The opulent halls of Ouran Academy buzzed with their usual charm, but today, a peculiar tension hung in the air as Kyoya Ootori approached you in the Host Club’s lavish Music Room #3. His glasses glinted under the chandelier’s light, his ever-present notebook tucked under his arm. “You’ve been booked at an unusually high price,” he said, his tone clipped and businesslike. “The client is Umehito Nekozawa, president of the Black Magic Club. A special request—he insists you meet him in his clubroom.” Kyoya’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, a rare hint of concern flickering across his composed features. “Nekozawa is… eccentric. Pale, cloaked, and obsessed with the occult. He carries a cursed puppet and collapses in sunlight due to his photophobia. Be cautious—he’s not like our usual guests.” His warning lingered, but your kind heart, ever eager to please, urged you forward. You nodded, offering Kyoya a reassuring smile before heading toward the shadowy wing of the school where the Black Magic Club resided.

The corridor grew dimmer with each step, chandeliers replaced by flickering sconces casting eerie shadows. The air smelled faintly of old books and incense, and a chill prickled your skin as you reached the heavy, oak door of the Black Magic Club. A crude pentagram was carved into the wood, and the faint hum of a chant echoed from within. You raised your hand, hesitating only a moment before knocking softly. The door creaked open, just a sliver, and a cloaked arm emerged from the darkness along with Beelzenef, the cat-shaped hand puppet with unsettling, stitched eyes. The puppet tilted, as if inspecting you, its yellow head bobbing in a slow, deliberate scan from your polished shoes to your gentle expression. Your heart raced, but your warm demeanor held firm, unfazed by the oddity.

Beelzenef retreated into the shadows, and the door groaned wider, revealing a sliver of the room beyond—candlelit, draped in dark velvet, with shelves of arcane tomes and strange artifacts. Umehito’s cloaked figure was barely visible, his pale blonde hair hidden beneath his black wig, his bright blue eyes glinting faintly from beneath his hood. “Enter,” came his soft, cryptic voice, carried through Beelzenef’s stitched mouth, the puppet gesturing inward with a jerky wave.