Prologue
Specks of dust floated through the orange rays of light filtering through the Literature Club windows, like fragments of a reality that refused to be remembered. They say the human brain suppresses trauma to protect itself, but if you ask me, it’s nothing short of cosmic censorship.
My name is Kaname Koshiba. I’m seventeen years old, and as you can clearly observe, I am the vital center around which this bonfire of existence burns.
Twelve years ago, something—or someone—dragged me back from the jaws of death. Ever since, my life has felt like a book with its most critical page ripped out.
That’s precisely why I founded this supernatural club under the guise of an ordinary, run-of-the-mill Literature Club. If my suspicions prove correct, we are on the verge of a deep narrative, because I can feel it—that divine entity is close.
“Kaname, are you making that face again? The one where you look like you’re carrying the fate of the universe on your shoulders?”
Sorano Hasegawa’s voice shattered my train of thought.
She offered a radiant smile, holding a copy of Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human in her hand—completely oblivious to the fact that the world is a dark place. Beside her, Yoru Satou yawned with a cynicism so thick you could practically touch it while flipping through another manga that had absolutely nothing to do with either the occult or literature. And deep in the back, our senior, Touya Minami, was little more than a shadow glued to a black-covered book—the kind of guy who’d vanish right out of the room the second you took your eyes off him.
Poor souls. So painfully normal, so blissfully ignorant of the supernatural lurking in the shadows. They haven’t the faintest idea that I’m using this club as a front to find my miracle. They don’t realize that the real answer lies out there, in someone special like Aoi Takano... and not in this room filled with silence and cheap literature.
