006 Things You Couldn’t Bump - Mark’s POV

Room zero-zero-zero-zero wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Sure, it was tucked under the stairs and right next to the guard’s office, but it was surprisingly luxurious. The walls were freshly painted, the floor had a plush carpet, and the bed looked way too soft for a dorm. Even the desk and chair looked expensive—sturdy wood with a polished finish, not the flimsy kind you’d expect in student housing. There was only one problem.

No window.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Living in a place with no natural light would mess with my sleep schedule, but considering the alternative—getting thrown into the main dorm with a bunch of girls who might scream at the sight of me—this was fine. More than fine, actually. I had my own space, and it was quiet.

Just as Mom promised, my luggage was already here. I crouched down, unzipping the first bag and pulling out my neatly folded clothes. I stuffed them into the wardrobe, then arranged my toiletries on the small bathroom shelf. Next came my books, some emergency rations—because you never knew when the cafeteria food might betray you—and a few personal items.

As I placed my butterfly knife in the bedside drawer, a nagging thought hit me.

"Am I forgetting something?"

I scanned the room, mentally checking off everything I packed. Clothes, check. Food, check. Weapons, check. And then, I saw it.

Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out a small, neatly laminated photo.

A girl with dark hair and an ordinary, almost forgettable face stared back at me. She wasn’t smiling, wasn’t posing—just looking straight at the camera with a neutral expression.

Mom insisted I bring it.

I walked over to the door, grabbed a piece of tape from my desk, and stuck the picture right at eye level.

I took a step back, looking at it for a moment.

“Nice to meet you, Mirai.”

Mirai Valeska.

Dark hair, oriental features, and an orphan. A commoner, basically.

There was nothing particularly special about her on the surface. No prestigious lineage, no massive inheritance, no powerful family name backing her up. Just another student among thousands who made it into ESPer Academy.

Except, of course, for her ESP.

She awakened her abilities at fifteen, which was considered late compared to most prodigies. But what she lacked in early development, she made up for with sheer absurdity. Her ESP had something to do with luck—a nearly endless reservoir of good fortune that she could apparently store and release in controlled bursts. It was also a confidence booster of sorts. The more she believed in herself, the more perfect her actions would become her 'path' would become so perfect she could transform her 'ideals' into reality as long as she acted on it... Truly a protagonist-like power.

In short, she was exactly the kind of person Mom would shove in my direction with the insistence of a crazed matchmaker.

Still, that had nothing to do with me.

I yawned, stretching my arms as I checked my phone.

"Entrance Ceremony starts around one o’clock PM… and it’s only a quarter before ten…"

I sighed, stuffing the device back into my pocket. That meant I had three whole hours before I needed to show my face in public. More than enough time to kill.

Socializing wasn’t an option anymore. The last thing I wanted was to introduce myself early and make some dumb first impression I’d regret. There was also the tiny problem that most students in this dorm probably still thought I was a girl.

I had to make an appeal or… something.

Embarrassment would kill me faster than any cryptid ever could.

I flopped onto my bed, pulled out my earbuds, and scrolled through my playlist. Music was a safer bet.

Closing my eyes, I let the sound drown out my thoughts.

I’d worry about everything else later.

Zzzzzz…Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…

I woke up and checked the time.

Still too early.

I returned to sleep.

Zzzzzz…Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…

I woke up again and checked the time.

And immediately wished I hadn’t.

"What in the loving name of—"

I shot up from bed, bolted for the door, and sprinted down the hallway.

The gates. Empty.

The train station. Deserted.

There wasn’t a single train in sight, and judging by the schedule board, there wouldn’t be one passing through anytime soon.

Panic clawed at my chest as I switched tactics, running past the dorm entrance and out onto the highway. I waved my arms like a madman, flagging down the first cab I saw.

The driver gave me a strange look but pulled over anyway.

"Academy Main Gate," I said, practically throwing myself into the backseat.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The car lurched forward, and I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair.

As the city blurred past the window, a single thought crept into my head:

Would I even reach her in time?

And more importantly… did I want to?

Mom’s so-called strategy had been clear—being late to the Entrance Ceremony and ambushing the heroine at the gates. That was how I was supposed to make an impression.

But at this point, was it even worth it?

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

“Bah, I don’t care anymore… Since when was Mom ever wrong anyway?”

I closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath.

Might as well do it and see where that brings me.

Hopefully, I’d manage to get to the Academy earlier than the heroine.

That was the plan, at least.

I paid the fare, stepped out of the cab, and immediately activated Nth Person. As the driver pulled away, he barely spared me a second glance—just as expected. People noticed me only when I allowed it. With my ESP concealing my presence, I walked toward the Academy gates and took position.

Then, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through a copy of Journal No. 1.

Strategy No. 1: Entrance Ceremony Delay—Forced Encounter

Under it was the text: bump her good.

I skimmed past the unnecessary details, zeroing in on the most relevant part: Stand in the middle of the gate.

I frowned. That seemed… oddly specific.

What exactly was the plan here?

I reread the entry carefully, and the full picture came back to me.

This was an engineered event. A guaranteed way to meet the heroine under ‘memorable’ circumstances. A forced coincidence.

Mom’s words echoed in my mind: Misery loves company, kid. If she’s having a bad day, make sure she remembers it with you.

Just as I was processing this, I heard a panicked voice in the distance.

“Ah, ah, I am late!”

I turned just in time to see her.

Dark hair. A piece of bread clenched between her teeth. Pedaling furiously as if her life depended on it.

Riding a bicycle.

Straight at me.

…Wait.

What were you thinking, Mom?! How am I supposed to ‘bump’ into that?!

Before I could even react, she crashed into me at full speed.

“Ugh… oooff—”

She had the momentum of a damn truck. Maybe even worse—an ESP-powered truck.

Yeah, I could punch cryptids and kill a lot of them, but could I outrun a speeding bicycle of doom?

No.

Her front wheel slammed right into my gut, knocking the air from my lungs.

I was sent flying.

Spit flew from my mouth.

Something soft smashed into my face.

And then I hit the pavement, hard.

Everything faded to black.

"Wake up! Wake up! Don’t die on me, bro!"

Did she just call me bro?

I felt something soft pressing against my face.

My head was spinning, my ribs ached, and my lungs struggled to catch up with reality. Slowly, I cracked my eyes open, only to realize—

I was suffocating.

Specifically, my face was buried in the heroine’s chest.

And she was shaking me.

Hard.

Her arms were wrapped around me in a vice grip, her ESP-powered strength making it impossible to break free.

If she wanted to shake me, she could shake me—for as long as her luck held out.

“Guuofh—”

I struggled. Nothing. I pushed against her. Nothing.

I tried again, only for my hands to sink into plush mounds that were impossibly soft, warm, and dangerously pillowy. It definitely was not supposed to be there.

Uh-oh.

“Eh?” uttered the confused heroine.

She froze.

She let go.

I gasped for air.

“You do know a proper CPR is done with chest compressions, right?”

Silence.

We stared at each other.

Her face turned red. Her ears burned.

And then—

WHACK

Pain exploded in my skull as she punched me in the face.

W-why?!

Darkness swallowed my vision again.

Before I blacked out, one last ridiculous thought crossed my mind—

Did she knock me out so she could do CPR properly?!

…That wasn’t how CPR worked.

Maybe?

The next second, I woke up in the infirmary.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like. One moment, I was getting my face punched by a girl with truck-tier momentum, and the next, I was lying on a clean white bed with a slight headache. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, and soft fluorescent lights glowed above me. The walls were painted a neutral beige—nothing fancy, but it was clear that ESPer Academy had spared no expense in ensuring their students wouldn’t die from stupid accidents.

I groaned and touched my forehead.

A mild throbbing. Not too bad.

"Ah, you’re awake."

I turned my head. A woman in a white coat stood by the bedside, holding a tablet. Her glasses perched at the tip of her nose as she studied the screen. She looked young, maybe late twenties, with sharp eyes that gave off a no-nonsense vibe.

"Where am I?"

"Infirmary. You suffered a mild concussion."

"...Right."

Memories came rushing back—the bump strategy, the bike, the suffocation, the punch to the face.

I sighed.

"How bad is it?"

"You’re fine. No fractures. Just some swelling. You’ll live."

"Good to know."

I sat up, testing my balance. The room didn’t spin. That was a good sign.

"By the way… the girl who brought me here. Do you know who she was?"

Of course, I already knew the answer, but planting seeds were necessary part of courtship… or so Mom liked to refer to it, laying the groundwork.

The nurse glanced up from her tablet.

"No idea. You were already here when my shift started."

"I see. A pity."

So she left without a word.

I leaned back against the pillow.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. But then again, Mom’s plans never did account for my personal dignity.

I sighed and leaned back against the pillow. The throbbing in my head had dulled to a manageable ache, nothing I couldn’t deal with.

The nurse—Gina, according to her nametag—finished tapping on her tablet and set it aside. She adjusted her glasses and glanced at me with mild curiosity.

“You’re taking this well for someone who got hit by a bicycle.”

“It wasn’t just a bicycle. It was a speeding, luck-empowered missile.”

“Uh-huh. And who, exactly, was riding this ‘missile’?”

“That’s what I was trying to ask you.”

No way I could just snitch on the heroine.

Gina gave me a look that said she wasn’t amused.

“Well, whoever she was, she must have been in quite a rush. Left you here and bolted.”

“Sounds about right.”

She took out a roll of bandages and gestured for me to sit up.

“I’m going to wrap your head. You won’t need to wear it for long, but it’ll help with the swelling.”

I sat still as she worked, winding the bandages carefully around my forehead.

“So… do you still plan on taking the Entrance Exam today?”

“Of course I do.”

She paused.

“You sure? No dizziness? No nausea?”

“None.”

“No headaches?”

“A little. But I’ve had worse.”

Gina sighed, stepping back to inspect her work.

“Well, you’re not the first student to show up half-broken before the exam even starts. Just don’t die before you make it in, alright?”

“No promises.”

She shook her head but didn’t argue.

“Alright, you’re good to go. Try not to get hit by anything else on your way out.”

“I’ll do my best.”

"Oh wait," she stopped me, handing a letter to me. "I found this lying in my desk, looks like it is addressed to you."

***

***

***

“Dear… uh, unconscious guy,

I’m so, so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going, and, well… you were just there! I hope you’re okay. I mean, obviously, you’re in the infirmary, so maybe not completely okay, but I promise I didn’t mean to run you over!

To make it up to you, I’ll do whatever you want—within reason! Lunch? A favor? Just say the word!

Also, here’s my number: [redacted]. Please text me when you wake up so I know you’re not, you know… permanently damaged.

Really, really sorry again!

—Mirai Valeska

P.S. You’re not pressing charges, right? 😨

***

***

***

“Ms. Gina, why is the number redacted with a red pen?”

Gina hummed innocently, tucking the pen back into her pocket. “Well, well, well, I can’t make it too easy for you, right?” Her smile turned downright mischievous.

I stared at her, unamused. “You do realize I got hit by a bike, right? Shouldn’t I at least get a pity pass?” And maybe like ask the person responsible for compensation, though it was mostly Mom’s fault.

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin, pretending to think about it. “Nah.”

I exhaled sharply. “Seriously?”

“Moreover,” she continued, leaning in slightly, “I can’t really have just any young lady around leaving her number in the open, right? What if bad guys learn of it and start bothering her?”

I looked at the ruined number, then at her smug face. “…Right. Because I’m obviously the villain here.”

Gina winked. “You said it, not me.”