A Medical Device

In one of the less reputable corners of the market was a shop run by a poorly dressed doctor. He sold a variety of magnet-based therapeutic devices which were effective at treating all sorts of illnesses (primarily non-existent ones).

His greatest contribution to medicine was a sort of soft mesh hat with many small woven pockets, each of which could accommodate an equally diminutive magnet. By carefully manipulating the pattern of the magnets, the device could pattern and store a new memory in the brain.

Unfortunately, the device had at least two flaws. First, there was no effect when the hat was not worn. 

Now, I could joke that the second flaw was that the hat also had no effect when it was worn! But I would be quite dishonest to claim that. Having tested the device myself, I can confirm that wearing the hat did impose a new memory to the wearer. I recall that it was quite an uncomfortable fit.

The Great Race

The papers were plastered with celebratory headlines proclaiming the race worthy of history and the victory a miracle. By some accounts, this was one of  the great underdog victories of all time- though needless to mention neither of the involved animals was a canine.

While the kingdom was enraptured with romantic notions of a triumph against impossible odds, those who watched the actual race described it as a slow and plodding snooze-fest.

In the weeks after, there were rumors that match-fixing was responsible for the upset. The tabloids reported a sizzling exposé based on accounts from two unnamed eyewitnesses, though the local bookmakers denied any foul play and dismissed such talk as "a cock and bull story". The bookmakers subsequently issued a public apology for making unwarranted racial comments.

After much investigation, no trace of any wrongdoing was found. The lopsided result was ruled to be entirely due to a "hare-brained race strategy".

/s, The Tool of the Witless

I loathe the sarcasm flag, /s. I find it often follows witless and offensive comments, where the /s is somehow wielded as a shield against further criticism.

If it is offensive to make a certain comment, I think that appending a '/s' to it hardly changes the quality of the message.

A Room of Killers II

No one appeared to be aware that everybody else trapped in the mysteriously sealed mansion was a hardened murderer. 

Ah no, there was a mistake with that statement.

To be absolutely accurate, not everyone was an serial killer of some sort, and not everyone was totally ignorant of the criminal nature of the people in the room. I was the singular exception to both of these.

Others have often commented on my problematic interest in any crime news of the macabre sort. In hindsight, perhaps they were correct. My current circumstances might have been the result of my unique knowledge and interests, but this was only my speculation. However, was it possible that I was simply an unfortunate third party randomly inserted into this artificial situation?

The immediate question was, what was the purpose of this scenario? A set of rooms totally closed off to the outside, with barely sufficient supplies to last everyone for a week.

Even if those gathered consisted entirely of ordinary people, the desperate situation would eventually give birth to the conclusion that the solution is to kill. 

Of course, if one was already a murderer, and a serial killer at that, then the thought process would be accelerated many fold.

But everyone here was a murderer, only that they were currently unadvised of this fact. This was a tinderbox to be sparked by the first sign of violence.

Judging from the current state of relative calm, nobody had come to a similar conclusion yet. At the very least, nobody has acted suspiciously, or expressed any hints that they knew anyone else's identity.

A single pindrop might change all of this in an instant.

There was only one thought in my mind: How could I survive in this room of murderers?

In this game, I had only one advantage. It wasn't any physical attribute, such as strength or speed or agility. It wasn't even a mental advantage, a difference in intellect or cunning. From what I knew of these murderers, each of them surpassed me in either athleticism or intelligence. By raw stats alone, I knew I was outmatched. But that very statement hinted at the nature of my advantage.

I knew. 

Not that I was outmatched, though that knowledge was certainly helpful in informing my decisions. It was my very knowledge of all the participants that was my strongest hand.

True, perhaps I lacked the raw intellect or cunning to fully exploit this information. But even so, I could see a clear way to exploit the existing situation to my favor. To increase my chances of survival, I had to control the narrative.

"Good morning. I am the manager of this game. As you have verified, there is no means of escaping this chamber."

 

Random Thoughts on Tobacco Labels and the Sugar Tax

I'm not quite sure how effective including gory graphic warnings of the various unsavory outcomes of smoking on cigarette packets is. People who smoke, I would assume, are already aware of the countless health issues associated with smoking and thus would have, at some point of time, made the conscious decision to continue smoking. Thus, including the graphic reminder would add very little to challenge their decision if they had previously found the trade-off between their health and smoking to be, if not acceptable, at least tolerable.

Of course, it may be argued that the warnings, while ineffective on the hardened smoker, could yet serve to discourage budding smokers or smokers-to-be. However, I would imagine that social pressure is one of the reasons for picking up smoking, and if so, the health warnings would do little to overcome this cause. If anything, knowing about the risk-taking behavior of young punks, the gory graphic warnings would paradoxically enhance the emasculating image of smoking.

I've said it as a joke, but possibly the graphic warnings could be replaced with alternative imagery, preferably something deeply embarrassing that nobody would want to be seen with. My first thought was something pink and frilly, but that might boost sales in the wrong demographics. A safer bet would be pictures of old wrinkly ladies or dung beetles.

I could be entirely wrong, and graphic warnings could be extremely effective. In that case, I suppose we could adopt the same tactics on the war on diabetes. Instead of a sugar tax, we simply stick pictures of diabetics on every pack of sugary drink or snack. This would surely be more effective than a "Healthier Choice" logo!

Fireworks on the New Year

Between the present, the past, and the future, he was sure he preferred the past. Perhaps all people on occasion feel the same pangs of nostalgia, and that he differed only in degree. It was thus surprising to see him at the bay on New Year's Eve, awaiting the fireworks at the knoll of the bell.

He smiled as a courtesy, but said little. When the countdown ended, fireworks rocketed through the sky and crackled with their multicoloured intensity.

It was only much later when I learned, entirely by coincidence, that the reactions within fireworks are not instantaneous; rather, it takes some time to fire. Thus, if the fireworks appear to immediately after the countdown, it could have actually been fired in advance at some known interval.

He wasn't celebrating the beginning of the new Year as we all did, but the passing of the old. But then again, perhaps we all were, simply that we didn't know it.

And We Shall Never Surrender

The slaughter was senseless, but slaughter always was. Privately I had sometimes suspected that things might have turned out better if we were a little more cowardly, or a little less determined. But we never surrendered, even in the face of utter defeat. We fought with our planes when they came from above. When the skies were lost, we fought on the ground with our tanks and our artillery. When our armies arrayed on the field were charred and ruined, we fought on in the streets with guns. To the very end, we found ourselves fighting in our homes with knives and bare hands.

Humanity never surrendered. But it was also that surrender was impossible. The aliens had no interest in anything we could offer that they could not simply just take. Their technology was boundlessly superior. Any surrender would be unconditional and entirely unfavorable. We simply had nothing to bargain with. So we fought.

As we grew more desperate, we pulled every trick we knew, even those which we had thought unthinkable to use. When nukes failed, we turned to chemical and biological weapons. But our inferior technologies offered us no advantage, and every attack was quickly neutralized. Therefore, some of us turned to mysticism, which the aliens did not know.

Necromancy, as it turned out, was always real. It was merely that the sacrifices were considered unthinkable.  We crossed that line weeks ago, and then some. For a price, an army was created to replace those we had lost. An army of the dead, manned with soldiers from wars long past. An army without number, to fight an enemy from beyond the stars.

We lost. In hindsight, was there any other outcome? The army of the dead was large, but at the same time the musket was considered advanced technology to half the army. It was at this point that we surrendered. There was nothing else we could conceivably do to win.

It was only later that I learned that necromancy saved us. We didn't win, but that was a foregone conclusion past the first few hours of the invasion. We simply didn't lose... everything. All we had fought for were some bargaining chips for a conditional surrender.

Did I mention that the aliens did not know about mysticism, in particular necromancy?

Only Silence

Turn on the television and there is music. Perhaps it's a melancholic piano score, an uplifting pop tune, or a jarring electronic track. Sometimes it's roaring applause, or a cacophony of jeers. But if there is drama, there should be music.

In her words, art imitates life. She said to listen more carefully. More carefully, not harder; the distinction was important. If I did so, then I could hear, perhaps very faintly, the music in people's lives.

Of course, I didn't hear a single thing, only silence.

She let out a laugh, then a sigh. People have no music in their lives, she mused. All that plays in the background is a dull silence. No background soundtrack, no musical accompaniment, not even a laugh track.

Most of the time anyway, she added on as an afterthought. A movie, however good it is, can't be equally riveting all the time. There has to be a build-up to the climax, and that is when the music plays.

An Appraisal of Two Magical Artifacts

I was recently tasked to appraise two magical artifacts. In particular, I was requested to make the assessment purely on the economic benefits and effects of the items, without taking into consideration any innate value (for example, as a curiosity or object of study) the items could possess. In other words, I was asked whether these magical artifacts would serve as good investments capable of reaping decent monetary dividends.

The first item was a small cloth purse with exotic runes woven into the fabric. It was not difficult to cross-reference the runes and thus to identify the artifact; this was a pouch of lesser reward, and it had the wondrous ability of conjuring a single silver coin, weighing about an ounce, each day.

The second item was a refined necromantic ritual which was capable of reanimating a skeleton from a corpse. The skeleton, once magically animated, would be able to execute simple commands autonomously without the need for food, drink, or rest. Based on the text of the tome, the skeleton would be free of decay without requiring further maintenance of any sort. Unfortunately, the ritual depended on several rare components, but it was possible to source for them. The question was simply whether it was economic to do so.

Both magical artifacts attracted much interest. Both promised to generate income forever, and thus seemed to be attractive investments. In particular, the necromantic ritual could potentially be used to replace all simple human labor! These seemed like no-brainers.

I remained unconvinced. The important consideration was the return on investment, which depended on the pricing of the magical items. While it was true that given enough time, both artifacts would generate a positive return, this ignored the opportunity cost of investment. In order words, it might be more profitable to invest in other financial instruments if the magic artifacts were simply too expensive. 

I proceeded to make an assessment on a fair pricing for both the items. First, to be competitive with other investments, the artifacts would have to yield at least an annual return of 3%, otherwise I would easily be better off parking my money in, for example, government securities. The next step would be to estimate the annual return each artifact would generate.

For the pouch of lesser reward, this calculation was simple. A single silver coin a day would fetch about 15 USD, give or take. Thus, over a year the pouch would generate 5475 USD. Based on this, the pouch could cost at most 182,500 USD; if it were any more expensive, it would be a poor investment.

For the necromantic ritual, the annual return would have to be based on the cost of simple labor which the skeleton would replace. A conservative estimate for a sweatshop worker's wages is 1 USD an hour. Compounded over a year, a skeleton would replace 8760 USD worth of wages. At this rate, each ritual could not cost more than 292,000 USD, otherwise foreign labor would be more competitive.

Two Heads are Better than One

Here's a little bit of wisdom for today- Two heads are better than one.

And here's another- there are no two-headed giants in the world. Not anywhere outside of natural history museums, anyway. Two-headedness simply did not provide any evolutionary advantage over one-headedness. What is interesting is that the adage originates from the village of Triskelion, where three-headed ogres reside.

Rather than describing the benefits of cooperating, the original meaning of the saying instead alludes to the unique advantages of three-headedness (and indirectly, why two-headedness does not). For those unfamiliar with three-headed ogres, three-headed ogres are large humanoids with three heads, but otherwise have one body (if oversized) and the same pairs of appendages as any other humanoid. Each head of the ogre sustains an individual mind thinking independently of the other two. The question everyone is asking is, with three heads and one body, what dictates how the body acts?

The answer is somewhat complicated, but it goes like this: Each day, two of the three heads are randomly selected to serve as proposers, where the selected heads would individually propose actions to undertake. The remaining head would act as an arbiter, and would choose which action to adopt at any point of time. In this fashion, the actions of the three-headed ogre evolve from a fused consensus of its three heads.

The advantage of this three-headed decision process is a moderation of excessive or reckless behaviors. Implicitly, any action must be supported by at least two heads. Indeed, two heads prove to be better than one.

What about our now extinct two-headed giants? We might speculate that with only two heads, it would be impossible to resolve disagreement between the two, or that one head would naturally be dominant. Without any surviving members of the species, it is difficult to make any supported conclusions.

A Story of Happily Ever After

However long ago it happened, we all know the ending, simply because we're living in it. Ever after is the strongest magic there is, casting an absolute ray of happiness onto all of posterity.

Their posterity, that is. Almost always is it "they" rather than "everyone", for the simple reason that it is almost impossible to satisfy everyone all at once. Of course, in some tales it does read "everyone" rather than "they", this being achieved by horrific means. Whether it is better to be rendered extinct or to be merely subject to eternal misery is, quite frankly, an academic question.

While their descendants of royal stock wallow in unearned merry, an unfortunate few are cursed with bitter misfortune for the crime of having the wrong ancestors. The inequity of the situation is obvious.

Now, I ask you, my fellows of ill adversity, how can the situation be salvaged, if not reversed? Again, I repeat, ever after is the strongest magic there is. Greater forces have tried and succeeded only in adding to the ranks of the miserable. But perhaps the ending is not set in stone. Perhaps the threads of fate cannot be cut with brute force, but must instead rewoven with guile?

I offer this hypothesis: We know that magic cannot conjure something out of nothing. Thus, their happiness must come from somewhere- our misery. The exact amounts of each are perfectly balanced on some mystic scale invisible to us.

Now, there is a limit to how happy a person can be, and similarly a limit to how unhappy a person can be. Herein lies my proposal: to change the numbers on both sides of the scale. Of course, it will be difficult to limit their numbers. In any case, the other approach is more feasible.

Yes, I do not deny it. Misery loves company.

Thoughts on the Uber-Grab Merger

Anyone who was under the impression that the pre-merger situation was the norm must have been painfully unaware of how unsustainable the situation was. In the first place, both Uber and Grab have been running prodigious losses (to the order of hundreds of millions per year), obviously as part of a strategy for acquiring market dominance. The endgame was always to become a monopoly, and then to extract profits.

It's far too late to cry of monopoly now. The public didn't when the prices where low, even as Uber-Grab used investor money to subsidize drivers and riders. Nobody cares about anti-competitive behavior when it makes fares cheaper.

Halting the merger or other steps to impose competition might prevent price gorging, but the inevitable fact is that prices will rise. Eventually, at least. Nobody will like it, but no company is in the business of losing money.

Not Just an Uncle

At the void deck, the old uncle sat with one leg propped on the stone stool. He wasn't playing chess nor checkers, and he wasn't eating winter melon seeds nor sipping kopi out of a plastic bag. He just sat there, almost motionlessly staring into the distance. I then caught a fleeting glint in his eyes-  then I knew. This was no mere old uncle that partook in the decadent activities typical of his generation. No, this was a supreme martial arts expert secretly practicing and honing his skills in public. 

The question was, whether he knew that I knew. I detected no killing aura on him, but true experts are known to be able to hide their auras.  Then again, perhaps he didn't mind being discovered, and that this was some sort of game to him.

As I walked past him, he flashed a toothy grin. "Walk carefully, the ground is slippery." he called out from behind me.  Was this a threat? I didn't know. I did the only thing I could- I walked faster. Stride by stride, I distanced myself from the void deck, yet I could still an immense pressure from behind me. 

A few seconds later, the old uncle flashed past me on his electric scooter, his few strands of hair flowing majestically against the wind.

An Investigation into a Missing Kingdom

Contained within this letter is a summary of my investigations into the missing kingdom; a more detailed report will follow upon my return to court. Regrettably, even after a search of several months, I have failed to discover any physical traces of the missing kingdom. All that remains is an almost impassable thicket of bramble and thorns. While the notion of magic is implausible, I cannot offer any other explanation as to how an entire realm and its people could have vanished overnight.

Though I did not manage to find anyone hailing from the lost kingdom, I did encounter a few merchants that claimed to have visited that land. Though traders have a tendency to spin a yarn and embellish their tales, I was eventually able to piece together an element common to their stories. In the years before the kingdom's sudden disappearance, there was a sudden and great increase in demand for thread and yarn of all types. At the same time, imports of spindles and spinning wheels were forbidden, and any such device found smuggled into the kingdom was immediately burned on sight.

I surmise that there was some element of madness to the rulers of the kingdom; what else would drive them to deprive their people? In the long run, this would certainly have driven their realm to ruin. But overnight? That requires a malice that is more intentional. Indeed, that suits the information that we already have on hand.

It was recorded in the log of our diplomats that sixteen years ago, a great banquet was held in the vanished kingdom to celebrate the christening of a newborn princess. The log notes that six seats were intentionally left empty at the banquet table, yet no noble or diplomat was absent. At first glance, this could simply be a contingency for the odd forgotten guest. Those more attuned to the customs of the other lands would quickly realize that there never was any forgotten guest; those six seats were reserved for six other pagan spirits.

My most educated speculation is that these pagan spirits are to blame of the disappearance of the kingdom. Perhaps they were spurred into action by some dark ritual of a maddening king. Whatever it is, the truth might never come to light. What is clear is that there seems to be little benefit to further investigations into this matter; my fear is that we would provoke the same forces if we are to continue with our inquiry. In any case, there is no urgent and pressing need to survey the area. While our own nation is always in need for more territory, at our current rates of expansion I expect it would take about a hundred years before such a survey is necessary.

A Sound in the Night

You should be concerned whenever you feel a chill upon your spine, and yet search around to find nothing that could have triggered it. And if the sense of dread increases further, get out. Perhaps not too suddenly and quickly, but quickly enough. 

A silly notion, you might say, to be flustered over nothing. Nothing but foolish fear, to be dispelled and ignored. But is it really so? A fear is simply an evolved reaction to a stimulus, very often a dangerous one. Our ancestors that feared things that ought to be feared survived. 

And those who did not fear did not live to pass on their bravery. 

Now, reason might tell us what is the source and cause of the fear, and its danger. But sometimes reason fails to adequately identify or understand. Nonetheless, deep in our bones, we know that something is amiss. 

Rather than cowardice, fear is an ancestral danger sense. To ignore it would be folly.

A Tale from the Mirror

It is not unusual for those who are steeped in evil to lose perspective, and in the end, cause their own demise. Consider the recent scandal- yes, that of a witch, a murderer, a stepmother, and a queen- which has proved to be a popular study in certain circles. In several of these circles, the discussion focuses upon her means of murder, and on how she could have succeeded if she had employed more effective tools. Certainly, that is true, but it only proves my point- that those who are steeped in evil often lose perspective.

The first mistake is to presume a necessity for murder as a means of achieving one's goals. The Queen desired to remain the fairest in the land, and with her stepdaughter proving yet more beautiful, she saw the solution of murder. Admittedly, this would achieve her objective, but was disproportionately risky. It is a trivial exercise for those with vision to see more benign alternatives.

An early death is rather unnatural, and thus difficult to arrange. Good and willing help is problematic to find, and executing the deed personally only serves to increase the chance of failure, as well as to incriminate oneself. But if the crime was less severe, both of these issues could be circumvented. What if the Queen staged some sort of accident, but instead of causing death, merely caused disfigurement? And it needn't be a severe disfigurement, only a mild one- perhaps a small scar? It would achieve the same ends, which was to remove the stepdaughter as a candidate for the fairest.

But even this alternative demonstrates a lack of vision. It only modifies the means, but does not question the motive. Villains are villains not because they have the means, but because they are driven by the wrong motives. Now, why then did the Queen desire to be the fairest, a Sisyphic goal at best? Here I move to speculate: she valued herself by such a metric, and this was reinforced by her becoming Queen by virtue of her beauty. Under the circumstances, she saw her beauty as the cause, and the method, of her remaining Queen. Not an entirely unreasonable thought, for kings that once chose their wives on the basis of beauty are wont to do so again. Insecurity turned to madness, and tragedy followed.

It is here that I lament the loss of perspective that madness brings. She saw only one means to perpetuate her position, and she took it. But what if she had other means of proving herself invaluable to the king and kingdom? For instance, a tool that could scry and discern the truth? By using such a device to assist in the fair administration of the country, her assessment would not only no longer be reliant on her ultimately ephemeral beauty, but be based on her contributions and virtues.

But alas, that is not what happened.

Criminal Physiognomy

One's fate is not written in the stars, but instead in one's face.

For example, examine the photograph of subject A in your training docket. Consider his morbidly misshapen features. Does he not resemble a criminal? Indeed he is a villain of the most depraved kind! So self-evident is his malevolence that a single glance, boosted by our natural intuition, is sufficient for us to indict him. 

Of course, subject A is only a simple training example carefully selected to demonstrate the general principles of criminal physiognomy. In actual practice, criminal physiognomy employs a rigorous and scientific framework that must be strictly followed for full efficacy. If this framework is not adhered to, then one risks making the wrong arrests.

A mistake that is often made, sometimes even by experts, is to misattribute as a criminal a person who is merely ugly. The reason why this is wrong ought to be obvious. Remember this! A criminal is someone who has committed a crime! A person, however hideous, cannot be considered a criminal until he inevitably engages in his criminal activities. Regrettably, it is only after then that we can act to arrest the transgressor.

To Fight Crime

I'm not a religious man. I'm not a superstitious man. But why am I looking for you now? Sometimes we have to do what we have to do.

What I am is a simple man. I don't know any complicated theories, or possess any advanced thingamajigs. I only know what I know- my two fists, and on occasion a low kick. I just do what I can, whenever I can. That makes a difference.

I fight crime, or so I've always convinced myself. A quick jab to knockout a robber on Monday, a side swipe on a molester on Thursday- these are the results of my actions. Every day, every week. Small steps, but steps all the same. But deep within me I knew that it wouldn't work. Not today, not next week, and not in the end. 

You see, I wasn't fighting crime. I was fighting criminals, and there's a difference. Even if I could fight all the criminals in the city, or in the world, it wasn't the same thing. It isn't possible to fight crime, to punch it in the face, or to floor it with a kick. There's nothing to punch or kick. Crime isn't a thing, or a person. It's something else altogether.

Now, I've said in the beginning that I am only a simple man. I only know what I know- my two fists, and on occasion a low kick. But if something can't be punched, and when kicking doesn't work either, what do I do? I don't know any complicated theories, or possess any advanced thingamajigs. I can only keep on jabbing my fists, and striking with my boot. 

That's why I need you. I know what you can do. You can speak with Gods, and dance with Devils. Maybe not on the same day, but that's none of my business. My plan is simple, and easy to handle. I need you to summon Crime, and make him real. I'll do the rest, with my left and my right.

It sounds ridiculous, but it might just work. And if it doesn't, I'll just have to finish Crime off with a low kick.

Something Bought at a Convenience Store

Nowadays, you can buy a name at any local convenience store. Fairly good ones too, certified auspicious according to the various nomancy guidelines. Those names are not customized, but they'll do fine in a pinch, and at their mass-market price point there's not much to complain about.

In fact, I just bought a name as I was buying breakfast on the way to work earlier this morning. Certainly, it's not something that's an absolute necessity- with this new addition, I have about seventeen names in total- but we can't always live on the basis of necessity, can we?  In any case, the new name happened to be a middle name, which could easily be inserted into my existing names. 

What a thoughtful product! It was certainly an improvement on earlier versions, where only first (or worse, last) names were offered, leading to complaints from confused customers.

While nobody was looking during work, I logged on to my favorite nomacy website and keyed in my updated name. Immediately, countless complex calculations were performed remotely and their results transferred and displayed onto my screen. The predictions on various types of luck were indicated in green and red, foretelling fortune and misfortune respectively. 

My new name, it seemed, did not affect my fortunes in a manner that I had hoped. There were some minor improvements in luck here and there, but on a whole the effect was marginal at best. It was well known that there were diminishing returns to adding further names. There were examples of people who benefited significantly from having thirty or even fifty names, but many of those people employed experts to design their names. I would just have to be happy with my convenience store-bought name.

The Importance of Regular Maintenance of Property

The president was waving an origami sword at me in a menacing fashion. Although he was left-handed, he was wielding the deadly weapon with his right hand; immediately, I understood that he was reserving his true power for a later moment, and that he was not yet being serious. There was still a chance for me to get out of here alive. 

"I will give you a chance to learn why you must die here," he said while moving his sword into an attack stance.

I could have performed a sudden sneak attack at this moment by flexing my legs and launching my shoes at the president, but it would most probably have failed. Because I had taken a shortcut through a muddy footpath on the way to the clubroom, my shoes were weighted with mud, and thus any attack made with my shoes, although more powerful due to the added weight, would also be too slow and easily blocked or deflected.

W-wait- did the president anticipate this, and chose this particular date and time to attack? But he could not have known that I would take the shortcut across the muddy footpath.

"You bastard!" the president spat, "It seems like you think you have done nothing wrong. It looks like there's simply no way we can coexist. I can't forgive anyone without a proper sense of time. "

I looked at my watch. What was he talking about? I had arrived five minutes in advance of my club meeting. Could my watch be wrong- oh no!

In the moment that I was glancing at my watch, he had started his attack sequence, and was now moving impossibly quickly towards me! I had made a fatal mistake! I tried to dodge, but it was too late to avoid his well-practiced strike!

The origami sword crumpled against my the pocket of my uniform, but the weapon had done its job and inflicted untold amounts of piercing damage to me. I collapsed to the floor. 

"There are only two times in life. Now, and too late. You can only blame yourself.

Time of death- 310pm. 310pm !?"

As my consciousness faded, my last thing I saw was the president staring at the clock mounted on the wall of the clubroom.