True Education: I Have a Life Simulator

[You calmly tossed the three notes into the toilet after memorizing their contents. Feigning the need to use the restroom, you flushed the toilet and watched them vanish into the vortex of centrifugal force.]

[When you stepped out of the bathroom, Ichinose Honami was already sitting at the dining table in the living room. She appeared to be admiring a photo album, her gentle smile serene and beautiful. Having taken off her apron, she, like you, was only wearing a loose robe—a soft lilac color—which felt slightly out of place.]

["Ryo." As soon as you exited the bathroom, you felt her gaze fixed upon you. Ichinose stood up and gently guided you to sit across from her. Her robe barely reached past her hips, her bare legs stretched out beneath the table, toes snug in pink slippers. She untied her ponytail, and a cascade of golden-pink hair fell like a waterfall to her waist, a few strands draped over her shoulder, enhancing her charm. With her head propped on her hand, she played with her hair while watching you begin eating.]

[You began eating the visually appealing breakfast in front of you. Perfectly cooked eggs, ham, and crispy bacon filled your senses. You tried to focus entirely on the food, avoiding eye contact with Ichinose. But after half an hour, with an empty plate and nothing left to distract you, you looked up and met her smiling eyes.]

[Ichinose stood up, cleaned the tableware, and handed you the photo album she'd been looking through. As she opened it to the first page, she softly explained, "I organized this when I was cleaning your room. Maybe it will help you remember something."]

[Unlike the photos on the wall, this album contained a large number of individual and family photos of you. Even so, Ichinose appeared in many of them, suggesting a deep relationship from an early age—close enough to appear in your family pictures. You traced the images of the man and woman, trying to associate them with your parents.]

["This album contains all your photos before you turned sixteen." While you were halfway through the album, Ichinose had already finished cleaning and was standing behind you. Her slender arms wrapped around your neck, and her delicate chin rested on your shoulder as she softly spoke.]

[She pointed to a photo and explained, "This was the hairclip you gave me for my sixteenth birthday. It was quite trendy at the time and cost over five digits."

With her left hand gently massaging your temples, she continued, "But a certain idiot wanted to surprise me, so he secretly worked part-time wearing a thick mascot costume in the summer heat, handing out flyers on the street." She exhaled softly into your ear. "Idiot."]

[You looked at the photo of yourself putting a clip in her hair. You vaguely recalled it—the clip. There was a faint impression of it in your mind, but...

Memory, in that moment, felt like an empty jaw: an unbearable itch when ignored, but aching when touched.]

[You shook your head and pushed the pain away, grasping for a random topic. "When did we start dating?"

"On my thirteenth birthday. In fact, tomorrow marks our ten-year anniversary."

Ichinose answered quickly and confidently, marching off to her room. She returned with a glass frame.

"This is the love letter you wrote to me back then. It's a testament to our happiness." She pouted, "You wrote me pages of letters back then, but we lost most of them during a move. This is the only one left."]

[You placed the glass frame on the cleaned table. Inside was a single unfolded letter. Thanks to good preservation, the handwriting remained legible. It was a childish note, matching her claim of you being thirteen at the time—simple memories, ending with a plain "I like you." Nothing too special.]

["Looking at it now is kind of embarrassing, huh? But I bet you didn't expect us to be married three years later."

Ichinose, now sitting beside you, leaned on your shoulder with a nostalgic smile. "No matter what happens to your memory, I'll always remember the memories you left with me."

"Ah, it's time," she glanced at her watch. The ring on her finger gleamed.

"I need to head out for work. You can stay home as usual—watch some TV or flip through the album. Maybe something will come back to you."

She entered the room, changing from homewear to everyday clothes. Dressed professionally, Ichinose looked much more mature. You suddenly realized she was a working adult—and your own role seemed insignificant, a man wholly dependent on his wife.]

["Don't worry, my salary is enough for both of us. You don't need to feel guilty."

Sensing your mood, she walked over and hugged you. "If anything happens, call me. I'm the only contact saved on both the landline and mobile. There's even an emergency dial just for me. Today is just like every other day. You'll be fine."

You felt like a child left home alone by his parents, receiving endless reminders. The oddness of the situation annoyed you, and you nodded impatiently, like hoping your guardians would just leave.

"I love you, always."

At the door, she kissed your lips. You responded stiffly. Then, she left, shutting the door behind her.]

[You stood there, listening to faint rustling outside. Her warmth lingered on your lips. Once the sounds faded, you cautiously turned the doorknob.]

[Creak—

The door budged slightly, just a crack. About a centimeter or two wide.

You noticed three tightly drawn chains attached to the lower frame, the other ends locked onto the door handle outside. You reached out, but only two fingers could fit through. The door wouldn't budge any further.

To put it bluntly: you were imprisoned inside this home.]

[You paced around—from the kitchen to the living room, checking the fridge and touching decorations. Alone in the apartment, a massive void loomed over you like a storm cloud.

Your memory contained no images, no sounds. Nothing in the house felt familiar—not even your own photographs. Despite Ichinose's explanations, you couldn't remember a single shared moment with her—aside from what occurred since you woke up.]

[You stood again in front of the giant wedding photo, closing your eyes, using it as an anchor to search your memory. But all you found were layers of scent: the rot of wilted plants, overripe berries, and decaying flesh. The stench of death blinked through your mind like a dying flame on the edge of night.]

[You reviewed the love letter Ichinose claimed you wrote. Carefully, you compared its handwriting to the note you found earlier. Although people's writing evolves, small habits—certain strokes—rarely change. Letter by letter, you examined it. Finally, a chilling conclusion:

The love letter and the note were written by different people. Even though both were signed: "Kitagawa Ryo."]

["One of them is fake." You found a pen in the study and, eyes closed, wrote your name five times on a blank page.

When you opened your eyes, the result was clear: your handwriting was a third style—distinct from both the letter and the note.]

-------------------------------------

["If you're confused, call the psychiatrist Sakayanagi Arisu." That morning note returned to your mind. In panic, you fumbled to dial the number, worried Ichinose might have blocked phone access. But the call went through, and you sighed in relief.]

["Hello, this is Psychiatrist Sakayanagi Arisu."

A calm female voice greeted you. Though she tried to sound mature, you quickly realized she was likely under eighteen. A high school student, or even younger.

This reality made your next question stick in your throat. You decided to test her knowledge of you. "Who am I?"

"Hmm?"]

[Sakayanagi Arisu seemed intrigued. Her breath grew louder, a performative mystery building in the air. You, too, tensed.

"You are my Patient No.1, Kitagawa Ryo-san. I'm glad to hear from you again."

She seemed to flip through some files. "It's been two years and 128 days since our last call."]

["Two years and 128 days? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

She sighed. "Kitagawa Ryo, 20 years old. Diagnosis: amnesia."

"You're lucky I kept your file because of how unique your case is."

You heard keystrokes and clicking in the background.]

["There are two main types of amnesia," she explained.

"The most common is when a person can't recall past events—especially recent ones. For example, a patient might forget a car accident happened or lose memories from days or weeks before. But they can remember everything from six months prior with perfect clarity."

"The rarer type?" you asked.

"Sometimes short-term memory doesn't convert into long-term storage. Such people live entirely in the moment and can only remember the immediate past."

"Unfortunately, you exhibit symptoms of both types."

"You've lost your past and can't retain new memories."

You heard her sipping something, then she continued:

"What's more rare is your storage method. Unlike most amnesia patients who can't hold a conversation, you remember things for long durations."

"Twenty-four hours?"

You recalled what Ichinose said about you forgetting everything each morning.

"Yes, 24 hours."

She sounded intrigued. "It means you're capable of transferring short-term to long-term memory. I just don't understand why it doesn't stay."]

["Can you help me?" Desperation leaked from your voice. The fractured state of your memory was driving you mad. Three handwriting samples stabbed through your mind like spears, dragging countless suspicions with them.]

["Of course. You're my patient, after all."

Sakayanagi yawned lazily, then confidently added:

"Honestly, if your girlfriend hadn't forcibly stopped you from getting psychiatric treatment three years ago, you might've recovered by now."

"Three years ago? How old were you then?"

You caught the inconsistency in her story and asked instinctively.]

["It's rude to ask a lady her age, Kitagawa-san."

She chuckled lightly, then dropped a bombshell:

"Now, I'll recite some keywords to help trigger your memory. Focus, and try to recall."

You dropped the phone. It hit the ground like bones rattling on cold tile.

"White Room."

That's what she said.]