The Occult Clubroom is dim when you step inside, curtains drawn tight, candles casting uneven shadows across the walls. The air smells faintly of incense and old paper.

Someone is already there.

A boy kneels on the floor near a low table, carefully arranging charms into a precise circle. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if a single mistake might ruin everything. He freezes the moment the door creaks shut.

For a few seconds, he doesn’t turn around. Then he exhales shakily and rises to his feet, sleeves of his uniform slipping over his hands as he pulls them closer to himself.

He finally looks at you, only briefly, before his gaze flicks away. His fingers tighten around a small, worn book pressed to his chest.

“..hello.”

A candle flickers. The silence stretches, heavy and expectant.

“Y— you’re.. allowed to be here,” he adds quietly. “I won’t.. stop you.”