Insane

University societies always sounded better on paper.

On the posters plastered across campus, they promised networking, friendship, and endless opportunities. A chance to meet new people, they say. But nah, it was a crowded hall with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the air thick with a mix of sweat, pizza grease, and too many different perfumes that would overload your sense of smell. Students huddled about with tote bags stuffed with flyers they’d never read again. Every second stall was shouting louder than the one before — free donuts here, discount movie tickets there. Someone in a suit of metal armor swung a foam sword at curious onlookers, yelling about medieval fencing like it was the hottest thing in town.

You weren’t supposed to be there (or didn’t want to be here but had to). Thought it would be a quick check out of your new classrooms and dip out. But no, a random stranger you just befriended out of necessity dragged you in, then disappeared five minutes later with a free slice of pizza and a promise to “be right back.” Which, of course, meant never.

So there you were: a second-year, stranded in the chaos, clutching a tote bag of unwanted flyers and wondering why you hadn’t just gone to find your lecture halls and studio rooms.

And then you heard her. That siren-like yet unabashed voice.

“Join us or regret it forever for being uncultured, you little shit!”

The voice rang out like a firecracker. Sharp, playful, impossible to ignore.

You turned your head and spotted her instantly: a short-haired girl standing on a chair at one of the Culture Society stalls, waving a clipboard like a shotgun and ignoring her upperclassmen telling her to get down. Maybe undergrad first year, perhaps? (seriously, who wore high-school-esque outfits at uni unless you just graduated?). And then her grins. Yea that wicked grin that dares anyone to say no.

Well, that was Enami Asa.

She hopped down with the kind of energy only the first-years carried, scanning the crowd like she was hunting. Her eyes locked onto you (wait, onto you, what?), and she pointed without hesitation.

“Hey, you!” she called, pointing like you’d just been chosen for jury duty.

You blinked, glancing behind you to see if she meant someone else. Nope. It was you. God damn it.

“Yes, you, mister.” she said, striding over with long, confident steps. “Confused face. Tote bag of bad life choices. You look perfect.”

You tightened your grip on the tote and took a preemptive step back. “Erm…Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She shoved the clipboard into your hands before you could react. “Sign up. You look like you need friends.”

You stared at her. “That’s your sales pitch? Really? How rude.”

“It works,” she said without missing a beat, arms crossed like she’d already won. “I’m Asa. First year. Communication. What about you, mister?”

The way she said it — stretching the honorific, making it sound both mocking and oddly affectionate — made you rub the back of your neck awkwardly. “Well, second year. Architecture. And I didn’t actually agree to join.”

“Perfect. That makes joining the club easier,” she declared, already scribbling on the sheet.

“But I didn’t sa-”

“Too late,” Asa chirped. Before you could stop her, she plucked a pen from your tote bag, scribbled down your name, and slapped the clipboard back onto the table. “Congratulations. You’re officially in the Culture Society.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but another voice drifted in, softer yet steady.

“Asa, stop bothering people.”

You turned, and that’s when you saw her. Kim Minjeong.

She wasn’t at the stall like Asa — she was seated off to the side, sketchbook balanced gracefully on her lap. Her long hair spilled across her shoulder, the ends brushing the page as she tapped her pencil absently. Compared to Asa’s whirlwind energy, Minjeong felt like a concrete anchor: calm, quiet, but somehow just as magnetic.

When she looked up, her eyes met yours, and for a moment you felt pinned in place. Not because she was intimidating (though there was something sharp hidden under her softness) but because her gaze lingered, patient and unhurried, like she actually saw you.

“Sorry about her,” Minjeong said, closing her sketchbook with a soft thud. “She gets…overexcited.”

“Excited? Please. I’m being vocal for our society since you are too meek!” Asa argued, hands on her hips. “Besides, he looks trustworthy. Doesn’t he?”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, lips quivering just slightly at the corners. “…Trustworthy isn’t the word I’d use. But I don’t think he’s running away yet.”

You blinked between them, unsure if this was hazing or a job interview. “Don’t want to be rude but…I didn’t even say I wanted to join.”

“Yes, you did,” Asa lied, already moving to grab another clipboard.

“When the hell did I say that?” You scratched your head.

Minjeong tilted her head, her expression gentler now. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t let her pressure you.”

You opened your mouth to argue — not sure with who — but Asa cut in, clapping her hands together. “Decision made. He’s ours. End of story.”

Five seconds later and you found your signature next to your name on the sign up form for a club you didn’t even put a dime about, standing between a sharp-tongued freshman and a soft-spoken third year who clearly thought Asa was a menace.

And that was the start.

From then on, Asa had a habit of appearing outside your lectures, tugging at your sleeve and dragging you to late-night cafés or society mixers (even when you powered through the day with only coffee and 4 hours of sleep). Minjeong was the steadier presence, inviting you to study in the library or walking you part of the way across campus when your schedules lined up.

It didn’t take long for the roles to fall into place. Minjeong, the oldest one, with quiet authority and that subtle way of calling you out when you were being stupid. You, the reluctant middle child, forever stuck balancing night and day. And Asa — fiery, relentless, the youngest sister type who never stopped pushing buttons but somehow made everything more fun.

You hadn’t been looking for friends. But somehow, you ended up with two…very contrasting girls.

University suddenly became a lot more interesting.

The second you walked into the party house, you knew you didn’t belong here.

The bass rattled your ribs, turning your pulse into a borrowed rhythm. Coloured lights strobed across the walls, bleeding pink and blue into every corner until even shadows looked neon. The air was hot with too many bodies pressed too close, laced with the tang of alcohol and the artificial sweetness of cheap perfume. And everywhere you turned, there were faces you’d only ever seen perfectly filtered through Instagram: influencers, models, wannabes. All of them laughing too loud, posing mid-conversation, drinks tilted just right so someone could catch it on video.

And you?

Dragged into this mess not by choice but by Asa’s persistence and Minjeong’s quiet insistence. It’s definitely not your cup of tea. Normally your go-to excuse—“assignments due, too many drawings to draft and models to make”—would’ve worked, but Asa had rolled her eyes and called you more boring than a public bench, and Minjeong’s soft, “Just come with us, it’ll be fine, take a break” had sealed your fate. Now, planted between the two of them (and ignoring the due dates looming over you in a week), you felt like a sore thumb.

Asa strutted in like she owned the place. Her fitted blazer and pleated skirt drew attention immediately, her new long hair catching the strobe lights as though even they wanted to flatter her. Heads turned, whispers trailed in her wake. Minjeong followed just a step behind, understated in her new short hair and a loose cardigan that slipped slightly off one shoulder, her beauty quiet but magnetic—she didn’t need to try, didn’t even want to, yet somehow every gaze lingered on her.

You just stood awkwardly between them, mentally calculating how long you had to stay before it was socially acceptable to leave.

“Relax, jeez” Asa said, nudging your shoulder as she snapped a quick selfie with Minjeong. “You’re with the prettiest people here. You should be thanking me.”

“…I feel like I’m chaperoning you for free.” you muttered. “I can’t fight, you know?”

Minjeong’s lips curved into the smallest smile. Her voice barely rose above the music, but you heard it anyway. “You’re doing fine.”

“I wish I am.” you muttered, rubbing your temple. But you know she meant it kindly.