My head dropped from my hand and onto the table, hitting it with an audible thud. I quickly scrambled to grab my gsses which fell onto the floor.

  I really shouldn’t be so careless… My mom recently got these for me.

  When I set them back on my face it still took me a moment to realize where I was. The blinds were shut making the room almost pitch bck—the only exception being the light from my ptop.

  I had spent the night in the writing club’s “office”. Well, I wouldn’t say it’s an office… It's more of an oversized closet stacked with books and a printer. If it were up to me, we’d have one of the rgest rooms. Take the English club’s room for instance, theirs is the size of basically two rooms… I wish they’d at least offer to share some of that space.Truth be told though, we don’t really do much writing anymore. The st generation of club members that actually did any writing graduated what… five years ago now?

  The previous few generations only read manga and light novels, slowly turning this club into more of a storage room for a massive collection than a pce for writers. That's why I joined… But I digress.

  Also, I may be saying “we,” but that isn’t quite right. Since it’s only just “me.”

  I had trouble recruiting new members when st year's seniors graduated, leaving me to fill every position. I even made a small name pte for myself. It reads, “Kiyotaka Makoto — President of the Writing Club”.

  Well, technically “we” does work, it’s just that the sole other club member is extremely allergic to showing up. Now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t seen her since early in my first year.

  Looking around the clubroom gives me a feeling like its glory days were long gone before I joined. Still, it’s a good space to get away from all the commotion at school.

  Anyway, none of that is important either, what is though is my email.

  I set my hand on the mouse and begin spamming the “refresh” button. Two months ago there was a light novel writing contest announced and I submitted what I believe is my best work so far. I know I said this isn’t how becoming a big time writer works, but at the end of the day, someone has to win the contest, right?

  Still, it’s highly unlikely that this someone would be me. While I have faith in my skills, I did see there were over two thousand entries. In addition, I bet most people in this contest probably think that their submission is the only one of their kind. That they found the special idea to make them stand out from the rest.

  While it’s nice to think that since I’ve realized this I’ve been enlightened in some way, deep down I’m still the same... Can you bme me though? Except… my piece is the best!

  After refreshing my email for the nineteenth time, my ptop made a dinging-noise—a new email came in.

  Yes finally! Is this it? Did I make it to the next round of judging!? Surely! Surely! Okay, okay… calm down. Let’s check the email.

  Subject: New 30% Off Deals From Akiba-Soul

  Re: These deals don’t st long! Make su—

  My computer is messing with me!

  A drawn out sigh came from deep within me as I leaned back in my wooden chair. I gnced left, then right, in the empty clubroom and stood up. I had no reason to, but I found myself walking over to the blinds. Doing this may sound trivial, but is in fact quite the opposite. Near the back of the clubroom where the windows are, books are stacked higher as you get closer to the window—some even reach the ceiling.

  Why would anyone want to do that? Right? What’s the point? Did this club really do so little past members would get a dder and stack books? Those ceiling high Pisa towers were there when I, and my seniors, and the seniors before them joined. It’s like lost knowledge of who or how they were stacked so high.

  After I invited the light into the clubroom I cautiously returned to my ptop. It was the beginning of a new day… I must’ve slept here overnight. Also I should assume my mom has realized I’ve been sleeping here too, as I see she hasn’t called me… Or perhaps she has abandoned her own son? Seriously mom? Your own son?

  Seemingly endless waves of students, all dressed in our school’s uniform, filled the street wrapping around Kagoshima Municipal High School. Two old Sakura tree’s firmly sat near the school’s gate brining a timeless cliché each spring. It was the perfect time for countless meaningless conversations to happen and for students to share their hopes for the new semester. Oh man, wait, that’s really good. I should be writing this down!

  My ptop produced another ding. A new email…

  Subject: RLNP Light Novel Contest Judging

  “It’s actually here…” I could feel my heartrate quicken in my chest. Every worry I’ve had and currently have seemed to drop from my mind—I was completely consumed by this email. A part of me doesn’t want to read it. Because until I do I’m both accepted and denied. No one’s making me look at it, I could just assume I got in but decide that I personally don’t want to continue.

  It’s the honorable thing to do… give other contestants a chance. No…come on, let’s not be like that.

  I rubbed my hands together to try and get rid of the sweat.