September 13, 20XX

THE CHAIRS.

THEY'RE HERE!

I could NOT believe when Mr. Kafka opened the club room like that. He made us wait a little longer outside for the extra anticipation factor. The other two seemed indifferent when they walked in. Not me, however.

I was not uncaring, not in the slightest. I have been waiting day and night, across time and space and parallel world lines all for this one moment. I was hella excited.

What better way to end the second week before the real madness of the school year begins than with upgraded chairware? That was what Mr. Kafka was thinking. That was what I was thinking, too, until not too long ago.

I gave the chairs a fair shot, a scrutinizing look, a bashful side glance. After spending some time embracing, sniffing, licking, washing, dating, and being the chairs, I have to say, I have to honestly say,

I'm pretty disappointed. I guess this is what happens when you get hella hyped for no reason. They say in Denmark the secret to happiness is having low expectations. There may be some merit to that. I think the other two were more satisfied with their experience. I, on the other hand, can only hope to complain to customer service.

That is, Mr. Kafka.

"Oi! You really got my hopes up for nothing!" I said to him, teary-eyed, heart-shattered. I shouldn't have said that though, because Mr. Kafka seemed even more disappointed seeing that nobody really liked the new chairs as he had hoped. It was bad. I felt kinda guilty, like I smashed his hopes and dreams alongside his cherished, antique telescope, one that he recieved from his great-grandparents as a final gift before they passed away into the celestial realm ahead of him, watching over him, guarding him as an evanescent presence among the stars—that kind of guilt. So, I feigned a little excitement and switched the topic over to the world tag championships. That seemed to do the trick.

Anyway, I'm over these chairs, but there is something I'm not over yet.

Today during the club, we had an argument. It all started with a conversation yesterday at precisely not this time.

After some times passes, Claire looks at her phone and apologizes for cutting our conversation short. She told me earlier, so I already expected this. She is leaving for cross country try-outs. She looked pretty psyched and serious. I told her to break a leg and gave her the good ol' wink and thumbs up. When I try to do it, I don't look nearly as good as Claire.

Claire and I look at each other and chuckle. She leaves mumbling something about treating her to some ramen if she makes it. I didn't get to respond.

Did I just insert a flashback into my own journal for no particular reason, even though the source material is relatively recent, or actually not just recent it was from yesterday? Besides the confusing l'anglais (as Claire would put it... maybe), yes, I did do that, but that's not important. What's important is that I wasted a lot of extra effort writing filler and now my wrist hurts more than it should...

Actually, that's not important either. What's important is that she made the tryouts (hooray!) and she did pretty good too. No, pretty great, actually, and not just great, but top five in the school great. At a school of not only competitive geniuses but competitive sports geniuses, that is hella impressive. That is beyond impressive. It was so impressive, I almost let a weird noise resembling a middle-schooler going through puberty come out, out of shock and awe. Claire de Leon is an amazing girl. I can't help but think that.

So, after we showered her with praises like the supportive club members that we are (primarily Mr. Kafka and I), she brought up the ramen thing. For a split-second, I didn't mind nor think much of it. What she did not only deserves a trip out to ramen, but also some elaborate celebratory decor, French tulip Yankee candles atop special-order cinammon coffee cake with streusel crumb topping, and lots and lots of streamers. Because of that, for a split-second, I didn't hesitate to flow along with it.

However! And this is a big however! There is a problem inherent in this situation. If I, a male, were to take Claire, a female, out for ramen, do you know what this would mean?

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You understand, right? The severity of it all! If someone were to see us, it would make everything worse. There would be a hell of an aftermath, especially at this prestigious school.

This problem that plagues me...

This predicament that I've been caught into...

Is none other than that...

That I would have to treat her! I don't want to do that! I don't want to pay for someone else's meal! I don't have the money for that! The nearest ramen place is hella bougie (but their food tastes greatttttt).

Worse, if someone from our school happens to see us, I'm certain, absolutely certain rumors would go around that I'm stingy and inconsiderate to women and that I spend all my money on light novels. And they would be right! About that last part, that is.

Now, we could go to any of the other twenty ramen places in the immediate area. It wouldn't be much of a hassle, either, not at all. But, if I'm going to treat someone to ramen, I better do it right with the best ramen around. Call me bougie, but I like to call it having an acquired and appreciative taste for high class east-asian cuisine.

Ah, ah, what a problem it was. I did not want to get myself into that situation, so I thought of a brilliant countermeasure.

In the middle fo deliberating, delaying, extending, and rescinding plans, I pulled Mr. Kafka into the whole shindig-kebabble.

Ah? He said, but I didn't let him off easy. I pulled every ounce of my social prowess into this effort. That is, I just told him it would be fun  first club activity. You know, for team building.

Team building.

Team building.

Team building.

Once I uttered those magic words, he was in. Why invite Mr. Kafka in the first place? With him present for a sanctioned club activity, by logic of his rank in the hierarchy as the adult and club supervisor, he would be socially obligated to take one for the team and pay for our meals. Not only would I not have to pay for Claire's ramen, but I wouldn't have to pay for my ramen either! It was a stroke of genius, a perfect plan, I swear.

But, contrary to expectations, Mr. Kafka seemed to pick up on this.

Tch, I thought to myself. He's not a literal teacher and adult and human being with any reasonable level of social awareness for nothing. We started arguing—Mr. Kafka and I (Claire just sat passively amused on her side of the round table). We didn't get anywhere for sometime, until he suddenly dropped the random suggestion that since he's going, and that since this is gonna be an official club activity, then Mark should go with us.

For a split-second, I was against it. I didn't think there was a point in him coming along, plus I'd feel even guiltier if he had to pay for yet another person's meal (because I am generous and kind that way). Plus, Mark is an unknown variable. With his attitude, all my plans are threatened. So, for a split-second, I was against it. Three's already a crowd, anyway, and I want to enjoy my free ramen with minimal hassle.

Then, I thought, maybe he should go. After all, he does eat cup ramen almost every day (he doesn't have one today though). I still hold that grudge regarding my completely innocent questioning of him not long ago about this specific meal preference and he gave me a nasty look that easily and condescendingly spelled the words "you dare approach me, you lowly piece of garbage, the type of garbage that smashes the hopes and dreams of a poor, passionate club supervisor teacher alongside his cherished, antique telescope, one that he recieved from his great-grandparents as a final gift before they passed away into the celestial realm ahead of him, watching over him, guarding him as an evanescent presence among the stars"—that kind of nasty look. It was a look that reeked indignance. So, I want him to come and get his mind blown experiencing real, nourishing, ecstasy-inducing tonkotsu while I laugh maniacally, looking down on his ashamed self and his puny excuse of a challenging styrofoam disposable cup. Yes! I am gathering converts! Screw you Maruchan!

Plus, he would be a good bodyguard to have around.

But after Mark used the ability Intimidation Stare, one of his nine hidden assassin-level techniques, on Mr. Kafka, then he suddenly changed his mind and suggested maybe we shouldn't force him to go. I disagreed and said he should go. Then we started arguing again.

He probably wouldn't show up anyway, I thought, but in the end, I admit that I don't like losing arguments like this.

Former me wouldn't have bothered with this but behold! I have evolved! Without the d- in the front! Trust me!

In the very very end, we set up plans for a meeting tomorrow. Also, it was decided everyone would be paying for their own meals, as suggested by Claire...

Rats.

But our first club activity, huh. Some part of me wonders if all we're going to do for the rest of the year (or until the club shuts down for one reason or another) is write reflections in these journals. I don't mind if that's the case—in fact, I prefer it. I'm not really interested in anything else.

Some part of me wonders if this is what the club really is. A club that has lasted years... it can't be as simple as this, right? Otherwise, it would've been shut down. Unless, Mr. Kafka is really good at keeping things low-key.

I can't help but feel there's more to it than this. It's a sticky feeling. It's doesn't rub off so well.

I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

With deliberations over, we end for the day and get ready to go home.