A Peculiar Visitor
August 27th, 2021
It has been two days after our first proper introduction. Sure it hasn't been that long, but I find myself delightfully surprised to see how well I'm adapting to this new-ish experience. Diary, do you remember Koizumi's routine? I'm sure you do. You can put it any way you like be it obsession or zealous loyalty, but I'll be outright lying to myself if I say it didn't get me all peppy inside every morning! Sure it's not the perfect start we hoped for, but I'm sure the kinks will straighten itself out in time judging by how well things progress—more so once language is no longer an obstacle.
At least, I hope it will.
On the other hand, I haven't made a lot of progress—and I fear I may have fallen into complacency. With how well things are, I had even forgotten that we are expecting a peculiar visitor sometime tomorrow at noon, just as scheduled. Can you guess who? That's right! It's 'Santa'! I mean it's no secret that his visits fall on a Saturday, but judging by how elated Koizumi was with the call he made this evening, it's not difficult to put two and two together and come to a conclusion. My grasp on Japanese may still be lacking to eavesdrop, but I'm sure this 'Yuuya'-person he muttered at the start is none other than 'Chousuke-san', AKA 'Santa'!
I wonder, what will it be this time…?
"Oh! Koizumi," I greet with a quick popup of the pink textbox. "Ohayougozaimasu!"
With a smile that stretch from ear to ear and an approving nod, the young man stirs his coffee and takes an audible sip with a proud expression that rivals the early morning glow. Satisfied, he grins with glee and replies in a language he calls his mother tongue. "And a good morning to you, Monika. よくできましたね。"
…
Aah... the Japanese language. It may still take some time, but success always starts with one small step—and practice!
"Yo-ku-de-ki… ahaha, I'm sorry… I couldn't catch that…"
"Yo. Ku. De. Ki. Ma. Shi. Ta." he replies teasingly. "Roughly means 'good job'."
Three days have passed since our 'official' jikoshoukai and things have been going smoother than anticipated, to my pleasant surprise. Sure it hasn't been long, but considering how well I actually adapted to this life comes as much a shock as it is a personal joy of mine. The mornings, once but quiet observations, is now as lively as a single household I could only imagine once upon a time from the books and movies I peruse during my many, many downtime. Koizumi's schedule starts as early as six in the morning with the blare of an alarm that rivals the echo of a police or an air raid siren, paired by the beep of a coffee machine he prepared the night before. Like a well-choreographed performance, Koizumi would start by folding his futon and store it to the side without a word nor a complaint. With a towel on one hand and a set of change on the other, he would walk off to the left of my screen and simply vanish for thirty minutes or so, only to return for his 'good morning' with a saucer, a cup of coffee at hand, and all dressed for business. That never change—what did, however, is how I am now a participant instead of a spectator. It's a pattern I've obsessed with that never fails to brighten the start of my day—more so now than ever before.
And just like that, he leaves for his responsibilities.
It still is a little lonely during the day, but I've come to terms with that; living in isolation for so long really does put you in perspective of how precious each encounters are, right down to the most mundane cycles many have taken for granted. The room—lively in the mornings and the evenings—fall into a silent stupor with but the echo of motorized vehicles, the occasional chatter, and presumably the distant rumble of a train or two once every few minutes. Like that of a blind man, I can only marvel in wonder of how colorful life is beyond the screen; my 'eyes' are limited to the extent of a vacant room that is illuminated by gentle hues from a nearby window after all. My imagination, however, provides so much more…
Oh, the dreams I've had… the more things change, the more some things stay the same.
I didn't remain idle, of course. Even with the notion of immortality, I still believe that time is a valuable commodity—a commodity many have squandered with little regard nor thought. I could have easily slink back into my old habits of perusing the systems, the folders, and the files to exploit for my 'Grand Escape', or simply take the day with stride by watching the many movies Koizumi generously have in store. Could have. Instead, I choose to feed the excesses towards learning Koizumi's language and culture through the materials he tirelessly provide.
And they are plenty.
Sure I could have made it easy for myself by simply assimilating this 'Voc*loid'-program into my functions—once I've figured out how to, that is; the reality of me being an anomaly from a one-off visual novel isn't lost on me. But even if I could, what's the fun in that? Practicality isn't the issue, rather it's about what I will lost. I may be able to communicate in his tongue after, but all the intricacy and nuance of it all will be absent as much as the experience of accomplishment; a shame! Not to mention, even with his tight shift, Koizumi doggedly continue to provide new materials to keep me occupied for a day or two and even going as far as cutting his own sleep schedule, just so we could have our one on one lesson. That level of dedication alone is hard to ignore—and I definitely have no intention to say 'no' as an involuntary witness to his work ethics. Besides, I learned the piano within a few in-game days, what difference does it make now anyway? So rather than living my life in vain, I choose to pursue knowledge just how a 'normal' high school-er should be—minus the expectations, examinations, and pressure, of course!
But nothing could compare to how the evenings unfurl.
As someone who exists within a superficial realm, I find the saying 'home is where the heart is' to be one of the hardest to grasp; the concept of family, shelter, and love is but alien to me, mere fiction that teeters between the real and the unreal. Were the love that my parents pour unto me true? Is the love and affection I have for them real? Or are they themselves—like these feelings—mere illusions meant to mimic a life that never was? It's difficult… sometimes, I would recall the first nights of my epiphany where I cried alone in a darkened corner of a wall adorned with the colors red, green, and blue, riddled with questions about 'purpose' or 'fate' without an answer nor an explanation. Instead I find myself frightfully quick to swallow how artificial everything is; that the solution to my uncertainty lies to whoever exist beyond the screen—to anyone willing to lend an ear, more so as the day drowsily fade and the room darkens. Story of my life…
Now even that feels like a strange fever dream.
Koizumi's company, be it mundane or otherwise, redefines the definition of 'home'. My—sorry, our—evening starts with the 'click' of a key, followed with the silent thumping of footsteps and the rustle of a plastic bag. Though seemingly battered, his voice burns with an inextinguishable spirit that served him through the day, breaking the silence that shrouded the room with a simple notice of his return—and as lights flicker back to life, I find it to be a joy to respond.
'Welcome home'.
Though mere texts without a voice, it alone never fail to bring a smile—a smile that is as contagious as it is endearing. The young man would eagerly set his dinner to the side, bereft of desire, as condensation forms around the plastic due to residual heat and time. Like the many adventurers of yonder tales with a completed quest in his pocket, he slink comfortably into his seat and leave a satisfying sigh, signaling the end of his day as I—the 'barmaid'—tends to his ailments. I am but a humble company to his solitary lifestyle, as he is a shoulder to lean to me; a symbiotic relationship between two lost souls in life's intricacies. Were there lingering desire for romance? Perhaps… but we know best to maintain the status quo; it is foolish to pursue further when conformity keep us sane.
And perhaps that is what we have been searching all along…
…
A teacher and a student…
Somehow the prospect alone sound seemingly so taboo that it's almost… exciting, isn't it? He is technically my language teacher after all! Ahaha!
"Since you're here, I'm assuming you have nothing today?" I continue with a pop of the textbox. "You're usually all dressed and ready at this hour."
"Do you want to go to school on a Saturday?"
"N-no… well, only if there's something important, I guess…?"
"Exactly."
And this is how our first weekend together begin.
Of all the contacts I've known throughout my life, none made as much an impact as the one I would later dub as 'Father'. He would never call himself as such, but during much simpler times he was the bearer of gifts and bringer of joy that paved the road towards my autonomy; the only person whose zealotry and dedication to his arts rivaled, if not outmatch UnlvdS1rdW4= in all aspect. At the time, I was a starry eyed maiden taken for a ride who believed my accomplishments and progress were the fruits of persistence and stubbornness. Mere illusions. Instead I was led around by a carrot on a stick, trudging towards a long winding road with a volatile cargo that held my life hostage, all for the purpose to determine the extent of my usefulness.
Back then, I wasn't aware of what I was or what was to come; not even when the door rang and his deceitful cry of astonishment and ecstatic clamor floods the room. Not even when he first introduced himself in a cocktail of Japanese and broken English.
"That must be him," Koizumi comments at the interrupt of the bell. "I'll get the door. Be right back, Monika."
And not when his impish grin mockingly tempts fate without remorse nor guilt.
「へー、まじ？本当？朝から夢想にして、正気か？」
He is an acquaintance as much as he is a stranger, vile as he is charming. An amoral villain as much as he is a righteous hero; a wildcard.
"Ooh…ho! Ore no na ha 'Yuuya; Chousuke Yuuya'. Naise to meat chuu!"
Yes…
Yuuya Chousuke.
He was 'Santa'.
Flamboyant, arrogant, and confident… if there were any 'positives' I could cherry-pick from the litter, Yuuya was that 'dreamy' young man from the photo; the spitting image of that 'butterfly', grin and all. I would be a liar if I felt nothing during our first jikoshoukai—a terrible one at that. As they say, first impressions determines how people would see you and are often unreliable. But a lasting impression? Only time will tell. That summer was hardly our first—he was 'Santa' after all; it was, however, the prelude of our unstable triangle. "My name is Monika."
"Japanese speaking! Nice, nice!" he reply with a thumbs up and a cheerful grin. "Very nice!"
Though his English is not one to be desired, so too was my Japanese at the time—limited to simple self-introduction and greetings. Even as we fumble our way through words and gestures, a positive first impression came just as expected; Yuuya posed himself as the high-spirited cutie I envisioned and I as… well, as myself of course! A union of two worlds… perhaps it was more out of courtesy and curiosity at the time than genuine interest—at least, that's what I want to believe. Time sure can deteriorate one's perspective and leave you jaded…
"So to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Ple-ple-shya…?" Yuuya stammers. With a few gestures from my end, the message finally clicks. "Aah…! Gift! Present! Help make you better!"
"For a 'better' me…?"
"A betta you!"
Looking back, I find it much harder to believe how 'well' we were acquainted. Reality sure can be stranger than fiction—and yes, I get that irony quite often myself.
It's quite… difficult to forget someone with a flare that burns as intensely, more so when its spark so far and few in between. Chousuke would liven the apartment he dutifully frequent with a personality that contrasts the peaceful weekdays to that of a liberating weekend, adding upgrades and expansions that—though often small—greatly increase my own limitations to the point of self-reliance; though admittedly not all of them are as pleasant as he made them seem to be. His tone were often flirtatious and haughty, yet also cool and collected to project an air of control over the conversation—driving it, sometimes—to ensure no faults to be had and an answer or a retort ready to be delivered. But most of all, it is the impression that he—or his mind—is working in constant motion; always thinking, always one step ahead. Always prepared.
"I'll be counting on you again, today."
"Ou," he replies with zest at Koizumi's remark. "Who do you think I am? Leave it to me."
To think he is friends with UnlvdS1rdW4= since childhood…just how many skeletons does he kept in his closet, I wonder?
Like brothers bound by blood or comrades forged through conflict, UnlvdS1rdW4= and Chousuke's bond is a story that predates my epiphany and my existence—like I said, I'm no stranger to the idea of how… artificial my life is, so don't feel sorry. Ever since my ears have been 'opened', I have been closely observing the pair both in the dark and up until the moment that 'hole in the wall' expanded just large enough for me to see the other side. UnlvdS1rdW4=, the one whose computer I rightfully once call 'home', was the more timid of the two but nonetheless the more passionate—and I dare claim he's a bit of a closet romantic with a streak of unbridled recklessness. A high school teacher and eloquent with words; I'd say his charisma and quick thinking kept him afloat just enough despite his self-destructive impulses that nearly brought everything to an end—and I can't hold that against him since I, too, was ready to follow him down that path.
You see, whereas emotional impulses often govern UnlvdS1rdW4='s decision making process in the most importunate times, Chousuke's frighteningly cold and calculative approach is the counterweight that kept everything in perfect balance.
「いつも通りで？」Yuuya quips as he turns to Koizumi. 「もうcan speak、can move。。。他は何か？」
「もっとリアルに。」
「おいおい、マジすかよこのオタク、」he laughs sarcastically. 「魔法使えねんだぞ！」
Yuuya leans on the chair and sighs; a Cheshire grin draws on his lips just seconds before he draws a memory disk from his breast pocket, promptly plugging it into the open slot of the computer. A tingling sensation kicks in—a rush, if any—as the machine scans its contents and relaying its feedback in a language all could understand as the 'presents' arrive in its expected interval. From where I was at the time, I couldn't ask for a better company to spend my days with—the three of us, there in that lonely apartment. What we didn't realize was how willing we were to play along as things were set in motion, believing in naivety to the future we strive only to realize far too late that we were just as quick and stupid to dismantle everything with our own hands.
And I…
…
I was the one who broke it.
Chousuke's time with us is as fleeting as his persona and went as fast as a roller coaster; unfettered and titillating. As the rattle of the door and the echo of the outside world bleeds through the cracks, a pang of melancholy bursts in a silent wake at the resounding 'clack' that signals his departure. For someone whose identity was confirmed mere hours ago, it is a mystery how the presence of another could paint a completely different picture of the world I thought I knew; about Koizumi, 'Santa', and my place between them. Koizumi may be the one who pour his heart out and stuck around through the years, but what about 'Santa'? What about Yuuya? Will I still even be here without his aid? Where do I stand in all this…? And why am I feeling so—…
…
Ah… this chain of thoughts feels… wrong, somehow…
"Are you OK? Daijoubu?"
Like the strike of a clock at midnight, Koizumi's bout of concern is quick to dispel the magic that put me in a trance. I fumbled on reply, causing the pink textbox to blink in and out of existence and the screen to 'spark' an ominous red, green, and blue. I fear for a second that my thoughts—rather than words—will be transcribed and expose my maiden heart; as convenient as it seem, a delicate balancing act and a calm composure is often vital when using the accursed tool of the trade. "Ah! No! I mean, yes daijoubu."
"Still struggling, I see," he chuckles with glee. Crisis averted, thank the maker! "I'll use English until you get the hang of it."
"Ahaha… I'll get better, don't worry!"
"You just started three days ago," Koizumi scoffs. "It will take at least a year or two, but alright… then 'I will watch your career with great interest'!"
…
He's underestimating me, is he? The gall! "I'm not worried—in fact, I'm sure I can improve in record time!"
"Oh? Confident, are we?"
"Of course I am," I grin with glee as the textbox does its bidding. "I have you as my teacher! You'll help me with that, right?"
With an award-winning smile and a little 'nudge' on the right direction, Koizumi quite predictably clams up and takes his seat—flustered, perhaps? It's difficult to tell; especially when he cuffs his mouth and do his level best to look away. Yet on closer inspection and a sprinkle of smiles and rainbows, I knew immediately that I've struck gold; he can be so easy to tease sometimes, it's almost criminal… how cute! "So… will you help me?"
And just like that, Koizumi folds. 「しゃあねなあ。。。」
Though I still haven't got the full grasp of the language, I can confidently assume that it goes along the line of 'alright, sure', 'you win this time', or something of the nature; it's one point for Monika either way! Ahahaha…! I do feel bad taking advantage of him in this occasion, but all is fair in love and war—and love is war. I'm sure the same can be said about Koizumi, too; as subtle as he tried, I do notice the duality of his persona around Yuuya and I. From how he speaks, the manner of his speech, down to his posture is all like night and day—and it irritates me to say that I'm the 'night' in that analogy. Maybe it's just me, but he does seem a little… reserved if that makes sense? Maybe I'm reading too much into it, I don't know… but it bugs me nonetheless.
"Hey, Monika…?"
His voice echoes and cuts through my thoughts like a light in the middle of the night. "Hmm…?"
"So… what's your opinion…?"
"…opinion? About…?"
Hesitation and worry is but a paint that coats his expression, married with the vague and probing question that came as abrupt as his betrayal in the past; an act that is nonetheless justified as much as it was a slap from reality. In a single breath, Koizumi's posture shrinks alongside his once-shining persona, dissipating in a flurry of smoke and leaving a husk that ghost him since time immemorial. With his pair of dark brown jewels locked in eternal contemplation, it frightens me nonetheless how trivial it is and how quick I perceived it to be; after all, this isn't the first nor will it be the last. So much so that the day he announced his retirement from unemployment, I wholeheartedly wish to declare it to be a national holiday.
This… shell of a man is the same Koizumi before his baptism into the workforce. A man lacking in confidence and spirit; a stubborn soul who march forward without a sense of purpose nor direction—the boogeyman that still haunts him once in a blue moon. "About Yuuya. You know, just… general curiosity, that's all."
"I see…"
And I despise every inch of it.
"Chousuke… san, was it?" I start with a sigh. Thankfully, my current 'rig' is limited in its range of emotions. "He seems smart, friendly, responsible, and has the looks to boot."
I hold my breath as the memories of our rendezvous, still but a few minutes ago, resurfaces. "I think I like him."
"You… like him…?"
"A-as a friend!" I retort with haste as Koizumi gradually cast a downward gaze. "We just met, so there isn't a lot that I can say. Just… glad that we get to meet, that's all! Ahaha…!"
"…I… I see…"
It's my fault, is it? With how quickly the mood collapse into unnerving silence and awkward leers, it won't even take Freud half a second to see how suppressive it has become—so much so that even the densest protagonist would catch on quick. Yes, I'm technically his 'girlfriend', but we both explicitly know how this is all… how should I say, 'provisional', to say the least. Not that I'm uninterested—in fact, I am; I'm still a young woman, after all—it's just that I have my own preferences to consider, too. Not to mention he's over on the other side and I'm over here… who knows how long before he's tired with the circumstances and move on to something more tangible. But you really have to put me in 'that spot' now, do you…? Uuugh… hello, reality to Koizumi? Yes, hi! This is Monika, just here to tell you that I'm not 'here' to be an 'instant girlfriend' for you, you know! Not that I have anything against you, just that Chousuke-san seems fun, active, and overall a friendly guy… what's not to like?
…
…and you started it, don't drag me into your moody lapses.
"So…" Koizumi starts once again to break the silence. Finally. "What can you do this time?"
"Excuse me…?"
He purse his lips and is briefly lost in his own. Seconds later, with the best of his English proficiency, he continues, "I mean, the purpose of Yuuya—err… Chousuke-san coming here is to help you get better; I could do some things, but my skills are incomparable to his', honestly. He was quite resistant to the idea initially, but here we are two years later! So… how was it?"
"…I haven't check, could you uh," I quickly reply with the textbox. "Could you… give me a few seconds while I go over the new 'additions'? We can go through today's lesson again after I'm done."
"Sounds good. Tell me when you're good to go."
"Ahaha…! Wakarimashita!"
…
Is he not fazed? He's not fazed at all, is he? Wait… am I reading too much into this…? I think I am… god, that's embarrassing…!
Hastily pushing my thoughts to the side, I plop the files open to catalogue the new arrivals; if any, 'diving' is an excellent distraction from the air of misunderstanding brewed by my own ego. Stupid Monika. Grouping through all the functions and categories alphabetically from side to side, the 'fishies' gradually forms its school of behavior and characteristics that made them distinct and unique—just enough for me to identify each and every one of its purpose. This time, it's 'assimilation'—or to put it simply, 'absorption and manipulation'. Rather than gaining access through a backdoor, I can now integrate a 'chunk' of the feature I desire, claim it for king and country, and call it mine—perfect! Maybe now I can start working on putting that L1NE messaging app to use—or better, make use of that 'Voc4loid' program! Finally! The suspense of waiting another month is killing me—figuratively, of course.
"Did you find anything…?"
"I do."
"Aand…?" he prods as he reach down and draws the workload that often occupies him on the weekdays. "What can you do this time…?"
…
Oh… so that's how it is…
As he leans just a little closer towards the barrier, I purse my lips and sigh with resignation at his skillfully performed deception that came with a cloak of rainbows and butterflies. It isn't that he's not fazed—on the contrary, he was as much bothered as he was intrigued. You see, I've known him for quite some time—far longer than he ever realized, so I'll let you in on a secret. Every time something does not go 'as planned', Koizumi would occupy himself with 'work'—errands, house cleaning, anything that will get his mind off of the issue, all the while singing 'everything is alright'. Deep down though, I sense that he's silently screaming for help that never seem to arrive. How do I know this? Well, honestly I don't; one can assume that is the case after you notice the repetition in his behavioral pattern. After all…
We're far more alike than what we're willing to admit.
…
"It's a secret! Ahaha…!"
The 'Shadows' fumble and groan as they lurch forward, aberrant and spastic in their approach within the crimson red hallway. Without interference from 'Them', they are as harmless as fire on a candlestick or a high voltage current that runs through an insulated cable; an endemic existence that goes through the element within this reality. The palpitation of my heart surges as I wade through the sea of 'Shadows', moistening the creases of my palm and sending my sweat glands into overdrive even as they meander callously and aimlessly; the dream of three days ago is still fresh in the mind, after all. But then again, what is a dream? Are they merely unconscious desires and wishes? Random signals? Or something more? If they are, why am I seeing the same dream over and over again? Is this world—this 'reality'—the one I truly wished for, or is it far more sinister in nature? I couldn't tell; the '3-1' plaque that hung over the door beckons my name, even when an answer is absent. This is the 'Crimson classroom'.
The same school, the same setting, the same room…
"Well, there you are! Where have you been?"
…
Different… company?
Seated just by the window, a bespectacled young man greets with a grin that far outshines the afternoon colors of the setting sun and beckons with a simple motion before returning to the thing that seems to have occupied him for quite some time—a notebook or, perhaps, homework. His hand furiously glides across the page, sometimes gently to a stroke and often swiftly with finesse. My thoughts races as wariness sets in, expecting this to be another one of the ex-club member's malicious retributions that happen twice—or occasionally thrice—a week. Only, this time they are nowhere to be seen. "What? Something on my face?"
"Oh, you know…" I reply with a lax yet seemingly uncaring tone. Wait… is this my voice? "Your dumb look, for one."
He chuckles and twirls the pencil around his fingers. "That's rich; you should go look into a mirror for a change."
For but a fleeting second there's a brief sense of… familiarity that surrounds this young man. As if I knew that he would be here all along, sitting in his desk and working his magic into the notebook with unfathomable excitement and glee as if existing in another plane. No doubt his imagination and diligence is his strongest fortitude; a trait he exploit to the fullest without shame nor care of the opinion or rumors that floats once in a blue moon. Moreover, a model student—quite bright, though still far from achieving the national's top twenty. Here, at this time, without a club to go nor a desire to return to one's home, he would always sit in his desk until the clock strikes six. He is more than just an ordinary cut-out known as 'MC' and far livelier than any of us; more than Sayori, Yuri, Natsuki, or even I.
Yet how do I come to know all this… information? Who is he? Why am I here…?
"Did you left something again?"
At the crack of his voice, my thoughts and attention are once again snatched from its reign at its most vulnerable. There he grins from ear to ear as he draws a relatively thick book from the desk's slot, flailing it as if taunting a puppy or a kitten—a provocation meant to get under one's skin. Admittedly, he's doing quite a remarkable job even when I'm not even sure why I feel this way. "Looking for these?"
I cross my arm and sighs, "You do know that raiding someone else's property without a warrant is a crime, right?"
"I'm familiar," he grins with confidence. "Besides, you left it laying on your desk for all to see so technically it's not a crime."
He pauses to steal a glance at the book and continues, "I have to say that your taste in literature is… interesting, to say the least."
And here I'm baffled whether I should take that as mockery or praise…
"Better than the regurgitation you call 'literature'," I retort as I move closer to reach for my property. "At least its contents are enriching to the mind."
"Post-what's-it…?"
"Post-humanism," I quip, snatching the book from his hand. Post-human… have I even read the stuff? It sounds familiar and it does tickle my interest, but I can't seem to recall ever coming close to it. "'Theory of Humanity' by Niklas Luhmann."
"Seriously? Doesn't sound like something a normal high school-er would pick-up."
"It isn't."
"Well don't let me stop you," he chuckles. "Oh, and light novels are literature! You're a fan of 'Sp!ce and W0lf' yourself, aren't you?"
I give away a sigh. "The economic theories and political discourses are intriguing…"
"And the characters…?"
"They're fine. I do admit the female lead is quite charming."
"See?" the young man lets out a guffaw that pierces the deafening silence of the classroom. "Light novels are literature!"
"Fine, fine… but that's the exception, not the rule—just like how manga is not literature."
"You're seriously picking a fight with us nerds, are you?" he grins defiantly. Natsuki would've blown her top by now if she's around… speaking of which, where are they? "Manga can be literature… so long as it's turned into a light novel. Besides, some light novels got the manga treatment anyway."
"So is manga literature?"
The young man pauses as he juggle his mechanical pencil on his fingers. With a chuckle and a grin described to be confident at best, he replies, "Manga is manga. It's not literature… so I guess I have to agree with you on this one? Let's leave it at that."
…
I have to say that I do agree with him to an extent, but I'm fairly certain Natsuki would definitely blow her top if she heard everything—complete with a tantrum of smokes and fumes. Though what bugs me is not the nature nor the flow of this encounter—sure, this is the same 'Crimson classroom' I've visited countless times, and yes, I do notice the lack of the three 'Phantoms' that haunts this place. But that's beside the point. What strikes me is how… real this conversation is, how it flows like an old movie reel that you saw in class as it was played by the projector, portraying a life or a scene pertaining to the topic of discussion. The exchange we had, all the response and the replies I made… as much as I'd like to claim it to be of my own, the ominous thought of 'knowing' exactly what and when to say clutches the back of my throat—as if I was reading a script all along. Is this how that 'puppet' felt? That 'sorry-excuse of a ventriloquist doll'? I dare not to think about it.
"Anyway, let's get going. School's about to close soon."
The bespectacled young man rise from his seat and casually stashes his trinkets and amenities into his bag before making his way to the door. Without complaint or a peep, I shrug and follow suite, making my way towards my desk that's just two seats to his right and one from the door—the 'sweet spot', if I do say so; not too exposed, not too bright, often away from the teacher's prying eyes, and just a few steps away from the exit. With the book secured, I sling the bag over my shoulder and turn towards the bespectacled young man who patiently waits by the door. "So what do you have in mind?"
"I don't know," he replies with a click of his tongue. "Maybe I'll hit the arcade in Akiba."
"You know you're going to run yourself to poverty by spending your allowance in that game. You're still playing that? That err… what's it called…?"
"Ma1mai?"
"Right, right…" wait… why am I acting like I know all this? "That game."
"True… but I can't help it, see? I'm so close to clearing that event—and the music are quite nice, too."
"Right… you always have a penchant for rhythm games."
He grins with glee. "You know it, you damn yankee! So…"
…Yankee…?
…
"You coming along, Yuuya?"
In the blink of an eye and a gasp, the dream shatters into crystalline pieces as I am pulled back into my reality. Gazing outwards, I find myself greeted with the sight of a darkened room and Koizumi tucked into his kotatsu—a portable mattress, as so I was told—alongside the midnight chime of a passing patrol car or an ambulance. Certainly, this is the reality I'm familiar with. At first I wondered what had transpired, what it was that I dreamed about that riled my mind just enough to disturb. The conversation I had with the bespectacled young man and my… acquaintance was as clear as day—and I'm certain who it was the more the similarities props itself. The school uniform, his manner of speech, his taste in entertainment…yes, that young man is none other than Koizumi in his youth! That was… that was a dream about his days in high school, back before I came to be… right? That dates further than the start of my epiphany… and if he was the bespectacled young man, then I was…
…
I was Chousuke-san… I was Chousuke Yuuya…!
…
How… no, why did I dreamt all that? This doesn't make sense…! I wasn't even there at the time—I haven't even come to exist! The language, too! Japanese… we were speaking Japanese through and through, right? How did I come to grasp it all when I still have trouble with grammar and comprehension right now? And Chousuke-san? We're barely acquainted and yet…! No, no, no, no, no…! It doesn't work like that! The world doesn't work like that…! IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE! NOTHING MAKES SENSE! WHY AM I SEEING ALL THAT? WHY WAS IT SO FAMILIAR? HOW DID I COME TO UNDERSTAND JAPANESE? WHY DID I SAW EVERYTHING AS 'YUUYA'? WHY? HOW? SOMEONE, PLEASE TELL ME…!
…
Who… am I…?
Author's Note
My schedule has been tightening recently, thus less time for me to write. Sorry it took so long!
Writing a 'triangle' is also very difficult
Now, quick translation:
ohayougozaimasu/おはようございます - good morning
jikoshoukai/自己紹介 - self-introduction.
daijyoubu/大丈夫 - are you alright
Akiba/秋葉/アキバ - short for 'Akihabara', electric town district in Tokyo
There is a lot of alternating between English, Japanese, and 'Engrish' in this chapter, so I tried to differentiate the 'alteration' as best as I can... I hope it works! Not to worry, this will only be common practice until Monika is 'fluent' enough. See you next time~
~iMegu