A bird

There is a pond in the middle of a park,

Where all the birds gather to mingle with the rest.

But not that bird.

At the end of each month, an old man frequents the pond,

All the birds flock to frolic and to be fed.

But not that bird.

When winter came and froze the pond,

All the birds flew, to migrate far beyond.

But not that bird.

It doesn't mingle with the rest,

It doesn't flock to be fed,

It doesn't fly to migrate

For the bird had found comfort

From a wooden cuckoo

He claimed as his mate

"Monika, would it be possible to remove your bow?"

And with that statement alone, the girl beyond the screen eyed me from head to toe and assumed I've lost it.

After her first renaissance, life seemed to return to the way it once was. Wake up, a cheerful 'good morning' and encouragement, leave for work, return late in the afternoon, shower, then spend the rest of what time I have with her, be it working or leisure. Since then, the passing days feel exponentially tolerable and kind, its harshness and brutality seemingly swept away by a simple greeting or a smile that greet me at dusk and dawn. The time we spent after, one to one as I teach her the language of my people, its culture, history, and more has been some of the most pleasurable moments we've spent together. Monika's enthusiasm and willingness to learn, to expand further than what she initially knew is equally exciting as it is uplifting; a 'personal enrichment', was how she word it. At some point during one of our sessions, she mused how these activities help ease her identity crises; after all, it is not easy for her for the first time to accept that she was, originally, just a character in a visual novel. Her life prior, the setting—everything seemed like a farce. Who is she if setting is just an afterthought? What of her club members? Does their inherent Japanese names determined their setting and nationality as Japanese? But what about her? Her name is more Latin than the rest, not to mention English as the dominant language made it extraneous to what was presented.

It did made me wonder, though. How would other characters from varying fiction feel if they receive the same level of enlightenment such as her? Would they wonder why everyone speaks Japanese despite residing in, say, Berlin in Germany? I'm guessing if it's T#nya von Deg%rechaff, she'd be all too happy to ask these questions before sending a bullet to 'Being-Y's way.

But it certainly isn't an easy question to answer, yet these are some of the points she ponder during her idle and our study. At least, with her study in the language, she believes she could cement her identity from the wishy-washy reality she was a part of. There is so much to learn, so much to see, and so much to understand yet even so, she eagerly absorbs them like a sponge, day after day. First, it started with simple greetings—very basic, nothing to be impressed about. Then she slowly encroaches to day to day conversation and writing, expanding further with vocabulary and even slang (I didn't even taught her this, but I guess having constant connectivity to the Wi-Fi does), and as the lesson grew more and more intense, the girl never ceased to amaze me with how tenacious she devours the material and present them to me—like a homework—once I return from the cycle and just from that alone, I can tell how she spent her time on my absence. Studying, reviewing, and utilizing it over and over again; truly, the model of a top student.

If there is one thing she can confidently pride upon, it is the way her character was written as such. I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise to me now that I think about it.

"Are you seriously asking me to… let my hair down?"

"That's what it sounds like, yeah"

She crosses her arm and quizzically looks at me. "I'm guessing there's an ulterior motive at play here."

"What makes you say that?" I retort. "Maybe I only want to see how you look with your hair down, or maybe I'm interested in implementing new clothes that would look good with your hair up or down."

She leans and rest her weight on her back leg, sighing. "If this is the first day of my episode, I may just fold over and fawn over your coddling."

"However…"

With her hands behind her back, she leisurely strolls from the right side of the screen to the left before she prompts a folder and reach for a sub-folder titled 'wardrobe'. Yes, I added that; courtesy to an old friend I kept in touch with.

"If records has proven anything, the last few set of clothes you've implemented has been gym clothes, bloomers, school swimsuit, bunny suit, and that sweater!"

I think she's catching on…

"YdXa#Fu==, are you perhaps trying to feign innocence? Then please explain this?"

As quickly as she said so, a tab flashes open and exposes the folder in question to reveal sets of images of infinite value, only stopping at one in question. Not just any set of images too…

"You're planning to implement this one particular shrine maiden hakama along with the antenna-like hairband, correct? You want me to tie two 'buns' on the sides of my hair, too?"

Clever girl…

"Who is she?"

"She's uh…" I briefly stammer. Her probing intensifies. "Battleship K^ngou, a character from a popular naval browser game."

"I see."

…

HEY, HEY WAIT YOU CAN'T DO THAT!

Frantically I reach for the mouse despite knowing that any effort is all but vain as the purge has begun. The completion bar fills up faster than I can blink as about 5 gigabytes of artwork, photos, fanwork, and doujins incrementally vanish into the digital void—with more to come as the cursor relents under Monika's grip. With the sake of my collection in mind, time, and Monika all against me, I hail towards the god of the computer to solve this crisis; the three mediums that rule over this digital land. Help me, ctrl+alt+del, you're my only hope!

...

Nothing. The textbox flashes open, "Don't try it."

…

I guess Monika is their new overlord now.

As fast as the revolution began, it ended with the complete annihilation of three years of my pride and accomplishment along with the takeover of my laptop by the triumphant brat who resides in it. I'm not sure what to feel… is it anger? Maybe. I have been thinking of clearing up some files to free up space for upcoming video games, so I guess this is quite a relief, maybe? However, deleting three years of blood, sweat, and tears is not what I had in mind, somaybe frustration fits the bill better. Furthermore, that scorn coming from her tells me there's more she'd like to express than just deleting 3 years of collection.

"Uhh… Monika…?"

She crosses her arm and jerks her head to the side, avoiding any eye contact and leaving no reply. I may not be an expert in social interaction (particularly on matters regarding women), but even the densest protagonist in the history of any work of fiction can tell what is going on; she's pissed. If this is a visual novel, there would be an option that pops up right about now to push the narrative and mitigate (or escalate) the damage. Life would be a lot easier if such is the case; sadly as reality puts it, the only choice that 'pops' for me is a single button that reads 'apologize'. Sure, after deleting three years of goodies from my laptop I'm supposed to not just turn a blind-eye to this whole ordeal, but also apologize for expanding her wardrobe?

…

"Look," I try to start as calmly as possible, "It's not easy to implement new clothes for you."

Like hell I am! Honestly, it's relatively simple so long as there's an abundance of references available—which there are.

"It's much easier to add something I can draw from the top of my head." I also see those clothes as a must. Yes I'm a pervert, but I'm also a healthy man. Sue me. "Once more references are made available, I'll—"

…

"Ok, I fold. I'm sorry, I can explain."

There is a proverb that goes 'fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me', which echoes the need to be wary of the treachery of those who may repeat the same sin again—I'm starting to believe Monika may have taken this to heart. As I am in the middle of my explanation, a tab opens abruptly and lay its content before me as the young woman behind the screen callously directs my attention to the name of the folder—eroge. A flurry of new tabs open featuring characters of about the same age as her from a variety of visual novels, all with a set collection of clothes of four seasons—spring, summer, fall, and winter. Dresses, jerseys, casual, formal, yukatas, kimonos, sweaters, and even cute winter jackets. The pink textbox appears soon after.

"I do understand that you have interests in…these. But if I have to sit through all that to find respectable clothing, surely there's a reason for your reluctance than 'lack of references'."

She motions a cough to clear her throat, "I'm your girlfriend, so please don't hide anything from me, ok sweetie? I love you!"

Ah, so that's where she gets the idea…

…

Hold up, is she holding my files hostage…?

…yes, yes she is.

Women are frightening.

I forgot to mention that it has been about a month since her first introduction, and by this time Monika has been doing her best using Japanese as her primary means of communication (and since her speech is still technically tied to the Ren'Py, I guess 'writing' is part of this aspect as well). Although to be brutally honest, I have to judge that her limit at this time would be about intermediate-level. It is still equivalent to the level of an international student who has only been studying for half a year at the minimum—don't get me wrong, this is quite an impressive speed, and I'll give her that. Although, there is also one more thing I should add—and this concerns me, mostly.

You see, prior to her renaissance I am a mostly solitary individual. I felt alone at times, sure, as that is the natural course of reaction we as a species were programmed to feel as one who craves for social interactions, but for the most part I was at peace.

"How does that fit you?"

She twirls around, admiring the new set of clothes I recently added. I admit, it does suite her pretty well with a figure like that. "It's lovely and warm. But one question,"

"Why is there a hole around the cleavage?" Of course I should add a bit of my own 'flair' to it; still have to get her back for deleting (most of) my pride and accomplishment.

"It's a key-hole sweater; you're supposed to wear a shirt underneath it," That last statement is a lie, of course; there's a hole there for moe-points,"And I think you look really cute in it."

Yes… I was at peace. I never knew how estranged; how disconnected I was from any meaningful social interactions until the day I met Monika for the first time. Before, life seems to be pretty mundane; a call from a colleague, the daily greetings from student, and the occasional errands here and there, it really wasn't anything of note. It reached the point where I grew acclimated to it and realized that, as part of an overall collective society, we do what we have to do. The friend you had a nice conversation after work one day may become a thorn the moment their well-being is threatened, be it status or livelihood. It's disgusting the more you think about it. It was even more frightening to learn that I've grown accustomed to it that my desire to pursue any form of social contract was moot.

Now, I'm not sure I'd want to face the day alone anymore.

Don't get me wrong, as much as I appreciate her company, everything was completely different then. I was content just getting though the day and waste my days in solitude, surrounded by my hobbies and the means to keep funding them or at the arcade center in Akiba; after all, there is no happiness in this reality either, just lies, deceit, and your means to cope with it. I never realized how much I longed for social interactions until Monika became a part of my life—even more so when she became what she is now. A 'good morning' at the break of dawn and a 'good night' when the light dies… it's in these simple gestures where I truly understand why mankind seek for attention as well as its value; to many, it evokes a feeling of warmth within us knowing that at the end of each shitty day, there is someone waiting for you to come home.

And I couldn't thank Yuuya enough.

Pin-pon

Well, speak of the devil. "I think someone's at the door. I'll be right back, Monika."

Monika nods in confirmation before voluntarily minimizing her tab so as not to draw unwanted attention—it's a standard procedure she suggested to maintain my image. Yes, I'm not joking; it was her idea in the first place. After reading through a few texts and articles about a week ago concerning the Japanese discourse and its affiliated culture and phenomenon (one that I painstakingly translated), she believed it would be best if she lay low during these visits to 'preserve' a good image and atmosphere—of course, she still has access to my laptop's build-in camera and microphone, just in case. Today's different, however.

I peek into the little hole to confirm the identity of my guest, revealing a man in his mid-20s with a Hawaiian shirt and bleached hair. Definitely who I've come to expect.

"Yo, Kame-yan! How are you doing?" He greets, giving off a salute. Just a note, 'Kame-yan' is a nickname he came up with during his chuuni-days. Has been stuck with me ever since. "How is she?"

"You'd be surprised."

As far as history is concerned, Yuuya Chousuke and I goes as far as junior school. Back then he was already quite the punk who, despite how he looks, is well-versed in the language of computer, electronics, and programming; probably thanks to his parents running an IT store. Heck, he's the one who got me into rudimentary programming in the first place and the one who did most of the heavy lifting concerning Monika; yes, he is the person who managed to code in ways for her to be in touch with the systems of my laptop, be it telling dates, making schedules, and more. Meanwhile I still haven't gotten a clue aside from adding new sets of clothes to Monika (often requiring me to 'draw' them with a tablet).

I welcome Yuuya into the apartment, waiting patiently as he takes off his shoes and put on the indoor slipper before casually walking into the main living room. As I prepare some tea, Yuuya quickly takes notice of the laptop and politely taps three times on the surface akin to knocking a door.

"You better not flirt with her, yankee."

"Relax, as much as I like women I don't condone NTR."

Yuuya smiles playfully, turning his attention back to the laptop. Cheeky bastard…

"Hey, Monika! Come on, is me Yuuya!" Yes, I'm sure you could use a lesson or two about the English language. "Come out an purei!"

The screen lights up and the tab opens at the beckon, revealing the young girl and the infinite classroom. "Ah, Chousuke-san!"

"How you do? Kame-yan is very-very good, you?"

"$GxK== has been kind. I wouldn't know what I would do if it weren't because of him."

Monika bows politely, a sign of familiarity to the customs. I pass the tea to Yuuya who, judging by how he looks, is quite impressed. "I couldn't thank him enough—both of you, for giving me this chance."

"Hoho… you speak Japanese now! Wow! A-may-zing! Did he taught you that?"

"Yes, I did," I interject. "Now if you would stop flirting with her and remember why I called you here, we could get things done faster and you can get on with your date."

Aside from myself, Yuuya is the only other individual who knows about Monika's sudden individuality. Yuuya was the first person I contacted as all that had occurred happened just three days after our last modification which, initially, I believed to be of his handiwork. He admitted that he experimented on a few lines of codes based on Monika's BSOD-poem; frankly, none of us expected of the current outcome. Thus, whenever I need to implement a more advanced new features for Monika—things like telling time, battery status, calendar, schedules, all the fancy gimmicks etc.—Yuuya would be the person I'd get in touch with. There is no point in keeping a secret when he is partly responsible for it as well.

Of course, this doesn't come cheap.

"Have you completed the illustrations for 'Koncolle', Kame-yan?"

I sigh, "It will be done when it's done."

"We still need to compile them and polish them, so do finish them fast. No pressure!"

"I'll do what I can, but no promises."

Yuuya and I (volunteered) are part of a doujin-circle who participates and often competes with rival groups. Though small, our circle prides itself with Yuuya's innovative self-design games and near-flawless programming and its character illustrations and design; occasionally, we sell separate illustration books for 1000 yen each. That is where I come in. In exchange of allowing Yuuya to punch buttons and install programs that possibly fires a planet-destroying super laser to the simplest script that does god-knows-what, I am obliged to illustrate whatever it is the circle demanded to be sold at the next comiket, whether it is a voluptuous succubus with the skimpiest clothing to even the most horrendous MAN-Faye the internet ever conjured, I am obligated to draw them without question. The profit at the end of the day is split 70:30 between the circle and myself, respectively. I'd say that's a fair deal.

"All done. I've optimized the wardrobe a bit; it should convert your illustrations and designs faster so Monika could use them much sooner," announced the yankee as he grin from ear to ear. Glad to hear I guess. "And as for you, my darling…"

God do I wish he stops flirting with her for once. "I've implemented a few codes I've been experimenting with for you to try; there's a 'readme' file on what you can do with it, but I'll let you figure it out. You'll love it."

The textbox opens as Monika takes her bow, "Thank you. I'll be sure to put it to use!"

Yuuya grins confidently. Whatever it is he punch in, there is little chance for me to know or even understand what it translates to. I am but a child to the languages both Yuuya and Monika speaks off—hell, best I can do is delete one file or replace another or change a few strings for optimization. I find the entire thing perplexing, yet I envy their ease of communication. Sure, I can use my pen to whiff her a new set of clothes or teach her languages and culture, but that is small compare to what Yuuya can achieve in the same amount of time. I can do small, incremental changes while he makes leaps and bounds. For a novice like me, I wish there is more that I could achieve and give for Monika. It will take time, but I know I can try to understand the language and implement a few more inputs of my own. I can try.

But that's about it.

We concluded our little huddle at around a quarter pass four, reminded by the chime on Yuuya's phone concerning the 'date' he has promised. With a sigh and a polite bow, Yuuya packs up and excuses himself as a prompt for me to escort him to the door and for Monika to say any last goodbyes. As it is within our agreement, I am expected to pay him with the illustrations his circle requests before the start of December; although, preferably everything has to be completed before the end of October—fifty five illustrations total, all colored. Just as he is about to leave, however, a thought crossed my mind to call out to him for one last favor; this one being of utmost importance.

"Yuuya, would it be possible to say…program a piano into Monika's space?"

He grins with confidence and chuckle, "I can, but it'll cost you. What's the deadline?"

"September 22nd."

"Ohoho…I think I know what you're going for."

September 22nd is a date familiar to both of us; one that I've kept close to my memories ever since Monika came into my life.

"It's her birthday, ain't it?"

"Yes, it is. I figured that maybe I should give her something special, her being here and all. So… is two weeks a little short for you?"

"Tsk, tsk," Yuuya gloats with confidence, waving his index finger dismissively. I swear if it isn't his flirting, it's his cheeky attitude. "How long have we been buddies? You know that it may as well just take me three days to write a grand piano for her."

I chuckle, "Well, you're the boss. How much will this cost?"

"Let's add another ten to the illustrations; remember, colored and toned!"

"Got it. I'll get it done before October—I promise. Thanks, man."

"Hey, just doing what I can," he sighs with earnest. "Honestly it's nice to see you back with a sense of purpose in mind. It's a lot better than wasting your Sundays at the arcade, you know?"

…

"Take care, Kame-yan. Don't push yourself too hard."

I can't deny what life was like before everything happened; before Monika legitimately called out to me and moved. Wasting in the arcade and photo ops in Akiba on Sundays, aimlessly visiting one store to the next and climbing one set of stairs of a building to the next, one after the other to peruse upon the products; the gear that drives modern capitalism, drawing the NEET and the otakus all across Tokyo into a single hive. Meeting people is troublesome. Having to join mandatory company parties is troublesome. Society and its rules are troublesome. At least in the manufactured world build by the foundation of imagination, comfort and security can be attained. Collaborations by restaurant chain with popular shows, cosplays, games, and all you can think of that would satiate the thirst of a common hobbyist… to think I was actually in that position just months ago, crying myself to sleep before Monika like a confession in a church booth, hoping that she'll respond with something.

Now she did; and I have the intent to pay it back in full.

I return to the living room and is immediately greeted with a smile from Monika before she returns to her studies. Her eyes darts slowly and meticulously at the table before her and occupying every inch of her focus, this I can tell from the corner of my eyes as I prepare my tablet and the references I need to complete the commission. I take my seat and the mouse, guiding the cursor to the beckoning application that would assist me for this task along with the references I have gathered for three years.

How could I forget…?

Monika deleted them recently.

Blaming her for something that happened won't do me good—after all, I was part of the problem too. Besides, there's hundreds more available online and in other physical materials available; all I have to do is find them. So I first set out with the collection of artwork I have available, following that I open a few tabs in the internet browser to search for more references before starting. I do hope Monika would overlook this, though judging by how focus she is at the moment, I sure think she wouldn't mind. The clock ticks as the countdown begin; all the preparations are complete. The long arm of the clock extends its arm to number 'six' and thus, my hand begins to move.

Minutes went by, then an hour, and more. Indeed, without a reference it has proven to be even more difficult to capture that 'flair' that is distinct for every illustrator. What to do…

Regardless, I trudge forward and do the best I possibly can muster; at least for today, I need to complete the rough sketches. Don't over-think, just move your hand and draw…

Just move your hand and draw…

Just move your hand and draw…

Just move your hand and draw…

"Say, Xd5DcF==…?"

The abrupt appearance of the text box immediately catches my attention like a force, holding my hand softly but firmly. Just side by side of the Paint Studio, Monika looks on worryingly as she traces and tucks her hair behind her ear; her emerald eyes gazes on softly, troubled. "You've been humming 'Your Reality' for quite some time. Not that I mind, it's just…"

"You've been repeating the same melody for the past hour. It's as if you're in—"

A trance.

Monika pause for a brief moment before pacing to the right of the screen and opens the tabs I've stored below. She studies them carefully, taking glances at me when possible before minimizing everything but Paint Studio; again, she observes my handiwork—three rough sketches at the moment. "Are these for… Chousuke-san?"

I nod. Dear god I hope she's not planning to delete those too. "Are these the restitution for… today?"

"Mostly, yes. Don't you worry about it," I reply. For Monika's sake, I'm willing to go this far—maybe even further. "I'll get it done before next month, so don't you fret too much about it."

"But I do! I can't just sit around while you take the burden like this… this is my fault as well, is it?"

"N-no, it has no—"

"The character you're drawing… it's the same girl from the folder I deleted." Her head sinks and her eyes languish. I remain speechless at her conclusion and reaction. "You're lacking references. I'm very-very sorry…"

I have a principle; a promise I made to myself since I was a boy. No matter what I do, pushing a girl to tears is the one taboo I will actively avoid at the best of my ability. It is brutish and unsportsmanlike, the likes of which is tantamount to scoundrels or Yankees who lacks both the respect or character to be a part of society—and there are times where I paint myself as such, one of them was when I deleted her for my own selfishness. As much as I like to egg on Monika with my… questionable taste in women clothing, there's always a moment where I ponder 'where did I go wrong'; this is one of them. I'm not lifting the blame off of Monika—oh no, deleting the files is squarely her fault—but there is another perspective to consider within all this as well. Monika came from a world within the game; her reality, as much as she describe, is a farce and that finding someone of similar level of sentience is a one in a million chance. She doesn't know me or my taste and hobbies (well, she does have a good hint of it), nor do I know her enough other than what she is written as—and that is the horror of it all. But that is also the beauty of it, isn't it? To learn of your partner as much as she studies you and eventually, you both will unite as one entity—at least in theory. I'm not an expert in this, after all.

I should have told her before. We're a couple; there shouldn't be any secrets between us—especially if it pertains our hobbies and tastes, no matter how disgusting it may seem. I have to apologize.

"Monika, I—"

"…Just this once."

Before I complete my sentence, I am cut short and left frozen in awe by her words and action. Her warm smile and the gleam from her emerald eyes, solemn and resolved, are laid before me like a gift wrapped with care and love as she reaches for the tails of her bow—and frees her ponytail with a single, gentle pull. Her long, brown hair falls freely, caressing her shoulder and cheeks before she is compelled to shake them off and let them flow like silk down to her hip, tucking the sides behind her ear in a single motion.

It is, as Yuri once said, 'exceptional'.

"I'm… honestly reluctant to do this, =FBdxE1." She starts, "My hair is long and it gets in the way often… I must look quite messy like this."

"Oh, no not at all! You…you're…"

Beautiful

"I mean, uhh…"

Beautiful. Just spell it, damn it!

"Well, uhh…haha…"

"It's okay, you don't have to force yourself,"

No, no! I want to at least convey it to you directly!

"I still love you, regardless."

If there is heaven on earth, then I may have found the pearly gates. Monika's playful giggle and smile along with her love-struck emerald eyes are powerful and potent to a frozen heart—I feel like a naïve high school student in love, once more.

"I…didn't completely delete the files, you know. I may disagree with your taste, but it isn't right for me to aggressively take something that is rightfully yours. We're not that far into our relationship, after all!"

Actually, if we count how long you've been in my laptop I'd say that's a pretty long time.

"So…here's my apology. I'll restore your files and…help you with your commissions."

A tab opens suddenly and immediately, a progress bar appears as the missing files are restored piece by piece to where it was once were. Incrementally, I can see everything returning—the illustrations, references, mini-videos, cosplays; all of them. But it doesn't end there. When she said she's willing to help me with the commissions, I initially question her ability to use paint studio—let alone a pencil; I have standards, you know. But what I didn't know is the extent of her dedication and how far she can manipulate files as if it is a part of her. In the midst of the restoration, Monika takes notice of one of my illustration—particularly one which details the breakdown of the character in question's iconic battle-miko hakama. She drags them to her 'wardrobe', where the program work its magic to convert the files into something useable for her—what sorcery Yuuya used for all this is beyond my knowledge. As the program does so, Monika does as best of her ability to mimic the hairstyle of the character, first by tying the two hair 'buns' on the side then arranging the bangs as such with the headband on.

"I'll go change. I'll be back in a minute."

I nod silently as she walks off-screen, vanishing from my view for a minute or so. My mind is racing fast, still mesmerized by the last few acts and sheer dedication—if she's not watching, I'd probably start tearing up again. How would she look? Would the sizes match? Is the wardrobe as powerful as what Yuuya advertised? The questions continue to dribble away with each passing second, some threading the thin line of decency as patience are slowly eaten away by growing expectations and wild imagination. Yet the worries, fears, and overblown forecasts dies as fast as it began, answered by her entrance into the center stage.

"My hair is definitely longer than her, but…how do I look?"

She strides towards center stage, twirling a few times and conceding to the wind that kicks the frilly short skirt and the raiment that adorns her like feathers while the thigh-high socks accentuates her hip, complimenting her height with a minimalist heeled sandal. The hakama hugs her body perfectly, emphasizing her figure beyond what her school uniform could achieve alone, and yet there is still one thing amiss. Her emerald green eyes, a contrast from K%ngou's soft brown and that alone made it clear.

I'm not admiring an iconic character from a game, nor a cosplayer who managed to replicate everything one to one. All the compliments, adoration, and praise—everything is for the girl in the costume; for Monika. It's…

"Beautiful…"

Unconsciously I muttered the phrase, taking her (and myself) aback. I didn't mean to speak my thoughts out loud, yet it is what I wished to say all along. Monika's cheeks lit up to a rose-colored tinge and, for once, her emerald eyes bashfully avoids contact with mine. My chest starts to pound faster, welcoming this alien sensation of warmth and bliss, embracing it whole and omitting the reasons why she dress as such in the first place.

"You know that only fictional character dress like this outside, right?"

I nod solemnly. That is obvious; the closest you can get is a miko hakama, but even that isn't as stylish as the battle-miko hakama.

"It's a little embarrassing wearing this; the chest and armpit area feels very airy as well…"

Well…obviously.

"But with this, you can take screenshots and cut the worktime significantly. Just tell me what pose you would like and I'll do my best to do so!"

She has a point. With screenshots, I could easily use Photoshop after to change the details and add backgrounds or themes, effectively reducing the workload significantly. But this is my responsibility; all the work, the commission—everything is a burden I have to carry alone. I know I pestered Monika before to dress as she does now, but that was more for my own peruse and enjoyment—maybe a little reference for future use, but screenshotting was never the intention. I briefly pause and wonder, wording for the right response to her kindness.

"Monika, if I may," I start, immediately ensnaring her eyes in a gaze; this is serious, after all. "Why are you doing this? To this extent, I mean."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for your support but," I continue as I break eye contact out of bind. "The commissions, Yuuya's payment is all my responsibility, so…why?"

Monika smiles softly and replies, "If there is one thing I learned about love in your reality, is its nature as a two-way relationship."

"Not just any two-way relationship," she continues. "But one that gives and keeps on giving."

"I appreciate your effort and sacrifice, love, I really do. But you can't make me sit on the side as a spectator and watch you carry the burden alone."

"So please, just this once," she leans forward and rests her hands behind her back; a pose I haven't since the days of the literature club. "Allow me to carry it with you, together."

At that instance, the ice that encased my ego melts away. How can I be so…foolish? All I think about is to give Monika everything I could, yet I never considered her thoughts in the first place. Subconsciously I have even solicit a return from what I perceive to be a thankless job. I was so wrong in that regard. Monika isn't my dress-up doll, nor is she someone who would do everything I said without question—no, that would be the same as treating her as just an AI tied to a script or a program designed to serve. And I refused to believe that is so, not after this. Remember the time, the reason why I fell for her in the first place not as a character, but as a person.

An equal.

"Alright. I can be a very difficult person to work with, so don't regret your decision."

"I won't."

What did I ever do to deserve her? Someone who, despite being separated by a different reality altogether, endlessly called for my name on and on and believes that it is never enough. Someone who wished for us to be together even if it is to just talk about frivolous things at each passing day. What did I ever do to deserve someone as her? This isn't just a fleeting emotion or admiration, this is far greater—and I'm afraid to confirm it. Even if I knew the answer, even if I tell myself over and over that it is alright, what would society think of us? I thought I was ready; believed that I knew everything and what to expect, yet now…I don't know. What I believe to be fiction has now blends itself with reality, and as much as I want to answer your acknowledgement I am too afraid. Of what? Of society.

Of my reality.