The Onii-chan Curse and Classroom Turmoil

Still facing the gazes of his classmates, gazes that felt like a mountain of daggers and a sea of flames, Ye Sakaki marched.

His steps were as precise and unwavering as a soldier’s parade step, carrying him diligently to his seat.

Whoosh—!

His gaze unexpectedly fell upon me, slumped listlessly in the back corner.

My eyes were devoid of expression, staring blankly at the ceiling. With just a hint of drool, I could have easily been the poster child for an adult-themed game.

Even though his little sister completely ignored him, Ye Sakaki continued to smile gently.

It was as if his “Tolerance” attribute had been maxed out.

“Little Qi, I’ve come for you.”

Completely disregarding the assessing gaze of his new deskmate, Liu Zhuang, who stared at him as if he were merchandise, Ye Sakaki spoke.

His voice was soft, yet unwavering.

“You must be so lonely, all by yourself in a strange class, aren’t you, Little Qi?”

At that moment, however, my mind was in utter turmoil.

‘How could I not have realized how utterly irritating I was during my chuunibyou phase?’

‘I vividly remembered speaking in such a mortifying tone only when bantering with my few close friends, certainly never to anyone else!’

‘How could I possibly be this annoying?!’

‘Sure enough, this person must be a cheap, counterfeit knock-off!’

‘I truly wanted to kick him out of the classroom…’

But alas, that was absolutely out of the question.

To protect the image of a “good student” – or rather, a “no-good student” – I had so painstakingly built, I could only respond with a voice steeped in utter despair.

“Ah (seemingly surprised)! So glad to meet you. Ah (seemingly surprised)!”

“Ahaha, Ye Sakaki, ah (seemingly surprised)! You’re here, ah (seemingly surprised)! Please, have a seat, ah (seemingly surprised)! Once you’re settled, make yourself at home, ah (seemingly surprised)!”

Yet, my eyes were entirely fixed on the ceiling, maintaining a ninety-degree upward gaze.

I adopted the posture of a broken girl, responding with a voice devoid of all emotion.

My voice, at that moment, was nothing but perfunctory.

After all, as the saying goes, the hardest thing to face in life is oneself.

Even though this “self” had worn a slightly novel face for over a decade, I still couldn’t come to terms with it.

Consider this, for instance.

Imagine waking up early in the morning, only to have “yourself” call you with a saccharine tone.

It would sound a hundred percent chuunibyou, like someone coaxing a small child, just to wake you up.

While Ye Sakaki occasionally disregarded time, after one reincarnation, I had experienced the consequences of this tardiness far more profoundly.

The result of his unpunctuality was a visceral self-disgust, akin to watching a mortifying video of myself.

Or perhaps, for years, “yourself” had shamelessly clung to your deskmate or the students in front and behind you.

Every time you turned, it felt as if a mirror was placed before you, reflecting a version of yourself.

This mirrored self would speak in an utterly unacceptable, intensely embarrassing “childhood” tone, uttering what seemed like profound truths.

Yet, deep down, you’d know perfectly well that these words were simply the shameful, embarrassing outburst of a chuunibyou attack.

“Ah! Have mercy on me, great God Jesus!”

****

Youli returned to the front of the classroom, meticulously maintaining order.

It was truly baffling how Class Monitor Youli managed such a difficult task with such flawless precision, as if it were as easy as reaching into her pocket.

Setting aside my admiration for Youli, Ye Sakaki was now on the verge of facing the first storm of his life.

Thump… Thump… Thump.

As Ye Sakaki’s footsteps echoed, each one like the toll of a death knell, the entire class suppressed their inner sympathy.

They buried their faces in their textbooks, pretending to be engrossed.

Thump.

Ye Sakaki’s footsteps ceased.

Scrape, scrape—fwump…

Ye Sakaki pulled out the chair, which had been half-obscured by Liu Zhuang’s leg.

****

Ye Sakaki placed the simple black student bag he’d tucked under his arm onto the desk.

Half of the desk was already covered by Liu Zhuang’s pale, soft skin.

‘I couldn’t bear to watch any longer.’

‘After all, the person before me was myself.’

‘If anything went wrong, I would be utterly mortified.’

Thus, I addressed my brother, who knew me through and through, with a rare “little sister” tone—one I had barely used once that entire year—to offer a warning.

“Um… Onii-chan~ You should probably go back to the podium for now.”

Ye Sakaki’s entire body stiffened.

‘Onii-chan?’

‘That address, which could make his entire day, had actually reappeared?’

‘That title, invariably accompanied by immense risk, had actually reappeared once more?!’

He vividly remembered the first time his tsundere little sister had called him Onii-chan.

****

“Onii-chan, don’t give up on your treatment!”

He had been lying in a hospital bed then, kept alive by a ventilator.

The reason? He had consumed a dish ominously named: “Omurice Made by Little Sister Herself”!

The second time.

****

“Onii-chan, get out of the way!”

The second occasion had been when his little sister, unable to reach the brakes of her second-hand motorcycle, was hurtling towards him at forty kilometers per hour.

He, utterly oblivious, had “enjoyed” that warning just before impact.

That time, he had relied on crutches for two months.

The third time.

****

“Onii-chan, watch your head!”

—and then he had worn bandages on his head for two months….

****

He wouldn’t list every instance, for the truth of it all was simply too sorrowful to recount.

However… this time was different.

He was a new transfer student in his little sister’s class, currently residing within the sacred halls of knowledge, illuminated like a daytime firework display.

How could there possibly be such danger here?

****

He glanced at his new deskmate once more.

Aside from being a bit chubby, there seemed to be nothing unusual about him, right?

He was neither Black nor some primordial man. His medium-length hair, though meticulously combed—perhaps even too neat, making him look better with it disheveled—appeared to be heavily gelled.

He certainly didn’t seem like a slovenly person. So, what could possibly warrant a sense of danger from him?

At the very least, he wasn’t like his “little sister,” who seemed to possess an “honorary black belt” in everything she did.

He, Ye Sakaki, had honorably passed the black belt examination for “a certain Kendo style,” a trial notoriously dubbed a “bro-hell” for its brutal difficulty!

I, Ye Sakaki, trembling with apprehension, took my seat, daring to defy the “Onii-chan Curse.”

****

“Report!”

A clear, crisp voice suddenly rang out.

I stood up, my face pale.

“Class Monitor Youli. I feel a sudden, agonizing cramp in my stomach, tearing through me as if my guts are being twisted into a thousand knots, leaving me utterly heartbroken and riddled with sorrow! May I please be excused to the restroom?”

I had described the intense internal pain and my feelings in a completely formal, utterly meaningless literary style, narrating it like a story.

Afterward, I suddenly clutched my stomach with one hand, entirely without sincerity.

“Ah-ya!—So painful!—I’m dying!”

The words came out in a clear, uninflected voice, as if each syllable were spoken in the first tone of pinyin, completely devoid of intonation.

Ah, it was his worrisome “little sister,” after all.

‘…Ah, how truly pitiful. She must have eaten something bad for lunch, right?’

‘He genuinely felt worried for her. How he wished… he were the one suffering from the stomach ache!’

I watched helplessly as my little sister departed, yet the Class Monitor suddenly seemed to recall something.

She abruptly touched her own stomach.

“Oh, I feel stomach cramps too. Let’s go together.”

“Okay, okay!”

Clang~

The classroom’s iron door clanged shut, and his little sister, along with the Class Monitor—with whom she apparently had a good relationship—vanished from his sight.

Meanwhile, the other students completely ceased their chatter, turning instead to diligently write their class notes, notes they usually only bothered to catch up on occasionally, deep in the dead of night.

…Class 2-B truly was a serious class.

Unlike the first-year students, no one here spent their self-study periods in idle chatter or play.