Chapter 81: Clubs

Wherever a major star appears without a mask, attention is inevitably drawn.

But she never imagined her fame had reached this level—everyone she met on campus recognized her, whether teacher or student.

Fortunately, everyone merely pulled out their phones to sneak photos; no one came up to ask for selfies, yet the feeling of being watched by all still made her deeply uneasy.

Now she finally understood what Wen Xia meant by “the price stars must pay”—from the moment her song went viral, she was destined never to live like an ordinary person again; clearly, sunglasses would become her everyday gear.

Before the semester began, the course advisor gave Luo Quan the list of required textbooks; after classes started, she only needed to purchase them at the campus bookstore.

If Luo Quan were a member of the Student Association, she could have received a ten percent discount when buying books, but she wasn’t a member—yet due to her status, she still received special treatment.

What was called the campus bookstore was in fact just a student who rented an empty space and set up a simple tent—extremely rudimentary.

When Luo Quan arrived, there were about ten boys in line; she had intended to wait quietly, but as soon as they saw her, they willingly stepped aside and gestured for her to go ahead.

“That’s too kind of you,” Luo Quan smiled awkwardly, not moving.

A thin boy called out loudly: “My father always taught me—a real man must yield to girls!”

“Exactly! That’s the kind of gentlemanly grace we should show!”

“Thank you so much,” Luo Quan wasn’t one to refuse politely; since the gentlemen were so enthusiastic, she accepted their gesture.

Skipping the line, Luo Quan walked up to the senior in charge of sales and said softly: “Please get me Japanese Everyday Conversation, Japanese Writing, History of Asian Languages, and History of German. Thank you.”

“Just a moment!” The senior wore a crisp white shirt, slightly handsome, and normally a dream of many female students—but today, facing Luo Quan, he grew as nervous and cautious as a boy, his chest fluttering like a caged deer, his cheeks slowly flushing red.

“Here are your books, junior,” the white-shirted senior stammered, his legs trembling—he’d called her “junior,” and it was too thrilling!

Luo Quan felt nothing amiss; she swiped her card, took the books from his hands, and said: “Thank you, senior.”

Luo Quan had already walked away, but the senior stood there, dazed, savoring the sensation of her fingernails brushing his fingertips as she took the books.

It felt like plastic rubbing against fur—a faint static shock striking his heart, sparking endless fantasies.

Though he’d only caught a fleeting glance as he bowed his head, he was overwhelmed with emotion—her fingertips glowed with such beauty.

Just then, the campus broadcast came on; someone had requested a song—it was Luo Quan’s “Firstlove.”

The senior felt slightly drunk…

“How am I supposed to finish such thick books?” Luo Quan struggled to hold the stack before her—four books piled higher than her head, and she only had two classes per day; she couldn’t imagine how she’d finished last semester.

When she first entered freshman year, Luo Quan had also chosen four courses: besides Japanese Writing and Conversation, she’d taken English History and Latin History—their thickness was similar to today’s four—but “she” had finished them all and ranked fourth in her department on the final exams.

Thinking of this, Luo Quan felt admiration for her former self, yet also began to tremble inside, fearing she’d be exposed as an impostor by semester’s end.

Since it was her first day back, there were no morning classes; the first class began at 2 p.m.—History of German.

The professor was quite interesting—an American teaching History of German in Japan.

But such cases were common at Tokyo University—for instance, a French professor taught Asian Buddhist Thought, an American taught Marxist Theory, an Indian taught British English.

At a world-class university, professors from every corner of the globe were perfectly normal; the more Luo Quan learned, the more she found Tokyo University brimming with fascination.

She had also spent an hour walking around campus, deliberately admiring the scenery.

But the campus was enormous, and boys kept approaching to greet or chat, so within an hour she hadn’t explored much.

Still, she’d gained a general sense of Tokyo University.

The Komaba campus was heavily landscaped; besides the ginkgo tree avenue, other large trees were everywhere, and Western-style lecture halls were nestled among them.

Heavily influenced by Western culture, Japanese universities often featured buildings with Western architectural elements.

Visually, they resembled Gothic architecture—domed spires topped with rows of tall elliptical arches, walls carved with intricate reliefs; at first glance, one might think they were in a British campus.

Further in, the newly built lecture halls were better—modern high-rises, the same style found worldwide.

Of course, Luo Quan had only walked for an hour; Tokyo University still held many secrets she hadn’t discovered—she’d have to uncover them slowly in the future.

At mealtime, Luo Quan used her phone to locate the cafeteria.

Tokyo University had three cafeterias; Luo Quan went to the nearest one.

This cafeteria was very bright; outside, many students were performing—some dancing hip-hop, others singing, and one even carried a piano onto the open ground to play publicly.

Many people gathered around to watch—not just students, but also tourists from outside, taking photos with their phones and cameras.

Tokyo University had always been open to the public; besides tourists, many high school students on educational trips came to visit, gazing upon what they saw as the pinnacle of their academic journey.

Luo Quan paused with the others to watch; the performers were earnest, but their skills were average—still, for amateurs, they were quite good.

Losing interest, Luo Quan turned to enter the cafeteria—two girls stepped directly in her path.

“Excuse me, are you Izumi-san?” the girl with glasses asked with a smile.

“Of course it’s Izumi-san—only she could be this beautiful!” Before Luo Quan could answer, her black-haired, long-straight-haired companion answered for her.

Luo Quan nodded: “My stage name is Izumi. Who are you?”

The girl with glasses exclaimed: “I’m a member of the Tokyo University Aileshe—I’m Kamaya Suzune!”

“I’m Miyano Xia Zi, also a member of Aileshe,” said the long-haired girl.

“You’re here to ask me to join the music club?” Luo Quan said regretfully: “But I’ve already joined the Language Research Society. Even though our club never holds any activities, withdrawing now would probably be a hassle.”

Speaking of the Language Research Society, Luo Quan felt frustrated—her former self had always been quiet; in three years of high school, she had only one friend, Chunzi. Her isolation was her truest trait.

In Japan, being unsociable was a serious matter; most Japanese had a herd mentality, seeking uniformity in everything from clothing to club activities, rejecting any deviation.

Someone unsociable was seen as abnormal—not just odd, but morally flawed, a weirdo.

Such people were often ostracized and bullied at school—this was why Luo Quan had been tormented by female classmates before.

In university, Luo Quan didn’t want this to happen again, so she gritted her teeth and joined a club—but due to her nature, she ended up in the most obscure, least-populated club on campus: the Language Research Society.

It was a dull club even language majors avoided; the entire society had only six members, including Luo Quan—three men, three women.

Luo Quan would never forget her first day in the club room: in a cramped space, five students sat hunched over a table, staring intently at books, papers scattered everywhere, many covered in dense script even linguistics professors couldn’t decipher.

Only the male president looked up at her, saying simply: “We’re creating a language. Want to join?”

Luo Quan’s scalp prickled; she said nothing.

The president wasn’t offended; he merely shook his head gently: “Of course. Ordinary people can’t understand us. If you don’t want to join, go ahead—just close the door behind you.”

Then he returned to scribbling on the paper, ignoring her completely.

After that, Luo Quan never returned to the club room; the president never contacted her again—her membership existed only on paper.

Technically, the president hadn’t canceled her membership, but she was too lazy to track him down and waste everyone’s time, so she just let it drag on.

Now, suddenly, members of the music club approached her—truthfully, she was tempted, but she couldn’t join yet.

But Luo Quan was mistaken—the two Aileshe girls hadn’t come to recruit her.

Kamaya Suzune explained: “We want you to represent Aileshe in the Komaba Festival competition!”

“Competition?”

Miyano Xia Zi nodded: “This year’s Komaba Festival will host a nationwide university singing contest—TV stations will broadcast it. We heard some contestants from other universities have already debuted; they’re strong. We’re afraid we can’t compete, so we’re asking you, as a fellow student, for help.”

“So you want me to be your secret weapon,” Luo Quan smiled, interested, and nodded: “I’ll help.”

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