Chapter 33 – Last Carnival

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“Well then, we now have five members. We’ve finally reached our target number. Today marks the beginning of our underground class activities.”

The club president spoke those words.

Though an awkward tension still lingered between us, it had mostly dissipated now that official activities were beginning.

I pulled my hood back up and focused on the situation at hand.

The president watched me with an oddly intense gaze as they continued:

“Our goal is to preserve the spirit of humanity—one that will eventually be forgotten and erased—and, if necessary, bring about its revival. To achieve this, we must summon our ‘god.’”

“Does this god really exist?” Hongryeon asked.

The president smiled meaningfully and shrugged.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I…”

Hongryeon glanced at me, as if expecting advice.

I avoided her gaze and turned my head away.

“…I guess it depends on how you look at it. It’s a pretty convenient concept, after all.”

“So that’s what Hongryeon thinks. What about you, Yuri?”

I looked at Yuri.

She had been side-eyeing me this whole time, and when our eyes met, we both quickly looked away.

Yuri hesitated for a moment before answering.

“I don’t really care. It’s not like believing or not believing changes how we live.”

“I see. So we already have two indifferent opinions. What about you, Geon-woo?”

The bespectacled male student adjusted his glasses—their lenses glinting ominously—before speaking.

“It’s a question with deep philosophical implications, one that has persisted since the dawn of humanity. While I don’t personally believe in the literal existence of a god, I acknowledge its necessity in human civilization. Religion, after all, has historically served as a unifying force, allowing collective societies to function. Whether we admit it or not, humans are both collectivist and individualist creatures to an undeniable degree…”

My head spun.

Not just from the content, but from how fast he was talking.

If I lost focus for even a few seconds, the conversation had already moved on.

For nearly three minutes, I zoned out, listening to his endless monologue like a lullaby.

Yuri tilted her head in confusion, clearly not following, while Hongryeon—surprisingly—paid close attention.

While the president and Hongryeon absorbed Geon-woo’s ramblings, Yuri and I exchanged glances.

With nothing else to do, our eyes naturally met—confirming that neither of us was keeping up.

On a whim, I decided to mess with Yuri.

I subtly manipulated the blood in my eyes, making them swirl unnaturally, almost hypnotically.

Yuri stiffened the moment she saw them, her face twisting in shock.

She glanced around, realizing no one else had noticed, then glared back at me.

Her expression screamed:

“…What the hell are you?”

I ignored her and turned away.

Yuri was the type who always had followers around her, reinforcing her pride.

But here, she had no allies.

She knew pointing out my strangeness would only make her look crazy.

So she stayed silent.

‘This reaction is fun.’

People with inflated egos were always entertaining when stripped of their support system.

‘…Though maybe teasing her is too childish.’

While I pondered, the conversation finally ended.

I hadn’t understood any of it, but the president nodded approvingly at Geon-woo’s input.

Hongryeon also nodded, though it was unclear if she actually followed along.

The president then addressed everyone:

“Those were all fascinating points. How often do we get to ponder the divine? Sadly, modern humanity has lost interest in such transcendent concepts—even though they form the very foundation of our existence.”

“Are you saying this god is real?” Yuri asked, sneaking another glance at me.

The president responded by pulling something out:

“That depends on interpretation. But for now, let’s begin today’s ritual.”

It was a tattered ragdoll, its arm half-detached and dangling.

Though it resembled a cute humanoid character, its stained fabric and loose threads betrayed its age.

The president placed it at the center of our circle.

“This will serve as our ‘vessel’ for today’s experiment.”

“A vessel?” Yuri grimaced.

Did she actually believe in this stuff?

Before I could wonder further, Hongryeon suddenly interjected:

“If this is supposed to house a god, shouldn’t we use something less… broken? Who knows how it’ll react to being stuffed into a shoddy body.”

The president chuckled.

“An amusing thought. But this doll is the only suitable vessel—the conditions for divine manifestation are strict.”

Hongryeon then pulled out red thread and a needle.

“At least let me fix its arm. A defective vessel might anger the god.”

Yuri sighed loudly, still treating Hongryeon’s behavior as some weird roleplay.

But then she froze—glancing at me with sudden realization.

I smirked.

Whatever she had figured out, it was shaking her worldview.

As Hongryeon stitched the doll, the president retrieved an ancient-looking grimoire.

“The entity we seek is one that ancient priests barely glimpsed—a god hidden in humanity’s earliest, most unstable darkness.”

The opened page depicted something jagged and indistinct, pulsing as if flaunting its overwhelming presence through name alone.

” ‘Deus Ex Machina.’ The god who will lead humanity to a new horizon.”

The name meant “Machine-made God”

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