La malin génie de Suzumiya Haruhi
A Discourse Upon Mala Suerte

Wherein an event of Ill Luck befalls our esteemed Heroine,
And the mysterious workings of the Wheel of Fate are considered.

by fallacies

When I step into the club room, only Nagato is present, reading something called 'The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag.' Kyon must have gone somewhere to slack off with his two stooges. He has a tendency of doing that if I'm not around to keep him in line.

"Mikuru's running late again?" I ask.

Nagato turns her head and nods slowly.

"And Kyon was trying to convince me a few weeks ago that she's a time traveler or something," I say absently. "Can you believe that?"

"We all move through time," replies the short-haired girl in a monotone, turning back to her reading.

I blink. Nagato is feeling talkative today.

"Eh," I say. "I meant the type that involves jumping forwards and back." I totally believe in time travelers, but suspension of disbelief can stretch only so far. I'm a realist first and foremost, and the chance of me actually meeting a time traveler is miniscule. Besides, Mikuru fails the competence requirement for a temporally displaced government agent by at least two hundred and fifty-five points.

Making a mental note to give my supposedly time-traveling mascot character and Kyon a bit of discipline the next time I see them, I set my bag down by the desk at the head of the room and turn on the computer.

With Mister Snarky out of the way and thus unable to hog the machine, it's a perfect opportunity for me to finish registering with the Prefectural Film Contest. Figuring out how to work the badly-designed file upload tool on the Contest website was a bit of a pain, but the school's monthly allotment of wasted bandwidth is finally going to be put to a nice, constructive use.

It'll be a billion years before I admit The Adventures of Asahina Mikuru to be anything less than a masterwork on level with The Legend of Nineteen-Hundred or The Exorcist. The fact that I wrote and directed it does not make me too close to judge it objectively; it's got deep, high-quality writing, and that alone makes it loads better than the crappy Weekend Roadshow flicks the networks show late nights on Saturdays.

For some reason, though, a faint shadow of a doubt regarding the potential reception of my piece creeps across my mind when I hit the last page of the registration form.

"This is a contest oriented primarily toward amateurs that aspire to film in a professional capacity," says a disclaimer. "As such, entrees shall be judged per the industry standard. Are you certain that you wish to submit your film?"

Can a bunch of average high school students really make a movie that wins the respect of a panel of film experts?

Almost as the thought forms, I crush it with oodles of confidence. I'm a realist first and foremost, and a victor second. If I start doubting everything I do, I'll never get anything done.

I click 'yes.'

On a Sunday morning near the end of November, I check my mail. I'm pleasantly surprised to find an envelope addressed to me from the Cultural Committee of Hyougo Prefecture. I open it as soon as I get inside the apartment.

The first time, I don't understand what's written in the letter, and so I read it again.

And then again.

And then I crumple the letter into a ball and throw it across the living room. As I flop down on the couch, my father frowns at me from the breakfast table.

"You can't win them all, you know?" he says.

He's right of course, but I'm too angry to listen. I go to my room and shut the door.

By noon, I've calmed down, and I go back into the living room. Picking up the letter, I uncrumple it and read it again.

"To Ms. Suzumiya Haruhi," it says. "We regret to inform you that of the sixty-four entrees in this year's contest, your submission placed forty-second. We cordially invite you and seven others of your choice to attend the screening of the five winning entrees on December the First. Please find the screening tickets enclosed. We hope that you will participate again in next year's contest."

I don't crumple it again. I smooth out the paper on the dining table and sit down.

At the beginning of summer, I was caught up in series of events resembling a closed-circle murder mystery, and I tried my hand at sleuthing Kindaichi-style. It didn't turn out anywhere near the way I imagined, and, on the way home, I crossed private investigator from my list of potential occupations to pursue. Never spoke about it with anyone, but it wasn't a pleasant experience for me at all. Blood and accusations are best left to the professionals with the training to stomach them.

The affair brought me face to face with a cold, hard reality that I don't like to think about: Despite the front I put up, I don't particularly have a high opinion of my abilities.

Certainly, I place in the top percentile of my class in the educational jurisdiction that Northern Municipal happens to belong to, but this is more on account of the fact that the majority of my peers are boring, mindless drones than any real academic skill on my part. On a nation-wide scale, my grades are a lot less impressive, with good reason.

You can't win them all. The world is too big for that, and there are too many gears turning behind the scenes for any one mind to properly work all of them. You'd have to be omniscient and omnipotent. I'm neither.

I'm a realist, first and foremost. The most I can do is stand up when reality slaps me down, and try harder.

The club room door is slightly ajar when I arrive Monday after classes. I overhear Itsuki speaking to Kyon.

"Seems she was a bit agitated yesterday," he says.

I peek in, and then wince. Itsuki's broken his arm again. I've suspected for some time that he has an abusive girlfriend, but he isn't very open with me on the subject of his love life. When I get a chance, I'll track the girl down and give her a stern talking-to. As the leader of the Brigade, I have a duty to my subordinates.

Best I can do now is change the mood, I suppose. I bring out my full cheer and swing open the door.

"Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!" I exclaim, smiling broadly. "We're gonna be attending a film screening on December the First! Tsuruya-sempai says she can lend you boys some tuxedos, so shape up!"

"Run this by me again," says Mister Snarky. "Why are we doing this?"

"It'll be an educational experience!" I say. "As a pre-filming prep for the next episode of The Adventures of Asahina Mikuru, you lot are gonna learn everything you can about professional filming!"

"... just my luck," he mutters.

Fin

Notes:

a) This was written in response to a challenge issued in a fanfiction community that I belong to, and somehow seems not to stand alone very well. For clarification, the challenge text reads as follows:

In this world, without regard to your station in life, regardless of how "good" or "evil" one might be, you eventually realize that the world of matter is ruled by invisible forces. Stars whirl about at madcap speeds, slinging planets around them as we go about our daily lives on their surface. But the natural laws can be harnessed, whereas others harness us. Fate, destiny, or luck...whatever you call it, is the true master of this world.

Your challenge is to write a story where the protagonist is hit by an instance of bad luck. A random encounter in a dark alley, the wrong word to the right ear, equipment breaking or the pursuit catching up, and anything else that comes about as a result of mala suerte.

b) When reading, please consider the workings of fate, destiny, and chance in the world of Haruhi. Please also consider that Haruhi does not obtain everything she wants. There is a reason for this.

c) This story is set in November, just after the events of the Cultural Festival.