Chapter 2

Everything seemed to go downhill for me, ever since that day I saw that poster. It was tempting to bring it up with my parents, and I could only imagine the looks on their faces if I did—over the phone in my dad’s case.

Maybe I was overreacting a little bit, but, how would parents react if their child who—as far back as they could remember—had never talked about paranormal or supernatural stuff, suddenly starts blurting out that they might be cursed or something.

That won’t end well… I shook my head at the thought.

The logical explanation to all this would be that: It’s simply a figment of my imagination.

Yeah, that sounds about right. Maybe it’s always been like this and it’s only now I noticed. Of course! It’s all so clear now…

A stray lightning bolt nearly striking my umbrella. Almost getting sent straight to another world by an out-of-control truck—I hate trucks. Manholes once closed now opened at every corner I take.

It was quite the stroke of fortune that I had taken the high school entrance exam before my new ordeal began. My pencil might’ve snapped in the middle of the test—or worse, the whole exam hall could’ve caught fire.

Mom started calling me her “clumsy genius,” and to my surprise, I did not refute the name. Probably because it was coming from her.

She coined the name after I received the exam results a week after I had taken it.

I got a 99…

For the first time in my life, I got…

A 99…out of 100 questions.

I could have sworn I missed nothing.

Turning my mental gears, I realized that the results came in a few days after that incident.

“There’s just… No way…” I muttered the words, staring at the letter clutched tightly in my hands.

“That’s my clumsy genius.” Mom giggled as she ruffled my hair. “See? You’re still the same as ever. Always acing tests and whatnot. It’s just a phase. You’ll grow out of it.”

I seriously doubted it being, “just a phase.”

You may threaten my life, but touching my grades is crossing the line!

That was back when I was fifteen, right before entering my first year of high school.

Two years passed. I was now seventeen, a second-year in high school—and believe me, it was pretty much hell on earth. Being on edge constantly, safeguarding my life from what should be everyday activities, was far more challenging than I thought.

During sports practice, a random volleyball would hit its mark on my face, sending me stumbling across the court into the cheerleaders practicing in a corner—face-planting into something soft, getting slapped right after.

And I don’t even play sports. I only go to watch the basketball team practice, and even that ends badly.

People recognized my knack for books, but were deterred from forming any real bonds with me because they truly did think I was a walking catastrophe.

Sure the sprinklers sometimes go off when I enter the room. Sure the toilets go out of order when I try to flush. Sure the teacher decides to give a pop quiz when I ask a question relevant to the class.

Okay, I think I get their point. But still…

◯ ◯ ◯

We as humans are social creatures by nature. There’s the occasional lone wolf every now and then, or the extreme introvert—I was neither, being a little of everything (maybe a little bit more of the former, though).

Alas, due to my dilemma of constant bad luck, I figured making any friends would be rendered impossible. And oh, was I mistaken.

“You should really check out the Occult Investigation Club, Junosuke…”

“Yeah, it’s been two years…”

These two are, without a doubt, the closest thing I have to friends in the entire school. The taller one is Hayashi Haruto, the shorter is Yamamoto Taro.

Haruto wore rectangular spectacles, stood tall, and had a pretty narrow jawline. A member of the basketball club, his skill on the court rivaled my skill in academics. We became friends after a stray shot of his ricocheted off the rim and smacked me right in the face.

Then there’s Taro, the quintessential hardcore otaku—the type who probably owns dozens of body pillows of his favorite waifus. We became friends during one of my sprinkler incidents. Thanks to his lightning-fast otaku reflexes, he managed to save the light novel he was reading from a watery demise.

He claimed I had “main protagonist” vibes, then launched into a list of his…unique manga titles—some quite risqué—all supposedly to help mold me into his ideal protagonist, or something like that.

He had a stubby, somewhat plump build and was the shortest of the three of us. But that didn’t make him any less noticeable. Round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, catching the light with a silver glint that always concealed his eyes, and his orange hair was a wild, curly mess.

Haruto ran his fingers through his sleek black hair before speaking. “I know that you’ll have your doubts, but what choice is there? It won’t hurt to try, right?”

Taro perked up, and I could almost hear a shing! as he adjusted his glasses with flair, the silver glint catching the light. “You really should go! It’ll be a milestone in your protagonist journey.”

These two… I could only sigh. They’d been going on about this for months. The next class was about to start, and I could already see people clutching umbrellas, throwing sharp glances my way. Boys and girls whispered among themselves—probably about all the weird stuff that always seems to happen when I’m around.

“Fine, I’ll do it!” I declared, confidently, and a little fed up.

My two buddies exchanged flabbergasted looks before turning back to me. From their adjacent desks behind me, they both sighed in unison: “Finally!”

At that moment, the sprinklers went off, and the entire class—teacher included—whipped out their umbrellas. The teacher, unfazed, simply said, “Let’s begin the lesson.”