M0m3nts

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R E_S E_T_ M E_.



Have you ever wondered what your last moment feels like? The day when you know for certain that you will never see the sunrise of tomorrow? That unique and eerie sentiment often reflects the entirety of an individual and tells a story; of satisfaction, of happiness, of wisdom, or that of regret; of a life. It is an expression that is difficult—impossible—to mimic from one person to another; after all, everyone has a different story to tell. I remember seeing this look before on grandma, back during middle school. I will never forget her peaceful and content smile on that day, as if everything with the world is alright—a sight I haven't seen since grandpa passed away three years prior. It was strange…as if I've known her from before, what kind of life she led, and whether or not she had any regrets. I didn't pay much heed then, thinking that she may have just found peace from the tea and dango that summer afternoon, enjoying the gentle breeze on her terrace just as always.

Grandma passed on that evening.

It's odd to be thinking about something like this—especially this early in the morning, and yet it's almost impossible not to. Here I am, awake, greeted by a familiar ceiling and quickly catching the gentle humming that points to Monika's direction. Initially, I believed it to be that of a dream—a remnant stemmed from my grogginess and forgotten memories of last night. But as sense slowly crawls and push me back to reality, I realize how…clear it is not to be mere hallucinations. Her voice, soothing as it has always been, carries a burden that I never know she has; solemn, contemplative, sorrowful, and yet…peaceful. I keep my head down and use the blanket as cover, quietly observing from behind, listening as she hums the familiar melody that possibly derives from one of my collection. Her slender fingers and her comb gently glides through the seams of her hair, falling to the edge freely, straightening the cracks and the imperfections on her auburn strands as she carefully observes her movements through a reflection; her pair of emeralds quaintly murky. From the mirror, a somber expression of pure content and tranquility drowns her image like a portrait; a painting of that summer afternoon.

…

…Why…?

…

…Why am I crying…?

Today's the festival, a day where we agreed to smile—to forget about the things that wounds us. Yet, why does my chest ache? Why am I like this...? I shouldn't be this way—not after what I promised! Take a deep breath, Oogame; count to four, exhale. Breathe. Everything will be alright. It will all turn out fine…

Slowly I rise from the covers, sitting in an upright position as Monika finishes her routine and gracefully ties her hair into a ponytail; her signature ribbon adorns her like a crown, its white tails flutters freely behind her shoulder blades. Her eyebrows perks upon noticing my reflection on the screen, prompting her to stride with haste towards the looking glass that divides our reality to offer a smile—one that starkly contrast her solemn expression minutes before. "Good morning, 8nH2sdC==. You're up early today!"

"I can't afford to oversleep," I muster a reply, chuckling between my teeth. "We have a date today, remember?"

"The school festival?"

"That's right," I nod as I plant my feet firmly on the floor. "The school festival."

Between her gentle smile and soft features, the dark circles that hangs under her pair of emeralds, occasional stifled breaths, and reddened nose cracks the façade that she presents, telling me of another story concealed under the pretense of our morning routine; it's not difficult to go unnoticed. I try to ignore, remembering the sensitive balance that we've reached after a week of fights and disagreements, hoping that everything would fix itself in time—convincing her to come to the festival alone was not an easy fit. But would I be in the wrong to let things takes its course, I wonder? Spouting white lies and words of comfort instead of pursuing for answers? Can time really heal everything?

…

"Monika, are you okay?" I ask as gently as I can. "Your eyes are rather swollen…is something the matter?"

"Ah! Ehehe…," she giggles nervously, hastily concealing her face with the bangs of her hair. "S-sorry! I'll get this fixed..."

With a single, careless motion of her hand, the screen flashes momentarily in an explosion of red, green, and blue. As the colors fade and return, the blemishes that tainted her face vanishes without a trace, leaving only the self-conscious club president and her smile. I take my seat before her in silence—out of protest or sympathy, I do not know. The cup of coffee in my hand tickle my nose with a toasty aroma that helps drown my concerns, pushing me back on the offensive; you and I both know we can't keep this up, Monika. "If there is anything I can do for you—anything—please, don't hesitate."

"I'll be alright," she remarks with a forced expression. "I just…had a nightmare, that's all."

No joy; always the same pattern, the same response.

"Okay…take your time; I'll always be here for you, if you need me. I'll go get ready now."

She nods in assurance—one that I find difficulty to accept. "Okay."

With a cup in hand—void of its contents—I place the object in the sink and let water flow from the faucet, cleansing the muck left from the coffee before leaving for the showers. I glance over my shoulder, the sight of her cupping her hand over her face in a deafening silence wrack my chest with guilt over my inability to become a person she can depend on. The day has just started and we're already off to a bad footing…are festivals truly cursed for her? Or is it because of me? Is it my fault to begin with? I do not know. My mind wanders and my thoughts jumble into a frenzy as I'm enveloped in a barrage of cold water.

…

Not yet; it's far too early to conclude.

When I was at my worst, she remained steadfast and cheered for my recovery. Each day, I toiled, labor, and sweat; she waited for my return in anticipation with open arms. And when I faltered, screamed, and distanced her from my own horrors and pain, she rushed in stubbornly and cried along with me. She sacrificed everything, stand by me in sorrow and in pain—all this despite having problems of her own, nightmares that keeps her awake. She is my lighthouse, the lantern in the darkness of night, and the wave that washes my worries away.

And I'll be damned if I can't do the same for her.

This festival, this…occasion is like a curse; I know, superstition and old wives' tales and all that, but can you blame me—or her? Twice she was denied the opportunity to experience them in her reality, denied by the script that dictated the course of events—or perhaps, her own hubris? It doesn't matter. Monika may not want to reveal what lies beneath her charade, and I can respect that; I won't push any further, but I will damn well try to help her forget. I need a positive attitude to go by…

With a twist of the valve, the flow is interrupted and the remaining droplets falls freely on the cold surface of the shower. I slap my cheeks twice for motivation, feeling the heat that permeates and a sense of being 'alive'. A quick glance of the rack and a basket full of pressed clothes brings forth a smile—about a towel and a young woman whose innocence was lost in a single sweep. Not this time, Monika; I've wised up since that last mishap!

…

If only we can return to such a time…

"How do I look?" she asks, twirling and letting her skirt and ponytail flutter with the momentum. I'm surprised she chose her school uniform of all things today, but it is not uncommon for students of another school to visit a festival of another donning their respective school uniform. "Is this…alright?"

I expect it as much, but that's not a bad thing—I do say she did her research. "Going with a uniform? I'm guessing you're trying to measure against mine?

"Ahahaha! Maaaybe~!" she giggles softly. "I've always wanted to attend a festival in this uniform!"

A subtle smile creeps along the ridges of my lips, celebrating what little victory I have against her defense—at least I know that I can chip some of her reservations away, albeit little by little. The final equipment check on the apparatus—from the camera to the antennae, the large 'pack' and the straps—is equally distracting to notice the shroud she doggedly maintained for a week. Yuuya did made great use of his knowledge in designing all of this; it's even more impressive to know that it's capable of translating 'scent' into something that Monika can really smell—that alone deserves praise in development. Although the more I examine, the more it got me wondering…

Let alone the materials, the funds to develop something so complex is even more of a mystery.

Sure it's an impressive piece of hardware, but I doubt the parts and technology to even assemble something as remotely close as this can be easily procured from your local electronic store; and I doubt disassembling computers, smartphones, and microwaves could even suffice. Its design and weight alone mimics that of military radios—the JSDF's standard in particular—and the straps along with the camera are certainly not civilian-issue. How the hell does he even get his hands on them? The more I think for answers, the more questions pile; even after our split, Yuuya still pose as one hell of an enigma—and I'm not talking about his sense of style. Whatever…I'll go and ask him again one day if things do take a positive turn.

…

Speaking of which, I don't believe Monika ever experience the change of season…

"All good here," I said while 'tapping' the apparatus. The boxy thing echoes with a solid 'thump', a grim reminder of its weight. It'll be a long day, but it will be worth it. "Are you ready?"

I glance at her as she fidgets at my beckon and returns a nervous laugh. She eyes the apparatus, smiles melancholically and sighs. "UxFhswE, are you sure? You know, about…all this…? I mean, not to discourage you but…ahaha…"

She clears her throat. "In the end, I'm still here in this room and you're just carrying a deadweight—a fancy one, sure—but…I'm not really there..."

Securing the straps and the chords around my waist, back, and across my chest, I take a respite to tend at Monika's wistful pair of emeralds. There are doubts in those glimmering jewels, a resistance that has remained adamant to all the hand I've offered. Sure it may seem normal to me now, but if the same expression were to occur before our first date, I would have come up with questions to ask and a list of concerns that grew longer at each passing minute; panic would likely take its sweet time. But this is how reality decide to play its cards, to isolate me behind walls of fabricated comfort—and I haven't been none the wiser for almost a week.

"One day, perhaps," I reply with a smile. "But for now, this will have to do."

"But the weight—"

"Have you ever seen the change of season…? When the leaves turn yellow and orange?" I chuckle. As quickly as she tries to retort, Monika falls into silence and replies only by shaking her head. "I thought so. You probably wouldn't want to miss this so, I'll ask again; are you ready?"

I'm aware of her persistency; her attempts at keeping me in arm's length that I am working to unhinge—otherwise, Monika won't even bat a question or even decline an invitation for a date. This isn't our first; I should know. Perhaps it is out of pity of my stubbornness, or maybe it's the infectious positivity that I continuously fan to raise her dimming spirit, that I can't tell. But at the crack of my lip, she returns with a genuine smile and giggle that soothes my mind—albeit slightly. The devil is in the details; the reddish hue of her round cheeks, the fluttering tone of her voice, and the curve of her lips that she attempts to hide behind her palm. Genuine. I never knew how much I've missed that spark…

"You don't give up, do you?" She replies with a smile. "Always finding ways to make it difficult for me to say 'no'."

"You know it! Now, shall we go?"

She nods slightly.

"Yes. Let's go."

The weight of the apparatus is not a laughing matter, but is nonetheless negligible in the grand scheme of things—it is in the end, just a tool for Monika to perceive the world beyond hers with its sights, color, shapes, and smell. The mounted camera whirs to life, its lens paints my reflection on its concave surface before shying away abruptly, gazing at an opposite direction listlessly. I crack an innocent chuckle at the response and let my imagination run amok—confirming my suspicions with quick glances at Monika's screen; sure enough, her cherry tomato-red cheeks contrasts brilliantly against her pale skin. She coughs and clears her throat to regain her composure and—incidentally, did a 'mike check'; I somewhat wished she'd do a little count like a certain sister ship from Kxnk0lle. The final checks are now complete; everything is functioning as expected.

…

It's a little disheartening to know that this may be the extent of our reach. It may take years, if not decades before I can hold her hand properly or even feel her weight as she clings to my arm in such occasion—I may not even see the day, too.

Mother, father, I'm sorry; looks like I won't be granting your wish for a grandchildren anytime soon.

There is a lot to be said about the world when you're someone who spent most of their lives trapped in a single reality. You tend to look at things differently, sometimes in awe at some of the most minuscule and insignificant details that we often take for granted. Take for example the adverts and signs that are posted within the train or ones that hang in its interior; often as a regular commuter, you tend not to notice these ads and would much prefer maintaining your personal bubble amongst the sardines, glued to your smartphone or the music your headset plays. Yet for Monika, seeing the world—the people, the routine, the crowd—everything is almost magical at every corner, in each turn. Just like that time during our first date, the camera on my shoulder swivels and turns at the sight of the moving, living world. Whether it's the store clerks or part-timers that raise their voices promoting their goods, the idly passing students in their uniforms, or even the whiff of fresh baked bread from a small bakery, the simple little things I've grown indifferent to is something that is likely absent in her life. Even the rigid, orderly boarding of the train draws a distinct 'yelp' of excitement; unless you're me, the one being shoved and crammed into the hold like cargo. After all the shoving and pushing, she went silent. But at a glance and a few imagination, I can see that she is looking—reading—the ads that are plastered all across the interior. There's so many things out here that amazes her...

I'm not one to judge, but even I won't fix my attention on an ad for more than a few seconds—that is, unless it is of personal. I'm guessing the same applies to Monika as well.

"Thinking about university?" I ask with a whisper. I rather not attract any more attention than I already am with the apparatus. "ToDai is…quite a high bar you've set."

"Ahahaha…! That may be one of them, but it's not just that, silly! Look!"

The tilt of her camera remains still, pointing at the ad that are generously plastered and hanged across the interior—the placard of T#kyo Dxig*ku and its full endorsement on the development of AI and synthetic limbs. It has been a subject of contentment and pride of the university, often covered by big media and other major news outlet; particularly the reluctance of the project's heads and their heated criticism to cooperate with foreign universities. I shouldn't even have to explain much on why Monika has taken quite a following to the topic. There is hope for us yet, but when will it be ready for the public is still up in the air.

"The synthetic limb and AI project?"

The camera swivels and reflects my expression on its concave lens. "Yes! Do you think it will be possible?"

I sigh. As much as I'd like to give a positive opinion, public confidence and released papers concerning the topic isn't exactly favorable in nature; discouraging, in fact. Delays after delays, the impossibility to develop a 'human-like' AI, hurdles concerning the human body accepting the synthetic parts, and many more. To think that I am living together with someone trapped in a computer… if those nerds at the university ever gets their hands on Monika, the first thing they'll do will likely be stress-testing, debugging, and dissections; I can't imagine the kind of pain she'll go through—as if Yuuya's tampering wasn't enough of a reoccurring nightmare.

Good thing I don't know anyone acquainted with the university.

"Soon, maybe. We'll never know what the future holds."

A sigh echoes in my earpiece, followed with a low 'yeah' that is as audible as a passing wind. The conversation dies as the train courses through the rails towards our stop. Fuck, why did I say that!? I could have extended the conversation just a bit, think positively and give a flick of hope—you of all people would love to have her in this reality, and you know that, Oogame…! Sometimes, I feel like bashing my head to a wall just so I can remind myself how stupid I can be; it almost made me envy the life of the many protagonists in visual novels, mending their mistakes with the press of a 'load' button. Not in this reality, however…and it never will be.

"This train will soon arrive in—"

Oh… that's our stop.

With a screech, the train slows to a crawl and aligns to the platform. The door opens ceremoniously and the crowd scatters.

Stepping off here on a Saturday gives off a disorienting vibe; a mix of familiarity from a road towards work and an odd sense of freedom that derives from days of respite. On one hand, there is that vending machine where I patronize for a cold can of coffee on days where homebrew delicacies is impossible. While on the other, the influx of others in casuals and couples—both young and old—contrasts the uniformity I've come to associate with this specific stop. It brings forth turmoil—envy, perhaps—at the synergy of two people, holding hands without reservations or, occasionally, clinging. I clench my left hand to a close, feeling only the weight on my shoulder. The lens focuses on the pair ahead of us, diligently studying their movements and reactions. They chat and laugh, giving little care to the world around them as the girl comfortably squeeze and close her distance with the man.

…

I could have been that lucky man, holding hands with a special someone on a Saturday or paying a visit to a shrine during New Year—maybe have a 'special' evening during Christmas as well. Yet I chose a path few would commit, sacrificing the comforts and pleasures for scraps of affection that is limited to comforting words and promises that have yet been fulfilled. It seems trivial, focusing on the needs of the flesh than the soul and the mind, but…can you truly resist? To have a carrot hanging to tease, hopelessly unreachable. Ask yourself, Oogame, after all this time, all this effort you poured for her…

…is it worth it?

"Ah…! Sensei!"

Beyond the station's gate, Mikawa waves in high spirits along with the rest of the literature club. Of the five, two are dressed in costume for their class' contributions while the other in casuals. Obase carries with him a cardboard box filled to the brim with cookies that he packaged and stapled together with colorful papers of personalized poems, written by members of the literature club. Yuuki and Satsuki are—surprisingly—dressed in matching t-shirts with a stylized 'baka' and 'aho' that points at each other, respectively; I'm starting to suspect that they are, in fact, a couple. Aki wears the costume for her play, a white dress fit for a queen; a pack of pamphlets that advertises her class' performance, all to be distributed to visitors of the festival, is clutched between her arms. But of all the members, the club leader stands proud amongst her peers. Mikawa wears a modest Victorian-era black and white maid uniform, complete with how she dons her hair in a bun and perfected with a white ribbon that falls loose from her headdress. The faint traces of light makeup accentuates her sweet aura and with each graceful step she takes, it becomes apparent to me that she looks like a living, breathing, porcelain doll.

"How do I look?" Mikawa twirls expectantly, sending the frills to float and garnering 'oohs' and 'aahs' from her peers. "How may I serve you today, master?"

…

Even the courteous bow is not short of perfect. "Like a true Victorian English maid."

"Ahaha…! The hairstyle isn't my favorite, but just this once! Will you be visiting us later, sensei?"

Mikawa leans a little forward, her arms crossed behind her back mimicking a pose that reminds me of my personal club president. My answer is pretty obvious; besides, it will be a waste to miss my own homeroom's class-booth knowing how much effort was poured in their endeavor. "I will."

"Promise?"

A lighthearted chuckle escapes, "I promise."

Her little 'cheer' of excitement seems to raise the mood and motivation of the other members who now clamors in a circle, eagerly passing me the pamphlets for their class' booth—even one for the literature club's 'cookie-mail'. Obase did put all his effort in making them; the cookies are too perfect and delectably appeasing to the eye for anyone to assume he baked and packaged them. On another note, Yuuki and Satsuki's obvious callout with their matching t-shirt suspicion my concerning their status…

"A matching shirt…and I thought you're going to be just like your sensei, Yuuki."

Yuuki stammers and nervously laughs, "Well, uhh…turns out the 'riajuu life' isn't so bad after all…"

"He's the one who confessed first, sensei!" Satsuki quickly chimes.

"Hey! Traitor!"

One good thing to note in this little development, is how even their usual exchange remain the same despite the occasion. A glance at Satsuki's matching charm on her book bag to Yuuki's drew even more suspicion—no, not to the fact they are dating, but how Satsuki may actually be a 'closet otaku'; you can't mistake that twin-tailed teal-colored hair of a certain virtual diva, after all. It's mildly 'shocking' to know Yuuki took an interest to someone, but with consideration who he had his eyes on, it answers a lot of questions. I'm tempted to poke fun at that, but I'll let it slide—for now.

"Nee, sensei," Obase chimes from the crowd. "What's with that getup? A mike, a camera on the side, and that bag—is that a JSDF portable radio?"

"Yeah…" Yuuki cuts in. "I've been wondering about that as well…"

With both hands on the cardboard box, Obase motions with his head and points at the long strap that crosses over my chest to support the small camera on my shoulder—the apparatus in its entirety. How observant of you, Obase; sure, I expect many to notice—Yuuki being one of them. However, I didn't expect anyone to ask what it is; granted, this stems from the dominant mindset of 'if it isn't related to you, just leave it be' that is common here, in this society. I glance at Monika, meeting only my reflection on the concave lens of the camera; she glances in return.

"Tell him it's uh…some recording device for the school!"

…

Always quick on your feet, aren't you? "It's a recording device for the school."

"Really? That's rather… huh…"

Between the questions raise and Obase's detective-like query, I have a feeling that he may have not bought that reasoning entirely, but is left with no choice but to accept it as-is. Yuuki seems satisfied and shrugs adamantly, and before long Mikawa steals the stage once again with her clap and the echo of 'okay, everyone' that we've heard from the club every so often. Obase reluctantly sighs, and a silent yelp rings in my earpiece.

"We'll go ahead, sensei," Mikawa starts as she rallies her band of young writer and poets. "Our homerooms might need us—and I think faculty members are supposed to meet in the teacher's office?"

"That's right."

She smiles softly, "Then, we'll see you later, sensei!"

With a nod and a wave, I watch as they walk down a familiar path with Obase at their rear end who glances opportunistically back at my direction. I fear that he may have—no, I think it's just me overthinking things again. His observation did caught me off guard, make no mistake; the school have their own division in charge of marketing and documenting most, if not all events in the—and I am not one of them, noted by the absence of the yellow armband strapped across my left arm. The apparatus on my back and the camera—though small in size—does draw a special kind of attention that is unwarranted at best. Such is the life I lead in pursuit of this relationship.

Ask yourself again, Oogame. Is it worth it?

"They're… quite a lively bunch."

A proud smile creeps forth, "You think so? They've always been a handful. You've met them before, right?"

"Yes… I have…"

…

I stop, carefully planting my ear close to the earpiece. I realize then that I have strayed our conversation into unpleasant territories—again.

There is a hint of sadness and agony in her tone, carefully concealed with a soft-spoken voice that cracks at her breathing. No, not this again, you fool! You have to say something without thinking, do you, Oogame? You can't at least remember the reason why you brought her to the festival? That's right, to liven her mood after that evening! And you just brought it up… splendid.

"So, uh… anyway, the school has—"

"You have feelings for her, don't you?"

…

…I—I must have misheard that, right? Blasted earpiece probably is malfunctioning. "Uh…excuse me?"

Monika clears her throat, but even from this side I can sense how…heavy her voice is—halted. I feel my heart sink the more she speaks, guided by a somber tone that I quickly notice. "I-I mean she's smart, kind, responsible…and..."

There is a pause. "…and she's real."

"Monika, what are you—"

"You do have feelings for her, right? I-I mean...you love Mikawa, don't you? She seems to share the same feelings towards you."

"I won't mind if y—" A shortness of breath, a broken sentence. "—if you go and—"

"Monika…" I sigh.

A gasp, then a brief pause. "O-oh, right… a 'no-frown zone'! Ahaha…sorry…"

…

Why can't I do something right for once? The ocean of students and visitors carries my steps towards the gate where the cheer and jubilee of youth reigns supreme. Under the autumn sky, balloons and banners commemorates the cultural festival as the orange and yellow colored leaves are carried by the wind, creating a picturesque scene of unmatched celebration between the rows of stalls that aligns accordingly to the left and the right, manned by either students or locals. Yet all I can hear is Monika's stifled breaths that rings loud from my earpiece. I wonder… is this the right course of action—or is there anything 'right' in this cycle?

...maybe festivals are cursed.

There's a lot to see and to think when you're patrolling the festival grounds and halls, idling and wading through the students and visitors alike, making a bee-line from 'Point A' to 'Point B'. Sure, I dragged Monika here to the festival in an attempt to cheer her up, but it is also within my sphere of responsibility to patrol the school grounds and keep everything safe as part of my shift; headmaster Murayama's lecture on 'morality' and 'virtue' did brought a groan from all of us—Monika included—while we wait for the green armbands to be passed, which is used to denote an 'active' teacher on patrol. Each of us were assigned to different areas of the school and to rotate at every two hour or so. How fun. That doesn't mean, however, that we—faculties—aren't permitted to enjoy the festival; on the contrary, as long as we remain vigil to our designated schedule of watching the staircase to the roof.

"Would you like something to eat, Monika?"

And my schedule happens to be late in the afternoon, just before the closing ceremony.

"Aren't you supposed to be in patrol?" she asks, laden with concern. "The headmaster looks pretty strict..."

"He's always like that, but he's fair."

An audible sigh echoes, "Are you sure it's ok? I don't want to get you in trouble because of me…"

"I always get in trouble these days," I reply with a chuckle. "It's perfectly fine—not the part about getting in trouble, mind you, but 'us' enjoying the festival."

She relents. "If you say so… I'll trust your decision, Hxc35f."

YES!

"Now then, back to the question. Would you like anything?"

I wait for her reply as I turn around the corner, making quick glances at the class booths, the stalls, and lastly at Monika who—judging by the movements of her camera—is equally distracted by the colorful display of creativity and the enticing scent of the various snacks and dishes prepared on-sight. The sight alone must have been quite overwhelming—after all, it took her four years after the release of DDLC to finally see what a 'festival' truly looks like. Now she's here in that promised day, taking in the sight and smell of merry-making that was then nothing but wistful hopes and lies, now coming to reality.

"Welcome, welcome!"

"Come and have a try of our takoyaki!"

"Yakisoba! Yakisobaaaaa…!"

"There's… so many. I never knew…"

Looks like 'festivalvirgin. chr ' has just been deleted. I can't help but be amused at that. "Take your time. We still have more than an hour before I rotate."

Making another round around the area, I press the earpiece a little closer to quietly catch the innocent, excited reaction that perks at the sight of a booth—any booth—or the irresistible smell of the delicacies that is unique to festivals; it's often distractions like this that stifled any effort of saving a few coins difficult, and many have been felled by the urge to spend. Trust me, I know. A yakitori stand on one end, a takoyaki at the other, baked potato served with simple Hokkaido butter, baked yam, Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, crepes, or a cup of karaage—and these are limited to the booths the school invited from outside; the student-run booths aren't shy in their presentation either. Deep-fried pudding or ice cream, yakisoba, and even steamed gyoza… so many options and only one stomach to hold it all!

Admittedly, listening to her short outbursts of excitement is far more entertaining than I can make it out to be; almost as if all her problems are nothing but faint memories.

…

A man can hope, right?

"Can we… stop for a crepe?"

"A crepe? I thought grilled squid will be more to your liking," I chuckle. The camera swings and whirrs, and judging by my reflection on the lens I can only imagine her intense glare at my sorry attempt at humor. "Sorry, sorry! Sure, why not? What flavor would you like?"

"Choco-banana."

Ah, the classic. It's becoming my personal favorite now; when did I had that the first time…?

The crepe stall we stop by to satisfy her sweet tooth happen to be under the management of an old woman from the local community. Having a man of my stature—alone, according to her—lining up for a serving of choco-banana crepe brings forth a judging but gentle smile from the old woman; a standout from the scores of high school students and the predominantly female or couple combo. Seven hundred yen for a choco-banana crepe isn't exactly cheap, but watching her work her skills with the hot plate, batter, and the wooden trowel before spreading the combination of sweets is a satisfaction in its own for Monika, whose adorable squeals and quips of praise echoes at every motion. She wraps the crepes in simple white parchment before passing both of the products to me.

…

…wait, two?

"Buying one for your girlfriend, young man?" she comments with a smile. "Make sure to deliver it quick. It's still quite hot!"

"A-ah…ahaha…thank you."

I raise one of them to Monika's view, close enough for her to see and recreate; it doesn't take long for her to notice the error. "Did you ordered two by mistake?"

"Can I dodge that question by saying 'I'm hungry'?"

"Ahaha…! You did! That's so cute of you."

"Hush…" mistakes happen. That is normal. "Do you want this, or not?"

"I'll take the other one off your hands if I can, but I'll settle with recreating a copy here. Itadakima~su!"

I may have to walk around with my hands full, struggling to finish two servings alone; not to mention, seven hundred yen for two crepes is steep. But all of that for a delightful chirp—the sounds of happiness after that first bite? I'd say that's worth the admission price. With a bite, I indulge on the crepe on my right and resume on my task, accompanied by the sweet flavor of my snack and the blissful meridian response Monika willingly produce. This takes me back to our first date in Ueno, sharing a crepe before our boat ride in the park.

We shared a choco-banana crepe, I believe—wait, I think… yes, yes indeed. I remember now… that was the first time.

"We should get something lighter next—oh! Maybe the fried pudding?" she quips cheerfully. I'm glad she's enjoying the moment—it's not exactly good for my wallet, but right now financials are not of my concern.

…

But… is this really what I want for her? Providing her with distractions after distractions of sweets and merriment can only go so far when—in reality—we lack the courage to confront the issue at its core. Oogame, why did you invite her to the festival? Is it to spoil her, to relish on the smiles and laughter that you've longed? Is it to grant her the wish and the experience that she was denied of? Is it because I wanted to help her forget her nightmares, hoping that maybe the storm will pass and everything will return to how it once was? Then, is it for personal gain? A selfish pursuit for an 'ideal' companion?

Then… are you here for her, or for your own selfish gain?

Do you see her as mere wish fulfilment? A 'perfect' girlfriend, just as much as she totes about? Flawless and sanguine? Or do you truly believe that she is an equal; a person with realistic needs, flaws, and difficulties? If you firmly believe she is the latter, then your motive is insufficient; shooing rainclouds away and picking bottles from the shelves will never suffice. Such easy, perfect solutions only exist in the realm of fantasy; in life, happiness is earned through blood and sweat—relationships and love runs far deeper than superficial attractions.

So, Oogame, what really made you decide to bring her to the festival?

"Oh, sensei!"

The crack of Obase's voice penetrated through my wandering thoughts and shuts them like a switch, abrupt and instantaneous. He waves with relative coolness and coy within the sea of people—the cardboard box, cut and fashioned into a small 'tray', is suspended by a strap around his neck as part of the Literature Club's 'walking booth', while the half-empty contents of cookie-grams and the bulge on the purse that hangs by his belt is a sign of success that needs not to be said. Wading through the crowd, I approach my student who is waiting patiently with anticipation—a cookie gram in hand.

"Can I interest you with a poem and a cookie?" he starts with a grin that runs from ear to ear. "Perhaps as a gift for someone special?"

"I see you've practiced your line—it's rare to see you using keigo this liberally in a sentence."

Obase shrugs, chuckling with pride. "I have my moments, sensei."

"If only you'll show the same enthusiasm in class."

"I can't stand all the memorization, sorry," Obase quips while offering the merchandise liberally. "So, sensei, a cookie?"

The tray and the assorted arrangements of cookies that are beautifully wrapped in plastic and stapled together with little note card of poems are inviting and gives a romantic gesture—like roses, only edible. A tally is taped at the bottom of the tray as means for Obase to keep track of his customers between men and women—the cookie gram is more popular for girls than guys, unsurprisingly; the poems by the club members are charming, particularly the few that were written by Aki and Mikawa. It almost work as a medium for confession—and I'll hold my breath if that was what Mikawa planned. I glance at Monika—briefly—and quickly notes how intent and focused she is at one of the packaging, particularly one that is decorated with a small white ribbon.

"I'll have one," I reply, pointing at the object of interest. "That one, please."

"Ah! W-wait! You don't have to—"

Obase grins, "That will be two hundred yen, sensei. Thank you very much!"

Fair enough.

The transaction lasts for a second, short and smooth. At the clink of the coin, Obase draws a line under the 'male' category of his tally—the fifth—and completes the kanji of 'tadashi'. He draws a 'thumbs up' and a 'good luck' smile, passing me the cookie and the pamphlet of the literature club before he disappears into the crowd, shouting short slogans to promote the little side business. The pamphlet itself is simple but attractive, making use of the space effectively following Yuuki's design but liberal application of Satsuki's creativity; hopefully, this would draw new members into the club. With the cookie in hand, I raise it high enough above my shoulder for her to see—after all, this isn't mine to begin with.

"Here, for you."

Monika sighs in content, "You shouldn't have…"

"I know you've been eyeing it, so I thought 'why not'?" I chuckle with glee. "So, what do you think?"

It takes a bit of time for her to fully replicate the object into her reality, but at the behest of a 'gasp' I know that the cookie is now in her hands. Though only her voice is audible, I let my imagination run its course to picture her reaction based on the sounds; mellow and sweet. "Thank you, H23cf…"

The camera whirs to admire the paper again, and I dare not to move. After what seemed like forever, she meekly continues.

"The poem… it's beautiful…"

I bring the poem to my view. 'Invitation', as it is titled and it reads:

Let me invite you to a date,

Tea, pasta, perhaps some cake?

If this gesture fancy you as I wait,

Let me know what makes you smile.

Let me invite you to a date,

Will it be drama, adventure, or romance?

If this gesture fancy you as I wait,

Let me know what makes you cry.

Let me invite you to a date,

Did I make you upset unintentionally?

If this gesture fancy you as I wait,

Let me know what makes your heart ache.

Let me invite you to a date,

Are you willing to accept me as I am?

If this gesture fancy you as I wait,

Let me know what makes you who you are.

At the bottom right of the page, the name of the enigmatic poet is stenciled in kanji neatly and beautifully; 'MIKAWA AYA', it says. Although a copy of the original and one of many, the emotions, feelings, and thoughts she gave resonates clearly through the poem and her handwriting. Of the many options that are offered by Obase, I wonder who else chanced upon this particular piece? Don't get me wrong, it is beautiful and romantic; certainly one of the best her Literature club has to offer. It doesn't take roses or expensive jewelry to woo your significant other, sometimes even a poem can work like a powerful charm; I guess it's no surprise why even Monika is enamored by it. But there's more…

"Mikawa… truly is a wonderful person, isn't she…?"

With but a simple nod, I reply to her comment and keep in silence. My attention is glued to her craft, reading the lines over and over, wondering about the person—who in particular—that seized her vivid imagination; the muse who drove her to pen this piece. By chance, we selected this one in particular and whether it is by our luck or her skill, the poem feels almost personal; too personal, perhaps. If a poem is able to convey the thoughts of the poet, then I dare say that she, too, struggles with the same conundrum as much as I. I have a lot of time to think; about myself, my reasons, and why I insisted in taking Monika to this festival. I think…

…

I think I know the answer.

Wading through the crowd of visitors and students, I gaze ahead across the familiar hallway with a mix of interest and alienation. On regular days, this corridor would be packed with students in uniform, walking in brisk pace and chatting gleefully about matters of their concern; we would usually be around to remind—and enforce—the rules. No running, no shouting, and no outdoor shoes. Today, an entirely different scene is painted, lifting the veil of oppression and discipline with general festivities and jubilee. The classrooms, once nodes of learning, were transformed into mini-café or attractions. The students walk in casuals, their uniform discarded for a more comfortable attire, while those who wear them proudly present their badge and color—that of another school.

One thing that remains the same is the absence of outdoor shoes—even then, the usual indoor shoes are replaced with sandals for the visitors.

"This is the first time I see your school," Monika comments, steadily rotating her camera, observing. "I guess… it isn't much different than mine—if it was even real."

I cross my arms over my chest, sighing at her remark that is yet again melancholic and sullen. "Monika, come on… we promised, remember?"

"Ahaha… I'm sorry, Hx34f. There's just… a lot of things on my mind right now."

"Then, will you tell me what's bothering you?"

There is a sigh and a sniffle. "I—well… no… I'll be alright."

I halt my steps and find a corner wall to lean and rest; if it isn't all the walking or the apparatus itself, it is the weight—emotional weight—that slides from Monika's fingers and fell on my shoulder to carry. What it is or its origin is but a mystery, and it becomes clear that even the festival itself isn't enough to scatter the rainclouds that hovers above; futile, despite the colors and the energy that remains a hegemony within the entire premise. Damn it… this all feels uncomfortably familiar and I can't do a single goddamn thing right. It's difficult knowing that each misstep could cause an unwanted catalytic reaction, widening the rift that emerged ever since that evening... frankly, I'm starting to question what's the point in all this and how… hopeless everything is, like trying to paint a rainbow with only black and white.

…

Cool your head, Oogame. Everyone has a story, and someone who is suffering depression isn't going to openly tell the world about it—Monika herself said that, 'scripted' or not. 'Just spend time with them, even if they don't feel like it and remind them that they always have something to look forward to', is what she said before, right? Right. Just keep a positive, do what you can; you're doing well. Well, it's true that I find this perspective switch rather ironic, but what choice is there? You're not really giving me any options here. Humans are indeed complicated… but so are you, Monika. I could use a coffee right now…

…yeah, maybe that could help.

"Well… I guess you're a little tired. Want to get a cup of coffee?"

Quietly I watch as her camera rotates and left a hollow gaze at the floor. A few seconds pass before a nod happens. "Sure, that would be lovely. I'm sorry for ruining the mood, S29penVtaQ==."

"No, it's alright. I completely understand," I sigh with a hint of relief, placing my hands on my hips. "Let's just take it slow. Besides, we did came here for you—and I have yet proven myself that you can count on me."

The camera shakes dismissively, "You've done more than enough. It's me, not you… sorry, but… just give me time."

Watching her camera sink down as she said those words weighs deeply on my own conscious and crumbling resolve, yet I know I must hold on. She's counting on me, and I can't let my guard down just yet. With my right feet first, I take a step forward and wade through the sea of people once more through the hallway, following a familiar path and passing class 2-3's haunted house before reaching the flight of stairs towards the third floor. The echo of the second year student's attempt at promotion vibrates up the stairs until I reach the top of set, greeted by a wave of enthusiastic guests. Just like the second years' floor, the third years' are equally crowded despite the lack of classroom-based attraction. From the edge of the staircase, a lone figure dressed in a black and white Victorian-England maid uniform stands amongst the crowd, carrying a sign that promotes the 'Emma café'—or more commonly known as 'class 3-2', my homeroom. Though her height made it rather difficult for me to notice, but upon closer observation it was indeed one of my homeroom student, Tae. Vigilantly she stands with her signboard, inviting guests and passerby in an almost professional manner and tone that is uncanny against the lively setting; tranquility on a backdrop of vivacity. I raise my hand to wave, catching her attention and pushing the edge of her lips to a curve; I smile in return. She promptly disappears into the classroom, emerging a few seconds later with an excited grin that eagerly welcomes us.

"Good afternoon, master," she starts with a simple bow. "Can I interest you with tea or coffee?"

Master? That's an interesting—wait, this is technically a maid café, isn't it? "You certainly can. Is everything alright, Sunohara?"

"Yes, sensei! Ah, excuse me for being out of character a bit, ehehe…"

I wave my hand dismissively. A faint giggle rings from my earpiece as Tae sticks her tongue out before easing back into character.

"Ahem," she continues with a cough. "Then right this way, master. Your personal maid will attend to you soon."

Yeah…this is a maid café. I have to applaud Araki and her team; their know-how with the period-accurate detail of the outfit is impressive. There's a sneaking suspicion that they based it all out of that Victorian-themed manga by Kaoru Mxri-sensei, but I can't exactly complain with how seamless the uniforms are. Tae hands me a small piece of paper from her pocket with a number—fifteen—that is stenciled neatly on the pristine surface with a black marker, motioning for me to take one of the seat outside of the classroom in a que with two other potential guests until our personal maid 'welcomes' us. Throughout all this, Monika's eyes actively examines Tae, curiously.

"I didn't know this is even possible for a school festival… your students are amazing!"

"Not just my students, the third years are giving their all—you haven't seen anything yet," I quickly add. "The performance in the gymnasium is something you should definitely look forward to!"

Pursing my lips, I let out a deep breath and feel the warm air tickling my nostrils. "This is their last festival, after all; one last 'hurrah' before life takes over."

Monika falls into silence as her eyes—the camera—droops to the floor. The camera's vision droop to the floor, followed by a muted "I see" as she exhales a perplexed breath. Did I say something wrong? Was it me? No… I don't think it was. This innocent chat nags at one of her topic, one about the turbulence and uncertainty that plagues third year students—particularly, what comes next. The third year of high school can both be the highlight or the downfall of one's chapter in life; that 'make or break' moment, days of last chances and final goodbyes. I was there once, and I guess the same can be true for Monika.

Well… it would be if she's a part of this reality.

If the game runs its course as planned, if Salvato coded DDLC to be your standard fanfare dating sim… how different would her life be? Would her existence simply cease to exist at the end of the game? Unlike the students here or myself, there is no future unless someone goes out of their way to extend that. Her life, existence, the knowledge she procured, all will be lost at the conclusion whereas in this side, we are the masters of our own story. The more I think about it, the more I understand her reason why she fought so hard for that chance of escape—she, too, wishes to seize her own fate before 'the end' arrives; her 'make or break' moment, the monster that haunts third year students. And she is one as well, a third year student.

"One last 'hurrah'…" again she whisper. She takes a quick, contemplative sigh and, for a moment, I feel a spark of determination in her voice. "7xcFHd, there's something I want to—"

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, master," cuts a familiar, graceful voice. "You kept your promise."

A pair of hazel brown eyes comes to greet me as I search for the source of the chirpy voice, drawing me to a warm smile that she always wear with confidence. As if on que, she assumes her position and curtseys before pointing at the badge that is pinned close to her chest—a number fifteen is written on its surface. She opens her palm and extends them to me, as if offering an object that can't be seen with the naked eye.

…unless maybe…?

"Mikawa, am I supposed to… take your hand?"

She giggles softly, "No, the numbered paper, master. May I…?"

Ah… of course. That was silly of me…

The paper flutters to her open palm and with a quick glance, she checks the number and nods in affirmation with a confirming smile. In a single, fluid motion, she gestures and welcomes us into the café like a proper maid; disciplined, polite, yet alluring and kind. My heart races at the sight—to see my homeroom, my students, transformed this classroom into a fully-functioning café is as touching as it is a testament to the dedication and effort they poured. Mikawa takes a step ahead and leads us to our table—or, more accurately, a pair of desks joined and covered with a white table cloth; a single menu book rests on its surface. Again, she gestures for us to take a seat; I kindly oblige.

"May I take your belongings, master? We have a designated spot to keep them safe."

"I'll be alright," I reply with a polite but dismissive wave. "It's not too much of a trouble."

She nods in approval and smiles, "Very well, master. Might I recommend our tea or coffee and cake set?"

The menu is simple in design yet, with a glance at how neatly structured and organized it is, it's not a mystery who the genius was. Focus and attention hangs at a balance, juggling between the menu and the maid who waits expectantly and patiently, alert with her tray clutched close to her chest; the order, however, won't be coming from me. I press the earpiece closer and taps three times to communicate with Monika without drawing attention from our surrounding. Her camera whirrs and scans the menu, tracing each line from top to bottom before, after a brief second of silence, she comes to a decision.

"A coffee and cake set would be—"

"Master, would you like me to take your belongings? It looks heavy and… uncomfortable."

Mikawa's innocent act of hospitality, though soft-spoken and polite, thunders like a hammer to a sheet of metal. Maintaining her smile and demeanor, her hazel brown eyes traces the apparatus—from the camera that rests on my shoulder, down to the bag on my back; its disguise, shattered by Obase's deduction. My earpiece dies to an odd silence, dividing my attention between the club president and the songbird in a minute that felt like an hour. She watches cordially, waiting for my approval that is left in suspension at my own behest; I, too, am waiting for a peep from Monika. The rhythm of my heart grows more and more audible at each passing second...

"Master…?"

"…It's alright," Monika whispers, shattering the silence. "I won't complain. I understand…"

No, this has gone on far too long. "It's alright, Mikawa. I rather keep it on than risk damaging it."

"But wouldn't it be—"

"Oh, why don't I go for your recommendation?" I quickly interrupt. "The coffee and cake would be nice—the strawberry shortcake, if you please."

I may be a little too… pushy for my own liking there. Mikawa lightly winces and breaks character succinctly, enough to cover the short 'gap' in her overall performance before it grows too disruptive. There's… resistance to my decision, although that is what I've come to conclude from my own observation—albeit briefly. Again, her soft smile beams blindingly before she bows politely and leaves to complete our order; I exhale the stress that binds me and marginally slink down on the seat. This day… nothing has gone according to expectations.

"Why…?" she sighs. "Why are you so… adamant? You know that I'm not really there…"

"Why? We're just stopping for coffee and cake."

A pause, "You're right… ahaha, sorry…"

…

No, you're not. I may be one dense motherfucker, but not 'VN protag'-dense to not catch on. The mood swings, the 'cold shoulder'—everything factors the moment she is mentioned; even the sight of her name alone rattles your psyche. Monika… what happened between you and Mikawa? I was suspicious then, but with how things unfold between you and her, I'm certain now; whatever it was, it forced your hand to insistently keep your distance from me. Are you jealous, perhaps…? No… this is more than that. There's something else in play; jealousy alone won't rattle Monika's foundation to its core—she'd charge it headfirst if she had to.

I want to know…

I have to know…

I must…!

"Sorry to keep you waiting!"

At the sound of a 'clink', all my thoughts grinds to a still as I am presented with a strawberry shortcake served alongside a cup of coffee, fashioned exactly to my liking; two cubes of sugar and a packet of cream. Tracing her slender arm, I quickly notice a second serving of cake and coffee she carries on her tray destined for another customer—or so I thought; if that is true, then there would be no need for us to draw numbers for a 'personal maid'. It becomes apparent after she sets the cake and coffee at my opposite that those are meant for her.

"Aren't you on the job, Mikawa?"

Mikawa plainly giggles as she takes her seat. "I was actually on my break, sens—master."

"But I figured," she continues with a mellow smile. "I could go just a bit longer for one more person. So, here I am."

Quite the dedication she has… I must admit, that is quite admirable. However, it still doesn't quite answer the mystery of the second set of coffee and cake, however. "One more thing, is that coffee and cake-set part of my expense as well?"

She swings her head from side to side, accompanied with a soft 'unn', "Don't worry, these are my own expenses, se—master. Unless you wish otherwise…? Ahahaha~"

It's too easy to be drowned in this serene atmosphere, losing myself within her vestal dialogue and engaging personality; forgetting that I came to the festival with a company. Gently I push both the cake and coffee for Monika to see, quietly reminding her that I have not forgotten about her or her presence—praying that she has yet severed the connection with the apparatus, a thought that only worsened by the lack of movements from her camera or a simple peep from my earpiece. Relief washes over when her camera twitches—albeit briefly—to scan the cake and coffee; though nothing but a simple gesture, it warms my heart to know that she still has the patience. All this secrecy, the pattern and disruptions… without a word, we both understood the hurdles we have set ourselves with this relationship. This, along with her dissonance towards Mikawa is likely torturous to sit through—and I completely understand, but I can't simply push one side away without hurting them; it's inevitable. My hands are tied.

I'm sorry, Monika… please, bear with me…

"Master," Mikawa starts, leaning on the table and crossing her arms. "I have a question, although I'm not sure if I should ask…"

A sullen expression paints across her feature, suddenly and catching me off-guard. I take a cautious sip, resting the cup down on its saucer and slowly process the mood that she sets; I'm guessing this is part of the experience as well. "Go on, there's nothing holding you back, right?"

She plants her lips on her cup and sets it down. "Then... if I may, master,"

…

"Are you against relationships that goes against societal norms?"

"I-I don't intend to imply anything," she continues nervously, furiously waving her hand dismissively. "W-what I mean is a relationship between different social classes, o-or states… I meant no offense, master."

Aah… I'm starting to get a picture of the main appeal of a maid café now—at least this one in particular. So I was right; they did based it off of the manga that romanticized Victorian-England. Well, playing along wouldn't hurt; this is part of the experience, right? Besides, I still have time to kill before I have to go and patrol the upper floors and the stair leading to the roof. I lift the small, plastic fork and guides it down a vertical path to slice a perfect cut on the cake to taste the soft, sweet, and spongy treat. The sweetness and texture, the flavor… strangely familiar to the tongue—though, not in the sense of its type. I can't seem to point a finger at it…

Well, it's not of importance; it'll come in due time.

Washing the remains down with the coffee—absolutely wonderful, by the way; glad they spared no expense—I gather my thoughts to focus on the question pushed by my 'maid'. With a deep sigh, the words and answer forms naturally in my mind; experience likely play a larger role to that more than wisdom or grasp on historical context—which I'm certain Mikawa certainly has in spades. "I don't think it matters, to be honest."

"Age, social class, even different realities," I chuckle as I continue. Yeah… experience certainly influenced my answer. "These are, simply put, social constructs agreed upon by old men with too much time and power. Sure it may keep thing in order, but in the long run it doesn't matter how old you are, the position, or even 'world' you live; so long as both parties are willing to love, to give your all to show each other of their affection—even at the cost of one's self—limitations meant nothing."

Monika's camera swerves to my direction. I glance back and smile; I guess she caught on to where I got the answer.

Even our 'maid' seems impressed and is left speechless. Gathering what I believe her composure, she claps her hand together and compliments. "That's a wonderful answer, master,"

Her lips stretches to a curve from ear to ear, pleased by the idea.

"Thank you. I'll bear that in mind."

"I don't… like that girl."

"I know," I respond nonchalantly. "No surprise there. Does it make you feel better though? Being honest about it, I mean."

She pauses, her voice abstained by hesitation before a sigh of relief is expelled. "Yes… it does."

The short stop for coffee and cake was the last checkpoint before the more mundane task takes over—the patrol around the stairwell that leads to the roof. As much as I enjoyed Mikawa's brief company, Monika's animosity bleeds through the earpiece based from the rustle of her uniform, the constant shifting of her weight, and the audible 'clink' every time she cuts the cake—that ten minutes of respite probably equates to a Chinese water torture or the sound of nails on a chalkboard. There was little I could do to remedy but to walk out; in hindsight, it was more or less a bad decision to stop for coffee and cake.

"You could have stayed longer…" she states bluntly, laced with varying degrees of dishonesty. "I wouldn't have mind, F2jsAde=."

There she goes again. "Really? It took me quite the effort to get you to confess your honesty alone!"

"Yes, but—"

"Buuut…?"

A lull in the moment. I slow my pace to a crawl, resting against the wall near the stairwell that leads to the roof to wait for her resistance. She returns with nothing but a sigh of defeat that I've grown tired of. "—never mind, let's… drop this."

Again, she dodges the issue. "Fair enough."

Here I thought I could use this chance to have a one to one conversation—I could use that student superstition right about now, as little as I'm willing to admit its viability. Peering to my side, I notice how idle her camera is, gazing at the hallway towards the distant echo of festivities, completely detached from this end of the facility. I burrow the earpiece further with a push, hoping to catch some hint that could aid me in understanding the things that goes through her mind—things that she has completely sealed away from me. It is no secret that Mikawa may have an influence to her decision, but to what extent and how much Monika's willing to share is too little to form a conclusion. I want to understand, to lend my hand and help, yet with how she constantly keeps her distance I don't know what else I can do; I'm running out of ideas and time—and nothing has made an impact on her demeanor. The festival is at its last lap.

"Say, 4HFsdG=," she starts in a faint voice. "Why are we idling around here?"

Oh, right… I haven't explain to her about this particular duty or the 'charm' that birthed it. I'm glad she asked… I'm beginning to fear that I have nothing left to show. Stay calm, Oogame, there may still be hope yet.

"A few years ago, a teacher and a student walked up these steps for a rendezvous..."

Monika's camera whirrs to life as its attention is focused solely on me. I imagine her emerald eyes glitter like the night sky, overtaken by curiosity and intrigue that reliably accompanies her wherever she go as I lay the foundation of the story piece by piece. This was a story before I was a teacher in this institution, an old rumor about a couple—a teacher and a student, caught in an illicit relationship that tarnished the name of the school and the family of the girl. The girl was slated to graduate on the coming spring and the teacher believed it to be completely sound for them to start a relationship. So they did. It started like any other; a rose-tinted world of love and happiness, away from the scrutiny or the prying eyes and ear of others who may disagree.

But fate had other plans.

Words spread about their rendezvous and before long, society hammered its fists down on the couple; its blunt force nearly shattered them in two. When the couple refused to submit to the demands, the school tried to terminate the teacher's contract, while the family of the girl would move to a different prefecture as a final measure. This didn't sat well for the lovers and thus, in agreement and as a proof of their love, both the student and the teacher jumped from the roof and committed a double-suicide in pursuit of happiness. After the incident, the school erected fences and banned all access to the roof—with an exception to faculties and securities, of course. It's quite an absurd tale—still is, but that didn't stop the students from turning the tragedy into a romantic 'charm'.

"The school even tried to lock the access to the roof; some daring fool broke that lock and it hasn't been replaced since."

I continue with a sigh, "And that is why we're 'idling' around here. All because of a stupid rumor… kids these days."

"I don't know…" Monika interrupts. "Although tragic, there is an appeal to it—I certainly find it romantic!"

"Oh please, not you too… are you trying to raise a death-flag…?"

"Perhaps, ahaha~!"

Monika's feminine titter vibrates through the earpiece, resonating a tone clearer than the frequency I've come to expect for the past week. This harmonious sound, innocent and uplifting, casts an illuminating light towards the exit in this maze of emotions, crumbling the walls little by little. It may still be a week or two, maybe much longer before she's ready to comfortably confide everything, but for a first step I'd say this… isn't as bad as I thought. Even if this is nothing but a small victory, I'll welcome it, regardless if it's just a glimpse of the Monika I once knew—the sassy, determined, high school devil. I take a glimpse at my watch and internally rejoices, noting the short hand of the clock that points specifically at the number 'four'.

"Looks like it's time. Come, let's enjoy the last few performances."

Peering at the camera, the dimpled lenses reflects an image of an idiot that grins from ear to ear, brimming with positivity. I can only imagine the look on Monika's face as she giggles softly and nods in unison with the apparatus. "Yes, let's go."

We walk down the flight of stairs in silence, smiling, grinning, and chuckling to ourselves at the short exchange on the stairwell. For once, the mood feels lighter than usual—cheery, I might add, though not quite as how I remembered it to be. I wave at my substitute as we continue to make our way to the gym, where many have gathered to witness the final act of the festival—the performances by the students. Peering at her, I catch a glimpse of my reflection on the lens before she hastily turns away, followed after by an infectious giggle echoing through.

…

Maybe there are some truth to that charm after all…

The thunderous applause of the audience drowns the gymnasium with a flurry of cheers as another performance comes to an end. In a perfect, synchronized timing, the Student Council President—the designated MC—walks unto the stage with confidence and repeats the concurring pattern at the interval, introducing the next performance with excitement and vigor. Scanning the crowd as they welcome the next entrée, I glimpse at Monika who—with animated cheer—joins the rest of the audience in their spirit. Sure, it is without a doubt that her presence is merely embodied by a camera and an earpiece, and it's also true that I'm the only person here who can vividly describe her excited quirks as the show starts and ends; like a ghost, keeping everyone blissfully ignorant of her presence. Not to me, however.

"O-oh! It's 'Alice in Wonderland'! I'm getting giddy thinking about it, ahaha~!"

I muster a smile at her direction, warranting a laughter from the earpiece as the performance starts; though, instead of the wonderful effort by class 3-4 and their rendition of 'Alice in Wonderland', my attention is kept at Monika and the riddle that have occupied my mind for most of the day. As she applauds, amazed, and is entertained along with the audience, the question posed by the play and my thought comes to a vivid clarity—the idea of 'living in a dream'. Just how 'Wonderland', as part of a dream, inherits a mix of Alice's unconscious state and phenomena of reality, so is this life I've thrust myself into. For the past two months, Monika has been a part of my life as my girlfriend, but… isn't it odd how I find this to be completely acceptable? Our relationship was built upon the knowledge of her existence and sacrifice in DDLC, but outside of that I barely knew anything about Monika aside from the things she has told—the same can be said about our relationship on the day when she professed her interest to be together with me. Taken into the context of reality, that is the fastest shortcut of social suicide and bridge-burning ever devised by man; that, however, isn't the worse of it.

I came into this relationship with rose-tinted glasses, expecting an ideal love story buttered with 'romance' and 'happiness' at each passing day—a fairy tale, more or less. Instead, day after day I grew disillusioned as each action bore the fruit of consequences; the limitations due to our differing reality furthers my frustration and dulls my expectations, grinding it further than what it once was. There is no save point in reality, nor is there a way for me to 'load' and undo the mistakes I've done—or the things she did. No… this isn't a relationship that we both hoped for, but a subversion of idolatry and wish-fulfillment that extends to both parties; I think she understood that far sooner than I. This relationship…

…

…this relationship was bound to fail from the start. She knew it, I knew it; we both understood that.

Yet we stubbornly defied fate time and time again. From a bond that was formed out of mere knowledge of each other's existence, we forged it together with trust, loyalty, and time. When I was lost in the maze I erected, she waited patiently like a beacon in the middle of a storm. Now, when she raised her 'wall' against me, I will persevere as she had done the same; we will endure. Before we realized, this was no longer a 'subversion of idolatry and wish-fulfillment' as what we both expected it to be. To compromise, sacrifice, understand, and to love unconditionally no matter the flaws or faults… I think…

…this is what a relationship is. It's far from perfect, but it's alright.

"That's a wonderful play…" she imparts with content. "Shiho-san… was it? She plays a great 'Alice'."

I nod, scratching the side of my ear as her whisper tickles my lobe. "I can agree to that."

It's a little disheartening to watch Shiho on stage, however, as she shifts her gaze from one end of the gymnasium to the next before what I can describe as despair settles; as indecent as the man can be, I guess he can't overlook his responsibility this time around. I may not like him, but you have to give credit where it's due.

But I digress.

A modest smile crawls along my cheeks as I glance at Monika from the corner of my eye at the conclusion of the performance and—to an extent—self-reflection. I did say I have a lot of time to think about everything, didn't I? The road we paved to reach this point is long and arduous—and it will extend further the longer we take this relationship; a long, rocky road with an uncertainty that expands like a balloon—the 'special day'. At the end of it all… will it be worth it, I wonder…? Well… I guess now would be a good time as any to begin anew…

Up on the stage, the MC takes hold of the mike once more and announces the last act—the school's light music club. I turn to Monika who has her attention sorely fixed on the stage; her voice beaming with expectations and excitement. She ganders and catches me in my expression, tilting the camera just slightly to picture an adorable smile in my rampant imagination. My cheeks flares in an instant and she, keeping the lens on me, girlishly and softly giggles.

"Your school has a band too…" she said with awe and a drip of envy. "I'm kind of jealous; I don't think mine has anything beside the anime and literature club."

"There's more in this reality than what you could ever imagine," I reply with a chuckle. "One day you can experience it too."

"I doubt it, ahaha~" she pause. "But… it is something I will look forward to."

The band makes their introduction with a proud, yet melancholic voice that shatters the gymnasium with cheers and supportive cries. As they play their first song, Monika swiftly swivels the camera to the stage; her expectant silence is deafening as all attention is poured on the performance. Her interest bears me a smile, reminded of her Literature Club's performance that was never meant to be. How would she and the rest of the club perform under pressure? Can she maintain her composure? What about the audience? Would they appreciate the poem or, tragically, embarrass her publicly for even considering 'poem recital' as a performance? I will never know as, unceremoniously, a voice beckons. "Ah, sensei! I've been looking for you."

"Obase…" I quickly reply, giving him my full attention. "How's the cookie sales?"

The young man grins and pulls his thumb, pointing towards the ceiling. "It went better than expected! Did you know Yuuki bought one for Satsuki?"

So they are a couple! They can have my blessings, damn riajuu!

"That's cute. But I assume that's not the reason why you're looking for me specifically?"

"Nope!"

With a quick rummage through his bag, Obase draws a pair of the literature club's product that is packaged distinctively with two different colored papers. He grins excitedly as he offers both of them at my direction, gesturing for me with a simple motion that says it all; 'go ahead, these are for you, sensei'. Liberating both of them from his hands, I tear the package open and take a bite of one of the cookie—a chocolate chip—and opens the light-blue card that is decoratively attached to it. I raise my eyebrow and chuckle a smile as it reads, in bold letters, 'THANK YOU, SENSEI'; an inkan of all the members lines the bottom page.

"That's from all of us in the literature club, sensei. For taking care of all of us, thank you very much!"

Obase bows with respect and expresses his gratitude that—in honesty—comes as a surprise. Quickly and quietly I motion for him to raise his head and accept his gratitude as is; after all, it is part of my duty as a teacher. Receiving a simple, yet earnest gesture of thanks… it's more than I could expect. It is moving, sweeping me off of my feet into a gentle river, or a ride into the clouds. Take a breather, Oogame, don't start tearing up now!

"Your students care a lot about you," Monika chimes abruptly. "And you tell me how much trouble they are?"

Oh, you really want to see me tear up do you, Monika? I'll see if I can poke something out of you later!

The last cookie is packaged with a purple-colored card that is distinctly lady-like in its presentation, but also overflowing with emotions that is evident by the extra effort poured into it. I open the package once more and take a bite of it—this time, white chocolate pieces—and examines the front and back of the card, glancing at Obase who's expression is rather… vexing? A snap of anomaly takes hold. "Say, Obase, who's this other one from?"

He jerks at attention. The song comes to an end. "Oh, haha… you might want to read it on your own."

"Everyone! Thank you for your support! As this will be our last performance, we decided to do this cover of YUI!" cries the lead singer of the band in the midst of the encore. Gently, I flip open the card…

"The song is called…"

...and finds nothing but a single sentence. The hair on my nape rises in horror; 'I'll be waiting on the roof'.

"Go," Monika advises with a calm, serene voice; yet fear is the only thing that courses through. "You shouldn't keep a lady waiting—and I'll leave you be."

"…Good-bye Days."

The echo from the gymnasium bleeds through to the halls, beckoning all to converge on the source as I shove and push my way through the current; the purple note, crumpled under the pressure of my palm. My thoughts are contorted and disjointed—a mess of jumbled questions with no answer but a series of warped speculations and disappointments, lost, freefalling into an endless rabbit hole. The corridors that is rife with activity hours before gradually rescinds to empty, dreary hallways with walls that steadily constricts its grip, pushing me to race against a threat that I barely understand. I squeeze my palm and feel the contours and crinkle of the purple note as a reminder of my sudden call to action; its distinctive writing style, the swift strokes and the neatly written characters—all imprinted in my consciousness. There is nothing to think or see, except the repeating tempo of my heartbeat and the steps that pulls me closer to the door. I stop underneath the last flight of stairs before the door, noticing the eerie silence and absence of the faculty member who is supposedly be on watch at this hour—my fear only grew stronger when I notice the door slightly ajar. I take a step and stop as the weight of the apparatus returns unceremoniously and slams my shoulders.

I have forgotten someone important…

"Monika…? Hello…?"

The earpiece returns an uncomfortable static and my heed fell unto deaf ears; she—Monika severed the link from the apparatus and I, of my own vanity, failed to notice the events that has been set in motion.

I am left alone.

"Please tell me you're joking… please…" I plead, repeatedly, receiving nothing but static and a 'dead' camera. "Why… we promised…"

Questions pops up and doubts are raised as my mind screech incessantly, failing to process this… revelation. I squint my brows, grit my teeth, and clench my fist to a close as liquid cement fills my shoes and rocks dangles in my gut, paralyzing my thoughts and locomotion in a single swoop. Anger takes hold, followed by frustration and a sickening disgust at her selfish cowardice that shatters and spits everything that we've built upon today—everything. Betrayal. Is. Brutal.

Yet… I remained calm.

Am I disappointed? Yes, I am. Angry? Furious, but check that I suppose. Frustrated? Definitely. But somehow, from the back of my mind, I knew this was coming—and I acknowledged it long ago. This isn't a shocking revelation nor a surprise, it is to be expected; we came from two different realities with different sets of rules that governs our way of living. I suppose both of us understood the futility of it all, to wake up from 'Wonderland' and accept that everything is never meant to be. Everything is only a matter of time before both of us have that rude awakening—and now would be as good as any…

…

…hah… ahaha… what have I been doing to myself…?

I take the first step, up towards the last set of stairs and reach for the round handle of the door to give it a gentle push. Cool air rushes through, and the ray of the cascading sun bleeds through the cracks and creates a path across the dimly lit stairwell; standing before the setting autumn sun, a young woman peers from beyond the shadow in a black and white maid outfit. She lurches forward, resting both of her hands behind her back and giggles playfully—girlishly and innocently.

"You came, sensei~."

"Mikawa, you're not supposed to be here… this area is—"

"Aya is fine," she strides forward, pulling the ribbon that ties her hair in a bun and fashions it into a ponytail. "I never liked tying my hair into a bun. This is a lot more comfortable."

Hastily scanning my surroundings, I left a deep sigh in my wake upon finding the isolation she has once again invites me to—at least, that tells me Kitamura is not involved in her trespassing and this is of her own accord. That, however, does not excuse the unsettling tone that descends upon us, or the direction she's taking this conversation. "Mikawa, what are you doing here…? You're not supposed to be here… did someone coerced you?"

She returns a subtle swing from left to right, keeping up an expression of fondness and limitless patience. "I came here on my own."

"Then you're trespassing. The roof is cordoned, you know that."

"I know," she giggles. "But you came… you came!"

Mikawa's expression intensifies as she glides from side to side, casting a silhouette that extends her shadow's reach as the sun slowly sets in the distance, leaving a trail of golden yellow. There is joy in her steps—of happiness I've yet witnessed that radiates along with an air of overwhelming vulnerability and trust, taking one easy step at a time. I swallow to keep my calm in check; this is a path I'm certain I should avoid.

"Sensei, do you remember what you told me? Your answer about the possibility of a relationship despite the difference of social class or status?"

She clasps her hands together and holds them close to her chest, allowing her emotion be the locomotion to her movement, "I… really love that answer. It gives me confidence."

"I'm always uncertain, afraid," she continues, inching closer at each word. "Afraid of what is to come, but now… now I'm certain."

I sense the vibration—the echo of her heartbeat that races faster and faster as she closes our distance to about an arm's length. Her cheeks are flushed like cherry tomatoes and her lower lip quivers uncontrollably, struggling to maintain her few remaining composure. I remain motionless, but wary at the development that takes hold as sense of responsibility clashes with intimacy to create a turbulent storm of affection, inhibiting my movements and keeping my feet frozen in spot; my mind races to do its best to process the situation. Her glittering hazel brown eyes shoots up and gazes expectantly with pockets of tears forming at the edge, eager to burst; her breathing, erratic, marked by deep breaths and short heaves. The tempo of my breathing increases exponentially, capricious and abnormal; a warm sensation envelopes my cheeks in a curious comfort. I meet her eye somewhere in the middle; the color and its clarity, hypnotizing. She leaps forward and catches me in an embrace…

'Hey, hey, did you know? They say that if you confess your love on the school rooftop at the end of the festival, your dream will come true!'

"Sensei… for a very long time, since I first met you…"

'Eeeh…but isn't the school rooftop closed?'

"I have always, always…"

'That's why! It's a charm!'

"…always been in love with you. I love you, sensei…!"

With all her might, she presses her frail figure against my chest and wrap her arms around my back, slipping beneath the apparatus and reaching for the fabric beneath. Her heartbeat drums like an instrument, echoing the beat of her emotions, corresponding with her excited heaving the more she buries her expression into my chest. I can feel blood and my own tempo increasing, clawing and yearning to satisfy the desire of the flesh as her supple chest presses against my stomach; her sweet moans, ever so innocent, seeks for comfort that satiates her greed for affection—and now I know the taste of the forbidden fruit that Kitamura lusts for.

Yes… this is a confession…

Gently I grasp her shoulders and break her hold from me, recovering the lost space between us. She gasps, throwing a look filled with more questions that demands an answer as her body remains still under the weight of my hands. Again, I wet my throat and put my mind at work to formulate an answer that—to the prudent man—is an easy question to tackle. With a heartbeat that rises in its crescendo at each passing second, the innocent gaze of the youth, and the irresistible figure that bends and curves perfectly at the contours of her uniform, descends like Aphrodite to a mere mortal, tempts and sways my resolute. I fear… I may have been corrupted by her charm.

"Mikawa…" I start nervously. "This-this isn't right. I'm your teacher."

"I will be graduating, sensei!" she states with confidence. "It won't matter then once I am no longer a student, right?"

At her beckon, my strength leaves my arm and slowly withdraws to my side. There is a mix of reluctance and overwhelming joy that creeps ever so slowly, suffocating and blinding my conscience in euphoria. Here, with the sun behind her, a young woman—my student—meekly and willingly offer herself like a gift to the ancients. Her heart bleeds with resounding affection that can be felt meters away, unbridled and unrestrained, casting doubts that shakes my principles to the core. I said it myself, 'so long as there is love then nothing matters'. She will graduate next spring… that's about five months at most; it's… fine, right?

…right…?

…

No… it isn't.

A certain songbird spent most of her days trapped in a cage, yearning for a life beyond the limits of her reality. Her only company is a raven, who stumbled upon her by chance, hovering in circles yet he has seen the world. The raven, powerless, decide to stay with the songbird and carry her cage wherever he goes to show her what the world is and together, they traveled across the land; in rain or shine. Overtime, the songbird and the raven grew close; the raven would return late in the evening with food for the songbird and as gratitude, she would sing for him the most beautiful song day after day. However, as the journey turns for the worse and famine hit the land, the songbird realized that she, unable to escape her confines, is but a burden to the raven that stubbornly carries her wherever he wishes to go. Thus, in an act of selfless sacrifice, the songbird attacks the raven's hold on the cage and sang one last song to set him free.

'—and I'll leave you be.'

I am a fool… why didn't I notice this sooner?

The consequences and moral implications are obvious, but her determination and sincerity in her confession is as honest and as pure as snow. Her expectant eyes, glistening, understands perfectly of the ramification and the taboo that she willingly encroached, parallel to the pair who precedes our time—the story of the 'rooftop double-suicide'. Ask yourself, what is she to you? Then, what about her? Is she the same as her, too? Or is she… something more? This… this isn't an easy call to make. Between reality and fiction, I cast a downward gaze towards the shadows and heave with a heavy heart.

All good things must come to an end…

"Mikawa," I start. "If you confessed to me three months prior, I would have said 'yes',"

…

"I'm sorry."

The air trembles and a gasp resounds, drawing my attention to the young woman before me. Mikawa quivers and her expression darkens almost in shock, chuckling uncomfortably as she backpedals with a frozen look of disbelief. I cast a downward gaze to the side, blanketed by immense guilt and shame as the sun sets in the distance. Her short, muffled chortle is… uncanny to the ear. "W-why…? There's no one else for you—there shouldn't be!"

"There is," I gently reply. "I don't think you've met her. She's headstrong sometimes, often stubborn and bossy but—"

"—It's that bitch from the screen, is it?"

Like nails to a chalkboard or a barrage of cacophonous sound invading your consciousness, reality grinds to a stop and my attention falls squarely on the president. Her erratic breathing and unsettling crooked smile is infused with mixed emotions of disbelief, anger, and jealousy that I can't possibly describe in its entirety. Mikawa's startling guffaw and dagger-like stares does little but raise the hair on the back of my nape; a blank, lifeless stare—a yandere.

"She's there isn't she? That whore… watching behind that camera?"

"How do you—"

"I know a lot about you, sensei!" she starts, eyes wide and bloodshot. "I know what you like, your hobbies, your address, even down to your favorite brand of coffee and how you liked it served—I know everything!"

Thousands of needles pricks and dances on the back of my nape, "You… you were stalking me!?"

"I'm better than her—I'm real!" she continues with a step, ignoring my order to stop. "I can cook for you, care for you, and I can even comfort you with my body if you ever so desired! WHAT CAN SHE DO THAT I CAN'T!? I love you, sensei! Nee… please say 'yes'. Tell me—tell me this is just a dream…?"

Before me is no longer the image of 'Mikawa Aya' that I knew, but a lovesick stalker with an unhealthy obsession. Out of my own paranoia, I trace the length of her arm and—much to my relief—finds no sign of any inherently sharp or blunt object that she may use against me or, just like Yuri, herself. Meanwhile, her empty, dagger-like stare focuses intensely at the small camera that remains dormant on my shoulder—something that I quickly take heed.

…dormant?

"I did everything you asked! I pour my best for you, sensei!" Mikawa continues, passionately if not zealous. "I studied all of your assignments, did all of your homework and readings, lead the club just how you wished it to be, achieved perfect scores—all for you… ALL. FOR. YOU. Yet… WHY DIDN'T YOU NOTICE ME!?"

"JUST NOTICE ME, SENSEI…!" her voice rise in a violent apex. "JUST. ME."

…

"JUST. AYA."

"ENOUGH…!" this… this is like a bad case of déjà vu. "That's enough, Mikawa. I don't know how the hell you know about 'her', but my decision is final. I can't accept your feelings!"

The air freezes to a standstill, yet Mikawa's expression—her rage—burns with intensity, fueled by jealousy that sees no other alternative except the permanent eradication of her only obstacle and rival; I know this not only because my acquaintance with the young woman, but also by experience. Even when her piercing glare is aimed at another, one could sense just from a glance how dogged her resolve to claim what she rightfully believe is 'hers' through any means necessary—a mistake that a certain club president made in the past. Without warning she leaps, arms flailing, reaching and clawing for the little camera that rests on my shoulder with bloodlust and ferocity that drowns her scream of agony. This is my responsibility; I have created a monster…

Throwing my weight around, I sidestep her initial attempt and quickly blocks her second with my left arm. Even without reach, her voice is as sharp as a blade.

"YOU SHOULD'VE STAYED DEAD! WHY ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?"

"Wait, Mikawa, what—SO YOU WERE THE ONE!"

Ignoring my cry, she continues the onslaught. "HE'S MINE! MINEMINEMINEMINE…! I'LL TEAR YOU IN TWO, YOU THIEVING CAT…! WHAT CAN A FAKE LIKE YOU DO!? I AM REAL! YOU. WILL. NEVER. BE—"

"AYA, ENOUGH…!"

With little options left to douse the situation, I gently use my weight and shove her out of the way. The force, though unintended, cause her to lose balance and stumble backwards where she collapses with a 'thud'. Supporting herself, Mikawa remains still for a brief minute in silence, and I see the lull in the moment to speak and end this… madness. I don't want it to end this way, but she leave me no choice.

"Even if you managed to break this… apparatus," I start as calmly as I can. "You can't harm her, Mikawa. This thing is merely a medium that allows her to see the outside world—like a television. She's safe."

I clench my teeth and fold my hand to a close, "And I swear I will not let you touch her, ever again."

With a heavy wheeze, I train my eyes on her in silence as puddles begins to congregate under her shadows, hidden only by the bangs of her hair. Her glistening eyes shots up abruptly, locking me in a gaze as she quivers and trembles through her words, flinching. My heart sank under the pressure. "Just… tell me one thing, sensei…"

"W-what am I to y-you…? Am I… just a replacement…?"

Not a word escapes my tongue as she observes with her crystalline eyes, waiting for an answer that I struggle to give. No… even if I chose to remain in silence, she probably knew all too well what my answer would be—and she was right. Before I can raise my voice, Mikawa stands on her feet and dashes towards the stairwell, bumping me along the way and staining my uniform with tears that she tries so hard to conceal. The echo of her footsteps rescinds to nothingness and I am left alone, once more; though, I guess that statement has been false for quite some time.

"Monika, you can stop pretending; I know you're there."

A short 'dud' in the earpiece and I know she's there. There's a moment of silence, awkward and long, waiting for the right timing to break the ice—one that is absent after the ordeal. I keep glancing at the camera, observing as it returns to life and casts an apologetic gaze to the floor seconds after noticing the frustration etched in my expression and the tone my voice commands. Finally, at the caw of the ravens, she starts. "…how long have you realized?"

"About half-way," I reply coarsely, crossing my arms. "You think it's funny?"

"S-sorry…?"

I heave, "You think it's hilarious? After all the things I did, you think it's funny to say 'I'll leave you be', just to find that you've been watching everything from the corner since the beginning? Hmm?"

She spares no time to formulate a reply.

"You think I find it 'funny' to see you 'toying' with a woman's heart—not one, but TWO!? To think there's a replacement—my replacement, no less! TO. THE. LETTER! How delusional are you?"

"Oh, you're one to talk. You think I didn't realize your obstinate attempt to push me away?" I bark. "And in my defense, I never thought you'd come to life then! I can say the same to you about toying with a man's heart for FOUR FUCKING YEARS!"

"SHE IS A REAL PERSON, 7h243F…!" Monika croaks in frustration, stunning my eardrums. "I'm nothing but a manifestation of codes! DATA! I. AM. NOT. REAL…!"

"YOU'RE REAL TO ME…!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO STUBBORN!? ARE YOU REALLY FINE WITH A MERE 'REAL-LIFE FANTASY'!?"

"YES I AM!" I fight in return. "You're real to me, and I'll pick you over anyone else in a heartbeat! Don't let anyone tell you different!"

"You're… unbelievable…"

"You're unbelievable…!"

"Hhmph…!"

"Tch…"

Just like that, our conversation hangs in the air; she, gazing the dark blue sky in vexation while I, the vast horizon that extends beyond the fence in irate. We are young and naïve, commandeered by our emotions and overwhelming sense of self-righteousness that we stubbornly defend to the skin of our teeth… I can't help but slip a little chuckle at that notion. In this uncanny standoff, I've come to realize that I've achieved what I've wanted all along. All this time I wondered how to bust through her A.T. field, and all it takes is a silly argument about who's the more 'liable' between us. To find her so… passionate to defend her stance… I can't believe how I've missed this side of her—frustration and ego be damn!

"W-what's so funny…?"

"Oh, no, nothing…" I reply while catching my breath in between. Her camera whirrs and eyes my winded face; if only I can see those pair of emeralds right about now. "It's just that… I haven't seen you so lively like this since… hell, since before my fever!"

"Have I really been… that much of a downcast…?"

"Destitute, more precisely; you can pull up your fake smiles and laughs all day—I can tell, Monika. Who do you think I am?"

She huffs and giggles lightly, "A jerk who has yet told me his name."

I break into a chuckling fit, relishing the reality—the truth of her statement, as a cheer erupted from the gymnasium and concludes the festival. Monika looks on from behind the camera, adjusting the focus of the lens on my expression before the contagious optimism infects her and she, too, drowns in a series of giggles. Whether it is due to the absurdity of our situation and our foolish endeavor to pursue them, or perhaps the idea of how blissfully she calls me with the name I gave 'MC', along with how callously I accept them as is, we didn't let anything stop us from having a good laugh out of it. She knew it, I knew it; we both realized how much of a fool we are, blind as a bat due to our pursuit of comfort. As our fit of jolly subsides along with the setting sun, I ponder how far I can take this relationship—and how much further can it go.

"Ryou," I said with a somber tone. "It's Ryouichi… that is my given name. Please, take care of me."

I let out a nervous chuckle, coagulating the spit into a ball and swallow as I continue—quivering; confiding to another is one thing, collecting the courage to do so is difficult. "I… don't like my own name, to be honest. It… uhh… bears too much responsibility; first—and only—son, basically. That's why I… uh… kinda' accept it as is when you called me with 'Hscfv3F=='."

"O-oh…" she replies in a mild—but pleasant—surprise. "So… Oogame Ryouichi… ahahaha~, nice to finally meet you! It's a good name… Ryou-kun…"

"Huh… I might change my mind with how you say it..." I sheepishly reply; a soft giggle reverberates.

So I close my eyes and feel my surroundings, vibrating and alive, warm and fluid. The rumble from the visitors below, the gentle caress of the evening breeze, and the comforting touch from the last vestige of daylight—all amounts to a picturesque scene made for two, as told in fairytales and sappy love stories. With how Monika subtly clears her vocal chords and timidly turns the camera away, one can make the assumption that she feels the same. I've been thinking the whole day about everything—about myself, this relationship, my stance, and especially about her. About Monika. My name—given name—is just one of the many things I've kept from her…

"Say, Ryou-kun…?" she asks in a meek, low voice. "Will she… be alright? Mikawa-san, I mean. You came kind of hard on her…"

I inhale and let out a heavy breath, "It's going to be… awkward on Monday—or worse. But… only time will tell."

"I see…"

Yes, 'one' of the many things I've kept from her… and I don't see any more reason to do so, nor the doubt about what the future may bring. The story of my predecessor may be a tragedy, but as it replays itself in my memory, I think I'm starting to share Monika's sympathy.

…

Now is the right time to begin anew.

"Monika?"

"Hmm?"

"There is… something I have to be honest about—about this relationship, and about us."

Her camera slowly rolls and my reflections rears into the concave lens like a waxing moon. I start to speak slowly, starting first about my reason of taking her to the festival—not just to cheer her up—but as a means for myself to ponder about what she really is to me; an unhealthy obsession, bordering on idolatry and wish-fulfillment. The relationship did not start with love or pity, but out of my own selfishness and desire to fill the missing link—the creeping loneliness, a thirst for a meaningful relationship. It wouldn't matter then, before Monika's arrival, if Mikawa got her way or if anyone else did; so long as that person could satisfy my fantasy of dating 'the perfect girlfriend', then I couldn't care less. I am exactly the person she described in one of her conversation; an otaku, someone who has given up all sense of reality and would willingly trade one for another—too 'immersed', as she said so herself.

But what I had was something entirely different.

There were fights, arguments, disagreements and conflict. Yet with every strife, I grew to appreciate and understand her more and more—not as 'Monika the literature club president' as dictated by D4n Salv#to, but as a person of her own. I started to see a side that I never knew before; a side that laughs at my crude humor, cries at my despair, and chastise at my folly. She would protest at my indecency, stress over my foolishness, and grew a potent sense of sarcasm in return. She likes—no, she loves sweets, particularly the simplicity of chocolate banana crepes. I started to notice her fondness of infotainment and comedy as one of her many 'guilty pleasures', enjoy a simple cooking video, and rant about how she wishes she could cook for me—that, and how terrible I am at the kitchen. She bounces from one game to another, read through chapters after chapters of light novels, and listens to the music I've collected—all in the effort to adjust herself to become a part of my life. I see a person, a human. Alive. Before I realize, the image—my image—of 'the perfect girlfriend' shatters, and so does the course of the relationship, altering it to unfamiliar territory.

And I was afraid. No… we were.

I was unsure where it was going, how it would proceed, and where we might end up. I fumbled along in the dark, laden with questions that piled and left little of answers, trying whatever possible to return to what it was in the past. When that didn't work, I cursed, lamented, and tried to run away only to find that she was struggling just as much in the face of this unstable footing. It was no longer a world that we knew, yet in that confusion and realization we found solace and concluded that, perhaps, this was how it was meant to be; a relationship between two different individuals.

"So I thought, maybe now would be a good time to start anew," I conclude with a sigh. "It was… quite a ride."

I close my eyes and roll my hand into a ball, slipping a few short prayers in my mind.

…

"I love you, Monika."

"If being with you is wrong, then I don't want to be right," I continue. "I want to know what makes you smile, what angers you, and what would drive you to pull your hair out. Most importantly, I want to learn how to love you as you are."

The thumping on my chest goes into an overdrive and explode into a flurry of butterflies and petals, flushing m