What kind of person is Shiro?
In his tiny rented apartment, Shiro returned from his part-time job and sat in front of his computer. His thoughts sprouted wildly like untamed weeds, passion igniting into a fire bordering on madness.
He typed relentlessly, line by line, words forming, being deleted, rearranged, constructing the framework of a story.
It was the story of a princess of ice and snow. Gentle by nature, she never turned the pain she endured onto others. She had the right ideals and took steps toward them. Her beauty was like a flower blooming in solitary splendor atop a snowy mountain.
From a distant tower, the demon king declared he would seize the beautiful princess.
The princess decided to confront the demon king. Her mother gave her a red apple to quench her thirst. Her father gave her pristine white dancing shoes. Seven little dwarfs swore to follow her.
The people of the castle sent her off, and the brave little dwarfs were afraid. Some slipped away from the group, while the solitary dwarf watched the only friend he had leave.
They entered a swamp. The princess and the dwarfs chatted enthusiastically, pressing forward. They moved too fast; the lonely dwarf fell behind, eventually disappearing entirely.
Through a desert they marched. Everyone was thirsty. The princess offered the red apple to share, but the gentle dwarf stole it and ran off, and the honest dwarf chased after them. Neither returned.
Finally, they reached the tower. The devoted dwarf built a tall ladder, and the kind dwarf climbed, only to find it didn't reach the top. On the way down, he stumbled, killing the devoted dwarf and himself.
The princess and the righteous dwarf encouraged each other. Braving countless hardships, they finally climbed to the top of the tower.
There was no demon king—only a chair. The righteous dwarf committed suicide.
The beautiful white shoes, caked in mud, scuffed by sand, broken from climbing—just like the princess at that moment.
She threw away the ruined shoes, leaving her with nothing. She sat in the chair. She became the demon king. The demon king had taken the princess.
"False strength turns solitude into loneliness.""Gentleness killed by honesty. She warned honesty that it was a poisoned apple; honesty didn't believe her, bit the apple, and died in the desert.""Confused devotion caused mistakes, killing both the kind and herself.""The righteous realized the world was full of lies, and took their own life.""The princess abandoned her ideals and became the demon king atop the tower."
Shiro stretched and exhaled, opening a can of strong black coffee. Her nails clicked crisply against the metal lid.
Her nails had grown long again.
She gulped down the coffee. Her expression twisted into a mask of pain. She retrieved a nail clipper to trim her nails. Instinct urged her to go to bed, but the desire to stay up, to check her work, won out.
"Wonder if I can get past that idiot's review…"
The inspiration came from Shiro. Once she had a finished product, she'd pay a royalty—oh no, more like a human-rights fee?
Her mind drifted, a haze of wicked thoughts spreading like whispers from a devil at her ear.
As long as she didn't say anything, Shiro would never know she used her as a muse. Why care… Ah… Speaking of Shiro, she thought of those beautiful hands and wanted the drama to play out in reality. Fragile strength shattering, a beautiful flower wilting—just imagining it made her pulse race, her excitement threatening to erupt into screams.
Damn! Stop losing it here!
Shiro slapped her head and glanced downward. "You filthy body."
She lay down, staring at the ceiling patterns, beginning her usual bedtime routine.
Was this a transmigration? No. A rebirth? Not really.
More like Meng Po's soup, watered down and mixed with something strange and bad.
God knows what happened. Even at birth, her brain wasn't fully functional—a famously clueless little fool.
By elementary school, things improved. She started going to school.
Relations with classmates weren't great, but her bond with teachers was excellent.
Occasional thoughts appeared without warning. For example, the child's hands were beautiful, but dirty from mud play; the teacher's hands were nice, but the nails weren't perfectly groomed, slightly yellowed from smoke—a little disappointing…
Approaching middle school exams, she thought her mother's hands were beautiful and wished to hold them.
At that instant, Shiro recognized the abnormality in herself.
This wasn't a mere hobby or interest. It was pathological, rooted in her body, coexisting with other abnormalities.
These hands are beautiful. (√)Just looking at them already excites me! (?!)The person on these hands is a nuisance. (×)Damn it!
From that day, she resolved to be a good person—happy, fun, helping others. Ride a white horse through flower beds, sing loudly, startle couples, laugh and chase dreams, maybe have a little white dog, play with it using a wooden cat, and…
Gently kiss Shiro's hand, then break it on the spot—!
Crazy, Shiro.
Today, Shiro continued happily battling herself.
…
In the activity room shared by the Assistance Club and Service Club, the boy and girl faced each other seriously.
Shiro raised her right fist. "Rock-paper-scissors. One round decides the winner."
Shiro focused intently on that fist, smiling confidently. Her fingers moved fluidly, each with a mind of its own—twisting, flexing, shaking independently. "I'll take the front of the doorplate!"
The activity room's sign was critical. First impressions mattered.
Though the building had stairs on either side, this room was near the right hallway. Anyone visiting would approach from there, seeing the sign first. Whose club name was displayed would gain the first impression, increasing chances of receiving more help requests.
Rock-paper-scissors—a cruel game blending observation, finger dexterity, trickery, and cheating.
Shiro's fingers twisted like octopus tentacles, showing skill.
Shiro pursed her lips. Maybe she picked the wrong challenge.
"Did you play the clown or mood-setter in your theater troupe?" Shiro asked.
"There was someone skilled at puppetry. I learned a few tricks from him."
Shiro smirked. "Prepare to face your defeat, Shiro-san."
"We'll see after you win."
Shiro instinctively clenched her fist. "One—"
Shiro snorted, speeding up her finger movements, eyes openly fixed on the opponent's hand. "Two—!"
The growing warmth and tension caused slight sweat between Shiro's slender fingers. Her sharp vision caught the glint of moisture on pale skin… She wanted to wipe it with her tongue.
"Three!"
A short shout. The long index and middle fingers forming scissors were irresistibly cute, though the nails were over-trimmed, slightly risky.
Scissors cut paper.
Beautiful hands, defeated! Damn it! Her instincts swayed her too much! From today—no touching hands!
"Looks like Shiro didn't learn much."
Shiro took the doorplate and, with a brush, wrote "Service Club" on the front. She looked at Shiro cheerfully.
After losing, Shiro shrank behind the table with the laptop, oddly shy as if a refined young lady had been caught unprepared. Strange.
Shiro held her composure. "Shiro, need me to write the sign for you?"
"No need. Both sides of the sign can say Service Club."
Shiro looked up. "I'll ask the teacher for a blank sign later and place it below."
Shiro put down the brush, arms folded, coolly. "Shiro, accept your defeat honestly."
Shiro shrugged. "I've accepted defeat, but you can't expand the wager and restrict my other actions to recover the loss."
Shiro smoothed her hair, sat back, not arguing further—Shiro's meaning was clear. She could add another sign or actively promote the club—stick a big "Assistance Club" on the door, hand out flyers, advertise in classrooms. These actions could help her club gain more attention than the Service Club.
If even these were challenged under the wager, it would be unreasonable.
Adding one more sign seemed like cheating, but it was the same nature.
"What matters most is the results," Shiro said, taking out her book, eyes ablaze with determination.
"Hero, come challenge me fully—mwahaha!"
Shiro improvised a voice shift, adopting a hoarse, sinister villain tone.
Their gaze clashed like lightning and thunder. Behind Shiro, a proud dragon arose, spewing clouds and wind. Behind Shiro, a white tiger appeared, whipping up storms, chasing the sun.
Ten days passed in the blink of an eye…
Still, no one had come to either club for help.
After class, Shiro turned a page. Her burning determination was now like a candle flickering in the wind. The white tiger had become a napping orange cat.
She said flatly, "Shiro, why not use your shameless style to promote the club?"
Helping others depended on ability. Since they shared a room, whoever solved problems would ultimately win.
Shiro leaned back, relaxed. The once-proud "green caterpillar" curled up, choosing comfort. "Shiro, want to take on the task of helping you make a friend? Even heroes need companions to defeat the demon king."
"A companion who runs from every difficulty?" Shiro closed her book, retorting. "If you want friends, I can help you complete that task."
Shiro looked straight ahead. "Tasks come from need and difficulty—I have plenty of friends."
"…But didn't you say you had no friends?"
"Yesterday, male friends didn't count, so I expelled them. Today I regretted it and added them back."
"Heh."
In short, a liar who lies casually? Shiro thought.
Bang!
The door slammed, interrupting their idle banter.
"Yo! Looks like your club activities are stuck. I bring the first task!"
"Teacher! Please knock before entering!"
Shiro relaxed, uselessly scolding.
"Haha, sorry, sorry…"
Hmm?!
Shiro suddenly sensed a subtle gaze on her.
She grabbed it, tracing it to a figure moving toward the door. "Are you spying on me?! JOJO!"
Shizuka froze mid-apology. The would-be escapee could no longer run.
Smiling, Shizuka tugged her back. "My task is to correct this kid's twisted personality. And by the way, he's not JoJo…"
"That's a manga reference…"
The "rabbit" under the tiger's paw rolled their eyes. "Teacher hasn't read young people's manga… understandable… gnn!"
"You naughty kid, ahahaha."
The tiger smiled warmly, holding the half-dead rabbit. "His name is Hikigaya Hachiman, Class 1-F. This task might be long-term. Let him join the club for now and help with activities!"