Ouran High School is first about pedigree, and second about money. And up in an unused music room sit seven people with far too much time on their hands – well, okay, six people with far too much time on their hands and one held by debt. These seven individuals make up the Host Club and while their customers see precisely what they are meant to, a practiced observer will notice a few truths about the strange members of this strange club.
The self-proclaimed King sits surrounded by adoring girls, tilting one’s chin up so far that it’s a wonder her neck hasn’t snapped at this point, whispering false claims of forever in her ear as the others watch on, sighing and cooing their approval. All of them are treated to the same display at some point during the club’s hours of operation, and the fickle King who has proclaimed that he can’t love any one girl because he loves all of them woos them with equal ardor.
In a darkened corner sits the Vice President of this so-called club, tapping away on his ledgers. The true mastermind behind the operations, the Shadow King lives for nothing and no one, save his lists and lists of figures. He freely admits, to those he allows to know him at all, that he does nothing unless there is merit in it for him. Selfish, cold and ambitious, his eyes watch them all, making notes on each member and planning ways to exploit their personal dramas into more money for the club.
At a table surrounded by giggling girls sits a boy with the face of a child and the mind of an adult, shoving cake after cake into his dainty mouth. While the others talk to their clients and pretend some sort of affection for them, this character sits in his chair and eats sweets throughout the entire club period. Devious and sly, he would trick his most loyal protector and break the bonds of brotherly love for his sweets.
Speaking of his protector, the indolent man sits nearby, as always, his eyes lazy, staring into space. He is only brought to attention by the sound of the other’s voice calling his name. He entertains no clients on his own, existing to do nothing but watch over the vertically-challenged boy beside him, wiping frosting off the other’s face, to the delight of the customers. When seen on rare occasions without his companion, his eyes are dead, dull and sleepy.
Ensconced in a deep sofa together are the devil twins, identical demons who will lash out in fury at any who tries to come between them. Their cruelty truly knows no bounds, and the only ones to not be victims of their anger against the world are each other. With each other, they are loving, caring and affectionate, but to the outside world, they are cold, heartless, angry and cruel.
The final member of this odd group is a girl, sitting amidst her clients, dressed as a boy and comfortably secure in who she is. To her, the King is merely an over-affectionate puppy, who saves his most lavish attentions for her. The Shadow King is nothing more than a good-hearted individual with a soft core hidden deep. The cake-loving boy is a deep individual with a wealth of knowledge and a love for many things beyond his sweets. The protector is a vigilant, observant person who is always alert and would guard her from any harm, and the devil twins are loving, caring and open, embracing her into their private world as though she had always been a part of it. For, odd as it might be, her simple ways have won over this group of rich boys, and the only distance between them now is that which she insists upon. She refuses to take favors, suspects them all of mocking her, or at the very least being insensitive to her feelings, and keeps her personal opinion, that in her way, she is a far better person than they are.
Lust. Greed. Gluttony. Sloth. Wrath. Pride.
And you must now wonder where I fit into this little picture. As the self-proclaimed manager, it does not behoove me to paint a picture of these, my clients, as embodiments of the worst traits in humanity, but you see, I am one of them in my own way. I am Envy, in all her forms, for there is nothing I wouldn’t give to be the lone girl in their group; the one that brings out the better parts of all of them, and the one that they all, in their own unique ways, love. I envy her simple mannerisms that captivate them all. I envy the way they turn to her, eyes rapt, when she speaks; the way even the coldest of them gets a softness to his eyes when he gazes upon her; the way the most silent of them will offer her words of comfort; the way the leader adores the very ground she walks upon; the way the twins turn their anger on anyone who threatens their place in her life; the way the child-like one becomes more like his true age for her; I envy her, and for that, I hate myself.
