Sawamura Cento: The Curse of Infallible Luck
Sawamura Cento. That girl and I are cut from the same cloth. I'd known it from the moment our eyes first met, yet seeing her act as if nothing had happened filled me with an inexplicable disgust.
On the other hand, the narrow-eyed man smiled as if it didn't matter in the slightest whether she thought that way or not.
"Well then, shall we have a nice, deep chat?"
Sawamura Cento thought to herself that the guy in front of her was truly brazen and absurd. Just like her, who'd spent her whole life acting behind a mask.
And then, she recalled a memory.
"Hey, Mom."
Sawamura Cento. The moment she'd realized she was different from everyone else was around the time she started elementary school.
She'd been blessed with superior looks and innate intelligence from her parents, but it wasn't the usual story of that sort.
"Is this how you do it?"
"Hmm, let me see."
Cento's parents were open-minded, to put it kindly—or superficial, to put it bluntly. Her father ran a loan shark business, and her mother indulged in gambling like horse races and lotteries. Not in moderation, either; they'd blow through the family fortune they'd inherited. They were so deep into it that they'd even encourage their one and only daughter to join in.
"It's better to spread the numbers out than cluster them together for higher odds."
From a young age—precisely when she'd grasped the concept of numbers in early elementary school—Sawamura Cento had become familiar with lottery numbers. Before that, her gambling-addicted mother hadn't bothered teaching basic arithmetic to a kid who couldn't even count properly about money-losing games.
But perhaps she thought Cento was old enough now. Or maybe she was feeling lucky that day, with cash to spare in her pocket. For the first time in a while, Cento's mom invested 200 yen to buy her daughter a lottery ticket.
A mini-lotto: pick 5 numbers from 1 to 31. The prize was a modest 10 million yen (about 100 million won).
She probably hadn't expected much. Cento had occasionally watched her mother glued to horse racing on TV or marking numbers with interest, so it felt like tossing a toy her way.
"If you win, it's all yours, sweetie."
"Really?!"
A fleeting act of kindness. Or whimsy. Cento's mom tossed her the ticket and dove right back into her other schemes. The prize was small, the investment a mere 200 yen—she'd already forgotten about it.
"Mom, we won."
Tuesday, draw day for the mini-lotto. Sawamura Cento, who'd watched the broadcast alone, walked up calmly and announced it.
Her mother blinked in confusion at first—what was the kid babbling about?—but glanced at the ticket anyway.
[ 1, 7, 15, 22, 31 ]
Confirming the numbers on the ticket, she whipped her head to the TV.
Mini-lotto draw broadcast. The host read them out once more.
"...Wh-what?"
Last week's numbers her daughter had picked were exactly the winning ones.
Cento watched her mother's eyes tremble violently on the ticket.
Sharp even as a child, she knew exactly what her mother would say next.
"...G-good job, sweetie. Our little girl! But... this is too much money for a kid to handle, so Mom'll keep it safe and give it to you when you're an adult, okay?"
"Okay."
Eight-year-old Cento agreed readily. It had been a gamble she hadn't banked on anyway, and she knew her mom wouldn't hand over a huge sum. She hadn't expected it in the first place, so no disappointment either.
She just hoped her mother's joy would last longer than usual—a modest daughter's dream.
The next day, kindly neighbor Uncle Yoshimitsu got hit by a car and died, but she naturally saw it as unrelated. Sad, sure, but her mom—who'd been nicer than ever with the windfall—made her happier.
"Ahem."
Soon after, Cento's mother brought a new ticket while she was doing homework.
"Here, sweetie. Wanna try this one too?"
Cento's mom believed in luck. Everyone had their share, and hers was exceptionally good. So this time, she upped the ante from mini-lotto.
Lotto 7: pick 7 numbers from 1 to 37. First prize 600 million yen (about 6 billion won), rolling over to a max of 1 billion yen. Cost per ticket: just 300 yen.
Steeling herself, she bought 100 tickets from the local shop.
"Pick 7 numbers this time, honey."
No parent in their right mind would've pushed gambling on a kid, win or no win. But Cento reluctantly filled out the 100 tickets with different numbers, and the results were stellar.
"...Ahh!"
Her mother gasped as the numbers matched perfectly. Rollover round—prize: a whopping 1 billion yen (about 10 billion won). No small change for a gambler or her loan-shark husband.
Trembling, she turned from the TV to her daughter beside her and hugged her tight.
"O-our girl! So clever, so clever! Want anything? Mom'll buy you everything!"
"For real?"
"Of course!"
Panting heavily for a while, she pondered briefly before whispering in Cento's ear.
"...But let's play our number game next week too?"
Silent space.
Sawamura Cento opened her eyes alone. She stared at the familiar ceiling for a while before rising from bed.
She prepared for school as usual. She had enough wealth to live idly forever, but she had no desire to. She'd learned long ago how the world worked without effort.
Sipping water, she glanced around the house. Far too vast for a lone student, silent living room and kitchen. Unused, pristine—but too wasteful not to buy. Well, probably always would be.
"...She at least used to cook sometimes."
No one left now. Ten million yen's price was a car crash; a billion (about ten billion won) demanded more, naturally.
She'd cursed the world at first, but realized the cause was herself and gave up. Knowing the world had bestowed that fate didn't tell her whom to blame.
Unable to find answers, she'd lived hollowed out behind her mask until high school admission finally offered a clue.
Sawamura Cento pondered the words from yesterday's black-hearted man.
...Yokai, sorcery, magic, heroes, and such. Not some generic movie plot, but stuff from folk tales or comics. Absurd, yet her very existence was bizarre enough to believe.
Yes, she had to believe.
"He didn't run off, did he?"
Yesterday was just a brief rundown; too late, so postpone till tomorrow—she'd reluctantly agreed. He'd suddenly looked exhausted, and he was her only lifeline.
Worried inwardly, she grabbed her bag and stepped out.
"Oh my, what a coincidence!"
She ran into the narrow-eyed man right away. Ichimaru Shiki, in neat uniform, waved with a sly grin.
Sawamura Cento wiped away her worry, scowled, and faced him.
"Live nearby? Oh, then I must visit my seatmate's place sometime!"
"Who decided that."
"Haha, we'll work it out step by step. Once we're closer, right?"
"..."
Infuriatingly brazen. Obvious he'd dug into her background too...
Sawamura Cento said nothing, walking on stone-faced.
"Oh, same route? Let's go together."
"Please be quiet."
After that, she barely kept her mask from cracking the whole way to school.
Karakura High School, Class 1-A.
I arrived intact at yesterday's wrecked classroom with Sawamura Cento. The grab ghost's traces had vanished with its death—naturally.
'Souls are another matter, though.'
Yokai didn't leave property damage behind when killed—win-win.
Anyway, settling into the back row with Cento all smiles, I noticed Ichinose Hotaru up front looking off. Like GOOOOO! sound effects fit perfectly. Usually cheerful, she was fiercely menacing today. Waiting for someone, clearly.
"...Ah."
Guess knocking her out after a curt reply and delivering her home was a misstep.
...Kids grow through fights, right? High schoolers are kids too.
"Shikiieee!!!"
Speak of the devil. Today's star, Kenichi, burst in panting.
Gasping, he scanned the room wildly. His eyes soon landed on me, same as always.
"...What, a dream after all?"
He thought it was a dream—pity, harsh reality.
Drag. Hotaru rose, glaring murderously. Pure killing intent.
UWAAAAAHHH!!
What followed was too brutal; I turned to Cento beside me.
"Leave idiot Kenichi be today. After school, just us—somewhere."
"...Where?"
Sawamura Cento eyed me like 'All nonsense till now, and now this?'
Already close? I could almost hear her thoughts. Pleased by our deepened bond, I fulfilled my info-broker duty with a bright smile.
"My place!"
Finally, Cento's face twisted perfectly grotesque.