Letter of Misfortune

The reactions from the students upon hearing my plan split into two camps. Aurora and Rozalia, terrified and rejecting it outright. They refused to join my scheme to resolve the ghost story, but I didn't force them. My proposal was that absurd and trashy, after all.

The surprising ones were Elaine and Rone, who accepted without a moment's hesitation.

"Hee hee hee. Teacher, why do you look more grim than we do?"

"H-Haha... Y-Yeah... right."

"Don't worry. We're just doing what needs to be done. It's our turn this time, that's all."

"I'll go first.... Honestly, I don't know how long I can hold out...."

Elaine, smiling languidly despite being unable to move from the neck down. And Rone, feverish and half-delirious, forcing a grin in response to her words.

"...Thanks. Then I'll take the letter out of the mailbox."

My plan was simple—and utterly trashy.

Clunk. I pulled the letter from the mailbox and silently glared at the tightly sealed envelope. Then...

"...."

Riiip. I tore it open and unfolded the letter. Not for me—for Rone.

"I've... checked it...."

Rone laboriously signaled that she'd read the whole thing. Hearing that, I plopped down onto the floor. And did nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just waited for time to pass.

How many minutes slipped by? Finally, the deadline arrived. And with it came misfortune.

Pfshk!!

"Guhk...!"

"Rone!"

I had no idea what the penalty was, but Rone, struck by the letter's curse, spewed out a bowlful of blood. Yet even as she vomited it up, she smiled at me.

"It really... works. The solution you described, Teacher. Success.... This means... our victory."

With those words, Rone collapsed to the floor—and never rose again.

.

.

.

And another letter arrived. I took it from the mailbox, stared at the envelope for a long while, then showed it to Elaine. The curse descended upon her. And another came. I showed it to Elaine. The curse struck her again. Another arrived. I showed it to her. The curse came. Again and again.

Academy dismissal time had long passed, and outside the window, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky blood-red. In the club room now remained only me, Aurora, and Rozalia—shaking in abject terror.

Elaine, who had endured the curse after Rone, gradually lost even the strength to speak as the letters piled on. At last, she quietly closed her eyes.

I gazed at the two, who had departed as if merely falling asleep.

"...My turn now."

Clunk. Yet another letter arrived. Opening it would bring the curse that had felled Elaine and Rone crashing down on me—but there was no hesitation. I'd already used two students as ugly meat shields. Feeling fear now would be presumptuous of me.

As I calmly lifted the letter...

"I-I'll help too!"

Rozalia stood, her voice trembling.

"...You sure? If you're scared, no need to force it. I won't make you."

"B-But Elaine and Rone didn't hesitate to read the letters! Then I, Rozalia Soline, noble daughter of the Soline Marquisate, shall not flee in cowardice!"

Shivering violently, she stepped forward, offering to read it in my place.

"...Sorry to leave you with such a painful memory on your first club activity."

I thanked her sacrifice and picked up the envelope.

"'Tis the duty of nobility! Noblesse oblige! Come! Show me this letter of misfortune at once!!"

Even as she declared it, Rozalia squeezed her eyes shut in terror. But she never read the letter.

"That's enough now. You don't need to read it anymore, Rozalia."

"...Pardon? What do you mean?"

"We won. The Angel of Misfortune lost the battle of endurance."

Rozalia's bewildered expression bloomed into radiant joy as understanding dawned.

"At last, the Angel of Misfortune wrote that it would kill us with a letter!?"

"Yeah. We won."

As I spoke, I glared at the pristine white envelope.

A stark white envelope bearing only sender's origin, recipient's destination, sender, and recipient. Naturally, ordinary people couldn't see its contents. Conversely, the extraordinary could peer inside without opening it.

The core of my plan was to turn the letters of misfortune against themselves. To do that, one needed to open and read them. But the curse struck the first reader. Opening meant exposure. Confirmation was essential for reversal—yet reading locked the curse on the reader, preventing reversal. An unsolvable dilemma.

Or was it?

What if there was a way to see the contents without opening the envelope?

I spat out what I'd been holding in my mouth all along.

I spat out the eye candy, and my eyes—pushed beyond human limits—blurred with backlash dizziness.

"Ah! Teacher Allen!"

"I'm fine. I can still move."

The aftereffects made me feel on the verge of blacking out, but I gripped the table, forcing focus. Almost done. I glanced anxiously at the clock. The Angel's deadline: 5 minutes. Three left. Dizziness worsened instead of fading. Should I have kept the candy in until resolution? No—half was already gone. Best to conserve for future use.

2 minutes.

"Hoo...."

Slow deep breaths to steady myself. Rozalia and Aurora watched worriedly.

1 minute. My ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grip tightened. Tension thickened the air.

30 seconds. Now!

I whipped out a knife, pressed it to the envelope, and carefully peeled away the adhesive "that"—the stamp depicting a monster somewhere between angel and demon.

No matter how many fake misfortune letters we sent, without the Angel's validation, they'd be ordinary mail. A hundred, a thousand—pointless. But one letter would work even on the Angel: the one it sent.

"A letter shoved in the mailbox without a stamp... gets returned to sender."

No second chances. A self-aware ghost story wouldn't fall for the same trick twice—maybe tweaking missions or penalties to lethal disadvantage. Had to end it in one go. Lure the unsuspecting Angel, weary from our long war of attrition, into delivering certain death.

"Angel of Misfortune. I'll make your name truth. The most unfortunate angel in the world!"

Thwack! I stuffed the stampless letter into the mailbox and slammed it shut with a resounding bang. Then leaned my weight to seal it tight.

5 seconds to deadline.

4.... 3.... 2.... 1....

"Time's up!!"

No letter burst out. No new one arrived. For several seconds.

"...Did it work?"

Clunk! As tension eased and I relaxed, the mailbox forced open. A frantic letter shot out, unfurling before our eyes. But this one differed from the rest—scrawled in hurried, messy script unlike before.

Clunk! The next one.

Clunk! Another.

Clunk! Again.

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

Letters erupted from the mailbox like a storm. Overwhelmed by the waterfall cascade, we could only stare. Then the last one arrived.

Clunk.

"...."

"...."

No more letters came after that one—the Angel of Misfortune's final missive, its last will and testament.

Thus ended the first ghost story since the founding of the Paranormal Investigation Club.