Letter of Misfortune
Rone opened her eyes soon after. Despite the massive gash in her abdomen still gaping open and blood having poured out in torrents enough to soak the floor, she looked remarkably healthy in stark contrast to the wound. The sheer imbalance felt eerily grotesque.
"...Teacher? I could've sworn..."
"Don't touch the wound. It hasn't healed."
She blinked in confusion, as if she hadn't expected to wake up again, scanning her surroundings with a dazed expression.
"This isn't a regression... is it?"
"Nope. We beat back Mr. Brandon and fed you the red cookie we got as a reward. It snapped you out of it temporarily."
"B-Brandon? And a red cookie? That name just rang a huge alarm bell. You mean the ones made from the victims' blood kneaded into the dough? Hold on—you fed that to me?"
"I'll explain it all later, step by step."
Rone latched onto the "red cookie" keyword like a lifeline, but there was no time for a full rundown now. According to the description I'd seen through Observation, the red cookie's effects had a time limit. Fortunately, she didn't press for details and just nodded along, saying she'd hear the full story later.
"More importantly, Teacher. I learned something before the knife hit."
"Perfect timing—I found something out too. You first."
"What I figured out is that the curse targets only the one person who reads the letter first. The first through third letters all cursed you, Teacher, but the fourth one came after me. That time was the exception—I was holding onto the mailbox the whole time to seal it away, and when the letter burst open, I was the first to read it. I confirmed it right then, looking around as soon as it unfolded."
"A secret like that, huh."
Rone had uncovered the condition for becoming the curse's target.
"What I noticed is that the letter's misfortune only strikes if you read it. If it could curse you without being read, it wouldn't have thrashed around so desperately to escape the mailbox."
And what I'd pieced together was the trigger condition for the curse to activate. Given the structure of the Letter of Misfortune ghost story, it was an inevitable procedural step—more like an unbreakable rule.
The conditions and the target. Ironically, we only learned these two crucial pieces because Rone had taken the curse in my place.
"So let's use this info to figure out how to handle the next Letter of Misfortune."
As I spoke, I pointed to the mailbox that had bounced off Rone's body. While our attention was on her, a fifth letter had slipped inside unnoticed.
"Shall I read it?"
"Yeah. Ignoring it without reading doesn't work—we know that now. Better to rip the band-aid off quick and plan our counter."
I reached for the letter, but Rone beat me to it, snatching the envelope first.
"I don't know the details, but I'm in a state where I should've died, right? And it's only the ghost story relic keeping me forcibly alive. Logically, doesn't it make sense for me—the one already propped up by ghost story power—to take on the curse again?"
"Sure, logically it tracks, but..."
I scrambled for a counterargument, but rationally, she was right—it was the optimal play.
Seeing me hesitate, she didn't waver and broke the seal without a second thought.
How much more will you disappoint me? Shoving your misfortune onto the students you teach? Pathetic. What's the difference between that choice and carrying out the missions I give you? If that's how it's going to be, just obediently do as I say. This mission is simple too. And this time, you'll actually enjoy it. Give your students a trauma they'll never erase. You know how. Just blame the letter and have your fun for a bit.
The letter's contents unfolded as usual—pure garbage. If anything, they grew more vile with each iteration. No more half-hearted suggestions to pass it on; it was brimming with pure malice, intent on tormenting and destroying me and my group.
"Hmph. Getting used to these letters, but the so-called 'Angel of Misfortune' writing them? Every line drips with blame-shifting and twisted self-affirmation. It's less scary now, more just disgusting."
"Don't let it get to you. 'Angel of Misfortune' or whatever—it's just a component of the ghost story, not a real person."
We'd grown too accustomed to these letters to flinch at every one anymore. We brushed off the contents and pressed on.
"So we've seen what it says. What's the plan now?"
"Time for the last resort."
"Last resort?"
"Rozalia's Gift."
No choice. Rozalia's Pure Wish was a double-edged sword. Used right, it could steer the ghost story my way—but it could also massively amplify its dangers. Still, we were past picking and choosing. Worst case, regress and try again.
In the end, I decided to play my final card.
"Rozalia, imagine it. The Letter of Misfortune powering up."
Thanks to Rone's sacrifice, we'd gained key intel on the letters: trigger conditions and targets. Design the amplification around those rules, and we could neutralize the incoming misfortune, maybe even find the solution.
But Rozalia, the center of attention, shook her head tearfully.
"I-I can't. I'm trying so hard to think that way, but... it won't work."
Her Gift didn't budge an inch.
"Why not? It worked fine in the Murder Hotel..."
"No matter how hard I try, I keep thinking it's just my imagination..."
Could it be because she'd half-grasped the true nature of ghost stories? In the Murder Hotel, she could amplify them on purpose because I and Elaine had set the stage—but Rozalia, the Gift holder, had believed it wholeheartedly. No doubts.
But after joining the Paranormal Investigation Club, learning about ghost stories and her own Gift, she couldn't buy into my fabricated scenarios with the same pure faith anymore.
If that hypothesis held, Rozalia was under a curse of knowledge. When she only knew ghost stories by rumor, her half-baked understanding let her believe her imaginings as truth. But real knowledge made her doubt her own fantasies?
Then recruiting her to the club was a mistake? No. Maybe it wasn't that—perhaps her Gift had activation conditions, like Rone's.
We spent the remaining time coaxing her, trying to trigger it, but as the limit loomed, our attempt to warp the ghost story via her Gift failed completely.
Even our ace in the hole—leveraging Rozalia—flopped. And misfortune struck again.
The target: Rone. Unknown fever erupted across her skin, red spots and blisters bubbling up everywhere. Like some venereal disease.
Resistant to physical damage but vulnerable to illness? Or the red cookie couldn't handle a double curse hit?
Despite its lingering effects, Rone collapsed.
"Rone!!"
"Ah... sorry. My vision's... spinning."
"Damn it! Wasting time again without finding a way!!"
Clunk!
I supported her in anguish, venting my rage. But the Letter of Misfortune offered no mercy, no respite—mocking us relentlessly as it came again.
"Goddamn it. This 'Angel of Misfortune' coward—hiding in the shadows, too chickenshit to show its face, just slinging letters."
It was infuriating. Me, still solutionless. Watching my student suffer helplessly. Being on the receiving end, one-sided. Everything unfair.
If only I could return this unreasonable curse...
...Return it?
Wait.
Suddenly, a method flashed in my mind.