Necromancer Academy and the Genius Summoner-Chapter 108: Episode

"...Sorry."

Meirin sat beside the groaning Simon, her hands on her knees, and her head hung low.

"It’s okay," Simon said, forcing a smile. "It’s not like you did it on purpose... Ugh!"

"Ah! Are you really okay? I told you to go to the infirmary!"

Simon plastered on a smile, pretending he was fine. If he went there and the doctor ordered him to miss classes, he’d be miserable. It was better to just tough it out.

"Oh."

His eyes met Kamibarez’s from across the room. Her expression, a mixture of worry and delight, softened into a shy smile.

"Hello, Simon."

"Hey, Kami. How have you been?"

"Good!"

Just then, Dick dramatically flung off his school jacket.

"Anyway, back to what we were talking about..."

He began pulling club flyers from every pocket.

"This recruitment season is the only time all year that the sophomores will treat us nicely."

It seemed they had been talking about clubs, too. Curious, Simon asked, "It’s more than just ‘nicely.’ Why are they so desperate to recruit freshmen?"

Dick chuckled, forming a circle with his thumb and forefinger.

"It always comes down to this, doesn’t it? Club funding varies wildly depending on the number of new recruits."

"...Ah, I see." Realization dawned upon Simon. Money was a critical part of life at Kizen.

"As the semester goes on, some first-years drop out or get expelled, but the funding cut for that is minimal. So the prevailing strategy is to just lock in as many people as possible from the start. Ugh, how did they even get a flyer in my back pocket?" Dick grumbled, yanking a leaflet from his pants. Every single one of his pockets was stuffed.

"Also," Meirin added, tapping her shoulder, "I’ve heard plenty of stories about them treating you like dirt the second recruitment season ends. So don’t even look at the weird ones. It’s safest to join a major club."

"Which ones did you guys join?"

At Simon’s question, Kamibarez’s hand shot up.

"I joined ‘Sadam,’ the Blood Flow Research Society!"

"Oh, that one," Simon replied with a wry smile.

"I’m in the Pure Magic Research Society," Meirin announced. Pure magic was an old style that used only mana, not Jet-Black, to create magic circles.

"The Pure Magic Research Society? Why there?"

Dick looked up from his flyer collection. "I was wondering the same thing. Why pure magic, out of nowhere?"

"Well, I’m from the Ivory Tower, so I’m naturally interested. Besides, it’s the origin of all Jet-Black elemental magic, right? I heard studying it can be really inspiring."

Both of them had chosen clubs that aligned with their specialties. Simon turned his head.

"What about you, Dick?"

Dick shrugged.

"Heh! I started my own club!"

"Really? What is it?"

"The Rochest Startup Support Society!"

"...Ugh." Meirin’s face twisted in disgust. "Does anyone actually join something like that? Don’t you need at least three members to get it approved?"

"It was easy. I just went to kids who weren’t interested in clubs and offered them a cut of the funding to put their names down. They flocked to me!"

"...Your entire life is one big loophole, isn’t it?"

"I prefer to call it a shortcut."

Kamibarez leaned forward. "What about you, Simon? Have you decided where you’re going?"

"I’m still thinking about it," Simon said, popping one of Dick’s spicy potato chips into his mouth.

"By the way, Simon, did you get an offer from ‘Noble’?"

Simon flinched at Dick’s question.

"I... I did."

"Knew it! I heard Special Admission No. 1 was a prime target!"

"Isn’t Noble the club with the prince?" Kamibarez asked.

"That’s right. A club for the powerful," Dick confirmed, crossing his arms. "They’re incredibly arrogant, but it wouldn’t hurt to join. The benefits are obvious, and you’d form a powerful faction with the second-years. I heard if anyone messes with their juniors, the seniors step in and crush them."

"Ugh, so pathetic," Meirin muttered, shaking her head.

Dick shot her a serious glare. "You might not get it because you have the Ivory Tower backing you, but having connections at Kizen makes a huge difference. People treat you differently when you have Noble in your corner."

"‘Connections’ this, ‘connections’ that. It all just stems from a weak heart that wants to depend on something else. In the end, the only one you can trust is yourself."

"That’s because you have the Ivory Tower..."

As the three of them argued, Simon seriously contemplated his options. His gaze drifted back to the flyer in his hand: the Special Undead Research Society.

---

’Maybe I’ll just go hear what they have to say.’

In the end, Simon found himself heading to the clubroom of ‘Mutant,’ the Special Undead Research Society. The building was a short walk from the main first-year campus, located near the central plaza, bustling with cafeterias and cafes.

"Hey, you! Wait up!"

Simon turned. A female student with long, cream-colored hair swishing at her waist was striding toward him.

’A sophomore.’

Her school jacket was tied around her waist, but he could tell even without the red insignia. Unlike the freshmen, who wore relatively light makeup, she had a full, intricate look, complete with a dramatically shortened skirt. The sophomores boldly tailored their Kizen uniforms to their own style—tighter pants for the boys, shorter skirts for the girls. It wasn’t a problem, since the uniform’s built-in barrier provided full-body protection.

"Did you call for me?" Simon asked, bowing politely.

She marched up to him, radiating confidence, and crossed her arms with a smile.

"Coming all this way, I guess you’ve already picked a club?"

"Ah, no. I just came to hear the explanation."

Her eyes darted to the flyer in Simon’s hand.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! You! Is that—!"

She rushed forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. Simon instinctively leaned back.

"Are you trying to join ‘Mutant’?!"

"I just came to hear about—"

"Hahahaha! Great! That’s fantastic!" she boomed, slapping him on the back. The force was nothing like Meirin’s playful smack; Simon nearly cried out in pain.

"Huh? What’s wrong? Why are your eyes all teary?"

"...It’s nothing."

"Are you that moved by the thought of joining my club? Hahahahaha! Of course you are!"

"First, I’d just like to hear—"

She seized his wrist in a powerful grip and yanked him along. "Let’s go!"

She was clearly not the type to listen. She was also incredibly moody, with a high-pitched voice and an expression of supreme self-assurance. Her shortened skirt fluttered carelessly as she strode forward, dragging Simon behind her.

The place she brought him to was a shabby clubroom. A piece of paper with ‘Mutant’ scrawled on it was taped crookedly to the door, the ink smudged and the tape peeling.

"Alright, come on in!"

"Thank you."

The room was older and more run-down than he’d expected. He’d heard Kizen’s clubs were grand and splendid, but this was a far cry from the rumors. Still, it wasn’t bad. It had the cozy feel of a secret hideout, and he felt strangely at ease. Simon had always preferred the well-worn and simple over the flashy.

"Hey." A male student who had been lying on the sofa sat up groggily, running a hand through his messy hair. Simon recognized him immediately. It was the senior with the deep, dark circles who had given him the flyer.

"What are you doing, Deo?! Today’s the last day!"

"...I’m sleepy. And it’s not like anyone’s going to show up anyway."

"What do you mean, no one will show up?! Look who’s here!" she shouted, pointing at Simon.

The man called Deo finally noticed him. "Oh... you’re..."

"We meet again." Simon held up the flyer and bowed.

"You guys wait here! I’m going to make one more round by the first-year buildings!" She said.

"Why bother..." Deo replied.

"Be right back!" She slammed the door shut and was gone. Deo sighed softly and looked at Simon. "...You, make yourself at home."

"Pardon?"

"We’ll start the interviews in a bit," he mumbled, lying back down on the sofa. "Until then... hmm..."

And with that, he was asleep.

’What a strange bunch,’ Simon thought, glancing around. ’Might as well take a look.’

He explored the clubroom. The further back he went, the more it resembled a professional workshop. This was more than a lounge; it was a place where things were made. Shelves were lined with an array of undead materials that would rival any necromancer’s shop. The desk was a chaotic mess of blueprints, knives, scissors, and shaved bone fragments.

’So that’s why the room seemed so small.’

In the back, there was actual machinery: an automatic banding machine powered by magic stones and even a cold-tempering unit. Simon’s eyes widened with curiosity. The ability to use this equipment alone made joining the club a tempting prospect.

A knock sounded at the door. Deo remained dead to the world, so Simon answered.

"Yes, come in."

The door opened to reveal a young man with glasses and a cold expression. He wore a hoodie under his school jacket, the hood pulled low, emphasizing his bangs and giving him a rigid, closed-off air.

’A first-year.’

Seeing him look around curiously, Simon spoke up. "The seniors said they’ll be starting in a bit. They told us to sit and relax."

The boy gave a curt nod and sat on the sofa as if he owned the place. He pulled a book from his Subspace and began to read silently. Simon glanced at the title.

’Why Can’t Chimpanzees Become Philosophers?’

’What in the world is that book?’

Just as Simon was pondering this strange newcomer, a second knock came.

"Yes, come in."

The door creaked open, and a short boy peeked his head in. His eyes widened when he saw Simon.

"Ah, Simon!"

"Toto!"

It was Toto Amori, a Summoning major from his own Class A. His tense expression melted into a bright smile.

"Simon! Are you joining, too?"

"Huh? Oh. I haven’t decided yet."

Seeing a familiar face in a strange place instantly eased the tension. The two began to chat animatedly while the boy with the glasses remained engrossed in his book, seemingly uninterested.

"I came here because of one of the seniors," Toto said, his voice buzzing with excitement.

"Which one?"

"I heard a rumor," Toto whispered. "The president of this club is the famous..."

"Benya Vanilla. Second-year, formerly Special Admission No. 5, and a current member of the student council."

Both boys looked up. The glasses-wearing student had lowered his book and was now looking at them. Hearing the familiar name, Simon’s eyes widened.

"Wait a minute! Vanilla... as in ’the’..."

"Yes," the boy confirmed, his eyes gleaming. "The granddaughter of the Vanilla Group’s chairman is the president of this club."