Perhaps it's fate, or more specifically my nemesis—My nemesis? Whatever that means—, which governs the probabilities of gaining much when I await nothing, and gaining nothing when I dare to hope for even the slightest something.
Precisely so, the equilibrium between our anticipations and our indifference often resembles a sensual and intricate dance, influenced by a plethora of influences beyond our dominion.
Frequently, we're caught off guard by the unexpected, the least likely circumstances when we least anticipate thems and, conversely, our carefully constructed expectations can lead us straight into the jaws of disappointment.
Thus, it appears that the universe possesses an uncanny ability to synchronize with our cognitions and aspirations; it adapts not to our desires, but to our uncertainties. By envisioning failure rather than triumph, we frequently receives precisely that which we dreaded: nothing.
Similarly, when we expect something, it means we're aware of its existence—our expectations, albeit seemingly grounded in probabilities, are inherently incomplete. They're missing the wildcard that introduce uncertainty and potential error into our estimations.
So, when we say we expect something, we're only considering a handful of probable scenarios, not all of them. The unknowns are always there: lurking in the shadows, and we rarely estimate their impact with any real precision.
Therefore, this unpredictability leads to a significant margin of delusions in our presuppositions, breeding a kind of "fear" that something unpredicted might happen. That fear, in turn, creates apprehension—and when the unexpected does occur, we're left feeling cheated.
After all, humans have evolved to seek quick results and to crave instant gratification. In doing so, we've forgotten a fundamental lesson from nature: everything happens in its own time. Therefore, a rational and pragmatic individual must be constantly aware of the influence of the unknown and adjust their expectations accordingly.
Or, to put it more simply: I'm lowkey in a real bind.
The probabilities of coming across a classmate were, by all accounts, remarkably high—a statistical inevitability I was expecting, you know? However, I just thought maybe, just maaaaybe it wouldn't be at the school entrance but a classroom, you know?
For me, this wasn't the right moment, and I found myself unusually nervous, fumbling through our brief interaction. If fate truly exists—and I'm not entirely convinced it does—then it must have a very funny and corrupt sense of timing. Besides, I wasn't even sure if she is in my exact class.
Now, let's address the elephant in the room: Takumi!
The image of him, meticulously nurtured and cultivated into a paragon of charm and competence, is on the verge of being dismantled by none other than yours truly. Yoo-hoo! Yep, hello, it's me!
It's almost poetic, really, how quickly a carefully constructed public impression can crumble under the weight of a single misstep. I'm feeling like Nora Helmer or Lucifer. Was Luficer mischaracterized?
No, let me rephrase this better: could it be that people have higher expectations of me? Well, suppose I can't entirely blame them for that. After all, I've done little to dissuade such notions.
Or perhaps the more pressing question is this: Will people now perceive me as a loner? Such a development would be unprecedented—unheard of, completely unheard of, and, to be honest, directly my fault.
But let's not lose sight of the much larger elephant: Technically, I am him, since he was essentially a character in a game I was running. So, in theory, I could excuse my behavior by claiming I'm simply "acting at home"—like: relaxed, a bit sleepy, and totally unconcerned.
Wait, yeah! Yeah! Wouldn't people not find that quite endearing....? No, ew, that's probably unlikely. Like, who in their right mind would find such a thing cute?
Perhaps those girls that are Idols, with their curated personas, could pull it off. Their fans would undoubtedly scream or swoon at the sight of their favourite member embodying a new character or cliché trope.
Wait, isn't that it? What if I framed this as my "new character"? Hey, isn't it cool?
No, the hell with that, the fuck? I refuse to stoop to such levels of performative nonsense. The very idea of being one of them—a tiresome, untrustworthy, duplicitous, artifically double-dealing bunch of hypocrites—is enough to make my skin crawl.
I'm getting off track. Let's think about it: In the game, my options were limited—a fact I've lamented before. I suppose there were different paths, each with its own alternate ending, but they all converged on the same outcome.
There was no intricate web of interconnected plots, no grand narrative twist to elevate the gameplay. You simply end up with a girlfriend, and that's that, no post-credits scenes—I think. Hardly the stuff of legends.
So, regardless of the decisions I made, they would all result in different actions; therefore, ultimately, they would lead me to the same circumstances as the other options, and there would be no way to avoid it. There's no escaping it—these routes are set in stone, immutable and unchanging.
And by extension, so am I. Damn it all!
Finally, as we crossed the threshold of the institution, the lobby greeted us with a flurry of scattered students—each engrossed in their own activities, whether: strolling, chatting, or erupting into laughter.
Yet amid the clamor, an underlying current of order prevailed.
In the foreground were the famously shoe lockers called "Get a tobacco[1]": rows and rows of compartments carefully labeled for each student and teacher... right? I don't know, man. If it serves another purpose, I don't know!
Beside them, slimmer cubbies provided designated spaces for bags and personal belongings, ensuring a private and secure hideaway; though, realistically, the only thing worth stashing there would probably be books.
And, as if to reinforce a sense of discipline, a really large bulletin board on the wall near the entrance. It displayed important announcements, upcoming events, and reminders for us students—or so I assumed, because I didn't read shit.
Shifting my gaze back to my "new" companion, I observed her graceful form as she made her way toward the shoe lockers—her steps imbued with a calmness that seemed almost incongruent with the surrounding bustle.
Unfortunately, the predicament of my own circumstances remained unresolved. Despite the meticulous organization of this institution, I felt utterly lost, thinking to myself, "Where the hell am I supposed to go?"
Thus, I'll probably wouldn't be allowed to resigned on the arduous task of scouring each shelf, frantically searching searching for the inscription that would bear my name. I don't really want to do it; it was a nuisance and a pain in the ass.
So, I approached her, and when I stood behind her, I began with a soft «Ahem!», seeking her attention.
She was undoing the laces of her sneakers when she turned to me with a quizzical look in her almond-shaped eyes, framed by slightly arched brows.
«Hmm, yes? What's wrong?» She asked.
Summoning what little courage I had, broached the subject weighing on my mind: «Uhm, okay. Don't... Okay, nevermind. This might sound like a strange question, but… do you know where my locker is?»
I'd stumbled upon a keychain on Takumi's desk while rummaging through his belongings. There were four keys in total, each distinct from the others. I tested them on various locks, and two turned out to be for his bedroom, while one opened the front door of his house.
However, in this school, it seemed the lockers were the only part of the facilities equipped with compartments that students could secure with padlocks for added privacy. The third key must belong to this little bad-boy.
I thought this was a practice not exactly common, but somehow justifiable. Although, at the same time, isn't this country known for its impressively low crime rate? Remarkably cautious, aren't they?
Because of this, I'd been rather wary and kept it in my pocket. Just in case, you know? And it turned out great! Yet now, I faced the challenge of figuring out which locker in this area was mine, as I mentioned earlier.
«Yes, it that's a bit of a strange that you're asking,» she remarked with a hint of suspicion, her lips curving into a faint, surprised smile. «Normally, I'd think you'd know that yourself better than me... are you trying to confirm something?»
Well, duh! Of course I was suppose to. But, how?!
«No-no, it's not. Though... in my defense, it feels like my memory falters at times. You know, some days, how people have those peculiar moments of forgetfulness—like "What was it again?" moment? That kind of... momentary memory loss... Oh, that's it, right? Um... A-Amnesia? Well, it's just a minor inconvenience, but it can be quite disconcerting, don't you think?» I admitted off the cuff, laced with a touch of false self-deprecation.
Wait, I think I've used this flimsy excuse before.
«N-Nakamura-kun? A-Amnesia? That's a serious condition, you know? Were you diagnosed with it? What happened to you?»
I realized I've made a mistake.
«Wait, no-no-no! An analogy, I was just making an analogy! It doesn't have any deeper meaning or anything!» I backtracked, trying to clear up the misunderstanding.
For her reaction, she flinched slightly; consequently, those around us glanced our way—no, I could feel their stares boring into us.
«...Uh, an "analogy" you say? Although, isn't comparing your "memory loss" to amnesia is, rather, a bit... no, quite an exaggeration?»
«I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be dramatic; it was just a poor choice of words. I was merely trying to say I feel a little bit…» Oh, fuck, nothing comes to mind: «I-I don't know...»
«"Scattered"[2] wouldn't it be?»
«"Scattered", huh?» I said, tilting my head slightly.
«So basically, you're saying you're spreading your effort—like your attention—messily[3] across multiple areas? Though depending on the context, it can also sound like it carries a nuance close to "half-hearted[4]" or "lacking enthusiasm"... No, I don't think so. But I understand it was just a description on how you're feeling, so we won't dwell on it. But if I had to reword it, it would be "sanman[5]"...»
«Hmm... ah, no... Probably none of those are quite right... I think I just messed up the wording again.» I don't want her to keep overthinking because of me.
«Still, I was a little worried at first... Well, I'm rather confused now, since it's strange to hear someone say their memory is ambiguous[6]. Are you sure you're okay? Have you been eating well, or have you been stressed about something? Multi-tasking a particular project lately? That's what happened?»
«N-No, ha-ha, no. I'm fine, it's nothing serious,» I tried to regain my composure. «It's just that certain, well, how should I put it…? "Monotonous" knowledge in my life has kinda been pushed aside by other interests I've developed recently? Could it be laziness, right? That might be one of the factors, but I'm not entirely sure.»
«Distractions?» She probed.
«Maybe. Yeah, I guess.»
«Hmmm, distractions...»
As my words hung in the air, she gracefully slipped off her indoor shoes and slipped on a pair of black doll-style loafers—probably Mary Janes: the finishing touch to her radiant ensemble.
Thus, as she turned her gaze back to me, an expression of practicality flickered, and reassured: «Alright, I see. I suppose it's truth. Personally, I wouldn't torment myself too much over it; as you mentioned, it occurs ordinarily to people. From time to time, I'd properly say.»
«Thanks for the reassurance,» I forced a practiced smile. «At this point, I'm starting to think my brain might be staging a rebellion against me. It's destroying my nerves!»
If my brain were truly rebelling, it would have every right to. After all, I've been pushing it to its limits lately—navigating a foreign world, deciphering social cues, and starting to pretend to be someone I'm not without rehearse. It's no wonder it's staging a coup.
The real question is, who's the tyrant here? Me, or the circumstances I've been thrust into? Fuck my destiny.
«...Does this mean Nakamura-kun's brains are forming a labor union? Or is this another... analogy?»
«Uhm, call it a metaphor,» I shrugged. «And I'm not sure if my brain's demands include higher pay, like food, or just more sleep.»
«Hmm, I'd say its salary is rest. And... that's genuinely concerning. I don't know what you've been up to during the Winter Break, but at least prioritize your well-being above everything else if you're coming to school with an "amnesic condition".»
On repeat one more time with me: Researching and failing my communication possibilities abroad; analyzing the geographical environment in which I find myself; practicing and, partially, improving social methodologies for common and ordinary interactions. You count them, actually.
«In any case,» she continued, «if your brain goes on strike again, let me know. I'll make sure to send it a fruit basket, chocolates, or something more comforting. Do you like whole grains?»
«A fruit basket?»
«Consider it hazard pay for putting up with you,» shot back.
Ow, I see, that kinda stung more than I cared to admit.
But then again, she wasn't entirely wrong. I was a walking disaster, and she'd been patient enough to humor me this far? Maybe a fruit basket was fair compensation—though I'd have preferred cash. Why would she lend me cash? Or at least a nap—I've been feeling quite slothful.
«So, moving on,» she began, her tone shifting slightly. «If your memory's been "pushed aside" by other interests, what exactly were these distractions? Something scandalous happened?»
«Scandalous? Do I strike you as the scandalous type?»
«You strike me as the type who'd overthink whether or not they're the scandalous type, Nakamura-kun.» She retorted without missing a beat.
«I-I see,» I conceded. «But no, nothing scandalous. Just... it's nothing special, really. I said it before: sometimes your brain decides to prioritize the wrong things, and completely blanks out others.»
«Like forgetting where your locker is?» She shook her head, clearly amused. «Lately you've been feeling a bit detached from reality... or maybe "floating," to put it bluntly. Sorry if that rubbed you the wrong way.»
«So I've been told», by my "mother". «But, I prefer to think of it as "outlandish." Don't you think it sounds more sophisticated and less harsh?» And accurate, maybe?
«"Weird" is the best I can offer calling you.»
Bruh. «Okay, call me whatever you like, but the most important thing you have to tell me right now... I-It doesn't matter, just point out where my locker is, please.»
«You want the truth? I don't know, Nakamura-kun. I'm sorry for keeping you like this, but I don't know. Plus, you're worrying me unnecessarily.»
«There's no need to worryyyy! This is just a... I don't know, a blip in the grand scheme of things.»
«If that "blip" involves forgetting your school placement after presumably being there for months, that's not normal. And you will be here for another two years.»
«Guh... I-I guess so... But, let's stop talking about what-ifs and the future and stuff like that, I don't know! For now, let's focus on the feasible, the present, practical things. Mmm, for instance—»
«For instance, just hypothetically,[7]» she interrupted, undeterred, «if your memory is indeed as unreliable as you suggest, perhaps I could assist you, or give a little push, with something far simpler. Let's start with the basics, shall we? Show me, or tell me, where's the bathroom,» she demanded.
My mouth hung open. «Are you serious right now?[8]»
«Completely,[9]» she responded.
Are you fucking serious?
«The bathroom...?» I hesitated, glancing around as if the answer might materialize out of thin air. However: «That's not helping, though. I know where the bathroom is...!»
«I'm well aware it's that simple. So, it should be easy to point it out... Go ahead.»
«Y-You don't really expect me to fail this, right?» I muttered.
«I don't expect anything, Nakamura-kun,» she said quietly, without looking away. «I'm just observing.[10]»
I'm really fucked up. Gosh, where the hell would that be? «Well, uh... It's, uh-uhm. Probab—no. Uhm... T-They're all here, on the left!» Eventually, I declared with confidence, snapping my fingers.
Please, be correct. Please, be correct. Please, be correct. Please, be correct. Please, be correct. Please, be correct. Please, be correct!
«...Are you joking, right?»
«...»
How awful.
«And... Wow, "all" of them?! Nakamura-kun, the nearest one is on the right. And, to top it off, the bathrooms are actually on all three floors. Such a limitation would be incredibly inconvenient, don't you think?»
«Ah, I see—Y-Yes, yes! It was a silly mistake, haha! I got confused about the direction.»
«Now you're having trouble with your sense of orientation?» She catechized acidly.
According to that worryingly obvious, bitter look, I understood her emotion to well; I too had gone through times when frustrating friends asked me for help with simple things like that, and was wondering if they're that stupid or just rage-baiting me.
«Listen... I don't usually share this, but Nakamura-kun is pretty smart.»
Unexpectedly, she complimented me and continued speaking in a more relaxed tone: «What you mentioned about laziness, a while ago, is true—it could be an answer to your problem. People tend to forget information unless it has a practical application or we actively reinforce it through repetition, right? And since we were on Winter Break, you probably relaxed enough to forget the location of your locker. Sounds strange and fictitious, but doesn't also sound plausible?»
...Oh?
She didn't realize it, but her innocent words were a godsend, providing me with a perfectly reasonable argument to back up my excuse. It was a lucky break—or perhaps an unintentional endorsement from her peers. Either way, I'm safe!
«But I'm still puzzled that you don't remember it, given how straightforward this information is,» she added, tersely. «It may be that you have a certain degree of absent-mindedness—which will require you to develop your memory better, I suppose—but I highly doubt that is the case. For the same reason I expressed to you at the beginning, Nakamura-kun is smart. So... I wonder if you're just pulling my leg[11], Nakamura-kun. Is that right?»
J-Jeez, man.
Unbeknownst to them and unseen by anyone, a solitary bead of sweat trickled down my temple. You know why? Because I'm screwed. She saw through my act—or at least she's starting to.
After all, in what world would a healthy young man, with no documented memory issues or accidents to claim as a cause, suddenly suffer from a temporary deficit caused by brain damage?
I was the idiot who brought up, for the second time, this stupid topic, making it even more obvious. Fuck, man! Now, how could I possibly dig myself out of this mess?
Should I confess the truth? Admit that I've been joking and then go find my locker on my own. Or should I just tell her everythi—No, absolutely not! The whole transmigration story is off the table.
Yeah, in any case whatsoever, it was something I couldn't afford to reveal. Not to her, not to anyone. The idea of explaining my situation—of admitting that I wasn't who they thought I was—was laughable at best and catastrophic at worst.
The first option is the most logical and reasonable, but I also don't want to look like a fool wandering aimlessly in search of the places I need to go within this institution. For example, where the freakity-freak is the cafeteria?
I could always follow others or ask for help, but now this girl—despite saying it's no big deal—is taking our unpleasant interaction to heart.
I'll keep this up for a while: a tenable deniability, hoping it would be enough to keep her at bay, just a little while longer. But first, I need to remedy myself and offer an apology.... Again.
«No, I'm not pulling your leg, but... It's just... Yeah, I think so. Yes, I'm sorry, you're absolutely right,[12]» I appeased her and began to repent: «I've been getting a little carried away lately. My classes and exam results were going pretty well, so I let my guard down and thought, "Well, a little bit's okay,"... That was stupid. In any case, thank you for pointing it out, really.»
She seemed to soften, her expression shifting to one of understanding: «It's fine. Everyone makes simple mistakes like that.»
«But that "simple" thing is actually quite serious. Honestly, I need your help.»
«With finding the bathroom?»
«What? No, with finding my locker!»
She sighed, very heavily, and commented: «If your actual predicament is locating something you, by all personal obligation, should already know, I hate to break it to you, but you might need a map—or perhaps even a GPS—to travel around here, Nakamura-kun.»
«Please, don't treat me like a lost cause. Are you going to help me or not?»
A flicker of serendipity crossed her face, groaned, and her voice adopting a tone of convenient benevolence. «Well, I suppose there's no helping it. I'll help you, Nakamura-kun.»
With an eloquent gesture, she pointed toward the designated area and proposed: «While you search on the right, I'll investigate this section, alright?»
In response, I offered a wordless nod.
At any given moment, I found myself wandering—something I hadn't intended to do but ended up doing anyway—past rows of student lockers.
I'd created a problem; I shouldn't have involved her in this mess in the first place. I could've ignored her and searched on my own; but, here I am.
My steps moved horizontally, my eyes darting from one name to another, unraveling unknown identities: Something-ki Aya[13], Tanaka Yukihiro[14], Kobayashi… Daki?[15] I don't know, Yamamoto Mei[16], and countless others revealed themselves in a cascade of logograms.
Perhaps they were destined to remain in the realm of background characters—faceless, or born with designs too flat to matter. Yet, such a thought might be tinged with a narcissistic selfishness not entirely aligned with my usual mindset.
I suppose it's the belief of being the center of the world, because… come on, I'm this dashing protagonist. Ha, enough with the nonsense.
Then, an unmistakable voice echoed within the walls, calling my name with gentle authority:
«Nakamura-kun, over here! I've found it!»
Guided by her resonant call, I hurried toward her. And there it was, right in front of me: a paper plaque affixed to the front of the compartment, adorned with the elegant strokes that spelled out my own name—Nakamura Takumi.[17]
So that's how is written, I thought. It's very complex to memorize—as all the other kanji. Also, why is it so damn long? Do I have to write this shit every time I do an exam?
Nevertheless, relief washed over me, and a brief sigh escaped my lips. I turned to face her and expressed: «Oh, my God. Thank you. Really, thank you for your help.»
«There's no need to thank me,» she replied warmly. «If anything, I'm surprised you didn't try to find it on your own—it was in the same row as my locker this whole time. All you had to do was glance through this section, and it would've been easy to spot... Well, if you'd checked the name first, that is.»
She's calling me stupid. Was there really a need to add that last part?
«Although, I suppose it was my responsibility to remember that too,» she continued, her tone tinged with self-reproach. «I'm sure you know this... the lockers here are organized by year and section, and somehow I overlooked that detail—or rather, I think I forgot. Hmph, it seems I share a similar problem to yours... Ah, I can't believe it, how awful. It was my fault for not telling you beforehand—I'm sorry.»
«…Hmm? Wha-What? Why are you saying that?[18]»
Her self-critical remark threw me off that I slacked off a bit in English, and the corner of my mouth twitched into a half-frown.
«Hey, hey, what? You're not at fault for anything—what are you talking about?» I began earnestly, giving her shoulder a light, almost weightless pat to grab her attention. She was avoiding my look.
«This was entirely on me, you know? Me[19], Ore! I was acting like a complete idiot, burdening you with a problem that was… inherently stupid. And possibly distracting you. That's the bottom line! Why do you say it was your fault? I really don't understand. I really appreciate you helping me out. So... isn't that enough? Let's stop trying to figure out whose fault it was. It's just ridiculous.[20]»
Honestly, man: I've never fully understood why people have this tendency to shoulder unnecessary guilt. It's as if they have a predilection for flaunting vulnerability—what nonsense.
I pulled the keychain from my pocket, and in the process, I could feel her watching me with a mix of curiosity and mild exasperation before she spoke with measured calm.
«Haha, y-you're right. I guess I was acting a little blameworthy out of the blue, I get it. Okay, I'll accept your gratitude, Nakamura-kun. And… Well, I don't want to bother you further, but there's something I'd like to ask. I noticed it when I first saw you at the entrance...»
Not again. «What is it?»
«Why are you carrying that backpack?»
«…Excuse me?[21]»
[1] Getabako; (下駄箱)
[2] 『散らかってる』、ってやつ？
[3] ぐちゃぐちゃ
[4] 中途半端
[5] 散漫
[6] 曖昧[あいまい] ("Faltering" could also work)
[7] 「例えば、の話だけど。」
[8] 「……今、本気？」
[9] 「本気。」
[10] 「観察しているだけ。」
[11] 「からかっているのかなって。」
[12] 「いや、からかってるわけじゃない。ただ……うん、そうだ。ごめん。君の言う通りなんだ。」
[13] 鈴木彩
[14] 田中幸宏
[15] 小林大樹
[16] 山本芽衣
[17] 名嘉村択身
[18] 「なぜそんなことを言う？」
[19] He said this in English. Literally exclaiming: "ミ〜"
[20] 「助けてくれて、本当に感謝してるんだからさ。だから……もういいだろ？原因探し合うのはやめよう。バカみたいだし。」
[21] He said it in English... How in the world could I write that and not be a repetitive explanation or self-aware comment like "I said that in English"?