Stevan felt something shift inside him, the same feeling that had flared in the dive shop earlier. A force pushing, guiding, nudging him toward disaster—or victory. He still didn't know which.
"Fine," he said, gripping the bottle. "One drink. But just one."
They erupted into a frightening cheer.
He brought the bottle to his lips and—
"Wait!" Chisa rushed forward, snatching it away before he could taste it. "Not that one. That's from the forbidden crate."
Everyone fell silent.
"The forbidden… what?" Stevan asked.
"The crate where we put the alcohol that has either traumatized us," Aina explained, stepping in from behind Chisa, "or nearly hospitalized someone."
Iori raised a hand proudly. "That someone was me."
"No one is surprised," Chisa muttered.
Tokita nodded solemnly. "We keep it for special events."
Kouhei leaned forward. "Like summoning eldritch courage to talk to girls."
Azusa stared at Stevan with a grin. "Or testing a newcomer's mental fortitude."
Stevan's curse reacted immediately to the words, almost like a warning siren. He forced himself to keep calm.
"Let's start with something normal," Stevan insisted.
Azusa smirked, replacing the forbidden bottle with a less deadly one—still large, still concerning.
"There," she said. "A respectable beginning."
He drank. The taste hit him like a wave, intense but manageable. The crowd cheered again, clapping and screaming his name like he had just performed a heroic dive.
It didn't take long before he became the center of attention. They pushed games toward him—never simple games, always the kind that spiraled into chaotic embarrassment if mishandled.
Aina timidly approached with a deck of cards. "W-Would you like to play something less… intense?"
But before he could answer, Iori snatched the deck from her. "Perfect! Strip Poker!"
"No!" Chisa barked. "We're not doing that with a newcomer!"
"Fine, fine!" Iori relented. "We'll do Mix-Up Poker!"
"What's Mix-Up Poker?" Stevan asked.
Kouhei raised a finger. "It's like normal poker, except every time you lose a hand you either drink, get a dare, or—"
"No stripping," Chisa interjected firmly. "We're keeping tonight civilized."
Stevan eyed the room. He doubted there was anything civilized happening within ten meters.
They all sat around a low table. Azusa and Chisa took the ends, Iori and Kouhei flanked the sides, and Aina sat beside Stevan like a supportive guardian trying to prevent his premature destruction.
"Let the game begin!" Iori shouted, freeing cards with unnecessary theatrics.
The first round went surprisingly well. Stevan won.
The second round went less well, but Aina saved him by stealing a glance at Kouhei's expression, subtly signaling he had a terrible hand.
By the third round, though, his luck betrayed him. He lost.
"Dare!" Tokita commanded.
Stevan braced. "Fine. What is it?"
Iori pointed to the diving tank in the corner. "Drink beer through the regulator."
Stevan blinked. "Is that even physiologically safe?"
"No!" Chisa snapped. "Absolutely not!"
"That's why it's perfect," Kouhei whispered.
Chisa crossed her arms. "Pick something else."
Tokita sighed dramatically. "Very well. New dare: chug while handstanding."
"That's even worse," Aina muttered.
Stevan exhaled slowly. His curse hummed, pushing him toward reckless acceptance. He stood, braced himself, and positioned his hands on the floor.
"I'll do it."
They cheered again.
He kicked up into a handstand, body trembling as the world inverted. Kouhei held the bottle to his lips, laughing like a mad scientist. The alcohol burned down his throat in the wrong direction, making his stomach twist, but he held it together long enough for everyone to start chanting his name again.
When he dropped back down, dizziness hit him like a tidal wave. His curse pulsed sharply, and for a brief second he felt something change inside him—a burst of clarity, a sense of heightened awareness. Every instinct sharpened. Every sound, every facial expression, every micro-movement around him became crystal-clear.
Was this… part of the curse? Was alcohol accelerating it?
He didn't get time to reflect. Azusa was already pouring another drink.
"Impressive," she said with a grin. "You handled that better than most newcomers. Maybe you're not as fragile as you look."
"This isn't fragile," Stevan muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "This is surviv—"
Iori tackled him into a headlock.
"Next round!"
The night escalated quickly.
After the poker disaster, they shifted to a drinking relay that Tokita invented on the spot, which consisted mostly of running in circles while shouting diving terminology that made no sense. Aina tried to rescue Stevan multiple times, dragging him away from Azusa's traps and Kouhei's fanservice challenges.
But the real turning point came when someone suggested karaoke.
Karaoke in Grand Blue never meant singing. It meant challenges disguised as singing. It meant humiliation performed at maximum volume.
"Stevan!" Iori shouted, already standing on the table with a mic. "Your turn!"
"I'm not singing," Stevan answered, backing up.
Azusa and Kouhei cornered him instantly.
"Oh yes you are," Kouhei said. "And you're going to sing the sacred anthem."
"What anthem?"
Tokita leaned in with glowing eyes. "The Diving Club's Anthem."
Stevan frowned. "That sounds harmless."
"No it doesn't," Aina whispered urgently. "Run."
But he didn't. The curse pulsed strangely again—like a hand on his back pushing him forward.
He grabbed the mic.
The anthem lyrics appeared on the screen… and he almost dropped the device.
The song was a catastrophically ecchi tribute to beer, nudity, and the spiritual harmony between water pressure and human degeneracy. It was a vulgar mess, full of explicit imagery and incomprehensible metaphors, but the club treated it with reverence.
"You want me to sing that?" he asked.
"Not want," Iori corrected. "Expect."
Stevan inhaled.
Then he started singing.
At first it was shaky, but something happened midway through. His curse intensified, sharpening his focus, amplifying every vibration in his body. His voice steadied. His pitch improved. He found rhythm where there should not have been any. By the final chorus, he was belting it out with a theatrical bravado that sent the entire club into a frenzy.
When he finished, a silence followed.
Then the cheers erupted. Someone threw confetti—Stevan had no idea from where. Chisa was speechless. Azusa looked impressed. Aina was blushing like he had just confessed his love through song. Tokita lifted him onto his shoulders like a champion.
The momentum spiraled. They shouted for him to perform again, but he refused, retreating behind the couch to breathe.
His heart was racing. His body was burning with a mix of alcohol and curse-driven adrenaline. The curse wasn't harming him. It was… boosting him. Supercharging him. Enhancing performance in any chaotic scenario.
He sat down, catching his breath.
Aina approached carefully. "Are you okay, Stevan? You're… glowing."
"I think that's just the alcohol."
"No," she said seriously. "You look like something is pushing you. Like… like a switch inside you flipped."
He stiffened. "It's complicated."
"You don't have to explain," she added quickly. "But be careful. This club is… intense. They'll pull you into things you can't always control."
He appreciated her concern. He also knew she was right.
The door slid open suddenly, and a wave of cold air swept through the room. Everyone turned.
Two local policemen stood there, blinking at the scene.
Tokita, completely naked, froze mid-pose. Iori dropped a bottle. Kouhei screamed like a violated anime heroine.
Stevan closed his eyes.
Of course this would happen the night he arrived.
"Good evening," one officer said calmly. "We received a noise complaint. And a… public indecency report."
Azusa pointed immediately at Tokita. "He did it."
"Traitor!" Tokita shouted.
The room dissolved into panic—half of them scrambling for clothes, others pretending to be unconscious, and Chisa bowing so fast she nearly smashed her forehead into the floor.
Stevan stood there, stunned, until Aina tugged his sleeve. "Hide!"
He followed her behind the counter, heart pounding again, curse flaring aggressively—as if preparing him for another unexpected challenge.
"You're really unlucky," Aina whispered.
"You have no idea."
The policemen inspected the room, sighed heavily, gave a stern warning, and eventually left with the exhaustion of men who had seen too much.
When the door closed again, the entire club exhaled as one.
Then, naturally, someone shouted:
"Party resumes!"
Stevan couldn't decide if this place was his salvation or his doom. But he knew one thing for certain: he had stepped into the heart of chaos, and his curse—whatever it was—seemed determined to thrive here.
And tonight was only the beginning.