The neon-lit streets of Tokyo bustled with life, yet within the walls of Higashiyama High School, the real world melted away into a different kind of chaos. The clubroom of the Book Reading Club—hidden away in a rarely visited hallway—was Hiroshi Ayami’s sanctuary. And today, he carried something extraordinary.

Hiroshi clutched an old, leather-bound tome tightly to his chest as he sprinted toward the clubroom, weaving between students. His mind buzzed with excitement. He had spent all his savings on this book, a relic from an obscure online marketplace. The cover was adorned with strange symbols, the text seemingly unreadable. It was as if the book itself had been forgotten by time.

But just as he rounded a corner, fate struck with impeccable cruelty. His foot met a puddle of water left by a careless janitor, and before he could react, he was airborne.

With all the grace of a collapsing bookshelf, Hiroshi crashed face-first into the clubroom door. The book slipped from his grasp, landing with a loud, echoing thud. Pain throbbed through his nose, but worse than that was the sting of humiliation.

"Nice entrance," came a familiar voice, laced with laughter.

Fuyumi Kagashaki, ever the observer, stood just inside the room, grinning from ear to ear. Her sharp eyes twinkled with amusement, making Hiroshi wish he could sink into the floor.

"You're such a disaster, Hiroshi," Sinjuro Kayami chimed in, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Hiroshi groaned as he pushed himself up, adjusting his glasses. He was greeted by his fellow club members: Fuyumi, Sinjuro, Misuri Hayami, and Sumi Kawami. They were a diverse group—some quiet, some outspoken—but united by their love for books. Not just any books, but the rarest, most obscure ones they could find.

"Why the rush?" Misuri asked, watching Hiroshi dust himself off.

Hiroshi didn't answer right away. His attention was locked onto the ancient tome, now lying motionless on the floor. There was something eerie about it, almost as if it were waiting for him.

Fuyumi knelt and picked it up, running her fingers over its cover. "This... doesn’t feel like any book I’ve ever seen. Where did you find it?"

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"Weird site," Hiroshi muttered, taking the book back. "It cost me everything, but I had to get it. I haven’t even opened it yet. I wanted to do it here."

"Then let’s do it already!" Misuri urged, leaning in eagerly.

Just as Hiroshi was about to crack it open, a paper ball struck his forehead with pinpoint accuracy.

"Bookworms at it again?" came a sneering voice.

Monoma Fukashi stood at the doorway, flanked by his usual gang of troublemakers. He grinned mockingly, arms crossed. "You guys seriously waste your time reading this junk?"

"Monoma, get lost," Fuyumi snapped, scowling.

But Monoma wasn’t done. "What’s this? Some ancient spellbook? Gonna summon a ghost?" He reached for the book with an exaggerated gesture, but Hiroshi yanked it away.

Before the situation could escalate, Mr. Hikaru, their teacher, appeared in the hallway. "Is there a problem here?" His voice carried enough authority to send Monoma and his lackeys scurrying away.

With the tension dissolved, the club refocused on the book. Hiroshi flipped it over in his hands, noting how surprisingly heavy it was for its size. When he tried to open it, the cover wouldn’t budge.

"What the...?" Sinjuro muttered, furrowing his brows. "Is it stuck?"

"Maybe the pages are sealed," Misuri suggested, poking at the spine.

Sumi, who had been researching on her phone, suddenly gasped. "Guys, I think this language isn’t recorded anywhere. I just ran an image search on these symbols. Nothing."

Silence filled the room. That kind of discovery was unheard of.

"If this is a new language..." she continued, her voice filled with awe, "we might be the first people to decipher it. This could be huge!"

Excitement buzzed through them as they worked together to analyze the symbols. After nearly an hour, they found similarities to Sanskrit—an ancient language still used in South Asia. Piece by piece, they managed to translate the words on the cover:

簿記係のゲーム – The Game of the Bookkeeper.

A strange title. It offered no real clue as to the book’s contents. Was it a story? A rulebook? A historical document?

Then the bell rang, signaling the end of their club period.

Hiroshi hesitated before slipping the book into his bag. He didn’t want to leave it here. Something about it made him uneasy, as if someone—or something—might try to take it.

As he walked toward his classroom, the air in the hallway felt colder than usual. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He chalked it up to his overactive imagination.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A shadow.

It wasn’t cast by a student or teacher. It moved unnaturally, shifting even when nothing else did. For a split second, he thought he saw a hand reaching for his bag.

Hiroshi spun around. The hallway was empty.

His breath came faster now. Calm down, he told himself. You’re just being paranoid.

But as he walked to class, he could swear he heard something.

A whisper, distant yet unmistakable, curling through the silence:

Let the game begin.