He had the same dream again.
In the dream, there was still that smiling young man he'd once mistaken for the Duke of Zhou.
Only this time, beside him sat a curly-haired boy on the ground, bass in his arms, his face dark and gloomy.
"Well, well. Looks like this run didn't go very smoothly," the young man said, eyes narrowed in a foxlike grin as he cracked a joke.
"I mean, I can kind of understand it, but even when you're playing a game, isn't it more fun if you put some real emotion into it?"
His tone wasn't accusatory—more like he was explaining "how to make the game more enjoyable."
He didn't seem to care much about what happened to anyone else in the simulation; he just wanted to make sure the experience itself was interesting enough.
"Don't blame me. This guy just didn't role-play properly," the curly-haired boy snapped, lips pursed in irritation, like a problem child tuning out a parent's lecture.
"Besides, I don't care where I die. Rock musicians dying young isn't exactly rare.
But how could you make Caterpillar bear all of that… She could've just kept playing music happily with her friends, carefree."
In stark contrast to his unapproachable appearance, the gloomy boy was actually someone who cared deeply about others.
"You're both being way too loud."
Standing opposite the two of them, Narumi rubbed his forehead.
"If playing this kind of simulation means splitting into this many versions of myself inside my head, then for the sake of avoiding dissociative identity disorder, I'm not touching that game ever again."
"Oh come on, come on. We're just you inside your own head," the foxlike young man said, waving his hands reassuringly.
"We'll behave. No need to be so jumpy."
The bass-holding boy still wasn't happy about Narumi's earlier choices, but on this point, he didn't argue.
"Sorry… I just can't stay calm when I see her looking so hurt…"
By her, he was clearly referring to Gotō Hitori.
"And I also don't get why you still left something behind for Yamada Ryō in the end."
True enough—to the third-rate bassist Narumi Tōru, Yamada Ryō was merely "one of the band members of the important pink caterpillar", not someone particularly central.
"Because I was the one running the simulation."
Narumi's short answer cut off whatever else the bass boy was about to ask.
Only then did he add calmly,
"In that simulation, she was the only friend I had from reality… and she treated me the same way she does in real life."
"Ohh, so in simple terms, you mixed in a bit of personal bias," the foxlike young man said, tilting his head, his smile never fading.
"I can't say I fully understand that feeling, but I get it a little."
"And even though you are the foundation that makes us possible in every sense, that's precisely why there are differences."
"Respect the diversity of Narumi Tōru—starting with you, me, and him."
This free-spirited novelist really was good with words.
"That doesn't really matter. Once I'm out of the simulation, I can still hang out with Yamada anyway. Right now, there are more pressing issues."
Narumi shook his head dismissively.
Emotions like these only bothered him briefly; once something serious came up, he'd toss them aside without hesitation.
The foxlike young man merely smiled in response.
After all, they were the same person—even their emotional detachment was identical, just differing in degree.
"That damn system said my actions in the simulation could affect reality. Do either of you have any idea what that means?"
Frowning, he posed the question to the other two versions of himself, holding a full-blown Narumi Conference inside his head.
"No idea~. At the end of the day, we're just fragments of consciousness born from you glimpsing other possible futures. What you know, we know. What you don't, we can't know either. And we definitely can't interfere with your reality."
The foxlike young man shrugged.
After all, they could only appear in Narumi's dreams—self-action was beyond them.
"Yeah… that's probably for the best. Otherwise my real life would be a complete mess."
Narumi nodded.
When it came down to it, there were only a few things he truly hated—and losing control was one of them.
"That damn system waited until I went through the same thing twice before revealing something this important. How is that any different from a shady restaurant saying the food's free, then giving you diarrhea the next day?"
The bass boy rolled his eyes.
Compared to the word-loving fox, the rock musician was far better at expressing outright hostility.
"Yeah, I get it, I really get it. Hidden clauses that don't show up in the contract are the worst. And how can you be sure that's the only thing it's been hiding from you?"
The foxlike young man was still smiling, but his tone had grown far more pointed.
"We're all the same person, after all, so we understand why you're angry."
"Yeah. That feeling of getting blindsided out of nowhere—I hate it too."
The bass boy nodded, tightening his grip on the instrument as his irritation grew.
"Mm. I don't like handing over control to someone else. It makes me feel unsafe."
After reaching this surprising consensus with his other selves, the bass boy suddenly seemed to recall something.
"…This kind of conversation we're having—the system doesn't know about it, right?"
"If it were truly omniscient, it would've shut us down already. And if it really were a flawless operating system, this kind of oversight wouldn't exist in the first place—unless it was hiding things on purpose."
Narumi sorted through his thoughts.
He rarely showed this calm, analytical side in front of others.
"So it can't be trusted anymore."
The foxlike young man shook his head.
Trust—no matter how unbreakable it once seemed—once a crack appears, its collapse becomes inevitable.
"That's fine. I never place much trust in others to begin with."
If Narumi's average level of trust in people hovered around 10–30%, the only one who exceeded that range was Yamada Ryō—and even she barely reached 50–60%.
"The only person I truly trust… is myself."
He glanced at the two figures before him, each with different expressions and personalities.
They returned the look in kind.
Maybe this was the only place that truly had his back.
"For now, let's think about how to deal with any trouble that might show up in reality. We'll observe that system for a while longer."
In the end, they—no, he—came to that conclusion.
And then, he woke up from the hazy dream and returned to reality.