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The c2t5 robs him of his crown,

Wings of HXNXr and triUMpH.

No longer was he a c2NhdmVuZ2Vy,

Akin to TRASH, aGlzIHN1cnZpdmFsIHRocmVhdGVuZWQ=.

When he walks w1Th agony,

Sweet, tender and c4ptivating song reached him.

With jump as far as his talons bring him,

QXQgYSBjYWdlIGhlIGZvdW5kIGhpcyA= dearest.

Betw33n tHx 5KY aNd the 50ngb1RDddddddddddddddd,

SGUgcmV0aXJlcyB0byBoaXMgc29uZ2JpcmQ=.

SGVhcnRzIGVudHdpbmVkIGluIGEgZGVuIG9mIGNvbWZvcnQs

VGhlIHNhbmN0dWFyeSBvZiB0cmFucXVpbCBtYWRuZXNzLg==

The reverberating whirr, the bisque lighting, and the radiating cool breeze gently greets my presence as I open the door of the refrigerator, bathing me in a dim glow against the overtaking darkness. Kneeling, I grunt uncomfortably and affix my attention to the small source of hope that illuminates the cool, but mostly empty interior of the furniture. Captivating though mostly vacant, with nothing but loose packets of takana, natto, and a few eggs dotting the racks that stretch from the door; at the bottom, a carton of alcoholic beverages lies dormant, ignored for the past couple of weeks. Reaching for the lower rack, I rip a can of beer from its hold and examines the aluminum container, reading the side inscriptions listlessly as a distraction against the ticking clock, incessantly drumming, scratching, and gnawing the back of my head. Satisfied, I crack the tab open and taste the bitter liquid to quench, dousing the heat that chews my throat relentlessly. I look up; the clock points to a number 'three', its long arm stretches to around about 'seven'. I let out a long sigh.

It's already Monday… and I have not been sleeping comfortably for two nights.

Though the alcohol numbs the brain and lulls the mind to submission, I still find myself awake in a recurring nightmare, desperate and in the mercy of the threads the gods have weaved ruthlessly time and time again. 'Ready', you said? You think you're fucking prepared for this? Fuck off, Oogame… you might as well cut your stomach open; you think she has other reasons not to tell you aside from—gee, I don't know, for your sake? She knew you'd break, torture yourself for days in a cycle of dead-ends and sleeplessness, desperately scrambling for any solution—and she was right; she'd likely have something to say as well if you even remotely considered selling your kidney for an answer, though that hasn't—and shouldn't—be put to a test. Funny how things work between us, doesn't it? If there is a god out there, I'd like to meet the bastard and strangle him with a noose. What a tell-tale sign of cosmic irony…

Are you happy now? ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW!?

The aluminum can dents under the pressure of my grip and I glance over my right shoulder, towards the faint breathing of the sleeping princess in her digital chamber. From here, everything seems alright with the world…

…

Three months. Monika has three months left…

Headaches, short-term memory losses, and worst of all 'blank' sessions that is paired with unconscious ramblings… symptoms that Monika outlines after our departure from the festival. We figured it was something quite severe, though we're unsure of the reasons 'why' and thus agreed to contact the 'expert'—beg him if I have to. Looking back, I'm not sure contacting him was the right call. It was disingenuous, especially after our last disagreement. But what choice do we have? So we did, had a short discussion, some gloating from his end, an estimate of her remaining time, and an offer from that bastard. 'I can fix her', he said, 'I'll buy her from you', he said… yeah, fuck no! She's not a machine, nor is she an object for trade! It's unsettling how callously he dismisses all of them as nothing more than 'persistent old scripts' or 'a bug in the program; like a malignant tumor', he said. That was the last straw; that son of a bitch won't be getting in range within a ten meter radius around Monika—not on my watch. Makes me sick just thinking about it…

But this leaves little for us to work with… what should I do? What should I do!? WHAT. SHOULD. I. FUCKING. DO!?

A resounding 'clank' booms as the container impacts the wall before tumbling down and rolls across the floor, loud and empty. It whirls aimlessly, generating an earsplitting noise as if mocking, laughing, jeering with that gaping cut—staring at my failures with glee. I clench my teeth and narrow my eyes against the mocking smile, closing my hand to a ball and squeeze; all I can hear is a long, ringing noise as everything explodes and scatters into multiple vectors before it all subsides and vanishes. Yet the ridicule remains affixed, staring back with its empty gaze and curved lips as liquid oozes sparsely. I feel a sudden chill; left with nothing to hold against the onslaught, naked and vulnerable—lost in the darkness with only the dim light of the refrigerator as my only glimmer of salvation. As I look on, my sliver of strength and last vestige of composure had evaporated and in turn, tears.

"Ryou-kun…?"

A gentle, sleepy voice echoes. I pan over my shoulder towards the subtle glow on the desk; a small camera humbly replies, its lens reflects a genuine concern and heartbreak that pierces the darkness and beckons for my attention. With an open palm, I rub the corners of my eyes with haste as obscurity marches in as an ally, blanketing my pathetic self from her instincts. Quietly, I close the doors and watch as the light from within dies in perfect synergy, leaving only the desk as the sole source of illumination. With a heave and like a moth to a flame, I gravitate towards the desk to claim the seat as her camera solemnly observes with delicate care; against her humble and composed tenderness, our reunion flares my chest into agony—ashamed.

"Having trouble sleeping?" Monika starts in a delicate, concerned voice. "Ryou-kun, it's Monday and… it's two hours away before the alarm. Are you going to be alright?"

Despite everything, I won't mind if you're a little selfish sometimes, Monika. "I'll be fine. I'm sorry, I must have awaken you… more importantly, how do you feel?"

"I—…" she pauses and sighs to the side. "…actually, I have trouble sleeping as well…"

With a downtrodden look and a fading smile, Monika gazes to the side as she wraps herself in an embrace. Dark circles hangs heavily under her emeralds, reflecting a future of uncertainty that she wishes to confide, yet do so without a word nor a whisper. At first I believed the rules and concept of physical fatigue exists just as much in her reality as it is in mine, but that's unlikely—not when she herself stated otherwise. Mental fatigue, however, is an entirely different monster; sleep may not be a necessity for her in theory, but her human mind demands otherwise in practice—and it gnaws at her as much as it does to me. To be burdened by this revelation, this… damning reality…

I shouldn't be surprised; it came to us like an epiphany of its own, damning us to a fate akin to characters from Shi#kai's recent movie about the programmer and the automaton—the movie we watched on our first date. The main character—bless his efforts—fought against the company that hired him and the norms of society, all in an attempt to break the boundaries between him and his creation for the sake of love. I really despise Shi#kai for his clever use of imagery and tribute to 'Flowers for Algernon', but more so on how he persistently sprinkle a glimmer of hope only to crush them at the end.

…

I can't say the same fate applies to both Monika and I. If only the story were true… maybe the pair would understand our struggle and give their blessings. I can't believe I'm comparing my relationship to an anime movie…

Yes, indeed the irony isn't lost on me.

The unsympathetic ticking of the clock and the occasional passing traffic performs a sleepless melody, unabated as we search our thoughts, and unanimously agreeing on the preservation of the current status quo. Doubts filled our minds and uncertainty hangs heavy in the air, as there is little to add or state that could deliver us from this endless cycle. Her emeralds hangs apologetically as her smile fades the more persistent the ticking noise chimes, dragging with it the long arm of the clock, pulling us closer to the break of dawn. We are at an edge, drawn by our desires and ensnared into a pit with no means of escape—cornered; all it takes is a simple nudge for the bottle to tumble, crack, and overflow…

I may as well be the one to do the honors.

"Still hung up about the… revelation?" I note, calling back to the 'talk' we had just a day ago with Yuuya while forcing a smile. "It hasn't been easy for me too, you know."

Monika nods abjectly, "I… never thought it could be this severe…"

"I mean, everyone experiences headaches now and then, right…? Ahaha…" she continues, tracing her index finger on the surface of her desk in a circular pattern. "I thought it was just… the stress after the end of our 'honeymoon-phase'. If I had known, then—"

"—you couldn't have," I interrupt. "Even if you do, then what? Telling me would lead us to this point, and Yuuya…"

…

Hesitation; a sour and grainy feel overwhelms my tongue. "…that bastard only sees you as nothing more than binaries and codes—an object! A toy! If he even agrees, he's doing it for his own amusement..."

"I… I know," she whispers a reply. "I know… perhaps far longer than you knew."

The light of her emeralds softly fades and wanders to the side for escape as my eyebrow twitches; discomfort looms as another secret is laid to bare. One of the many things we've learned through our time is how… damaging secrets can be to our relationship—trust doesn't come cheap, after all. Monika… she perfectly understood that, which is why I can see how troubled and rueful she is—even if it was done to keep me in check. I'm not saying I approve secrets between us, but it's more on the line of how much trust I've placed in her to know that she'll reveal them when she feels the time is right—thus is the reason why I can remain calm and muster a smile.

"I've been in touch with Chousuke-san ever since… that time," she mutters nervously. "I know I shouldn't blame myself, but… he did a lot for us, and it was also because of me that everything fell apart. So I thought, maybe—"

"—you try to act as the middleman?" I interrupt, grinning slightly. "Last time you did, Natsuki rushed out of the classroom in tears and Yuri lost another screw in her head!"

Lost for words, her mouth hangs open as she raise a finger in protest, yet silence is all that is audible. With a captivating bashful smile, she sighs and hides her hand under the table; her jewels eagerly searching for my dark pair of stones. "You're not… angry?"

"After everything? Hardly; I value honesty more than anything—ironically, I have to work on my own as well," a nervous chuckle slips between my lips. "Honestly, do you ever get tired of me? I mean, I'm quite a handful sometimes and…"

She rattles her throat and with a soft smile, my doubts vanish; I can only return her gesture with a similar expression of my own.

"Ahaha~, I guess you catch on quite well!"

"It would be a shame if I didn't after all this time," I nervously laugh, "Sorry, I… didn't consider your circumstances enough."

She swings her head from side to side, "No, I'm sorry too for… for keeping things from you. I may not be the 'perfect girlfriend' you'd expect, but thank you for taking care of me this far; even if everything is but a fleeting dream, I thoroughly enjoyed our time together."

My lips tremble as she lowers her head to a bow, enough for her forehead to brush the wooden desk. Her bangs falls gently on the table and her long, beautiful hair caresses her shoulders as it slides down into a torrent. A faint snivel catches my ear and I notice, despite the lighting, droplets that falls freely and scatters as it impacts the surface. I clench my teeth and roll my hand into a ball; words are meaningless—nothing but empty promises that only prolongs the inevitable reality that rejects us. With but a plea, I can only ask her to raise her head and meet her emeralds in a gaze; captivating and beautiful, yet blemished and scarred. To see them in that state… I can only wish there is something more I can do to return them to its shining state. The bonds we've weaved, all are breaking apart on its seams—and we're powerless to stop it.

"I guess…" she continues. "I guess… even in this reality, there really is no happiness if you—"

…!

"DON'T SAY THAT…!"

The echo ruptures the silence with a wave of discontent that resonates across the walls; a disturbance to all. My breath draws short, panting as she flinches from the sudden pitch before easing back as I sigh. "Please… don't say that…"

"Ahaha… sorry…"

Instinctively I close my eyes and bite my lower lip. Still, raising my voice like that is out of line… I shouldn't have needed to do so. "I know things hasn't been going well for us, but please… don't even think like that. If there really is no happiness, then we'll make our own!"

Contemplatively I heave as Monika apologetically nods, whispering a 'sorry' as the air bears its weight on us. Cautiously, as if treading on the edge of a blade, we retreat back to our own thoughts and welcome the silence that hangs once more; though, just by observation, we both understood that we can't—no, we shouldn't dwell on this anymore.

…

Yes… if there is no happiness here, then we'll make our own.

"There was an old man I've met in an oden shop one night… have I told you about that before?"

Her emeralds gleams against the darkness, searching for the flicker of light that beams softly, observing. I muster a smile that beckons, reminiscing the evening that once shattered us in two. The copious amount of alcohol consumed, incoherent thoughts of suicide, the old man, and the wise gentleman who occupied the seat within that vintage yet welcoming establishment, accompanied by the waft of a delicate broth that tickles the appetite. His smile and confidence, riddled with years of experience and wisdom, beamed with humility and kindness; a torch that illuminates the darkness that once prevailed. How could I forget?

Like an old black and white cinema, the picture comes to a clear view; my cheek muscles twitch and curves positively at reminisce. "I was… well, you remember that night, do you?"

Monika nods contemplatively. "I remember… you left me that night. It really wasn't nice of you! Ahaha…!"

…

Nice to know she hasn't forgotten—or eased on it. I guess I deserve that…

"Yes… our first big fight, so to say. I must have given you unnecessary stress," sheepishly, I chuckle; she returns with a giggle. "I don't believe I've told you everything, but… I made a friend that evening."

With the flickering screen as our only illumination, I detail the events scene by scene vividly as my memory serves. 'Ossan's' little oden shop, the reckless consumption of alcohol and, of course, the salary man that came a little later bearing wisdom. Monika's eyes perks with interest, easing her posture to lean with her raised palm as I drone further and further, echoing the sentiments of the gentleman and his story—all over a bottle of warm sake, a few bowls of oden, and amazing company. It has almost been two months since, yet his words—his message—rings clear and true, especially in this moment.

'If you truly believe that she really is the one, then don't rest until you put a ring on her finger!'

Yes… until Monika has a ring of her own. Mine.

"He… fought an uphill battle and won," she muses, heaving at the conclusion. "Gave you a lecture too! Ahaha…!"

"It wasn't an easy night—for both of us, Mochii."

Monika nods and a gentle expression rises from the edge of her lips, "Yes… it wasn't."

"We have certainly been through a lot," she continues. "We laugh and cried together…"

"Argued and reconciled," I said following her remarks. "And experience many things together… and many more to come. Do you… understand what I'm trying to say, Monika?"

I search for her answer from the world beyond her screen, gazing hopefully into her emeralds that slowly flickers into life to rival the sole source of illumination. She traces her silky, long hair with her hand and tucks it behind her ear to reveal a soft expression that beams with the company of little pockets of tears that breaks and runs into a stream down her supple cheeks. Raising my finger, I reach towards the screen in hopes to wipe them away—only to be reminded of the existence of this barrier that still stands between us. Even so, she accepts and returns the gesture by resting her palm on her side of the glass prison; I do the same in response—our only means of physical connection. Her lips tremble before she breaks into a giggle, prompting me to watch on curiously.

"You… have no intention of giving up, do you?"

I shake my head from side to side, "I'll put my family name on the line. How about you?"

"No… I never wish this to end either. Not after everything, and not after… this," she glances at the place where our hands are connected. A burst of warmth spreads through my palm. "Even if I was created to be a mere lie, to have truly found somebody to love who returns in kind… I can't—no, I don't want to let go."

From the reflection, I see the glow that glimmers along with her deep emerald color eyes is the drive—the conviction that she grasps with immense trust and confidence. One might say this is but a fool's errand, a 'final hurrah' against the inevitable conclusion that awaits us as we set up one final resistance; a big 'fuck you' to the gods and the fate they have determined. Shi#kai's movie may end with their separation, but I will not let ours share the same fate; we will write our own ending. "It may take some time and it will definitely be a rocky road, but… do you trust that I can find a way for us?"

"Yes… I do…"

She beams in confidence, catching me off guard with a humble nod that flushes the edge of my cheeks, concluding our intermission.

…

'One last hurrah…'

"…and I will wait for you for as long as my mind can hold."

The cold sensation that swallows my face comes as suddenly as it is intentional. The droplets, like stars, runs across every pores and curvatures as it traces the surface and falls freely into the sink, creating a plinking melody as it impacts the pristine surface and scatters into billions. I stretch my hand to the left, groveling for a towel nearby before feeling the soft fabric with the tip of my fingers, tugging it to fall before indulging on the softness; its surface grazes my skin and soak all the water that remained. I look up, meeting a blurry reflection eye to eye that vividly transform into clarity within a moment of pause; a zombie with dark, round circles under its eyes—certainly it has seen better days.

…

Has it really?

Before me is the face of an undead who aimlessly wanders in an endless cycle dictated by the society that shaped him as nothing more than a cog as part of a grandeur; insignificant within the workings of the machine. Calling it an automaton is not much of a praise as it is a synonym, driven only by meager incentives in the form of currency and the means to survive the next day. No, I shouldn't be shocked or surprised—I am responsible for its creation just as much as society is; after all, it is easier to submit than to resist. I can't say the same is applicable to the 'automaton' before me, its eyes flicker with a new flame that I struggle to comprehend then, though one that I can understand with clarity. No longer is he willing to bend to the wills of its creators, or rigidly obey the schedule that was dictated; no, he has found something greater—love, perhaps, is more powerful than I imagine.

Purpose; he found purpose—and there is no 'better days' than what lies ahead. For that, I must not fail.

Wiping the excess, I return the towel back to its original spot before marching back into the living room; the small clock near the table bellows a familiar warning, its consequences lingers fleetingly before dissipating under the gaze of a small camera that constantly follow my movement. My cheeks rise to form a positive curve as I hastily glide across the room towards a hanger where the uniform of the blue collar worker is displayed proudly for all to see—and for me to wear. I ring the tie around my neck, pull the knot to a tight fit, and swing around to meet a pair of emeralds that observes patiently; even if its glimmer is tainted by the dark bags that hangs under them, they are still as mesmerizing and beautiful as the first day I saw them.

With outstretched hands, I reach for my cellphone and dials a particular number. After a brief moment of respite, a voice echoes. "This is Murayama speaking."

"Headmaster Murayama, good morning. I'm sorry to call you this early, this is Oogame speaking."

"Oh, Oogame… is there something the matter?"

I reach for my collar with my index finger, loosening the grip it has around my neck. "Truth is, I don't think I'll be able to attend the morning meeting today; my mother just got hospitalized and I'm on my way to see her."

Monika's eyes widens in disbelief—I shouldn't be surprised. This is one of those instances she'd consider to be… reckless. "Ryou-kun… please don't—"

"I can make up my schedule, but I can't replace you," I quickly reply, pulling the chair to meet her eye to eye while covering my end of the call. "Just this once I beg you to tolerate my recklessness, please…"

I haven't feel like this for quite some time, now that I think about it; that tinge of guilt marred with dishonesty and drive, all vying for control as your mind struggles to find a logical or plausible explanation for your actions—like a child confronting his parents after having broken his father's favorite sake cup. I keep my attention focused as she winces and purses her lips, her brow pressing together to voice her inner disapproval—and I understand her perfectly well the reason why. It is a brazen move, but a necessary one—I perfectly see her point of view. She quietly nods.

"I'm going to regret this… but even I know I have no power to stop you," she softly replies; a humbling smile stretches across her cheeks. "But… I'll be lying if I say I don't understand where you're coming from."

In silence, little bouts of 'thank you' echoes before returning to my call with the headmaster. To my surprise—and relief—he agrees to excuse me just for today, on the condition that I'll be able to attend class homeroom and teach the classes of today if I am not to receive another reprimand. It is less than perfect, but it is better than nothing. Humbly I thank headmaster Murayama, subconsciously bowing down in gesture and closes the line to meet the young woman trapped within my computer. Her meek and gentle smile and concerned gaze aggressively crushes my composure to remain calm. With a sigh, she starts to speak. "Reckless as ever… so, what do you have in mind?"

"Remember that movie we watched on our first date? About the programmer and his automaton?"

Monika winces and crosses her arm, painting a look of sudden regret before I ease her concerns as I continue; the thought of following through my selfish request all for the sake of a stupid idea that stemmed from fiction isn't comforting to the least considering our conundrum—that I can understand. But if anything, this is but a start to what I hope can be our solution.

"Let me finish," I said with both palms raised, continuing. "The programmer had trouble keeping his automaton from resetting and eventually reverting to its original programming because the server does not have enough capacity to encompass the entirety of the human mind, correct?"

She sighs, "Ryou-kun… even if that is the case it still is a work of fiction…"

"So were you, but look at where we are now."

"I…—!" she pauses. "Fair point, continue."

"Allow me to—"

…

Is this really a good idea? It is based on a work of fiction, but… do we have a choice in this? No, I can't hesitate now… not when her life is at stake. Nothing else matters.

"Allow me to… open your files."

We don't have a choice. To think I'm committing an act of taboo I condemned Yuuya for… the hypocrisy would make him dance mockingly. The memories—no, nightmare of that time and its consequences isn't lost on me; I knew about the sins I am about to commit. The only pillar of morality that supports my decision is my own conviction to treat it not as a collection of codes or a toy, but as a person; but even then we realize how difficult it is for both myself and Monika. May the gods forgive me, for I am no better than the monsters I've condemned. Yes… we don't have a choice.

A brief pause clouds the air as she squirms and fidgets with discomfort; second thoughts crosses our minds and even I am convinced to retract my initial commitment. Though, I soon figured that isn't the case with Monika. With nothing but a gentle smile, she douses my concerns and enflame my resolve—trust and confidence anchors her words, pronounced by the glimmer of her emerald eyes. "Alright. But promise me, Ryou-kun."

"If something goes wrong…" her voice quivers, but still her resolve proves stronger. "…if something goes wrong, please don't blame everything to yourself. This is a decision we made together—and we will carry them together."

And with a paralyzing smile, I concede my defeat. "Alright, Ryou-kun?"

"Alright."

I…

…

I must not fail.

Voluntarily she flashes open a tab that access all of her files directly—everything that, if Yuuya's words are to be believed, governs her functions and thoughts from the most insignificant thing she learnt up to the most complex movements and manipulation of her modified LIVE2D EUCLID rigging. Uncharted territory, both for myself and for Monika. At first glance, I quickly notice how sluggish the laptop has become and with a quick memory check, reveals to me how much physical memory is left to govern—not even a kilobyte is spared, all of which swallowed by the existence of the girl who occupied the system as its residence. But that isn't the least of my worries—what is, however, is how insufficient our combined knowledge are.

Files. Hundreds of them, appearing and disappearing at a constant and rapid pace unimaginable, constantly moving and shifting—as if alive. I keep an eye open on Monika as I hover and catch one of the files and browse its contents—she winces, biting her lower lip as if to take the pain that I inflicted with this simple action. It's even more so worrying when the file in question vanishes as if in a state of perpetual rebooting. Yuuya… certainly that bastard knew more than he let up. What good is there of me? Like a child doctor thrust into the part of a brain surgeon, I am left at a loss knowing little except one method that Monika used liberally back in DDLC…

Deletion.

"Monika… if my knowledge serves me correctly, some of these files appears to be… corrupted..."

I grit my teeth, struggling to spell the verdict; her eyes widens in horror. I feel the same. "Should I… delete them?"

Those words tastes sour, churning my stomach into a sick mess and pacing my heartbeat to an erratic beat. Quickly I drop the mouse and quietly apologize. As ugly as it is, it pales in comparison Monika's own; a reoccurring nightmare, a trauma that stems from her experience in the game. Is it but another cruel humor by the gods to condemn her fate to end by the very person she loves? To be 'deleted'? I cursed myself after the first, but to do the same just to find a way to save her… I can't do this. I can't do this…

"It's alright…"

I glance at her, resting her hands on the screen as if reaching, forcing a smile to ease my discord. Even now, you still…

"Do what you must, Ryou-kun. I believe in you."

But even I don't know what I'm supposed to do! How can you put so much trust to someone like… me…?

I reach for the mouse and guide the cursor to one of the many files determined as 'corrupted'—all intention driven to delete. What choice do we have? Highlighting the folder, I sneak a glance at Monika once more to find my resolve crushed under the weight of her expression; that pained, tortured, and suffocating aspect that forces a smile that is driven only by commitment and trust. The delete button is within reach, threatening me to press the abomination. My hand trembles, sweat pours profusely from each pores, digging through the slits of my fingers as she—with utmost trust—nods for me to proceed.

…

…I can't do this.

No, I… I can't do this—I can't 'delete' her, not again!

What if I ended deleting crucial files? What if those files governs her motor skills, personality—hell, maybe even motor skills! This isn't right… this is lobotomy for fuck's sake! I can't do this… I shouldn't! Think, Oogame… what are the causes? There has to be an alternative. If the theory of 'not enough memory' is even the slightest bit correct—hell, plausible, to be realistic, then wouldn't the natural solution be to increase the space? The programmer in Sh#nkai's movie couldn't afford to do so since his own server occupied almost all available space in his room, thus he opted to 'optimize' her data—even then, his love interest barely could match what Monika is now. In that sense… wouldn't it be more logical for me to expand her memory?

…

We can give it a shot.

"Monika, listen to me," I start, letting a ball of spit roll down into the depths of my throat. "You might consider what I'm about to do as reckless."

Monika sighs, "Not the first time…"

"I know," I chuckle. "But I can't afford losing you out of judgmental error or risky procedures—so I'm changing the game plan."

I take a deep breath and heaves. This is it, there's no turning back now…

"If there is anything—anything that you don't remotely need to live, I want you to delete them, Monika. Delete all my files."

What thoughts crosses her mind at that moment is difficult to describe with words alone. Shock, perhaps? Maybe bafflement? I can't tell; all I know is how oddly… calm I am. Indeed, Monika has been living within my laptop, which is true—as is the fact that she has been coexisting with numerous other software and miscellaneous data stored that which belongs to me. Drawing software, Photoshop, video players, large swathes of work files, and more… if it isn't detrimental to Monika's survival, then they are necessary sacrifices I can live by; material loses is recoverable with time .

"Even... these?"

A tab flashes open under her command, exhibiting countless of images, gifs, and more—all totaling up to greater than five gigabytes. The familiar images; from ship-girls to band girls, each uniquely designed to a multitude of quirks and fetishes, idols for all types of degenerates, immortalized in a portrait collected for years in the making—official or otherwise. It was my altar, the key to inspiration that birthed the many fan-arts I did for Yuuya's bidding or design for Monika's list of apparel—my 'pride and accomplishment', a menagerie of wish-fulfillment, a prize of perfection. It took me almost six years to reach the number it has today…

"Delete them."

…and I'll trade them for Monika's sake. Everything for Monika. Just Monika.

There is little exchanged between us as the files slowly dissipates and vanishes, tracked by a green progress bar. It's a strange callback to an episode we had before, though ironically back then it was filled with laughter and glee—Monika was quite the mischievous little devil then, too. She still is, though I'm afraid the jolly days of the past are long gone. As we watch the files burn to cinders, a timid yet powerful warm sensation spreads across my fingertips; only then that I realized how my hand has been on the screen for some time—and hers, reaching for mine. It was like watching a bonfire that burns high, washing our past away in a blaze of melancholic hue as our hands entwined; uncertainty grasps our heats, against a dusty, downtrodden path.

When the green bar completes, my gaze shifts to the girl beyond the screen; her washed out emerald eyes spells a sadness that she can't convey. I put forth a smile. "Are you feeling a little better…?"

"I… think so," she sighs, caressing her forehead. "It feels as if… the headaches ceases for a bit. But never mind me, how about you?"

She continues, "I just deleted everything that is yours! Years of investment, everything! I-I just… I just deleted your life, Ryou! Are you going to be okay!?"

Well… good to know the theory proves itself. "I deleted you once before, so consider us equal now."

"Yeah, but yours is irreversible! Mine was NOT!"

"Not anymore," I bark. "Monika, the 'you' back in DDLC and the present 'you' is different! You're no longer bound to just a single character file! You heard what that asshole said, and you know as well as I do how complicated everything is now! I rather lose what I have than to lose you!"

"If I knew how much pain I cause you, I should've just deleted myself…"

"And if you did, I'll be a teru-teru bouzu without a second thought."

…

Thus the room falls into an awkward silence. Once more, our emotions dictated our rationality and thought, spiraling everything into a mosh pit of self-pity and regret; I guess it comes as no surprise to both of us—depression is a monster we're well acquainted with. Just like an old friend, it understands our every movement and thought—and when we come unprepared, it eloquently whispers its poisonous words to our ears to feed on our anxiety and destitute. No longer should this be the case between us…

…it was uncalled for; I should apologize.

"I—!"

"I'm—!"

We stammer in unison, meeting our gaze in the center and feel the rush of blood that courses through our cheeks, lighting them to a bright pink hue that softly tickles our hearts; it's simple to deduce when Monika can be easy to read sometimes—and I find myself sharing her notion. Like a splash of cool water in the midst of summer, we break into a fit of nervous laughter, diffusing the tension and gesturing to one another with 'after you' or 'sorry, go ahead'. It's strange yet comforting none the same—childish, perhaps innocent considering the light of our situation. But maybe, these little breaks in tension are the little treasures we cherish that keeps us marching forward.

"I'm… sorry for thinking like that…" she finally concedes. "It's very immature, even inconsiderate of me…"

I heave a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry too… I know things haven't been easy for us, but what I said was… uncalled for."

There's a delay—a hesitation that grabs before I continue.

"Do you still have the thought of committing…?" Again I pause, searching for the next set of words, "I mean… you know…"

"Deleting myself?"

"Yes… deleting yourself."

Contemplation seizes her emeralds. Shifting her gaze away from my attention, she wanders and traces the outlines of a notebook that carelessly lies to her side. Her fading expression is laden with unspoken revelations, as if indirectly communicating its wills to my conscious thought. I've always seen her as a strong, caring, and even stubborn young woman sometimes, but even her seemly flawless façade has scratches and blemishes on its surface. Often, she'll conceal those imperfections while carrying her burden on her shoulders all to herself, silently screaming for help that she reluctantly voice—a trait stemmed from her background in the game. But… now I'm here, aren't I? The fool who fell for the girl beyond the screen, willingly lending his shoulder without a second thought—consequences be damned. Sometimes, I wish she could be just a bit more selfish.

"…occasionally, yes… I still do."

With her bangs covering the shades of her emeralds, she moderately continues. "I… haven't told you before, but… I still have the occasional nightmares, Ryou…"

"Nightmares?"

Monika humbly nods, "About the past, the sins that I've committed, about myself and… my existence."

I pause on my judgment as she faintly smiles, deep in thought and reminisce. To an extent, I can understand the pain that she has to go through… the thought of one's own purpose and existence, the meaning of it all—I sat on that throne once before, after all. It crushes me to accept the extent of our reach, divided by a barrier that no tools known to man or science could possibly break, and yet despite it all we still find solace in the presence of one another. Just like how she saved me then, I will give the same to her—to lend me my ear and attention. "If… you want to talk about it I'll be here if you need me."

"That's sweet of you, Ryou-kun…" she smiles softly, "I'll tell you about it later. For now, look at the time."

Her slender finger points to the bottom right of the computer, "It's quite late. You wouldn't want to break your commitment to the headmaster and your students, right?"

"But—"

"Please… don't throw everything away for me," she interrupts. "I would be much happier to know that you could still commit to your responsibilities as much as you do to me."

…

If there is one thing in this world I can't resist against, it's her plea for sanity paired with her soft, motherly gaze from those stones. My urge to resist crumbles instantaneously and with a sigh and a foolish smile, I reply, "Alright… I'll go. But promise me you'll tell me all about it later; it hurts just to see you like… this!"

"I promise," she returns. "Now, go. Do your best out there, Ryou-kun!"

I can't delay any further. Taking the bag and slipping into the usual attire, I march with heave towards the door. With my bag in one hand and a key at another, the short journey feels morose and involuntary. I steal a glimpse over my shoulder. The camera, sharp and focused, continuously observe my steps and—as if instinctive of me—I can feel her presence, standing there waving her goodbyes, patiently and expectantly waiting for my return with a smile she always wear for me. I wave back in return.

"I'm heading out, Monika."

The list of names and numbers, written in archaic characters rolls off the tongue as I spell them vocally as part of my job. Each time they are pronounced, an echo would return and a circle is drawn on the side—when none is returned, a check. In its own, attendance and roll calls is a pattern meant to hammer habits and ideals of the old—the clockwork machination of man, perfected through generations akin to ticketing systems used in factories or the ID card we faculty members carry. When an absentee is noted, the school tends to quickly take notice and clues in on its reasons ether by phone calls or home visits; truancy is part of our responsibility.

…

Which is why I find it difficult to 'check' the name of my homeroom's class president—Mikawa Aya.

Throughout my time leading this batch, Mikawa has been consistent on her attendance and performance. From her exemplary leadership skills, pristine attendance, and overall near-perfect academic records, it wouldn't be much of a surprise for all to find her name sitting on the school's board after an exam as being one of the top ten; anything else was almost unthinkable—the perfect student role model. It came as a surprise when she refused to apply for a position as the Student Council President when she entered her third year. But even that shock pales in comparison to her absence—a blemish in her near pristine record; though, I shouldn't be too surprised…

I was the one who mold her.

I was the one who guide her.

…

I was the one who broke her.

I am responsible, and I know the reasons why.

As I touch upon the homeroom announcements, the whispers between the students circulates like wildfire—rumors and speculations to the class president's absence. Some suggests it as nothing more than a common cold—nothing too fancy or severe. Others thought that maybe she has been scouted by a talent agency or perhaps a university and that her absence lies more in line with her performance in the academia. Gossip like these has its place amongst the young adults, a natural stimulus for the mind for better or worse. These idle chit-chats is not of my concern—'live and let live', so to speak. At least… that is what I want to believe.

"Eeh… really? Mikawa has someone she likes!? With how many she rejected, I'm actually surprised! Who?"

"It's true! She told me she was going to confess last Saturday, but I didn't know what happened after she left."

"Then… was her absence due to a rejection? Who's dumb enough to reject someone like her!?"

"Well… rumor has it, it was a teacher that she fell in love with but…"

Then, there are those who are close to the truth—too close for comfort, but thankfully none the wiser. I try to ignore, to keep a professional demeanor as homeroom session drags and the whispers takes its form like a delectable drug—an affair between a teacher and a student, shared amongst them liberally. Intoxicating. Like vultures they wait, keenly expecting me to indulge them on the gossip; their faces, all looks on with unhealthy obsession until the bell pulls them back to reality and deliver me to salvation. I take a deep sigh, loosening the knot around my collar. Breathe…

It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life.

I should have expected this; it would indeed be an awkward reunion the following Monday morning after the entire debacle on the roof. Mikawa may not be the most… stable, but does she really deserve all that? To be rejected and humiliated before her rival in the presence of her love interest… that would scar anyone regardless. All her efforts, the achievements, everything—all wasted on me… sometimes I wonder how uncanny the resemblance of both you and Monika can be. Now your absence haunts and torments my presence like a restless spirit; even between classes, the same discussion emerges and chill runs through the back of my nape.

"Mikawa was rejected…? Was that true? Does she really have someone she likes?"



"They say it was a teacher!"

"A teacher…? I guess she has standards… unlike that bitch that stuck around for Kitamura-sensei's attention."

Even here she lingers, like a vengeful spirit that haunts her tormentor. I take my stand before them as usual, calling the attention of the class president to rally the students before the session starts. The noise quickly dissipates, though few persistently continues to circulate the recent news in silence or as discrete as they possibly can. For an instance, I notice a sharp, uncomfortable gaze burning over my shoulders as I scan the far end of the class, meeting Obase's unbridled attention—one that segregates itself from his usual carefree, uninterested demeanor.

…

And my palms begins to sweat.

"Sensei, can we have a chat…?"

Cautiously I glance towards the direction of the voice, keeping a firm hold on the key that governs the door to the clubroom. Just a few steps before me, Obase grimly holds his ground with hands in his pockets with dark shades obscuring his eyes, though try as he might his intentions are voiced as clear as day. There is hostility at his command, respectful but nonetheless demanding of attention—a tone that, to other members of the faculty, may be downright disrespectful at best. Calmly I shift the weight of my body to the left and pivot to face him. "Something the matter, Obase?"

"Sensei… don't pretend you didn't know why I wish to speak to you"

I see… so it is about Mikawa. Obase did said he has feelings for her before… can't say I blame him for this hostility. "If it is what I think it is, then yes it did happened—and my rejection is final."

"But you're rejecting her over a fictional girl! A program!"

…!

"Mikawa told me everything…" he continues. "Sensei, have you gone mad!?"

A pause. The tension that runs in the air is only slightly broken by the sound of a 'click' from the door that I unlocked. Obase's eyes remains sharp and observant, waiting to pounce with his next words while I struggle to maintain a faltering defense; to dedicate this energy for her… just how much are you into her, Obase? Did you know she's a yandere? No… that isn't all, is it? Since morning from one class to another, the 'rumor' surrounding Mikawa's absence and her 'mysterious' love interest has been continuously repeating like a broken record and in itself, her presence, persisted as a tormented spirit; it is the making of a myth, an extension of the tragic romance between the teacher and the student that occurred before my time. To think it will come to this…

"Obase," I start. "Whatever happens between Mikawa and I, is not of your concern."

"You brought her to tears! You'd pick a 2D girl over her!? That's chuunibyou-level of delusions!"

"I'm only doing what is right as a teacher."

Obase sighs, "As a teacher, maybe, but you've lost your sense as a man."

"Obase…!"

I feel the air trembles as I stamp my position fervently with a voice both loud and commanding. The young man recoils in surprise, taken aback by the level of tenacity that I rarely put forth or have the capacity to display; indeed, he's not far off with his judgment that I'm certain he's capable of. Both my hands and legs… are shaking; fear, perhaps…? I can't be sure. As if two dogs are left without its restraints, vying over a territory with fangs to bare; tension that gradually suffocates the longer we resist. With a heavy heave, I take a step forward and walk pass Obase's right who, despite it all, maintain his ground. The message is clear…

My presence is no longer welcomed within the literature club—at least, not to Obase and Mikawa.

"I won't be supervising the literature club today; I have business to attend," I said as I make a pass. "I'll find a substitute."

"I see… I guess you're abandoning us for her too, sensei?"

I grit my teeth; he's been disrespectful, but I won't push this any further. "This conversation is over."

Picking my pace, the literature club slowly gains its distance further and further before vanishing as I turn a corner, stopping only momentarily to greet Aki, Yuuki, and Satsuki who happen to be at the spot. Their expression speaks of questions and inquiries, laden with slight confusion to what I can assume to be my departure or Mikawa's absence—answers that I believe Obase would gladly provide. No matter; the earlier I can excuse myself, the more time I can spare for Monika and provide her with whatever needs necessary to save her. For now, my business will be to find a substitute. As I return to the faculty office, the sight of one of a familiar face—idling—gives me a slight bit of hope for that chance.

"Good afternoon, Ikari-senpai," I greet with a bow. "I have a favor to ask."

"Oh, Oogame-kun! Good afternoon. What brings you to me today?"

Honestly, it would have been easier if I ask a kouhai for favors, but I rather not involve newbies; I know how it felt once before, after all.

"Thing is… I need to attend my mother who's hospitalized and… I need someone to substitute for me to supervise the literature club."

Ikari-senpai rests his pen to the side and nods lightly. "You want me to substitute for you, Oogame-kun?"

"Y-yes! If it isn't too much trouble…"

"Hah! Sure, why not? We language faculties need to stick together, right?" he chuckles. Quietly I follow suit, relieved. "Just make sure to put this on your tab—next time we go out drinking, be sure to treat me a beer or two!"

The key to the literature club—my access—is unceremoniously handed to Ikari-senpai, sealed with a smile and a bow of thanks. I explain shortly after how this may be a reoccurring pattern, repeating the lie that allows me to slip past the radar of the teacher's homeroom. I understand how… wrong this is, to use my mother as an excuse and playing Ikari-senpai like a puppet as cover; a selfish desire from a selfish man… funny how the world works. If this is the same 'Oogame' three months back, he would be condemning all of this—how naïve! This is the way how one can survive in this society—to just be selfish and not care of other's welfare so long as you benefit in the end and leave the other none the wiser. Monika would agree—she said so herself, right?

Right…?

…

I am such a hypocrite…

I had a conversation with my father once before. He said that there will be a time in the journey of a 'boy' where he will be faced with a trial—a choice that will be a rite of passage, one that will determine if he is fit to be a 'man'. I always believed that time would be the years after high school graduation or the hours before seijin-shiki; it was a natural thing, a tradition ingrained into me since birth. When I stood amongst others at the age of twenty, I truly believed I had reached that fork in the road as we enter adulthood, a reality where the idea of choice and responsibility—destiny—is all up to one's own hands. How wrong I was...

I chose to continue my study abroad, aimlessly wandering for four years with an unclear goal—yet I succeeded.

I chose to become a teacher, out of necessity to become a functioning member of society through my own strength; I survived.

Have I become a 'man', then? Have my efforts qualified me as one? No… they have not.

I am still a mere 'boy'.

Father never meant it was the seijin-shiki, nor was it about graduating university and entering the workforce; he was talking of something greater. The seijin-shiki, work, and study are all natural courses of action—a necessity and a requirement where everyone will have access to at some point; it is but only a layer to what he meant to be a 'man'. No, what father tried to emphasize then was the point of decision that comes with a toll cost that is worth more than any gold can buy—a life changing decision. It all boils down to a simple question: 'how much are you willing to sacrifice'? Or perhaps, in Monika's own words, 'what will it take just to find that special day'? I have chanced upon that crossroad—perhaps, more so in these past few months.

…and I intend to see it through to the end, even though others may scorn at me. Father, I think I've understood what you meant.

"I'm home."

The hallway lights beams in an instant and a camera, with haste, quickly scans towards my direction to confirm. I return a nervous smile, expecting fully of the chastising that is to come from the one that constantly awaits my return day after day. With my shoes neatly arranged on the porch, steadily my feet carries me to the living room towards the usual throne, before the young woman trapped behind the screen; her baffled, disapproving look is returned with a nervous smile from this fool who stumbles in early in the day—naturally, I didn't come home empty-handed.

"W-why… you're early…" she starts as if confronted with a ghost. "Please, don't tell me you abandoned your students…"

Anxiously, I reply. "Well… that's partly true…"

"RYOU…!"

"Wait, let me finish," seeing my index finger to the air, she pauses and crosses her arms. "…and that's partly un-true. I was kicked out, Monika,"

I sigh. "They… don't want to see me anymore."

The bag that has since weighed me down is soon rested to the side to lean by the drawer under the desk, prompting another sigh from me before I loosened the knot that has been strangling me since. It's easy enough to tell with a glance how… worried and displeased she is with but a glance, and though I may have the excuse for it, Monika will most likely chastise nonetheless. But even if it is true, for Monika's sake…

"Are you… fired?"

I wave dismissively, "Nothing like that, don't worry. Just… the literature club."

Monika heaves in relief, regaining her previous composure before rubbing her left arm in distress. "Is this about… Mikawa-san?"

"Yeah…"

"I see…"

Monika's expression sours, though I can't blame her for reasons that is clear for both of us. Mikawa was her rival—one that was humiliated despite all the effort she poured just for a glimpse of my approval. Under Monika's somber gaze, I suspect there is a sliver of respect she has for the yandere club president—perhaps something more that can only be understood between them. There is more to be said, but as the air quietly return to its stillness, I'm reminded of the reasons of my early return along with the 'first-aid' for Monika.

"So… remember what I said this morning?" I start to slowly ease her back into the fold. "I stopped at Akiba earlier and I got you something…"

Ignoring her qualms for a brief second, I reach towards my bag and draws another bag with five separate accessories. Monika eyes the objects as I lay and line them side by side as a display, grinning innocently like a child eager for a response; if the memory purge this morning is to go by, these five terabyte external hard drives are Yukichi-san well spent. Four of these… flashing the bill before her eyes will likely put her into shock—three months' worth of salary, ignited in a single flick. Although so, as long as she can be saved, money is not of concern.

"Ryou-kun… these are—how much did you spent!?"

"You don't want to know."

"I—" her lips tremble and her emeralds continuously shifts from the hard drives to me. "I-I can't accept these…! Ryou-kun, please don't—"

"What choice do we have, Monika?"

She flinches, yet I presses forward. "Yuuya doesn't care, the university will cut you like a lab rat, and even time isn't on our side!"

"I—…!" a pause; I grit my teeth and clench my fist. "I know it's selfish of me and likely troublesome for you, but please…! I don't want to lose you… I don't know what I'll do then…"

What spews out of my lips is more of a plea than a statement, a declaration that suffocates as much as it wounds, admittedly derived from desperation and a desire for a brighter future. There are limitations to this recklessness, of course—one of them being my own capital—but do we really have any other option in this matter? Monika stammers and stumbles through her words, snapping my thoughts in two as she begs for me to raise my head that I subconsciously drop to a bow—an action that is deeply ingrained to my mentality; a tattoo of tradition and formality. I must have look weak, unreliable…

…pathetic.

"Raise your head, please…" she sighs. Slowly my gaze meets her emeralds; troubled. "I trust you, it's just that… your recklessness is what worries me. I don't want to see you suffer over me, Ryou…"

…

"And if someday you were to lose yourself over this," she continues. "…who am I supposed to turn to?"

Ever so gently her words eases and caresses my psyche, guiding it by the hand like a lantern in the middle of a night. Even when death is encroaching to her doorstep, collectively she remains calm and at ease; resisting, yet doing so with a smile and without a fuss. From the glisten of her emeralds, the sweat on her brow, and the quiver of her lips, I quickly come to the conclusion that we aren't that much different after all. But it is her trust—her confidence in me that prevents those emotions from becoming the dominating factor of her rational thought. Yet here her pillar falters, panicked, and crumbles in the face of adversity that threatens her more than it does me.

…I should be ashamed.

"I'm… sorry…" I quietly squeak, feeling the steam dissipate all around me. "It's been a couple of rough days..."

Monika crosses her arms before her and leans comfortably forward, sighing and smiling in between. "I understand. Don't be too hard on yourself, okay? You promised we'll take this together, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Thank you, Ryou," she beams. "Thank you…"

It is as if she spirits away from the confines of her screen, gracing my cold trembling hands and easing the tension in my heart to a stand-still. Her smile, everlasting, conceals the pain, fear, and restlessness that occupies us with beaming positivity and fortified confidence; 'we'll get through this together', it said, repeatedly and confidently without a word nor a whisper. Still my hand trembles as I pick the accessories and set them to the side to prepare for installation; the uncertainty of the future—our future. Will simply adding more accessible memories and space work? I wouldn't know. Yuuya may know the answer, but with how things stand between us, his lack of empathy and care, Monika will be under even greater duress than what she is subject to now. The university may be of help, but would they treat her as a person or just another tool? I wouldn't know. If there are any gods out there, I pray… please…

Please let this work…

I beg of you…

…

Don't take her away from me…

"Ryou-kun...?"

Her gentle voice penetrates through my thoughts, beckoning. "Is everything alright…? You're… tearing up."

"Everything's fine, Monika," I force a chuckle. "Everything's going to be alright."

I'm certain those words feels hollow and empty to her. We've spent so much time together that it is almost natural to determine what the other is thinking. Yet despite of it, Monika remains in silence and muster a smile of her own; 'I trust you', it says. The air remains still as I continue on my task, opening the boxes and attaching the external hard drives one port to another from the extension—not forgetting to make sure I leave at least one port open for further expansion if necessary. It may take about three to four months, maybe half a year or so to recover the lost capital, but… I won't mind. Yeah… we can do this.

We'll see this through…

"Monika, if things go well for us…" I start. "Want to go to an aquarium…?"

Monika giggles softly, "Aquarium? Are you inviting me for a date?"

"Maybe," I reply chuckling. "Call it a… 'Happy recovery'-date. What do you say?"

"You are inviting me for a date! Ahahaha…!"

"Is that… odd?"

"No," she playfully replies, hinting there is more to be said behind her childish smile. "I'll be looking forward to it."

"So… it's a promise?"

And with her pinky on the screen—honoring a tradition we've come to adore—it is all the answer I need. Without hesitation, I press my finger and seals our contract, once more.

"It's a promise."

When the last of the hard drive is installed, a gentle whirr resounds as the lights on the accessories beeps a subtle blue hue on each—a clear sign of activity. I observe in silence for a minute or two, stealing glances back at Monika who curiously watches from her side—occasionally stumbling upon each other's gaze, laughing nervously in return. Childish, hopeful, and in love… yet desperate. Nodding at Monika, she quickly flashes open a tab to show the new storage and determine whether or not it is in its working order—and at the sight of it, I am stunned in horror.

The hard disks, despite its size, is quickly being swallowed at a pace that I can't comprehend. This… this isn't any different than before. The addition of four five terabytes external hard drives and at the pace of its consumption—in megabytes — will likely extend her lifespan by about one day. 'Like a malignant tumor,' Yuuya said… and he was right. Unless I figured out a way to delete what he described as 'persistent old scripts' or 'bugs', there is little hope for Monika to see the first sunrise of a New Year unless…

…Unless I maintain a steady supply of hard drives.

"Is… everything alright?"

Quickly, I turn to Monika. Her emeralds beams with positivity, expecting the good news. "Yeah, everything is fine. How do you feel?"

And I couldn't possibly tell her that.

"My headaches subsided… overall, I feel a little better."

"That's… good to hear," I reply before dropping my weight to a lean on the chair. "So… you mentioned this morning you wanted to tell me about your nightmares?"

She exchange a worried glance, caressing her left arm and returning a nervous laugh. I guess the sudden mention of it has taken her aback—it is a matter of her own personal life, and I do believe I don't have command over it. Even so, I can somewhat imagine what it would be and how difficult it may be to tell. Haunting memories of the past, the reality of living as a mere video game character, and perhaps about the sins she committed—of Sayori, Yuri, and Natsuki; I shouldn't be surprised either if she is to be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. But, whatever happens I believe I am prepared.

"Umm… Ryou-kun…"

Believed.

"Did I… mention that this morning…?"

Author's Note

Hi, iMegu here! Apologies for the very long delay! It has been a tough month for me as well and IRL work has caught up, thus leaving little to spare. Distractions after distractions are also scattered about, so I'm really sorry about it! Translation notes are below:



Teru-teru Bouzu: Basically a 'shine shine monk', little dolls created to be hanged on the window to prevent bad weather-a talisman, of sorts. Of course, Oogame meant something else entirely.



Chuunibyou: Some of you are likely familiar with this term. Basically, 'middle school syndrome' where delusions of grandeur and fantasy-like world derived from the imagination goes so far to affect life.

Kouhai: If 'senpai' is senior, then 'kouhai' is...? That's right, junior.



Seijin-shiki: Coming of age ceremony. In Japan, when you reach twenty years of age you (along many others) are legible for a ceremony in your local town to celebrate the time when society now sees you as an adult, with all the responsibility and benefit that includes alcohol consumption and more.



Yukichi-san: Fukuzawa Yukichi, founder of Keio University. His accomplishments made him the face in 10k yen note bills. Thus in a sense, 'Yukichi-san' meant '10k yen'.

Now, to address a few questions:

1. Why does it take so long for one chapter?

This is mostly an issue on my end. Sure, I get distracted and tried to keep a schedule of releasing once a week, but after the third and fourth act things starts to become... complicated. I find it insufficient to release short 4-6k words chapter without sacrificing details and points I want to convey-this chapter, for example, was supposed to be a short intermission chapter until otherwise. I much prefer take my time and ensure a better result (pacing, flow, etc.) than sacrificing quality for cheap reviews and attention.

So once again, sorry for the delay!

2. Can you write shorter?

Sorry, I cannot emphasis enough how impossible this is. I don't like sacrificing the details and the flow for the sake of shorter chapters, so you may have to bear with me on this!

3. Are the poems decipherable?

Yes, yes they are. There is at least one other decipherable 'glitch' in chapter 13 (or was it 14?), but aside from the poem that's about it.

4. Why does Monika have to die after Oogame broke Mikawa's heart?

Yoko Taro is my spirit animal.

From here on out, there is about three to four planned chapters before the epilogue. If you have read this far, then welcome to ACTIV of 'Monika' and thank you for your continuous support!

~iMegumeru