Among all the long-established student clubs at Jadecrest Academy, the Jadecrest News Club—founded only a year ago—was undoubtedly the odd one out.
It didn’t meet the official requirement of 20 members, had no minimum of five faculty advisors, and didn’t even have a dedicated clubroom.
Yet somehow, this “three-nothing” club still got its establishment approved by the student council.
Even more absurdly, when it first launched, the club had only two members.
And to this day, aside from the student council and Luther, who serves as the vice-president, no one even knows the real identity of the actual club president.
And yet, against all odds, the News Club’s academy paper managed to crush the long-standing Jadecrest Daily and, within a year, became the top media outlet on campus.
They even partnered with New Star Daily, a major newspaper in Jadecrest City, to launch a premium campus feature column.
For a time, the academy paper, the News Club, and the once-unknown Luther became the hottest names in the entire academy.
Drawn by its sudden rise to fame and its generous perks and high returns, students flocked to the News Club, making it, for a time, the largest club on campus.
But as new members dug deeper, they discovered that the legendary Luther was just the vice-president.
The real president had never once shown their face to any of the regular members.
Compared to Luther’s mysterious three-year student record, the president’s identity was a complete blank slate.
All instructions were delivered through Luther, who acted as their middleman.
Naturally, this air of mystery attracted plenty of schemers hoping to tear down the News Club by targeting the elusive president.
Like flies to carrion, they poured time, energy, and resources into the hunt.
But no matter how hard they tried, their efforts disappeared like pebbles dropped into the sea.
Every plan came to nothing, and they were forced to give up one by one.
In the end, the world concluded that the mysterious “president” was just a smokescreen—an invention of Luther’s to maintain control.
But the truth behind Luther not being the real president wasn’t nearly as dramatic as people believed.
In fact, as the actual president of the News Club, Sheffil could only describe it as utterly ridiculous.
Luther had racked up four months of unpaid meal tabs at the academy cafeteria and was flagged as a delinquent—making him ineligible to represent any official student group.
As a result, Sheffil, who had been roped in under the pretense of “investment,” ended up becoming the president by default—simply because he was the only one with clean paperwork.
“Don’t start with me. I’m just the honorary ghost-member—you can call me whatever you want,” Sheffil said, brushing aside Luther, who was trying a little too hard to butter him up.
“Anyway, whatever happens to this club has nothing to do with me. I only care about whether I get paid.”
“Straight to the point! That’s what I love about working with smart people like you, Sheffil.”
Luther clapped his hands, then leaned in with a conspiratorial tone.
“That said, the paper’s been in a bit of a slump the past couple of days. Don’t you think we could, you know, spice things up with some juicy headlines? Otherwise, the money…”
“Forget it. Isn’t digging up headlines your job as the ‘super reporter’? If you can’t even handle your main task, don’t expect a big payout, Luther-senpai.”
“Aw, come on! I’m not in this for the money. I’m doing this for the good of the academy’s student body—for their entertainment, their well-being! It’s an act of noble self-sacrifice!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m busy this afternoon. Spare me the moral crusade—I’m going to lunch.”
Not in the mood to hear another of Luther’s self-righteous rants, Sheffil waved him off and turned to leave.
“Hey, don’t tell me you’re off to play house with your childhood sweetheart again? I haven’t had lunch either—treat me?”
“I’m impressed you can beg for a free meal so shamelessly,” Sheffil snapped, shooting a glare at Luther, who was clinging to him like a stray mutt.
“You can tag along, but if you expect me to pay, I’ll rip your kidneys out and sell them. Also, do you really think the News Club is the only thing I’ve got to manage? I’ve got a full plate, man.”
“Such as?”
“The joint event between the Vocal Club and the Extreme Track & Field Club. The fan club meeting for Dorothy. The blacksmithing competition hosted by the Spear Division of the Artisan Guild.”
“Oh, and I’m organizing the Tri-Year Student Union Meeting. I’ve got a million things to deal with—I’m not like you, sitting around with nothing to do.”
Sheffil rattled off his packed schedule like it was second nature.
Unlike Dorothy, who bounced between romance and study, or Jianle, who was here purely to hone her strength, Sheffil’s academy life was relentlessly busy.
Dorothy had even complained that during Sheffil’s peak stress periods, he’d vanish for ten days at a time.
People joked he might’ve gotten his kidneys harvested for real.
“A vice-president of the Vocal Club and Track Club, honorary chairman of Dorothy’s fan club, president of the News Club, and scary-looking on top of all that—Sheffil, have you ever thought of playing that classic villain in those harem stories?”
“You know, the dark-haired, rich bad guy who always gets slapped down by the weak-looking protagonist?”
Even as a seasoned reporter, Luther couldn’t help but marvel.
Sheffil had mastered time management, was wildly popular, had a commanding presence, a beautiful childhood friend, and a suspiciously flirtatious rapport with multiple attractive girls.
It felt like a complete waste that he wasn’t serving as the stepping stone for some overpowered protagonist.
“You joke, but I have played that role before,” Sheffil said with a shrug.
“That time in the Drama Club—the lead was a bit fragile. I held back, but he still almost passed out.”
He tilted his head, genuinely confused.
“The guy was really into character, too. After the play, he brought the heroine with him and came to ‘analyze’ the performance.”
“He even repeated the whole ‘what goes around comes around’ speech. I thought I hadn’t done a good enough job, so I recited a few lines like ‘I’ll kill your woman first, then—’ or ‘You think you can talk to me like that and leave here alive?’”
But next thing I knew, they were both gone.
Maybe they thought my acting was too intense?”
“Why are you smiling like that? You look gross.”
Snapping out of his nostalgic haze, Sheffil stared suspiciously at Luther, who was now clutching the lower half of his face like a clown in a traveling circus.