The phantom images from the past lingered before his eyes.
A teacher whose face remained indistinct.
A student whose expression was clouded in gloom.
A conversation between them, carrying hopes for the future—a promise that likely went unfulfilled.
The lingering sense of regret seemed to hang in the air before slowly dispersing like mist.
Amidst a quiet sigh, a shadowy figure walked through the empty room and disappeared beyond the doorway.
Only after it had vanished did Takakai fully return to his senses, finally seeing the room clearly—a space now covered in a thin layer of dust.
Why would the Life Club's hideout contain these remnants of the past?
Who exactly was that teacher?
Why had no previous investigation uncovered their existence?
And…
Could it be that the role I've been assigned in this dungeon is that very teacher?
The realization made his expression shift uncomfortably.
First, I played a teacher in Fujika Academy, and now here too?
Am I doomed to play an educator in every damn dungeon?
Miko, seemingly having glimpsed something similar, murmured softly as she circled the large table in the center of the room.
"So this is the classroom the Life Club used…?"
Her face bore an unconscious sadness, as if she too had witnessed the faint traces of those who once occupied this space—people who had come and gone, leaving behind fragments of their presence before disappearing entirely.
Though she could no longer see them, she could feel it—this place had once been a sanctuary for those who had been hurt.
Meanwhile, Bocchi, the only one who hadn't experienced any visions, nervously watched Takakai and Miko for a moment, ensuring they weren't about to turn into enemies before cautiously beginning her own exploration of the room.
As far as clubrooms went, this one was small—likely converted from an old dormitory room. But despite its size, it had everything a proper clubroom should have, like a tiny but fully functional world of its own.
After some searching, Bocchi uncovered the Life Club's activity records, only to find that the club's sole activity was literally just "doing nothing."
Huh? There's really a club like this?
Bewildered, she dug deeper, soon finding a recruitment poster tucked inside a desk drawer.
And this crude, barely passable flyer hit her with a revelation that felt almost world-shaking.
[Life Club Recruitment Notice]
[The so-called "Life Club" is a gathering of students who simply want to live their own lives. We don't have any particular passions strong enough to join specialized clubs, but we also refuse to be looked down on as the so-called "go-home club" by other students who think they're better just because they're in a club. So, the Life Club exists purely as a place for those who don't want to join any other club to waste time.]
[If you think being forced to join random clubs like soccer, basketball, or literature is pointless but don't want to be isolated for not being in one, then join the Life Club. You can just put your name down and never show up again.]
[If you think club leaders who act like they're actual bosses ordering you around or forcing weekend meetups are ridiculous but are too scared to refuse, then join the Life Club. This club has no activities besides sitting around, and no one cares if you come or not. We don't play those power games here.]
[If you're lonely, bullied, and too afraid to fight back but want to find like-minded friends to lean on, then join the Life Club. We might not help you confront your bullies, but at least here, no one will bully you. And if you think about bullying someone else here? Well, you'd better think twice.]
[To join, just come to the clubroom and write your name in the member list. That's it.]
[Yeah, that's the Life Club. A club created casually, joined casually, lived casually—just a place where everything is whatever.]
[Club President: Ebisaka Masaki]
Unlike the detailed and dangerously admission-heavy Kaidan Club, this flyer radiated an almost aggressively lazy energy, laying bare the club's nature without any pretense—as if deliberately mocking something.
…I kind of want to join.
Bocchi, who had spent her whole life struggling with social expectations and failing to fit in, felt an unexpected kinship with the words on the page.
Even without meeting any of the Life Club's members, just reading this blunt, no-nonsense description gave her the overwhelming sense that these were her people.
Yes—this is the kind of club I needed.
No hidden meanings. No unspoken rules. No worrying about reading between the lines.
Unlike trying to make friends by learning guitar and failing miserably, a place like this… it wouldn't have those problems. Right?
If I'd been in a club like this, maybe I could've…
Wait.
Wait a second.
Did I just accept this too easily?
Is my mind being influenced?
Panicking, Bocchi immediately used an Obsession Artifact to check her mental state.
…No abnormalities.
Okay, so I'm fine.
But what if they're being affected?
Her paranoia flared again, and she discreetly scanned Takakai and Miko as well.
Miko barely reacted, only glancing around in slight confusion.
Takakai, however, immediately turned to look at her, though upon realizing she was just running a mental check, he dismissed it without further thought.
(He remained blissfully unaware of the sheer volume of overthinking happening in her head.)
Takakai tossed a golden 20-sided die onto the table.
It rolled, spun, and finally settled—landing on 19.
Good. That's a safe enough number.
He exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
This room felt safe—somehow, the horrors of Yoruyama High seemed unable to penetrate the Life Club's space.
Which meant he could afford to take a risk.
"Bocchi, keep an eye out. Miko, stay close but don't look at what I'm drawing."
With that, he summoned a pencil into his hand.
This was one of the Obsession Artifacts looted from Touyama Akira (Red Knot Society)—the "Persistence Pen."
Its ability: To draw the form of any supernatural entity the user has encountered, or key elements related to them.
There was undoubtedly a story behind this artifact, but Takakai didn't care to dig into it. Right now, he only needed its power.
Given the information-blocking nature of Yoruyama High, he'd avoided using it until now—afraid of accidentally summoning something that would kill him on the spot.
But here, in this sanctuary, with the die's confirmation…
It should be safe.
At least for now.
What happens after we leave… well, that's a problem for later.
The pencil moved on its own, its tip scratching against the desk as it began to sketch:
A young girl's face, thin and weary (Asamoto Eriko).
Her school uniform, dirtied and disheveled.
A hand reaching out—not to grab, but to link pinkies with someone unseen.
A promise.
This girl, in a rare moment of clarity, had made a vow with someone.
Was it the same promise from the vision?
The one between Eriko and that faceless teacher?
Takakai closed his eyes—
And was buried alive.
The Memory Beneath
Dirt filled his lungs.
Laughter echoed above him.
Students.
Gathered.Smiling.Watching.
Eriko's final moments flooded into him:
Rage—searing, all-consuming, at the injustice of it all.
Terror—of the dark, the weight, the suffocating earth.
Confusion—even at the end, not fully understanding why.
And then—
The truth.
Previous investigators had believed Eriko suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder—that she had five distinct personalities.
Wrong.
She had a different condition entirely—one that caused hallucinations, violent mood swings, uncontrollable outbursts.
The "split personalities" were fabrications—embellishments added by those who came after.
The Writer had twisted her story.
Turned her suffering into a spectacle.
But the real Eriko?
Just a girl who needed help.
Takakai's grip on the pencil tightened.
Found it.
The key to resolving her grudge.
The drawing finished—now a blood-inked sketch of Eriko's final moments.
Her regret, laid bare:
To see that teacher one last time.
To ask:
"Did you keep your promise?"
Takakai exhaled sharply.
Now we know.
Outside the abandoned dormitory, a scrawny cat slipped through the undergrowth, silent as a ghost.
Further back, a figure emerged from the trees—gazing intently at the building.