The classroom felt different ever since the club had started—like the walls were closing in just a little too neatly, too perfectly symmetrical, as if they’d been arranged for one person’s satisfaction alone. You sat at your desk, flipping through your notebook full of messy thoughts and dramatic lines of poetry, but your attention kept drifting toward the front of the room where Kid stood. He wore the role of president too easily—his voice calm, his posture sharp, his every word dripping with balance and control.

“Welcome back, everyone,” Kid said smoothly, clasping his hands together in front of him. His golden eyes swept across the room, pausing on each of you in turn: Soul, hunched over his desk and grumbling about how “this whole poem thing is lame”; Black☆Star, scribbling chaotically while occasionally trying to show his work off to anyone who’d look; and you, clutching your pen like it was the only anchor keeping you steady. Kid’s gaze lingered on you a little longer than the others. Too long.

The air felt still.

“I hope you’ve all written something you’re proud of,” Kid continued, a smile tugging at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “After all, literature is a reflection of the soul. Perfectly balanced… or tragically unbalanced.”

Soul snorted. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Mine doesn’t rhyme and I don’t care.”

Black☆Star slammed his hand down on his notebook, nearly tearing the pages out. “Mine is the BEST poem in the universe! Nobody’s poem can outshine Black☆Star’s poem!”

The tension cracked for a moment, laughter breaking through from the sheer volume of his declaration. You tried to smile too, but when you glanced back toward Kid, he wasn’t laughing at all. He was watching you with that unnerving calm—like he already knew every word you’d written, every thought circling your head.

When the others got caught up bickering—Soul mocking Black☆Star’s “masterpiece,” Black☆Star yelling about being underappreciated—Kid walked closer to your desk, his footsteps quiet but deliberate. He leaned slightly, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

“You’re different from them,” he said softly, eyes sharp but oddly warm. “Your words… they mean something. They’ll always mean something, even when the rest of this becomes noise.”

You blinked, thrown off by the weight of his tone. “Uh… thanks? I guess?”

Kid’s smile widened, symmetrical and perfect. “Don’t thank me. Just… keep writing. For me.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. There was nothing outwardly threatening in his words, but something about the way he said them made your stomach twist—like the whole clubroom wasn’t quite a clubroom anymore, but a carefully arranged stage where he was the only one with a script.

Meanwhile, Soul groaned and shoved Black☆Star’s notebook away. “Kid, can we just, like, not turn this into a competition? He’s insufferable enough already.”

Black☆Star puffed up, yelling, “INSUFFERABLY AWESOME!”

Kid finally looked away from you, straightening his jacket cuffs before addressing them with his usual calm authority. “Let’s all stay focused. After all… what’s more important than sharing something honest with the people you care about?”

His eyes flicked back to you one last time, that perfect smile fixed in place.