A New Challenger Approaches

April 2nd, 20XX would go down in history as the day of a great massacre. The Chemistry Club was dissolved. The Engineering Club collapsed. The Magazine Club was blotted out, and the Basketweaving Circle was completely unraveled.

All these clubs were victims of a terrible tyrant, Student Council President Ayumi Saito, and her Mandatory Minimum Membership Act was the weapon she’d used to commit this terrible crime.

“Why spend 20,000 yen a year on a club with just two people?”

“If you put as much effort into recruiting people as you did laying about all day, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“We sponsor cultural education, not personal date nights.”

That was the propaganda she’d used to justify her legislation to despairing students during the assembly. When she followed this up with an announcement that clubs that failed to meet her four-member requirement would be shut down immediately, some of the soon-to-be ex-club members burst into tears.

Any budding romances that might have bloomed from these spaces had been trimmed at the root. Hundreds of lives—potential love lives, that is—had been lost.

🎮♟️🎮♟️🎮♟️

The “Mini-Club Massacre,” as it would later come to be known, had snuffed out all of Tōin Academy’s small circles bar one. Takae Matsumura had defended the Gaming Club from the President’s onslaught, addressing her concerns at a student council meeting point by point.

“The Gaming Club funds itself with savings from previous years,” Takae stated confidently.

Actually, Takae was unclear about how his treasurer managed things, but he was fine with using his own money to purchase goods for the club room.

“I just need to find one more member. I’ve put up hundreds of posters around campus.”

This was indeed true, even if those posters consisted solely of printer paper saying GO WITH GAMING CLUB and nothing else. Takae may have been hardworking, but he wasn’t very creative.

“As for your claim that my club is a cover for a romantic rendezvous, why, that’s preposterous. I’ve been single for seventeen years.”

Takae said this to the student council without a hint of shame.

On April 10th, 20XX, after classes, Takae entered a room on the first floor of Tōin Academy’s Annex Building to conduct the Gaming Club’s second meeting of the new school year. Like most clubs in the annex, it possessed a dedicated space that was furnished with a smooth green carpet which was quite nice, and a low, scuffed-up wooden table that was not. Takae had also furnished it with drawers that hugged the back walls under the wide windows, an ancient desk tucked away in the corner for administrative work, and a small black couch for those who wished to game in luxurious comfort. Truthfully, all this furniture was cheaply made, but it was expensive for a high schooler, and though they were haphazardly placed, the room was well-cared for.

The Gaming Club had no monitors, consoles, or computers.

Takae stroked his chin and looked up at the clock. It seemed that today would be another day of gaming alone—the treasurer, Masashi, had failed to show up, Rio was busy, and despite Takae’s best efforts, no new members had enlisted.

Could the issue be his looks? He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a square, well-defined chin. His back was always straight, his green eyes burned with intensity, and a simple conversation with him often felt like a police interrogation because of his harsh tone, making him seem more like a student teacher than a student who was simply running a club.

He sat by the desk and closed his smoldering eyes.

I just wish there were people who enjoyed games the same way I do, Takae thought. He wondered if he should pack up and go home.

I’ve never had a girlfriend, but if the Gaming Club is canceled after all the blood, sweat, and tears that I’ve put into it—I think it’d feel worse than a breakup.

Takae drifted off, dozing, and his thoughts became more and more abstract. Though he’d managed to hide it in front of the student council, Takae Matsumura had been quite fatigued, and the stress of plastering posters across the school had built up without the sweet release of actually getting to play anything.

“Hey,” said a slow, laconic, feminine voice. Somehow, it touched his heart. It was as though the voice of the club itself was speaking to him in his daydream.

“I’m so sorry Ms. Club, I’ve failed you,” Takae mumbled.

“Did I find the Apology Club by mistake?” the voice lazily inquired.

His eyes snapped open.

A girl lounged on the jet black couch. She was small, but didn’t seem particularly petite—though since she wore a ruffled, oversized hoodie and sweatpants and was lying face down, her exact figure was difficult to discern. Her cheeks were round, but the fierceness of her expression made her grey eyes seem narrow and piercing. Then she glanced away, fiddling with a handheld console she’d raised into the air with both arms straight.

Takae’s pulse quickened.

Having a new club member is certainly exciting, Takae thought, finding her name on the club sign-in sheet in big, simple characters, underneath his own sweeping calligraphy.

“No, you’re in the right place, Chiyo Fujitaka. Welcome to the Gaming Club,” Takae said hoarsely. The girl continued messing around with her device.

When Takae had once imagined his perfect girlfriend, he had thought of someone with long, light, wavy hair like hers—the kind so long that it looked like it could be its own fluffy creature. This girl also had a smattering of faded freckles that one could only notice from her LED screen’s light… he couldn’t explain why, but he just found that really cute.

But he cleared his head of this romantic nonsense as he moved to the drawer by the window, picking out the best game for them to play. Something cooperative would be best, like Secret Agents or Disallowed Island, games where they could talk and get to know one another as fellow hobbyists. He settled on Disease Stoppers, an award-winning game where teams of scientists have to stop an epidemic, with basic mechanics and a short playtime. Then, about fifteen minutes later…

“Fujitaka-san, shall we get started with club activities?” Takae said. He’d set up the board game on the table in front of the couch, cardboard tokens, cards, and pawns all placed on their designated spots on the world map.

“Huh? We’ve already started though?” Chiyo blinked, stretching, and her hoodie went temporarily taut. Takae’s eyes were drawn to her handheld.

“I beg your pardon?” Takae asked, face flushed.

“I’ve changed into my gaming uniform and I’m playing with my Nontondo Swatch.” Chiyo smoothed her hood.

Takae’s face went from pink-tinged to a full bloody red.

“Fujitaka-san… I don’t know what you’re thinking… but this is Tōin Academy's prestigious Gaming Club. It’s a club for board games!” Takae spoke with the force of decades of history behind him. “In 1952, eight members of the first graduating class established a club to enjoy foreign and domestic board games. By competing against one another in these activities, they could learn how to adapt to an ever-changing world, along with analytical and social skills that’d secure their futures. This absolute faith in the educational nature of board games is a solemn legacy we are charged with carrying on.”

“A leg… assy?” Chiyo gave a little kick and a yawn.

“Yes, a legacy! Take this seriously! Thinking this club is all about playing with your silly flashing lights device goes against everything the Gaming Club stands for! How will jumping on minion heads possibly help you with a career in finance?”

“I’m learning about coin collecting.”

“That was a rhetorical question!” Takae wailed, stabbing his finger at Chiyo’s screen.

Of all things, she had to be a gamer. I bet the reason she says so little is because she’s suppressing the urge to swear. I bet her hoodie’s black so she can hide all her snack stains too. She’s a blemish to public morals and the spirit of this clubroom–I just can’t take my eyes off of her!

Unknown to Takae, Chiyo was having racing thoughts of her own, if only he could read them.

Huh? He’s really a board gamer? He seemed like a reliable senpai, but is he actually an old man? Does he just sit here and play around with plastic and cardboard all day? That’s really creepy… it’s like he’s playing with dolls. I can’t believe someone as good-looking as him would do something so ridiculous…

““It’s such a shame—if only I could set that aside, they’d be exactly my type!”” thought both, basically at once.

“Now, Fujitaka-san,” Takae said. “I’ll forgive your ignorance, so please draw a color card and then we’ll both take our turns.”

“You’re saying that I have to move all those dials and wheels and track all the numbers myself?” Chiyo asked. “I’m kind of a klutz. What if I knock something over?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Takae waved her comment away, but Chiyo was waking up, voice lively and loud.

“As it happens, there’s a popular game on Seam called ‘Cardboard Simulator.’ We can use it to mimic any board game we want… so maybe we should play Disease Stoppers there instead.” She stared with wide, innocent eyes.

“Are you saying… that I should play a board game… using a video game?” Takae said. “Just like the Greeks hid in a wooden horse to infiltrate the walls of Troy, you try to smuggle your digital slop into my fortress. I refuse! As Gaming Club President, I demand you experience the tactile, tactical glory of maneuvering these plastic pawns!”

“Hmm, it seems to me you can’t use board games to play video games, but you can use video games to play board games. If we really have to compare them, doesn’t that mean video games are just better?” Chiyo said.

“That’s wrong! Almost all board games are Turing-complete! You can emulate any video game by using their pieces in binary systems!”

“Why in the world would you want to do that?”

“Maybe to prove that I know the advanced math that only board games can teach me!”

“You can learn how to add and subtract from those mobile game ads.”

“If you play those games, that just proves that you have the brain of an ignorant child!” Takae glowered.

“W-Why, you stuffy, old-fashioned, inflexible, rizzless, narrow-minded gamer!”

“You sweaty, brainrotted, good-for-nothing, instant gratification-grubbing gamer!”

Chiyo and Takae glared at one another, moving closer and closer, scrutinizing each other’s faces for a single sign of weakness. Takae couldn’t help but notice her gaze. It sparked with intellect, like there was electricity arcing inside grey clouds.

The next voice to intrude was reedy and thin. A short, fidgeting, glasses-clad second year peered inside the club room. 

“Hey… could you guys quiet down? We’re having our own meeting next door.” Oraki shrugged, gesturing helplessly. Takae and Chiyo stepped away from one another, faces flushed from the heat of the argument, and Chiyo crossed her arms, pouting.

“After President Saito passed the MMM, I’ve heard the Gaming Club is unfortunately on its way out.” Oraki nodded towards Chiyo. “And the Debate Club really is more prestigious,” Oraki muttered, nodding at the Gaming Club’s disciplined Club President. “If you want to make the most of high school… it’d be the smartest move to join our group… so…”

Takae and Chiyo both looked up at the plaster ceiling, as if looking for a God beyond those tiles to give them an answer. But only the radiator’s clack-clack-clacking came back down, and they both exchanged an intense, hateful glare.

“No flippin way!”

“Get out of here!”

Chiyo took one of the pieces of the board game in front of her, as if to start playing—then flung it at the poor boy who’d interrupted them.