Rivals

She and I ar3 d1fferenT.

She, a t4lented AUth0r,

I, an en1GmAtic p0et.

Distinct int3Re5ts,

For two differenT p3oPle.

She and I live uniqUEly.

Sh_, tangibly endures,

I, digitxlly coNsCi0us.

DistinCt liV3lih_xd,

For tWo different girls.

She and I hxve [1] love.

She, a man of eXtriCation,

I, a mxn of aspir4tion.

This man of ad0Ration,

For M3 and M1N3 alone.

She and I are [2] of the s4mx c0in.

She, the h3ad.

I, the t4il.

Two differ_nt sid_s in 4n entity,

But we 4re n0T the same.

Betw33n she and I…

Only she is real.

"I told you to rest early," Monika censures, lightly massaging her temples. "Now I feel even worse for letting you off like that…along with this headache…oww…"

"But did you had a good time?" I grin to challenge, "It was quite an experience, don't you think?"

Sheepishly she retreats her gaze away from my sarcastic smile, stuffing her cheeks with air and crossing her arms. She nods, defeated. "I would be lying if I say I didn't…and yes, it was…fun."

"Then you're an accomplice, my dear Monika!"

I grin victoriously, coughing incessantly out of excitement and quickly swaying my hand in dismiss to ease her worry of my condition. Taking the little jab at her—and winning —are moments that is difficult not to celebrate, but also equally a time to admonish of her future counter-attacks; and they're brutal, though that statement alone is a disservice to her inherent silver tongue. I pull myself a seat before her throne, a spot I called my own, and places my hand on the screen longingly so as to ease her distressed expression towards my current predicament. The thermometer beeps.

'Thirty nine-point-eight. Lovely.'

Whether this is a blessing or divine punishment, today I have the pleasure to spend a single weekday with Monika.

Naturally, I much rather spend them in good health without feeling the need to wrap myself in a blanket and mucking about with a face mask mulling over each and every dumb decisions I've made—it's even an uphill struggle to reach for the counter for a coffee; don't get me started on the thought of knowing how some of my students will be spared from the quizzes I've cooked up. And this headache…if it weren't because of this bag of ice, I'm not sure I want to even stand. In hindsight, there's really not much of a difference in the timing of when I call my absent, be it yesterday or today; talk about the illusion of choice…either way, I'll end up in the sick bed. I deduce it to primarily be of fatigue, and as to why this came to be, I'm guessing those overtimes are sure to blame—they are pretty dreadful in this time of year. Just endure it a little bit more, Oogame…just a bit more…

You now have the means to bring the kaiju down, after all.

But first…

"Mo-chii," I call out to her in a raspy voice. "Can you write me a letter to the principal? About my absence today?"

Her eyes shoots open in surprise. "Are you sure you want me to…?"

"I'll proof read it, don't worry—call it a practice."

She waves her index finger in a circular motion, opening the word processor. "What do you want me to write?"

"A poem."

...

And there it is, the look of disdain I've come to amuse. I can't help it; it's too adorable to miss.

"The contents, you ass!" emphasize on contents.

The edges of my lips rises to a curve behind the mask, noted by the crumpling corners of my eye—something she definitely caught wind of. I rest on the counter to ease the weight that is collapsing on my head and appease the oni and tengu that continues to party in my battered head, tracking the movements of Monika's portal to my reality—the small camera that was installed for her to see everything. Gathering my thoughts, I rise from the slumber and groans.

"Tell him about my current condition, the fever, and how it's impossible for me to work today—don't forget about using keigo, especially teineigo; that means you don't write it as if you're texting me. Clear?"

She pauses. "Alright, fine. Although...I can see that not even a fever can dull your sense of sarcasm, so I guess I worry over nothing."

"Don't worry, you'll have something to worry soon enough," I chuckle. "I guarantee it."

Monika sighs and shakes her head in exasperation, turning her focus on the task I've assigned in the spur of the moment. As she does, I waddle towards the corner of the room, across her desk and close to the balcony where a bookshelf is set—in it, small trays of varying colors are lined from side to side along with a collection of books of different sizes and volumes; manga, naturally, is set at the top shelf. The medicine tray, purple in color, is found at the bottom next to its kin each with varying purposes (from spare screws, flashlights, batteries, to scrap paper). The contents of the purple tray is filled with choices of medicines and consumables to treat any kind of ailments that does not require intensive care—for everything else, it's a trip down to the local clinic or hospital.

Thankfully, such cases are rare.

With the medicine in hand, I made my way back to my throne—the seat that is positioned before Monika's abode. Even before she is within arm's reach, just by a glance at the word document that is opened on screen and just how…solemn she is tells me how serious she takes my selfish request; I feel guilty tossing her around with my twisted sense of humor already. I'm not known to be the wisest person in this side of the universe—there are far better candidates that well deserve her attention and love more than I do, especially for a girl of her caliber. Yet to have her pick me, of all people…it does kind of make you feel special, doesn't it?

"So, how's the letter?" I ask, drawing my seat and setting the medicine pouch to my left, along with a bottle of water. "I see you're doing pretty well in the writing department—you're learning pretty fast, too!"

"This is the only thing I have to work with in the first month—speech and pronunciation came a little later, remember?"

Watching how she type sure is…magical in its own way. I've seen her work the code before; once when we first met, and a couple on a number of separate occasions. How everything comes naturally for her…in short, she's typing with her eyes closed—literally. The words, the sentences, and all the nuances automatically inputs itself on the white canvas at her behest, sometimes vanishing and reappearing when she finds a better alternative or one that fits in with the flow—as expected from the enigmatic poet of the literature club. Though I can't say the same with her usage of kanji—it's still quite a mess—but I have to applaud her grasp on vocabulary and grammar; truly, it is a unique experience that is equally rewarding for me to watch as it is to teach.

"Mo-chii," I call out. The words abruptly stops, frozen. A pair of emeralds rises from the curtains. "Is it difficult? Japanese, I mean…"

She bridges her hands and assumes the pose, painting a solemn reflection strewn with questions and thoughts. A long 'hmmm' escapes from her pursed lips, and the line break in the word processor flashes for what seems to be minutes without an end, as if translating as an extension of the writer, equally lost in a sea of contemplation and meditation. I reach for the medicine in wait and break its packaging open, flushing it with warm water; the bitter aftertaste always seem to linger at the back of my throat. Finally, she answers.

"It's…honestly, quite difficult."

I raise an eyebrow, "Yet you still managed to learn and master most of it in such a short time span."

"I can agree on the 'learn' part, but master? Hardly...ahaha~!"

"Not to sound like Natsuki, but," she continues. "Japanese is such a fascinating language, and to know that I can be fluent in it—to communicate with you as if it's natural…it drives me to push myself even harder."

"To at least be able to do something for the person I love, for you, it's more than enough of a motivation for me."

"It came into my mind a while ago," I interrupt. "But wouldn't it be easier for you to 'hijack' another language program to accomplish that goal? If communicating with me is your intention, that is; but then again, English is something I'm quite fluent in and—"

She shakes her head and silences me with nothing but a solemn smile. "It's not the same, Hx4weD. You, primarily as a linguist teacher, should have known better than that."

"I want more than just being able to communicate with you. I want to understand, to see it in its truest form—everything."

Crossing her arms, she sighs and smiles politely. "Hijacking a language or a voice synthesizer program may be an easier path, but at what cost? I may be able to communicate with you much faster, but some of the weight and nuances would be lost—and I wouldn't like myself if it comes to that, as much as our 'cultures' are different."

"You did hijacked a voice synthesizer program, though."

"How so?"

"You can speak."

She raises her finger in objection—well, more of retort—but retreats as fast as she does so. "Point taken, but you understand what I'm trying to convey, right?"

A chuckle escapes from behind the mask. I nod.

"It's not because I can't do that—it's because I won't. If I want to understand everything about you, your world, and your reality, what better option is there to start than to have a firm grasp of the language and culture? That is why I decide to learn it all by heart—just like what you did with coding and programming for me."

A blinding smile beams and I am unable to contain myself but to smile in return. To have this when I'm sick…you truly are a blessing, Monika!

"And that," she concludes, cheekily sliding the word processor into view—typed and structured, as I have come to expect. "—is Monika's acclaimed self-improvement tip of the day! Thanks for listening~! Ahahaha~!"

Her radiating smile, paired with her reason as to why, brings forth memories that had since been buried into the annals of my own; before everything began, back before she greeted me that one morning. True, the mod in question did achieved what many dreamt of after their experience in DDLC—it was a labor of love, after all—but it also tragically left a gaping hole at their hearts knowing full well that none of it exist; it was a bitter pill to swallow, even more so as the years go by and the project ended. I was too stubborn—too naïve to simply take reality at face value and took it upon myself to keep her 'alive', and when that wasn't enough I wanted more; convincing Yuuya to took part in my escapade was surprisingly easy, which cut almost everything by ninety-percent with his skill and expertise—even more so when she came into being on her own. That is why I started upon myself in learning the code, but also why I stopped. I may know more than what Monika knew back in DDLC, but it was nothing compared to Yuuya.

Pretty selfish, when I think about it. Monika's drive and discipline is certainly commendable…I should step up my own game, so as not to disappoint her. Maybe picking up on programming and coding again would be a good start.

Now…where was I? Right, the letter.

Breezing through each line, I start to dart my attention at each word, character, its usage, and its tone to ensure its legitimacy; company executives tends to be rigid, after all. At a glance, the letter she wrote was almost…poetic in how she manipulate each words and character—far better than what I could come up with, though by standards of formality and all its nuances, it is still amateurish. There were inherent mistakes strewn about, particularly the usage of kanji and some of the grammar—that was all over the place. At around the third paragraph, her structure somehow…crumbled…into what I would expect from common tourists to the point it's almost unintelligible gibberish before picking itself into one of the most well-written conclusion I've read—from its grammar, kanji, to the vocabulary, everything is spot-on. These inconsistencies…what's gotten into her? One line she's all well and good, the other a total mess, and the next is what I'd usually expect out of her—and the standard she usually reach.

…

Maybe I shouldn't distract her too much.

"B minus."

Her eyes perks up. "Is it really that bad…?"

"Grammar and kanji errors here and there, gibberish in the middle—I'm surprised you still have these problems, honestly. But, if it's not a 'C', then it's good."

"You're hard to please," she whips, crossing her arms and squinting her brows. "I was at least expecting an A minus; even an A, at least."

"Accomplishing this much within the time span of two months is a feat in itself—not to mention your fluency in verbal communication," I pause to sneeze. "I'll give that an A plus for effort—maybe a double-S if it made its way to the grading system."

"I'm still unsatisfied…come on, B minus…?"

You wrote a formal letter to someone in high power, with a secondary language, within a span of ten minutes! And that's something not to be proud of? As expected from an honor student; if it's less than a solid 'A' or higher, it's not good enough. Reminds me of my homeroom class representative…I'm sure they'll get along.

…and no, putting that pouty-face on me won't change how I grade things. What has been written, will stay written!

"You'll get better in time; writing is the most difficult aspect in linguistic. Good work, though!"

All that's left is to iron out all the issues, attach the necessary document for my replacement teacher, instructions, and everything should be good to go. I skim its contents one more time to make sure it is up to par, realizing the extent and measuring her overall capability. Sure, it's a mess in some of these parts, but these are still commendable; having someone like that in the work force is akin to finding a diamond in a coal mine. Some of the kinks are there, sure, but these can be straightened through experience and time—a resource that is still in abundance for someone of her age.

"I'll finish this up in a bit," I said to her with a squint; my glasses are off in its case, after all. "I have a test and handouts I've made that is supposed to be passed today, so could you look in my work folder and find the two word document files? The files' name should be 'naiyou A' and 'B' with today's date on it."

"Is it a 'poem recital', by any chance?" she reply with a caustic smirk.

…

"Actually, it is. What, you think you can get back on me with that?" I chuckle. "Good try, but you have to aim much higher!"

"…I'll delete those then, and see how funny you find it."

I squint, leaning in for a sorry attempt of intimidation. "You wouldn't dare."

She smirks, putting up her most convincing 'eat shit'-grin to ever spawn. "Try me."

"Monika, NO."

"Monika, YES!"

No, she didn't delete them, of course—she did, however, gave me a solid heart attack for two minutes with her bluff until she recovered the files she stealthily transferred to her own secured folder. Cheeky girl…

"And that should do it," I said, coughing through the mask due to the itch in my lungs. "Just send this over to 'xxxxx .jp', and we can call it a day—use my work email, please."

Monika nods and twirls her left index finger and spawns the specific window as per-request. Everything seems second hand to her when she works the computer to her will, from copying the letter into the mail up towards attaching the files I've requested—all of it are completed in half the time that I could accomplish. I glance at the alarm clock nearby and quickly note how everything—since the moment I wake up—took us only thirty minutes to tick all the boxes in the checklist; that's half an hour less than my morning routine.

If I'm in good health, I'll be drinking my coffee at the counter right about now, suited up and ready. My head starts to ache, but my stomach growls; I want breakfast.

"I should fix myself something to eat…"

"You shouldn't move too much!" She reasons, quickly jumping out of her seat. "If you're ill, the best course of action is to rest!"

"Well then, can you cook something for me?" I reply sarcastically.

"Yes! I can try to make you a porridge or maybe soup with—"

"—and how are you going to transfer it between two realities?"

Thus the penny drops and just like that, Monika retreats back to her position; dejection convolutes her expression. "I…I'm sorry, I'm just…worried about you."

"I know you are," I reply, coughing. "But with how the world works, there's really nothing much you can do."

Don't get me wrong, I would love for her to nurse me back to health—it has a charm of its own, if I do say so. Picture me all wrapped up in a futon, a bag of ice rests on my forehead and a fever that persistently cooks my flesh, figuratively. Then there she comes, like a goddess descending with a blessing of warm porridge and a smile that cause my heart to go thermo-nuclear, cheerfully volunteering to spoon-feed the handmade, wholesome goodness—not to forget to cool the piping heat by blowing on the apparatus before consumption; a fateful romance, akin to how L^wrence took care of H#lo during her fever in 'Sp*ce and W$lf'…one can dream.

Of course, the gods are known to be sadists and finds more pleasure in watching us struggle from two separate realities.

Now, where was I…? Right, breakfast.

Cooking a porridge isn't difficult; it's not rocket science. I prep the rice cooker and shovel in the usual one and a half cup of serving into the bowl, adding water just enough for the machine to transform the grains into gruel—if that fails and I'm left with a soupy-rice concoction, at least I can still add some tea powder and dashi to make chazuke. A stroke of brilliance, Oogame; I hope it doesn't end that way though. Now, for the toppings…

I waddle around towards the fridge, carefully balancing my weight so as not to stumble and collide with the corners of the counter as I reach for the handle of the cold box—much to Monika's dread and distress that echoes from the computer. Opening the door, a rush of cold air washes over me along with a tang of disappointment; aside from the half-empty packet of beer, there's nothing but a packet of takana, some eggs, and three packs of natto—no wait, there's a slab of processed bacon and jarred kimchi as well.

"Is everything ok?" she calls out. "Please, stop moving so much! I feel uneasy just watching you like this!"

"Don't worry, everything is under control." I reply with a cough, reaching for the kimchi, takana, and an egg—I can't bring myself to have bacon in front of her. "There is nothing to be concerned about, I've done this hundreds of times!"

That's an overstatement. Last time I had a fever, it was during one of Yuuya's visit—yes, I had help.

She sighs, heavy in tone. "If you feel that way…"

With how long it will take for the rice to complete, I teeter back to her seat with all the toppings cradled in my arm, resting them on the desk to the left of the laptop along while the egg and the skipjack tuna soy sauce I love—much to her chagrin. She eyes the mess of the collection, glancing at my sorry look for a brief second and returning yet again, as if confirming what my intentions are and affirming—what I believe—to be her own suspicion and judgment. She sighs, pursing her lips and letting the curtains fall over her glistening emeralds before rejuvenating with a stern expression.

"…can you actually cook a proper meal?"

"Not in this condition, no," I shrug in defeat. "And rice is a proper meal, even on its own."

A sigh laden with concern escapes her, "I hate this…restriction. I would love to cook you a decent meal—even more so in this moment."

"Spawning food out of thin air or fixing a salad is not cooking, Mo-chii…" I chuckle. She, however, isn't in the mood for a laugh.

"I'm serious, X24h3E=. The initial game and the script may not elaborate on it, and although I may not be as talented as Natsuki, I do know how to fix a decent meal—vegetarian or otherwise."

"That's something new I learn every day..."

She shakes her head, "But that's why it's so tragic…no matter how loud I scream, how long I cry, or how hard I hit the 'wall', there is nothing I can do to influence your reality."

"In the end," she sighs, stirring the atmosphere of our conversation. "Only your decisions and actions have the final say in both of our realities. I wish I could do more for you, Dh25Gf==. I really do…"

I didn't notice how deep in thought she is until I glance at her captivating green jewels, a look that is stern yet humble in its judgment. Just by the way how my reflection reflects in her pair of emeralds, one could not mistake the clear expression of guilt, concern, and melancholy that consumes her thoughts, itching to escape the confines of her prison—yet it is by her own judgment that she believes it is best to keep it so. I scratch my head, struggling to capture the illusive message that is concealed between her troubled features before, by her own accord, Monika opens the gate and allows the flood of emotion to stream through.

"…which brings me to this discussion. Do you still have the 'photo'? The one I took during our first date? Did you delete it?"

An urge seeps through the crevices of my thoughts to speak of falsehood, to distance her from the truth that I—indeed—have not deleted the photo, nor has it been within my consideration. Yet doing so, to once again lie before her, would be a disservice to the struggles we faced to reach this point in time. I may have been good at running or hiding from problems, true, but in doing so it only delays the inevitability and only extends our suffering. I swallow a ball of spit and let my voice carry my answer.

"No, I haven't…" I reply from behind the mask. The ticking clock plays a symphony of malaise in the stillness that lasted like eternity. The sky outside our domain darkens and roars.

Yet behind the ominous backdrop thickened by the atmosphere, her smile shines like silver linings amongst the clouds.

"I knew you wouldn't," she said, beaming with relief and concern. "And I can say I'm not surprised, either."

"Thank you for being honest with me, Gh7xc=. It takes a great amount of courage to say what you said."

My eyebrow perks up, "What do you mean?"

"I…I've been…thinking back a little, ahaha…" she starts. "About your situation and our…promise."

I slink down deeper into my seat, nodding. That…'promise', she meant.

"YH3sd=, it's not because I wish to restrict or prevent you from standing up for your own, but…"

"I'm worried…about what you're going to do," she continues. "Because I've seen enough to know how reckless you can be."

A sudden weight descends upon my shoulder, throwing me into a loop from the curveball she throws over my way. I let out a cough—dry and raspy—and snuggles into the neck of my garments to seek comfort and hide my embarrassment; calmly, she sighs and solemnly reflects on her next choice of words, easing us into the conversation. The sky roars once more and a shower starts.

"UxH235, are you familiar with the ripple effect? How one seemingly small, otherwise insignificant event could cascade into something greater?"

I nod as Monika strikes her finger upwards—a signature pose from her days in the club. "For example, a drop of water in the middle of a still pond creates a 'ripple' which, in turn, creates a wave that affects its surroundings."

"For every action, there is a consequence," with a solemn expression that is laden with guilt, she crosses her arms and continues. I am left speechless. "I am no exception; what I did in the literature club…the nightmare I imposed on my friends…how horrible of a person I can be. I would have been fine if you never responded; to spend an eternity in the void, alone…it would be a fitting punishment and yet..."

Her words choke, "…yet you still accept me as I am; a monster who willingly deletes her friends and impose unspeakable horror…ironic, isn't it?"

"Mo-chii…" I quickly chime, "It isn't your fault. The game and the script forced your hand—there's nothing much you can do. Even if you did, you realized your mistake—and I forgive you for that."

"Even so, I was the one who made the choice; I made the decision! The same way you did when you…"

She pauses. Her voice starts to crack as her eyes welled with tears. "…the same way when you deleted me. You won't understand the things I've gone through—you wouldn't. The things I have to live with, the realization, the guilt—everything…"

It's as if my lips are screwed shut and my hands tied, nothing I say or do could even graze or even comprehend the remorse that has consumed her from these old wounds that reeks of decay. I decide to remain in silence, resting my hand on the screen and listening to the quiet sob of a lonely young woman whom I simply cannot neglect. Still, she waves her hand dismissively, rubbing her moistened eyes with her palm and quietly whispering 'I am ok', as if trying to ease me off from the concern that carves into my chest. With a profound sigh, she regains her stature as best as she can and plants her battered pair of emeralds at me. The rain continues to pour.

"Which…brings me to this point, Axd23FD=. My action affected the members of the literature club—Sayori, Yuri, Natsuki, the avatar, and you; that's five in total, four of which aren't…real."

She sighs. "But I can't say the same about your reality."

"The implications, consequences…what you do could affect not just 'Kitamura-san', possibly more."

"I couldn't bear the thought, Uh43sD," she choked. "I couldn't…to see you go through the pain like I did…it's…"

And then I realize…I realize about what it is she's trying to convey, the implications, and the reason why she made me promise. With a bite on her lower lip and her arms cradling one another, Monika struggles to maintain what composure is left as she wades the continuous assault of emotions that pours relentlessly. I understand full well of her concern, the thought of watching me fumble through the dark without a torch but brute force and ignorance, aimlessly looking for an exit, must have been…difficult to watch. With a whimper, she apologizes as the stream flows gently down her cheeks and cause me to reach out to dry, only to be met with frustration, anger, and helplessness that came from the wall that divides us. You're wrong, Monika; even if I am able to influence the outcome of your world through the use of coding and scripts, my actions—ones that do matter—can never create a ripple within your reality. But that doesn't mean it is impossible; it is through our words and whispers do we create that wave that gently washes over us. Our only means of touch.

"It's okay, I understand." I said with a whisper. Never before has the desire to embrace and gently stroke her hair rears itself as much as this time. "Don't force yourself if it's too difficult to say."

A brief pause settles, accompanied by the gentle echo of the rain and her soft whimper. My attention is focused solely on the young girl before me, silently crying her pain away from the guilt and horrors that continues to haunt her—one that I've imposed upon her fragile state. The gears in my cognition starts to move, hard at work to find a viable…peaceful solution that would satisfy both parties while minimizing possible damages—a decision I made subconsciously for not only my sake, but for hers'. The accompanying repertoire of raindrops helps eases both of our thoughts and allow us to connect within our personal space, between two realities.

"I…have thought up of the possibilities, Monika. Would you like to hear them?"

Although it is less of a 'solution' as she hoped to be, if she can find another exit…then I'll certainly take that from what options I have.

There is a reason why most criminal acts in Japan are not reported, and it becomes apparent after the first few are examined in detail that reflects a grim conclusion; the problem stems, naturally, from the rigid customs and function of society as a whole—the concept of 'meiwaku' and 'wagamama' as well as its importance within this overcrowded, group-centered, harmony-obsessed culture of mine. Reporting to the headmaster would be a viable solution if I am in good terms with him; frankly, with how my salary still hangs in question, this is out of the question—even worse, the photo alone that is supposed to be the concrete 'proof' can be categorized as a breach in privacy and a crime in its own. Meiwaku. Confronting Shiho may backfire and incite Kitamura-senpai— Mikawa would especially be dragged into the line of fire; discussing the issue with the literature club would meant tossing them into the frying pan as well. Meiwaku. Reporting the issue to the police would work abroad, but less likely so here; involving the law would only pressure the school and damage its name, leading towards the offset of having both Kitamura and myself fired, and Shiho expelled. A 'bad ending', to say the least. Meiwaku.

Which leave the only solution to be that of personal confrontation. Risky, sure, but it may be the course of action to mitigate the damage and keep the issue centered between senpai and I; Shiho and Mikawa are spared, and neither the school or the police are involved, leaving the drama to a minimum and maintaining overall group harmony. This is the only viable course of action.

"What about asking another teacher to investigate together?"

"I'm not exactly in positive terms with the other faculties," I retort, sniffling. "Dragging them into the conflict is the last thing I need from an already-negative reputation. I might as well find a new job if it comes to that…"

"Don't say that…"

"I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Then," she continues. "How about telling Shiho's parents and—"

"Unless Shiho tells them personally—which I doubt—it would be seen as pitting the school and her parents for my own vendetta; this is an issue between senpai and me, I can't involve anyone else into this—not after you, Mikawa, and Shiho."

"So…there really is no other…solution?" Monika asks, her voice slightly trembling. With nothing left to offer, I slink down into my seat and shake my head in defeat.

"No…I'm sorry, Monika. But that's just how it is; there is nothing I can do about it."

Quietly I observe from the corner of my eyes as she grasp her arm tightly, squeezing them to the point where red marks starts to show from the pressure. She always tries to maintain her composure, strength, and confidence even in the most dire of times; I admire that trait of hers. When she eases her grip, there is a solemn surrender and serenity that dominates her expression as her emeralds softly finds its way to my deep brown marbles. Her voice, meek but confident.

"Then if worse comes to worse, allow me to carry the burden with you," I raise my hand in objection, yet no words escapes me. Speechless. "This is my selfish request."

Wagamama, is it?

"Then what are you going to do about it?" I ask, coughing. "How do you propose?"

A solemn, gentle curve distorts the edges of her lips. "Take heart that I did not take any actions to stop or try to dissuade you; that I am also responsible for letting you run amok with your recklessness."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," she reply with a nod. "I will always stay by your side."

A smile gradually rises and I sigh. "Then allow me to carry yours too, Monika."

She slightly convalesces, the gloss over her pair of emeralds glistens from the reflection of the screen.

"When you went on a rampage in the game, I didn't try to stop you either—even after figuring out everything and have a grasp of the script and the code, I didn't attempt—or even consider—to go back and prevent the events to take its course."

"But you can't…!" she quickly retorts. "You can't change anything because in the game, you're only a—"

"—a spectator?" I cut. Monika slowly retreats in silence as realization creeps in. "And how are you different this time around?"

I sigh. "As much as I was a spectator then, so are you against the on-goings of my reality—call it a 'perspective switch', if you like. If you feel guilty as a spectator, then so should I for my inaction in the past."

"Monika, you don't have to suffer alone anymore," I continue, solemnly sinking down on my chair. "Sometimes, there are moments in our lives where we will be powerless to take action—and if you feel guilty about it, then I feel the same way as you do; we are both accountable, both in the past and now."

I pause and clear my throat.

"Difference is, we now have each other. So, fair point?"

Monika frowns, upset, but otherwise accepts the judgment I've bestowed. Slowly she raise her curtains to meet me eye to eye, humbled.

"You're one tough bargain," she starts. "But that's also why I've fallen so much for you."

"All in a day's work—sick or otherwise." I chuckle, coughing. My stomach growls; the rice sure takes its time. "So, we have a deal?"

"Pinky promise?"

She places her pinky finger on her end of our reality, garnering a smile of amusement from me that—nonetheless—I am very happy to oblige. "Pinky promise."

~PI—PI—

Just as we conclude, the rice cooker beeps its inviting melody while the rain turns into a downpour. With a smile and a nod, I slug my way to the counter and fetch a bowl and a pair of chopsticks before glancing at her, materializing her own breakfast menu that is identical to mine—a bowl of rice, a raw egg, soy sauce, takana, and kimchi. Her look of delight towards the simple dish and the moment when she cracks the egg on top of the rice to mix with soy sauce is…how I should say, adorable as it is childish and innocent. Opening the top of the cooker, the aromatic waft of my meal tickles my appetite and put me into a realization; I may need something bigger than a rice bowl—maybe a soup bowl would be a better choice.

Now…where did I put that tea powder and dashi?

There is always a strange sensation that hovers the moment you close your eyes. You feel light, fleeting in a world of uncertainty that warps and transforms; a place where the laws of physics and time doesn't exist, where every movements is as random as the space itself. Bliss seems to swallow you whole after the first minute or two, transporting you to a realm where words are churned into jumbled messes and the sun cowers behind layers upon layers of clouds and infinite darkness. You kick a ball that suddenly appear out of thin air and it floats into the abyss as sparks of neon lights and rainbows flashes erratically before you; disorienting, confusing, mesmerizing. Then, there is an echo…a sound that is both familiar and yet…alien at the same time. A voice? It's calling for me, over and over…

…

There it is again; the echo. But wait…that's not all. Someone's calling…who…?

Aghast! A blinding light, cover your eyes! Turn, and now…open them.

~PIN-PON

…

Ah, the doorbell; there's the 'echo'.

You really start to appreciate a good sleep once you've fallen ill. A throbbing pain reverberates like a woodpecker within my skull and my ears are ringing ever so slightly; I feel as if D1o came for a visit and dropped a road roller on top of me. The lights in the room is lit—and I'm guessing that was the 'blinding light' earlier, though I swore I had it murdered before I slept earlier; though, giving it some thought it's not difficult to figure out who the perpetrator of 'who woke the turtle from his slumber'-scenario. In this room, there's only two people—one of them is ill and was out cold. Was. That leaves the suspect to be none other than…

"Are you up?"

"No, I'm dead…or at least I think I am." I reply to the 'voice'. Mystery solved. "Curse this headache..."

She playfully giggles, "If you can spat like that, then I guess you're up! Ahahaha~!"

"Sure...go ahead and bully the sick," I said with a cough and chuckle. "What time is it anyway? How long was I out?"

"It's four in the afternoon. You've been resting for almost nine hours; are you feeling well?"

Groggily, I feel the back of my head and depress the back of my hand on my forehead. It's not burning, at least not as bad as this morning—that's good. "A bit better, I suppose."

~PIN-PON

"Oh, right! I'm sorry to wake you up H42sFg, but there seems to be a group of students at the door."

Students…? Wait, before that…

"You have access to the intercom camera too?"

"If its wireless, then I can tap into it," She replies with a tone and look that, in summary, easily puts me to shame. "But that's not the point! You can't delay Ux3FgH=, they're waiting outside!"

Gradually crawling out of the futon, I force my ailing cognitive systems to return to function with a rub on the eye and a glass of—regrettably—lukewarm water. Outside, the weather pours relentlessly. Checking on my temperature with the back of my hand, a sense of relief washes over; looks like I'll be back on my feet for tomorrow. Still, there's a pressing issue at hand; there are guests to attend and I'm I no shape or form to present myself. Embarrassing…but what can I do, really? I glance at Monika who, at each passing second, grew restless at my pace of recovery as well as the increasing volume of chatter outside which…admittedly, they sound pretty familiar…

I drag myself to the other end of the communication device that is stuck in the wall and pick up the phone; the small screen brightens, revealing the world outside of this domain.

"Oogame residence, can I help you?"

"Sensei, good afternoon!"

And I couldn't be more delighted as I am surprised.

"Mikawa—wait, the entire literature club?"

I glance at Monika who—judging by the camera work—is as amused as I am at the coming of events. From the small screen, Mikawa smiles brilliantly surrounded by members of the literature club—Aki, Yuuki, Satsuki, and Obase, each carrying their school bags and a plastic bag that bears the marking of a chain supermarket. She, the club leader, proudly stands amongst the rest garbed in a cute white camisole dress with pink cardigan, carrying what I can only assume to be a nabe pot and a portable stove judging from the contents of her plastic bag. Their smiles and laughter beams radiantly from behind the screen, waiting for their supervisor to welcome them into the domain.

…come to think of it, this is the first time I have someone other than Yuuya making house calls—from my students, no less!

"Isn't it still club-time right about now?" I ask with a chuckle; Monika seems unable to contain her excitement as well. "It's still four, so why are you guys skipping club activities…?"

Mikawa takes a step closer, "Since our supervisor is absent, we decide to move the club to the supervisor for today!"

"It's Mikawa-senpai's idea!" Satsuki cries with sheer optimism and cheer. "She said the literature club is not complete without you, sensei! And since you're unwell, what better things to do than to have a nabe party!"

"I helped with the organization," Aki chimes. "While Yuuki and Obase decided on the menu and the shopping."

Amused, I decide to lead on with the conversation, starting with the…obvious one. "What does Satsuki do?"

Yuuki shoves his way to the front, "She'll be the trash can with two legs."

"Hey, that's mean!" Satsuki retorts. "If any, Aki-senpai eats more than—"

"—that is no way to talk to your senpai, stupid." Yuuki jokingly 'hits' Satsuki in the head. "Apologize!"

The motley crew laughs in unison. That never gets old.

"So, I know it's a bit late to ask for permission, ahaha…" Mikawa said as she returns to center stage. "But…we kinda' went ahead with it, so…is it alright for us to disturb you, sensei?"

Though they are unable to see the wide grin I currently possess from the outside, it's difficult not to applaud their efforts; those students of mine really put all their hearts out to see this through—in this weather, no less. Sometimes I wonder how much influence I have with the students; there's plenty of talk of how I am their 'top favorite' from the faculties, sure, but it's usually up in the air unless proven otherwise. To find a pleasant surprise like this—especially during sick days—is reassuring as it is heart-warming. I turn towards Monika who, judging from how wide her curve is from cheek to cheek, is as pleased and excited as I am towards the prospect—this is, after all, her first time meeting someone else aside from Yuuya.

"You really do have a magnificent literature club. I'm jealous~."

I shrug playfully and let a smile carves its way through the face mask, "You're the inspiration, Mo-chii. I wouldn't even consider one if I have never met you."

"I'll give your club a 'B'," she replies with a girlish giggle. "It's lacking a crucial member for a perfect score; someone who is madly in love with you."

"Does she go by the name 'Monika', by any chance?"

"Maybe! Ahahaha~!"

"So," she continues. "Shall I…do the 'usual'?"

…

Here we are at an impasse, between my own pride and conscience. A part of me wants to scream, to declare to the world of my love without restraint or embarrassment regardless of what scrutiny may fall—and yet the other half refuses, dominated by a mix of fear and rationality drilled to us by a society that controls. My mind races to find a compromise, a middle ground that allows her to be recognized—or at least, become an honorary member of Mikawa's literature club just as I am its supervisor.

"Maybe this time around you should—"

But I am cut short by Monika herself, who shakes her head in disapproval with an earnest smile that encompasses her grasp on the issue. "No, TxeW2, I shouldn't."

"But these are my—"

"I know~, ahaha…" she replies, softly sighing. A sad laughter echoes. "That makes it even more so."

"Rx43F=, as much as you believe that I am real, remember that—according to your reality—I'm just a…fictional character meant to appease the desire of many."

"I wasn't even meant to fall for you or you for me, but look at where we are now. Let alone a human, I wouldn't be qualified as a person," she continues. "Just a mere codified entity..."

I sigh. "Please don't say that…"

"I'm sorry, ahaha…" Monika replies with remorse, combing her bangs to the side. "But best not to keep them waiting. I'll lay low for now; maybe one day when the world is more accepting of me, then I'll happily introduce myself to your cute students!"

With a smile, Monika voluntarily minimizes the screen and opens a word document—one of my own on-going work for my class—as a façade. Besides the display, only her camera and microphone is left to function—at least that, in a way, is a small compromise we can work with. Honestly, it pains me to see how…constrained we are, difference of reality be damned. She may be trapped in a codified reality, yet that alone grants her the freedom to act as she damn well pleases and as far as her reach permits; I, on the other hand, am free in a world that breathes but shackled by the standards and expectations set by society. Un-ironically, we are one of the same—living through an oxymoronic existence, following sets of rules that we have little to no control over.

Well, best not to keep them waiting—not with the constant downpour, especially.

I turn the knob keys and gently, I open the door…

"All of you know that I am sick, right?"

"Yes, sensei!" Mikawa responds with glee. "I…hope you don't mind?"

I reach for the back of my head, scratching a few times and glancing at the backdrop and the chipper expressions of the literature club; no way am I turning them down. I cough, clearing my throat before completely pushing the door to its hinges and welcomes the motley crew of amateur writers, poets, and critics into my domain. In line and order, they march in with laughter and smiles—the foundation of Mikawa's literature club.

"Pardon for the intrusion!"

Their loafers, leathery and caked with moisture, all lined up in uniform from side to side alongside Mikawa's chocolate-colored rain boots. Their umbrellas, as colorful as each of their personality, are left in the corner of the entrance huddled around my plain white to dry while they spend their afternoon within this domain. Together, as a club; a family. The rest of the members quickly make their way to the living room, not to forget to set down the ingredients they bought at the kitchen counter—a wave of relief laces around me, thanking my practice of maintaining personal hygiene and cleanliness in the apartment; otherwise, my sorry presentation would be the last thing I'll have to worry about.

"Sorry to bother you like this, sensei…!" Mikawa said with a smile, "Maybe it's selfish of us to decide without your consent, especially when you're sick but—"

"Don't worry, Mikawa," I reply, waving my hand slightly dismissively. "Even if it is a 'spur-of-the-moment', I'm quite impressed by how well you and Aki organized all this."

She giggles in amusement, "Could it be, are you maybe a little lonely…?"

"Perhaps," Though that isn't strictly true. "I don't get visitors when I'm ill, so something like this is a welcome change."

I cough, making our way into the living room where the others are busy preparing the ingredients for the nabe. "Still, I'm surprised you know my address."

Mikawa returns a playful giggle as she sets her pot and the portable stove. "The school is pretty helpful in that regard, sensei."

"Huh, I see…"

I never knew how callous the school can be in sharing personal information—like addresses, for example; though, I guess there are exceptions with the case once in a while.

…come to think of it, this isn't that bad to be honest.

It's been a while since I've seen something like this—a nabe party, I mean. Last one I had was two years ago in a mandatory company party; as memorable as it was, it lacked the heart and soul of what a nabe party should be, even more so considering how relatively pricey the avenue was. It was all alcohol, a few speeches by headmaster Murayama, and the trainee being made to sit down and nod their heads in agreement like a drinking bird toy—except we really were 'drinking', in a sense. Kitamura-senpai was also there at that time. It's amazing how alcohol easily loosen his lips, though I can't say I don't feel remorse concerning his wife and kids; his rather vulgar and descriptive word choice left a bitter taste in my mind—not to mention, the more recent 'discoveries'. Sheesh…

Anyway, enough brooding.

"Sensei, do you have a small table of sorts that we can use?" Obase asks. Surprisingly, he's rather polite with his word choice this time around. "A nabe party isn't complete unless we huddle around together."

A small table, huh. I point towards the closet. "There's kotatsu in there, it's a little early but—actually, let me—"

"You're still a little unwell, sensei! Let me get it." Yuuki interrupts, sliding between the counter and I. "We'll take care of this and—"

I raise my hand and wags my index finger, chuckling. "You're my guests. Even in this condition, at least let me be a proper host."

"Aah…o-ok!" he quickly replies. "Satsuki, you help too!"

Setting up the kotatsu along with the nabe party brings back memories of my high school—particularly the months leading to graduation. There was Yuuya, Mayu, Seiya, Chiaki, and myself, all huddled around in a kotatsu before Christmas with a pot of yaminabe. We gathered around to laugh, smile, and enjoy the last few days as high school students and wished each one of us the best for our future with a promise to remain in touch; it's a pity, I only maintained contact with Yuuya—and even that was severed recently. But back then, we were pretty lively and in high spirits, totting around with our rose-tinted glasses, coated with a double-layer of optimism—but that's exactly why it was so memorable. Nabe is special; it was more of the spirit of unity and togetherness, the atmosphere that bundles everyone into a ball filled with joy and company—after all, if it is the taste to begin with, then having chocolate and oranges dumped into the pot by Yuuya is perfectly fine and delicious. News flash, it's not; we did had a great laugh though.

I glance at the computer screen longingly, wondering about her thoughts on the club members. Can you see all of this, Monika? This is the literature club I supervise, its members are as colorful as their quirky personalities and untamable passion both in life and in the arts—molded into being because of your influence. The little camera continues to observe and tracks the actions of some of its members silently as they talk, laugh, and organize the nabe party at my behest. One day, I would love to spend a cold or rainy day such as this over a bowl of nabe with Monika, watching over our two little turtles running around and making a mess of themselves before being told to sit down for a meal.

…

Too far ahead, Oogame; way too far. Before that could even happen, she has to cross over first—or vice versa.

"Sensei, can you help me set this pot on the stove?" Mikawa calls, quickly catching my attention. "Please? It's pretty heavy…"

"Sure, let me have it." I take the object off of her hands. "By the way, how come you're the only one in casuals?"

"She went home earlier, sensei," Aki chimes. "When we decided for a nabe party, she went through the trouble of getting her own ceramic pot and portable stove—just in case! Right, Aya-chan?"

Her hunch was right though; I don't have those with me. I glance at my club leader who, aside from being out of uniform, is looking pretty stunning with her casual clothes—the scent of flowers does help accentuates it even further. Lilac, I assume. "And I'm guessing you took the liberty to shower and change as well?"

She nods bashfully.

"As expected of the club leader," I chuckle, impressed by her thought process. "Always ahead of things; it will certainly help you in the future to maintain that state."

Playfully I clap my hands which, like a que, makes way for the other members to do the same. She shrinks further, giggling with a mix of gratitude and humility that she has been known for after being recognized for her 'behind-the-scenes' actions—and she's quite the master of this. The organization of my homeroom's festival alone wouldn't reach its current level of organization and accomplishment without her, cleverly moving the pieces together like a game of chess. Stealing a glance at Monika, the ball camera rotates and focuses on the humbled club president ever intently, as if she too recognizes her achievements; I would die to see a day where she could fraternize together with Mikawa—like sisters, perhaps. Naturally, these are figments of imagination and wishful thinking.

After a few passing minutes, Obase, Yuuki, and Satsuki joins us to the table bearing diced ingredients, stock, and beverages of juices and bottled tea—alcohol is prohibited for them, after all; they might not hear the end of me if they even considered.

"We're doing regular nabe, right? Not yaminabe?" Obase asks as he sets the ingredients down and pour the stock in the pot. "Just trying to get the picture straight."

A light, playful giggle draws our attention to Aki. "If we are, I can't begin imagining what Satsuki may bring…"

"Hey!"

"I see," Yuuki smiles cunningly, "I'm glad someone here appreciates my taste in humor."

"Just a little payback," Aki replies with a smile that oozes maturity as it is deceptive. "What are we senpais supposed to do to our beloved kouhai than shower them with affection?"

Satsuki pouts and presses the end of her index fingers together, "Not abusing them is one thing…"

"You're an exception." Yuuki quickly chimes as the 'tsukkomi' of the literature club's manzai-duo. Like a flare in the night, the routine acts as a signal that starts the club, along with Mikawa's strong, confident, rally—something I believe Monika would see great interest in.

"Okay, everyone! Let's be seated and get everything started!"

There's a lot to be said about an individual during moments like this; the little snippets of life that creates a fresco of a person who is now sharing a bowl of simmered, assorted produce over a glass of juice. At each bite of the savory meat dumplings or a slurp of the clear, delectable broth, a conversation is to be had be it of compliments or other frivolous things that chanced upon the mind. I never knew, for example, how Obase's talent lies not in the art of literature or the academia, but in the field of culinary due to his father being that of a prominent chef over in Osaka. Moreover, Satsuki's deep interest towards historical fiction and romance certainly is one of the many inspiration that keeps her writing her web novel, assisted and edited none other by Yuuki—compensated, of course. There are so many things I know, yet there are even more tucked in obscurity to discover. Such is the purpose of social gatherings and events.

Listening to the conversation, however, I can't help how…lonely Monika might feel at this moment. To simply observe despite sharing similar interests, all because of the difference of our perceived reality…it's torturous just to think about it.

"—so onto the next thing," Satsuki cheers with delight, still holding her portion with her left. "Sensei, I've been curious for a while—and I assume everyone else is..."

The members all nod in unison as their attention quickly switch from each other, to me.

"Which one of us is your favorite?"

I give a chuckle in return. Kids and their question these days. "Satsuki, you do know you're asking your teacher about favoritism, right?"

She nods excitedly—and I'm guessing the rest of the members are as dying to know as she is; not even Mikawa or Yuuki tries to stop her shenanigan this time. Well, there is no avoiding it, is there? Everyone's in the mood for it, after all.

"Well, Mikawa…" in a cinch, her eyes perks up and glistens with delight and excitement. "…is brilliant with her poem and have exceptional leadership skills."

"So is she your favorite, sensei?"

The members echoes in 'oohs' and 'aahs' at Satsuki's bold question, giggling and chuckling in complete unison as Mikawa's cheeks burns bright red from ear to ear. I wave my finger dismissively—after all, I'm not quite finished. "Hold up, I'm not done."

"Now, Aki on the other hand…," their voices falls into disappointment, along with a sigh from Mikawa as the pressure is lifted off of her shoulders. "Her writing is deep and profound, reflecting a wisdom that surpasses her age."

"I guess that makes her the favorite, is it sensei?"

Almost cohesively the others nods in consensus as Aki slowly retreats in silence with the sudden surge of attention that overwhelms her calm and collective demeanor, no less thanks to Yuuki's quick snide. Again, I wave my finger dismissively. "Patience, young ones. I'm not finished."

"Then there is Satsuki…" I continue, causing the instigator to recoil with a 'wait a minute' that slips clumsily, much to Yuuki's amusement. "I've proof read your work before. So far, I haven't seen anyone else within the club who could write a story as vivid—a world that is as believable as it is descriptive."

"That's not something to be proud about."

I chuckle, slightly coughing. "You'd be surprised, Yuuki."

"So…" Obase cuts in. "I'm guessing you like all of us? No offense, but if you start describing 'us' then I can't help but feel awkward."

"That's very correct, Obase," I nod before savoring on the meat dumpling from my bowl. "You're surprisingly assertive and meticulous towards the things that goes on around you—I can't give the same praise about your attitude, though."

"I get that a lot," he replies, chuckling. "But thanks, sensei."

"And Yuuki," I address, instantly putting him at attention. "You're a critic, but that's because 'honesty' is a virtue that you hold dear, is it not?"

For once, Yuuki laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Oh, ok…haha…thank you, sensei."

Briefly I steal a glance towards Monika, the sixth honorary member of this literature club—the inspiration and the reason why I decide to support it in the first place. I know you didn't ask of me to introduce them, but if I can have just one more selfish act for you, then let this be the one. Can you see them, Monika? These are the members of my literature club,an amalgamation of characters and quirks that made up an entity that is no less viable than those that exist in your end of reality. It may be a while—even a decade—until you can finally be a part of mine, but until that time I wish for you to take heart to know that you are a part of this club not as a spectator, but as an honorary member.

I sigh with great relief, along with the weight that constricts my shoulder. "So yes, those are my 'favorites'—if that's what you would like."

"Sensei, you're no fun~…!" Satsuki pouts. "Oh! Maybe you can tell us what your type is and—"

A quick 'smack' from Yuuki's arm quickly silences Satsuki's second attempt of prying, spiraling the club into a familiar situation between the duo. I chuckle silently behind the mask, "Pony tails."

The air freezes, all eyes focuses on me glistening with questions and surprise. "I like deep, green, emerald eyes and pony tails."

"SO YOU DO HAVE A PREFERENCE!" Yuuki jumps in. "And here I thought you only have eyes for fictional characters!"

Oh, ouch…though it's pretty spot on…

"Isn't it rude to talk to your teachers like that, Yuuki?"

"It is, but it's hard to see you just as a teacher! You're like a friend, sensei!"

Over a pot of nabe, the conversation and 'club activity' continues on the rhythm of our satisfied stomachs and appetite, guided by light hearted discussion, talks, and anything of life—its vices, love, and nature. Despite in uniform, there exist a far greater sense of liberty outside of the walls of the institution that governs the rules and laws of the club; as if all its restrictions and limits were raised like curtains, revealing a blinding illumination of optimism that cascades over the harsh reality of life. As the conversation trails, I glance at Monika and her infallible focus at us, observing like an eagle with keen interest yet as quiet as a mouse—loneliness seeps under my skin as I imagine how disjointed our realities are; so close, yet still so distant.

"Sensei," Mikawa starts. "You're looking…pale."

It doesn't take me long either to be reminded of my fever that—though has substantially died down—is still very much alive.

"It's just the fever kicking back. Don't worry, it should be all better tomorrow. Aside from that..."

I glance at the clock and notice the short arm landing on the number 'six', "I appreciate all of your visit, but it's quite late. Let's start cleaning and—"

"Oh, please leave that to us, sensei," Aki chimes. "After all, it was our decision to disturb you."

Yuuki nods in agreement, followed closely by the spirited cheer of Satsuki. "Don't worry, sensei! We'll return everything back in order—you can be sure of that!"

"And besides," adds the club leader, smiling earnestly as the voice that ties the opinions of all its members. "I have to bring both the pot and the stove back. Just rest, sensei. You can rely on us."

"You sure you don't need my help? I mean, all of you are guests in my apartment, and for the host to retire without—"

"No, no! It's perfectly alright," Mikawa interrupts, quickly stopping me from taking another step. "It's the least we can do to show our thanks—besides, we did disturbed you."

Yes, it's inappropriate for the host to retire regardless of the situation—health or otherwise. Yes, I understand that this means I'm neglecting my duty as a supervisor for the club—as well as their guardian, in some respect. However, they are quite adamant on their stand towards the circumstance and thus, club activity ends after supper and I retire to the comfort of my futon as the members keep to their word. The rhythm of the rain has died and in its place, a soft melody of an evening shower guides me to my slumber.

I stand amongst no one, alone in a vast and empty void that stretches as far as the eye can see. The ground, a blank canvas of nothingness that extends as far as the eyes can see, oddly keeps me balanced against the vertigo that dominates the space to which I exist as an entity, in a world that breaks and molds at its whim. A fleeting sensation guides my step forward towards nowhere, yet everywhere to a destination that still remains unclear and uncertain. Then, there are voices—whispers of talk that are as incomprehensible as it is loud, beckoning for my existence from nowhere yet everywhere, tugging me towards the expansive void before dissipating like the wind unceremoniously, forming into bright colors and sparks that materializes into something—a figure, perhaps? Curious, I eye the distant matter and realize what it has come to be.

Monika…

Her captivating emerald eyes glistens within the darkness, glancing at my presence with a palette of emotions and a smile that paints a somber image of regret and bittersweet goodbyes. Gracefully she pivots towards my opposite, letting her skirt flutter from the draft before she walks away towards the darkness, answering my call with nothing but her cold, delicate shoulders.

I'm not taking that—I won't take any of this.

Out of spite, I give chase to her figure that inches away at a brisk walking pace, one step at a time. The muscles on my legs contracts and tightens, crying for relief at my effort to close the distance that never seem to dissipate but instead remained. Yet still I remain stubborn as a mule, unfaltering to my resolve; never again do I wish to see her alone, cast away from both of our realities, fighting against the wishes of her gods that dictates who she is and what she should be. I promised.

Then, an unmistakable cry.

"Sensei…!" it calls.

I turn; behind me, standing perfectly still and calm as the waves in an afternoon with a smile as gentle as a summer breeze is my homeroom's class representative and club leader of the literature club, Mikawa Aya. She smiles at me, hopeful and bright, offering me her hand for me to steal; the scent of lilac wafts through my nostrils—a pleasant and sensual one. Here I stand in an impasse, a crossroad between two different individuals; one to a girl who tangibly endures, offering me her hand to take and the other, digitally conscious, stubbornly gains her distance the longer I remain in position. Both are precious to me, yet a decision has to be made and fast.

I reach for her hand…

…

…and stops; hesitation being the last thing that crosses my mind.

I can't do that. Not after I learned what she had went through, the things she fought against, along with the stigma and guilt that haunts her; not after I promised her that we'll face the horrors, together. Even if I have to cast away my own reality, to abandon everything that I've accomplished, or to reject the demands and standards imposed I once stood for, my decision stands.

And nothing could change that—not anymore.

With a pivot, I swiftly push my body into a momentum towards the girl who persistently tries to increase her distance, ignoring the cry and anger of the other. The distance closes and before long, she is within an arms' reach…

…and I find myself facing against a familiar ceiling. I am awake.

Groaning, my eyes scans the dim horizon that has befallen the once cheery atmosphere. Not a single light source barring the hue of my cellphone that rests on the side by the desk, charging. The utensils, all stacked in perfect order from the largest to the smallest near the sink—washed, now left to dry; they really did kept their words and took it beyond, too. I yawn, easing the contractions on my shoulders as I try to gather my scrambled thoughts—there is something amiss, that I can tell, but what? Feeling my forehead with the back of my hand, I start to measure for the cause of my absence the day before, sighing with relief. The fever was gone. The cracks from the curtain that bleeds light from the outside tells me of a riddle I have yet solved. How long was I out?

"Mo-chii…are you up?"

Silence…

That's stupid of me, of course she wouldn't. It's late, that alone I'm certain—the short arm of father time points at number '2' tells me as much as I need, but there certainly is something else that's bothering me; it isn't the time or how long was I out, nor is it how I ended up in my futon—that was decision I made consciously. No, it was something else; it was how dark the room is.

I glance at her general direction...

And realize what it was.

'X843hd, have you ever wondered what it feels like to die?'

…no…no…

…NO…NO…NO…

NO…!

Immediately I toss the cover aside, rushing to her general direction and frantically try to locate the mouse to alleviate my worst fears, shaking it frantically to start a glimmer of light from her abode—nothing. Feeling through the darkness, I notice a bulge on the back of her abode and the lack of auxiliary that is usually plugged—the battery and the cable has been purposely, if not violently dislocated. Thank the gods the battery isn't damaged. With a little shove, the battery returns to its rightful position before hurriedly, I rush to find the cable and slides that into its post as well. With a push of the power button, the lights of her home returns and a familiar hum echoes; the boot screen starts and it will be a moment until the main screen starts.

Hang on, Monika…just a bit more…

The screen flickers with a glitch, bypassing the login screen almost instantly as the erratic rhythm of my chest do me little but escalates the panic that had since taken over what reasons I had left. The cacophonous color settles, and I am left with an image of a young woman curled in a corner; the sniffles and soft whimper of her voice fills the expanse of our prison.

"Monika…are you ok? Who did this to you?"

It was as if life had left her, sucked away by the grim reaper and left a husk in its wake as she slowly raise her head to meet me eye to eye; the dark marks that forms under them, a sight I never wished to see, had taken its place once again. Anger and rage seeps through my pores as questions comes abound, seeking for an answer—the identity—of the culprit who most likely be one of the five of my students. 'This is unforgivable', I thought, 'disciplinary action must take place', and many more to justify what will befall upon them. They invited themselves, sure, but I don't remember giving them permission to touch Monika's computer—let alone attempting to damage the battery and the plug.

So I wait with bated breath as her lips separate and her voice streams…

"You lied to me…"

…

…and my heart sinks as everything grinds to a halt.

"You lied to me…" she cries in exasperation, louder even upon noticing my own expression; one of confusion and shock. "Why didn't you tell me…?"

"Monika, I don't understand what you mean by—"

"You said there is no one else; that I am the only one…" she chokes. "…am I just a replacement to you? Until you can have someone real?"

I reel, puzzled and taken aback. "Yes, there is no one else out here, what are you talking about? And you're real to me, why would I—"

"LIAR…!"

Her scream, mixed with tears, mucus, and a flurry of emotions cracks in the dead of the night, shaking the foundation of the room and my own. Monika continues to let it go, unhinged by time nor the 'wall' that separates our reality, attacking it with anger and sadness that I've never thought could exist within her. After a moment, she stops, gradually allowing her weight and fatigue to drop as her legs are unable to support any longer.

I can only sit there, gaping like a stuffed owl, dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

"She knows your address, your birthday, the things you like, what you hate…" she sobs. "…and I don't even know your name…!"

"The name you used here, 'H4Tsd=', this is just your 'penname', is it?"

She grits her teeth and furrows her brow, "WHO IS SHE? IS SHE REALLY JUST ANOTHER STUDENT TO YOU?"

"Who!? Monika, I don't understand what you—if it is my name, then I can—"

"MIKAWA AYA!" she cries, pointing at the direction of the cable and the battery. "SHE DID THIS! WHO IS SHE…!? WHAT IS SHE TO YOU…?"

My tongue is tied the moment her name is spelled. From the moment when I first met her as a first year up to this point, to me, Mikawa is a model student—and a friend, nothing more. I struggle to piece together what Monika's trying to convey, from all the layers of anger and frustration that cloaks her words into a puzzle of its own as to why it comes to this in the first place. Whatever I say here will fall to Monika's deaf ears, whose jealousy have clouded her judgment and brought upon the agony that blinds her sight. I fall into silence, paralyzed against Monika's pained expressions...

…

"What am I to you…?"

Author's Note:



Hi! iMegumeru here! I wasn't satisfied with the initial draft and had to rewrite certain aspects that could tie in to what I had in mind and keep the story flowing as I've intended it to be. I apologize for the *one week* delay, but I hope this chapter would suffice! Below is the translation for the cultural points that may be a bit confusing to some:

Wagamama/Meiwaku: This is a concept that is 'drilled' to us who grew up in Japan. 'Wagamama' meaning 'selfishness' and 'Meiwaku' which means headache/trouble/inconvenience. These two words correlate with the workings of Japanese society and saying: 'if you don't want to be an inconvenience, don't act on your selfishness'. It's a common principal that is taught to you as young as kindergarten. There is an exception to this rule, however; in this chapter, Monika and Oogame acted on their 'wagamama', as an example.

Nabe/Yaminabe: This is a favorite 'party dish', basically translates directly as 'hot pot' which is often consumed during autumn or winter-basically during the colder seasons. Yaminabe is basically a 'hot pot potluck' which is consumed in pitch black-all participants are required to bring an ingredient of their desire (no matter how disgusting it may be so long as it is edible) and dump it in the pot. They will then have the share distributed (also in the dark), where the only time the lights are on is when you are about to consume it (it has that 'surprise' and sometimes bowel-cleansing after effect)

Manzai: A comedic act commonly between two (sometimes three or more) individual, one consisting of the 'idiot (boke) and the 'straight-man' (tsukkomi).

Kotatsu: the greatest winter-trap for mankind. It is terrifyingly effective at keeping anyone under its influence neutered and mute during extremely cold seasons, refusing to go outside-unless for feeding or survival purposes. It has the ability to transform into a normal table during warmer seasons by removing the blanket.

See you next week~