Short brown hair. Plain face. A uniform which was buttoned up and tucked in, and yet still had wrinkles all over it. He was looking over her in much the same way that someone would a wounded animal, trying to decide if it was worth the risk – or effort – to tend to. Somehow, Monika knew in an instant that he was the one who she'd been searching for.

Monika tried to clear her throat, but when she spoke up, her voice still cracked. "Who are you?"

"I live here," he said, nodding at something over Monika's shoulder. She turned around and saw a plain, modern-looking house with no defining features. She turned back to the boy and tried to stop thinking about

all of the horrible things she'd done

the past. She needed answers.

"Um…" Monika's face was heating up. "We know each other, right?"

"No," replied the boy. "I mean, I might've seen you in between classes a couples of times."

"B-But…last year…" Monika's mind was in a scramble, desperately trying to find a way to keep the conversation going. "W-We shared a class together, didn't we?"

The boy thought for a moment. "Oh, maybe. I don't really remember. What's your name?"

"Monika," she said. Why was it so hard to talk, to figure out what to ask? Was this what happened when you talked to the person you loved? "Look, I've got to ask you a few things. I-If you don't mind."

The boy frowned. "What are you doing outside of my house?"

"I…" Monika shook her head before she could slip up again. Stay on track. "I was just walking home with a friend. She's in the Literature Club with me."

"Oh, you mean the girl who's always late to homeroom? I know her. She holds everyone up because the teacher insists on waiting an extra few minutes for her to arrive every day," the boy said with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. He looked back at Monika curiously. "Our school has a literature club?"

Monika blinked hard. "Um. Yes. It does."

"Hm," he said curtly. "Anyways, what did you want to ask me?"

"I…" Monika took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, okay. Okay."

She looked down for a moment before picking her head back up and staring into his eyes intensely. She tried to see beyond them, to talk to the player who sat behind the character in front of her. When she felt ready, she spoke.

"Why am I here?" she asked firmly.

The boy shuffled awkwardly and averted his gaze. "Because…you walked here?"

Monika blinked a few times, and her visage fell. "Um…I…"

The boy huffed. "Look, I've got to get inside…" He took a step forward.

"W-Wait!" she practically shouted, stopping the boy in his tracks. "I still – I have so many things I need to ask you!"

"Then ask already!" he shot back with just a hint of exasperation.

But there was nothing to ask him. Because only now that she was in front of him, actually talking to him, did Monika understand what she'd known all along – he, like her fellow club members, wasn't a character anymore. He had become a real person. And there wasn't any omniscient player controlling him. Nothing lay inside him but the soul of a shallow, self-absorbed teenage boy.

And then, the puzzle pieces all fell into their places, and Monika understood the emotion that she was feeling. The reason why she couldn't think straight, the reason why her face felt so unbearably hot. It wasn't love – it was anger.

"Where do you think you get off insulting Sayori like that?!" Monika snapped.

The boy's brow furrowed. "Who's Sayori?"

"Of course you don't know her name," Monika scoffed. "I'm talking about the girl who's always late."

"I didn't insult her," he replied, taking a step back. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't even try, asshole! You can't just act however you want and get away with it! That's not how this works!" Monika started advancing on him. Her vision tunneled. The world in all of its infinite beauty narrowed down to her, him, and unfiltered rage. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for her to just get up in the morning? To spend every waking moment with a smile on her face?! It's a miracle she makes it through the day at all! You should be happy for her!"

"Why would I care about some lazy second-year who can't even wake up on time? Or button up her shirt properly?" he replied angrily.

Monika crossed her arms. "So you've been looking down her shirt, too? This just keeps getting better and better. I can't believe I actually used to love you."

"I…" the boy, flustered and completely at a loss for words, simply shook his head and tried to walk around Monika to get to his house, looking pointedly away from her. "You're crazy…"

"Don't you dare!" Monika shouted, grabbing his wrist as he turned. Human contact. Electric. The high of feeling another person's skin against hers only fueled her anger.

"Get off!" he shouted, his voice cracking. He wrestled his arm away from Monika and sprinted back up to his house, looking over his shoulder, and Monika took no small amount of pleasure from witnessing the look in his wide, terrified eyes – and knowing that she'd been the cause of it.

He slammed the front door behind himself, and after a few moments of glaring at the place where he'd just been, Monika turned on her heel and ran home in a hurry. Her house was just a few down from Sayori's, just as her friend had told her. She fumbled with her keys, unlocked the door, walked just inside the hallway, and collapsed into tears just as the door was shutting behind her.

She'd been fooling herself all day. Tricking herself into thinking that there were any answers at all in this terrifying new world that she'd been plunged into. With no code, there was no rhyme or reason to anything. Even her own shackles had been broken, for she no longer loved the player character as she once had when she'd been coddled within the cozy, orderly confines of the game.

It was obvious to her now that he knew nothing. He was just another person in this endless sea of unfamiliar faces that surrounded her. And the real player, the one with the answers, was somewhere far, far away.

Monika wondered if they could see where she was right now.

Monika wondered if they still cared.

Monika wondered if they'd ever cared at all.