The clubroom felt colder the next day.
Maybe it was the draft through the cracked window, or maybe it was Chen's imagination, still thinking about the strange book he'd found — the one shaped like a door, made of wood, unnaturally smooth, and warm to the touch.
He'd gone back to check on it during cleaning, half-hoping it had turned out to be a leftover stage prop or a weird novelty journal from an old club member.
But it was still there.
Sitting exactly where he'd left it on the desk, like it hadn't moved a millimeter.
Untouched.
Unopened.
He'd brought it home in his bag that evening and stared at it for nearly an hour before deciding not to try opening it again. The splinter had been real, and he didn't want to bleed all over a haunted book just to satisfy his curiosity.
But even now, sitting in class, Chen could still feel its weight in his bag.
Like it was watching him.
"Books don't watch people," he reminded himself. "Books don't hum. Or pulse. Or feel warm."
"They definitely don't glow."
And yet…
He glanced down at his bag, as if it might unzip itself. The book had been glowing when he checked it that morning. Only faintly, like the soft glow of a nightlight. But it had been unmistakably real.
And it had stopped glowing the moment he'd touched it again.
"Okay. So either I've found the rarest magical artifact in history…"
"…or I'm losing my mind from eating cafeteria fish too many days in a row."
The bell rang, jarring him back to the present.
He stood, shouldered his bag, and walked slowly down the hallway toward the clubroom—fingers brushing the zipper like a nervous tic. Maybe today he'd figure it out. Or maybe he'd get another splinter and leave feeling stupid again.
Either way, it beat sitting alone in the cafeteria pretending not to care that no one wanted to sit with him.
The clubroom door creaked open with its usual groan, but this time the air inside felt different—thicker, heavier. Like walking into a place that hadn't been disturbed for decades.
"Which is impossible," Chen told himself. "I cleaned it yesterday."
Still, the dust motes swirled more slowly in the golden light, and the smell of old paper and wood seemed… sharper. Richer.
He dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room.
Took the wooden book out onto the desk and sat on the chair himself.
Looked at it for a second.
Just sitting there. Quiet.
Waiting.
Chen stared at it, then reached out and ran his fingers along the carved edges. There was no keyhole, no latch, just the faint impression of a door-shaped seam running down the center.
And a handle.
"I'm probably going to regret this."
He grasped the handle and pulled.
Nothing happened.
No creak, no movement, no secret passage. It didn't even wiggle.
He tried again, with more force. Still nothing.
He was just about to set it down again when the light shifted. Not the sunlight from the window, but something from the book itself. A faint pulse—like a heartbeat.
He stepped back.
After a moments silence and nothing happening he took the book and stuffed it into his bag again.
Then the air near the back of the room stirred. Not the books. The shelf itself.
Chen turned.
The far wall, near the last shelf—where he'd found the manga from his grandfather—seemed…off.
Like something behind it had exhaled.
The old manga trembled slightly in place. A few dust motes spun the wrong way. And then—just barely—he heard something click.
A sound like a key turning in a lock.
Chen crossed the room slowly, heart thudding.
The back shelf was nothing special. Mostly stuffed with books no one read anymore. Yellowed pamphlets, torn covers, some fantasy epics so long they sagged the entire shelf. He knelt and scanned the space behind it, running his fingers along the wall.
It felt normal. Cold. Dry.
Then he felt it—a notch.
Right behind the shelf, against the back panel of the wall. Not wood. Not paint. Something else.
He leaned closer and caught a glimpse: a wooden outline, the shape of a narrow door, about shoulder height, hidden in the wall's grooves.
Impossible.
But real.
He pressed his palm against it.
Warm.
From his bag, a soft chime sounded—barely audible, like a wind chime in the distance. He turned and yanked the zipper open.
The book's cover had split down the middle—just a crack—and from within, a small wooden key lay nestled in the center. It looked freshly carved. Smooth. Warm to the touch. Like it had been waiting for someone.
He stared at it, then glanced back at the wall.
There was a keyhole now.
Right where his hand had touched the wood.
"This is either going to change my life… or kill me."
He picked up the key.
The moment the teeth touched the slot, something shifted.
A click, then a creak, and the outline of the door folded open—not like a normal door, but like bark peeling away from a tree, glowing from beneath. Soft golden-green light spilled into the clubroom. The air smelled like wind and soil and something sweeter—spice and ozone and magic.
Actual magic.
Chen stared, heart frozen, breath stuck in his throat.
On the other side of the door was…not a hallway.
It was a staircase—wooden, winding, carved into the inside of what looked like a massive tree trunk, larger than any living thing had a right to be. Faint light spiraled up through the wood, like veins glowing with starlight. The stairs led downward, curving slowly into unseen depths.
And voices echoed faintly. Music. Laughter. Talking brooms?
Chen stood in the doorway, the key still in his hand.
"This isn't real."
"This can't be real."
But the air was warm. The smell was real. The sounds were getting clearer.
The clubroom behind him looked dull and gray in comparison.
He stepped one foot across the threshold.
The moment he did, something shifted in his chest—a pull, like the gravity of the world had tilted slightly. He hesitated, gripping the doorframe.
The light brushed across his skin, gentle but humming with energy. Like being touched by a sunbeam wrapped in silk.
"One step," he told himself. "Just one."
He took another step, fully inside.
And the world opened.
The staircase wound downward gently, the walls shifting in color from golden bark to rich, glowing amber. There were carvings in the wood—symbols and runes in languages he didn't recognize, interwoven with art: dragons in flight, trees with a thousand doors, cups overflowing with stars.
"This is a fantasy world's core," he realized. "This tree… it's alive. And I'm inside it."
He reached the base of the stairs and stepped out onto a wide landing.
And gasped.
The Tree Tavern stretched before him—massive, sprawling, built into the hollowed belly of the god-tree. Dozens of platforms spiraled outward into the trunk's open space, suspended by wooden bridges and glowing rope-vines. Creatures of every imaginable kind moved through the space: elves with glowing tattoos, dwarves in enchanted armor, beastfolk sipping luminous drinks, a seven-foot tall dryad arguing with a talking raccoon in a suit.
Floating lights illuminated the air like magical fireflies. A sign hung from one of the central walkways, slowly spinning:
Welcome to the Tree Tavern – All Realms, All Races, All Stories Welcome.
Chen's knees nearly gave out.
"It's real."
"It's actually real."
"This… this is the kind of place Grandpa used to dream about."
Someone bumped into him from behind—a small floating broom with eyes and an annoyed whistle. "Watch it, kiddo, out of way people," it squeaked, then zipped off carrying a tray of glowing cups.
Chen blinked.
"Yup. Definitely real."
He looked around, the wonder crashing into him all at once.
And then, softly, came the second realization.
"Wait. If I'm here… what time is it out there?"
A small info-stone glowed beside the stairs. He leaned down and read:
Time Dilation Active. 1 Hour = 1 Minute Earthside. Universal translation: On
His heart flipped.
"I can live here. I can be here… and no one will even know I'm gone."
The thought wasn't frightening.
It was relief.