Classroom of the Elite, I Have a Life Simulator

[Wait, it's only now that you realize if your deduction is correct, you spent last night in bed with a complete stranger. Furthermore, this is likely her home—are you her lover?]

[After all, at this very moment, you have noticed that you are wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. Appearing in an unknown woman's bed in such attire leaves you struggling to think of any other possibility.]

[You rub your forehead, feeling a dull ache. On the ring finger of your right hand, a diamond ring sits perfectly in place. It fits your finger exactly, looking as if it belongs to you, yet you have no memory of getting engaged or married to anyone.]

[Or rather, who would marry a sixteen-year-old high school student? The law wouldn't even allow it.]

[You look melancholically at the ring glowing on your finger, thinking it must belong to the husband of this house's mistress. That poor man is likely either away on a business trip or already dead, and then it was placed on your finger by someone named Ichinose Honami.]

[Is there really such a stimulating kind of game?]

[You feel the need to leave this place. Perhaps her husband has just finished working overtime, is currently sitting in a car on his way back, his mind still hazy as if he were drunk.]

[You don't even bother to put on the pair of black slippers by the bed. You tiptoe toward the bedroom door, only to suddenly discover that a mirror has been embedded into it.]

[You don't even have time to wonder why someone would install a mirror on a bedroom door, because all your attention is captured by the image within the glass.]

[The face in the mirror is not your own. You widen your eyes, and the person in the mirror widens theirs. You blink your left eye, and the person in the mirror blinks their left eye as well.]

[You reach out to touch your reflection, your teeth chattering. If not for the thought of not wanting to alert anyone, you might be screaming right now. You lean in close to the mirror, those black eyes nearly pressing against your retinas.]

[You recognize them—these are your eyes. The person in the mirror is indeed you, but much more mature. As if you've suddenly aged five years? Or ten? The stubble on your chin is neatly groomed, your nose bridge is sharp, and your features are more defined than before. The good news is that you are still quite handsome.]

[But this small bit of good news cannot dilute your panic. No one can remain calm after waking up to find they have aged several years overnight. You stumble back in terror and, without hesitation, turn the doorknob to head outside.]

[As you look in the mirror, you already feel something terrifying trying to break free from within your body, as if it wants to surge out and form a new physical vessel of its own. It is stirring.]

[After opening the door, what you see is a wall covered in dozens of photographs. These pictures seem to be from some time ago; most have already yellowed slightly. The one in the very center is the largest—a wedding portrait.]

[The man in the photo is you. It is you, a few years younger than this body, but a few years older than your memories.]

[And the beautiful woman smiling while holding your arm in the photo has long, gold-pink hair cascading down to her waist like a waterfall. She wears no veil, just a white Western-style wedding dress trailing to her feet. Her smile is sweet and blissful. Just looking at this photo, you inexplicably feel that she must have been the most eye-catching presence at the wedding.]

[Kitagawa Ryo.]

[To the left of the wedding photo, this name is written in black permanent marker. An arrow points from the name to the man—to you, dressed in a suit. The name feels somewhat familiar, yet the memory remains blurry. You struggle to believe that this is your name.]

[Ichinose Honami.]

[That name appears again, with a similar arrow pointing to the woman in the wedding dress. Unlike the name "Kitagawa Ryo," a line of small text is written beneath this one:]

[Your girlfriend, your lover, your wife.]

[You stand there blankly, a dark, solidified sensation choking your throat. You cannot breathe.]

[You quickly scan the other photos. Each one is a picture of you and her, from childhood to adolescence, and now to your current age of about twenty. There are photos of you and her holding hands in front of a large rock in a park, photos of you hiking together, photos of you both in wedding attire, and some that look brand new, taken in the last few days. You are wearing the very same black robe you saw when you woke up.]

[You take two more steps back until your bare back hits the cold tile. Memories are like a giant beast revealing one eye from beneath a pitch-black sea. You are bewildered and at a loss under its gaze. That long stretch of emptiness is like a blank tape; when played, the television screen shows only bizarre, black-and-white static.]

["Ryo, are you awake?"]

[You hear footsteps. Someone is walking toward you. You want to poke your head out to take a look—just a glimpse—as if afraid of seeing something, yet also afraid of seeing nothing at all. Sure enough, you only see a strand of hair swaying in the air.]

[The woman walking over is the person from the photos. If the names in the photos and books are correct, then this beautiful woman wearing a pink apron with her hair tied into a simple ponytail is Ichinose Honami.]

[Her azure pupils are looking at you with concern. At about twenty-three or twenty-four, she is in the prime of a woman's beauty. She seems to notice your terror and restlessness, walking up naturally to pull you into her embrace. She pats your back gently, as if comforting a child who just woke up from a nightmare, and whispers softly in your ear:]

["There, there, it's okay. I'm right here with you."]

["What is going on?" Warm body heat surrounds you. The soft sensation, the gentle fragrance. It takes you a long time to realize you are being held against her chest. Her long hair blocks your vision, and your nose catches the scent of green tangerines.]

["I am your wife, and you are Kitagawa Ryo, the husband of Ichinose Honami."]

[She speaks as if stating an established fact, her tone incredibly natural and practiced, as if she has said it a thousand times over.]

["We have been married for three years."]

[This fact, which does not exist in your memory, violently strikes at your defenses. You instinctively struggle, wanting to pull away from her embrace.]

[But Ichinose Honami only looks at you with her eyes. At this moment, you seem to have become a wound on her body; every time you move, she feels a heart-wrenching pain. You have no choice but to give up the struggle, letting your entire body, down to every pore, sink deeper into her arms.]

["Ryo, you are twenty-three years old now." This stranger smiles at you. You don't know if you should believe her, but she continues:]

["You were in an accident when you were sixteen—a car crash. You suffered a head injury, which is why you can't remember things now."]

["What?" You stare at her, muttering the word unconsciously.]

[Ichinose Honami seems to think you are asking which memories you have lost, so she says cautiously:]

["Everything. You don't remember anything at all, not even your own name."]

[You close your eyes. Although you want to instinctively deny her words, you truly cannot recall anything about yourself. You only remember that you are sixteen this year, a high school student...]

["I had the accident when I was sixteen?"]

["Yes. When you were sixteen, you went out with your parents, but there was a car accident on the way. Although you were the only one who survived, you lost your memory."]

[She seems reluctant to talk about it, but explains patiently:]

["At first, it was only a little bit. We all thought it was the brain's emergency protective measure, making you forget the incident to make you feel better. But afterward, you began to lose memories in large chunks. About a month after we got married, you had completely lost all your memories."]

["What's worse is that you no longer have the ability to retain memories. Every morning when you wake up, you forget everything, including me."]

[She strokes your hair, a gesture you find inexplicably familiar. You digest her words and then ask:]

["Then why would you marry someone with amnesia?"]

["Because I love you."]

Ichinose Honami's lips pressed against your forehead. She must have just finished making breakfast in the kitchen, as the kiss carried a faint scent of butter. You didn't dislike it.

"I..."

"Don't be afraid. I'm here. As long as I'm here, Ryo, you'll remember everything eventually."

Seeing that you were still bare, she walked into the room and handed you the black bathrobe hanging there, along with a pair of slippers.

"Trust me."

You felt a bit more at ease because of the promise from the woman before you. After putting on the clothes, you followed her out of the hallway, feeling like a strange tenant following a landlord to view a property. She pointed to a small room on the right:

"The washroom is in there. Breakfast will take a little longer, dear."

You didn't know how to respond. Should you call her "dear" too? Or call her by her name? You didn't seem able to hold such an attitude toward a woman you had just met, so you simply nodded and walked into the room.

Stepping into the bathroom, the toothbrush, toothpaste, and rinsing cup on the vanity were a perfect pair—a sky-blue and pink set leaning against each other. The small cabinet beside the mirror was stuffed with all sorts of cosmetics. You looked at yourself in the mirror and still felt incredibly like a stranger.

"Make sure you brush for at least two minutes," Ichinose Honami's voice came from outside. You hurriedly gave an affirmative reply, picked up the sky-blue cup with some reserve, squeezed toothpaste onto the brush, and began to brush mechanically. However, after only a minute, you switched the toothbrush to your left hand, and your right hand slowly reached down to pull up the slipper on your right foot.

From the moment you put on these slippers, you had noticed that the right one was slightly heavier than the left. You traced the tread on the sole of the slipper bit by bit, soon catching a distinct bump. Using a razor blade from the vanity, you sliced it open, and a tiny box of unknown material appeared before you.

You silently pulled the bathroom door shut and pried open the delicate little object. You had a premonition that this thing would explain some of your doubts.

There were three slips of paper inside the box. You began to read them one by one.

The first: "If you feel confused, please call the psychologist Sakayanagi Arisu," followed by a string of contact information.

The second: "Meow meow meow meow meow." It was a phrase with no discernible meaning, and you weren't sure if it was some strange code. It was signed by "Hotaru."

"Ryo, breakfast is ready. Today it's buttered cheese toast and fried bacon, ham, and eggs." Ichinose Honami's voice drifted in. She seemed to be in a good mood, humming an unknown tune.

You unfolded the third slip of paper. It bore the handwriting you were most familiar with.

"Do not believe anything Ichinose Honami says. Signed—Kitagawa Ryo."

Chapter 26: Entering the Dream

You calmly threw the three slips of paper into the toilet—after memorizing their contents, of course. You pretended to use the restroom, then pressed the flush button, watching them disappear into the massive centrifugal vortex.

When you walked out of the bathroom, Ichinose Honami was already sitting at the dining table in the living room. She seemed to be admiring a photo album, a gentle and beautiful smile on her lips. Having taken off her apron, she was wearing a loose bathrobe just like yours, though hers was a pale purple. You felt a slight sense of dissonance.

"Ryo."

As soon as you stepped out, you felt her gaze lock onto you. Ichinose Honami stood up and took your hand, leading you to sit opposite her. The pale purple robe ended just below her hips, her legs bare and bright, her feet in pink slippers.

She sat down and undid her hair tie. Her golden-pink hair cascaded down to her waist, with a few strands resting on her shoulders, adding a touch of allure. She rested her head on her right hand, playing with the tips of her hair, seemingly waiting for you to eat first.

You began to slowly eat the breakfast, which didn't look half bad. The eggs and ham were fried to perfection, paired with crispy bacon. You tried your best to focus your attention entirely on the meal, keeping your head down to avoid looking at Ichinose Honami across from you. But after half an hour, the empty plate offered nothing more to eat, and you had no choice but to look up at her. She seemed to have finished even faster than you, as you caught her eyes brimming with a smile.

Ichinose Honami stood up to clear the dishes. As she passed by you, she handed you the photo album she had been looking at. She opened the first page for you and introduced it:

"I sorted this out when I was cleaning your room back then. Maybe it will help you remember something."

Unlike the photos you had seen on that wall, this album contained a large number of solo shots of you and family photos. Even in these pictures where you were the protagonist, Ichinose Honami appeared in quite a few. It seemed she really had been close to you since you were a child, even close enough to be included in your family portraits. Your fingers brushed over the man and woman in the photos, struggling to connect them to your own parents.

"This album contains almost all the photos from before you were sixteen." By the time you reached the middle of the album, Ichinose Honami had finished cleaning up and was standing behind you. Her slender arms wrapped around your neck, her dainty chin resting on your shoulder as she spoke softly.

She pointed to the photos, offering explanations:

"This is the hair clip you gave me for my sixteenth birthday. It was all the rage back then; I remember it cost five figures."

Ichinose Honami happily tapped the album with her finger, her left hand gently massaging your temples:

"But some idiot, wanting to surprise me, secretly took a part-time job behind my back. He stood on the street in the middle of summer wearing one of those thick, plush mascot costumes, handing out flyers." She breathed softly against your ear:

"Dummy."

You looked at the photo of yourself putting the clip in the girl's hair. Vaguely, you did remember the clip. That clip... you did seem to have some impression of it, but... but.

Memory at this moment was like an empty gum line; when you didn't think about it, there was an itch that clawed at your heart, but when you actually tried to touch it, it was a hollow pain.

You shook your head to cast away the stinging thought and found a random topic:

"When did we start dating?"

"On my thirteenth birthday. Come to think of it, tomorrow is our tenth anniversary."

Ichinose Honami answered quickly. She walked into the room with a brisk, energetic gait and returned a moment later holding a glass frame.

"I still kept the love letter Ryo wrote me back then. This is the witness to the happiness between us."

However, she sighed and pouted, muttering:

"Ryo wrote me a love letter several pages long in one go back then. It's a pity that a lot of things were lost when we moved; this is the only one left."

You placed the glass frame on the now-wiped dining table. Inside was a spread-out piece of stationery. Thanks to the preservation, the handwriting wasn't too blurred. Reflecting what Ichinose Honami said about her being thirteen, the tone of the letter was very immature, and there weren't any particularly noteworthy sentences. It mostly just recalled the past between the two of you, ending with a simple format like "I like you."

"It's a bit embarrassing to look at now, but back then, Ryo probably never imagined that ten years later, we'd have been married for three years."

Ichinose Honami, sitting close to your side, leaned against your shoulder and murmured as if lost in reminiscence.

"No matter what happens to your memory, Ryo, I will always remember the memories you left me."

"Oh, the time." Ichinose Honami checked her watch; the wedding ring on her ring finger sparkled.

"I have to go to work. Ryo, just stay at home like you usually do. Watch some TV or flip through the album; maybe you'll remember a bit more."

Ichinose Honami walked into the room and chose a set of casual clothes from the closet. Unlike the impression given by her loungewear, she looked much more capable and mature in her street clothes. Only then did you realize that she was an adult with a job, and looking at the situation, your own position was like that of a social parasite who wasn't even a househusband, being fully supported by his wife.

"It's alright, my salary is enough to support both of us, so Ryo doesn't need to feel guilty or anything like that."

She seemed to sense your mood, walking over to hug you once more before putting on her shoes:

"Don't worry, if anything happens, just give me a call. My number is the only one in the landline and mobile phone contacts, and I'm on the emergency dial too. Today is no different from any other day; you'll be fine."

You felt like a child left at home by their parents, as if being told by a mother not to touch this or that. This strange sense of dissonance made you nod with a hint of irritation, as if you were hoping for them to leave quickly.

"I love you forever."

Before closing the door, Ichinose Honami kissed your lips. You responded to her with awkward stiffness, and she finally pulled the door shut and left.

You stood inside the house and heard rustling noises from outside. With the lingering warmth of her kiss still on your lips, you stood there quietly. Once your lips grew cold and the sounds outside vanished, you tentatively turned the doorknob.

"Creak."

The door opened just as you had hoped, but only a sliver, perhaps one or two centimeters wide.

You stared at the three taut iron chains by your feet; one end was fixed to the bottom of the door frame, while the other was locked into a clasp on the handle outside. You reached out tentatively, but in the end, you could only squeeze two fingers through. You pushed against the door with force, but it remained completely immovable.

To summarize your current situation bluntly:

You are being held prisoner in this house.

You paced around the house, walking from the kitchen to the living room, opening the refrigerator to check the ingredients, and walking over to touch the decorative paintings in the living room. When you realized you were the only one in the house, a massive sense of emptiness shrouded you like a dark cloud.

There were no images or sounds in your memory. There wasn't a single item in this house that you could recall, not even a photo of yourself. No matter how detailed Ichinose Honami's explanations of them were, you couldn't remember a single moment you had spent with her, aside from what had happened since you woke up this morning.

You returned once more to the large wedding portrait. You closed your eyes, using it as an anchor to search your memory, but you only found layers upon layers of scents: the smell of withered and rotting vegetation, the scent of overripe berries on the verge of decay, the smell of flesh rotting and dying... the smell of a corpse. They flickered in your memory like the final, struggling rays of sunset about to vanish into the night.

You read the love letter that was supposedly written by you to Ichinose Honami once again. You carefully compared the handwriting on it to the note you had seen that morning. While a person's handwriting can indeed mature or change as they age, certain habitual strokes or the unique way a specific character is written are difficult to alter. You looked at that "love letter" word by word, and finally reached a chilling conclusion:

The author of this love letter and the author of the note you found this morning were not the same person, even though both were signed "Kitagawa Ryo."

"One of them is fake." You found a pen in the study, closed your eyes, and copied your name onto a piece of paper five times.

When you opened your eyes again, you discovered that the "Kitagawa Ryo" on the paper was a third, distinct style of handwriting, completely different from both the note and the love letter.