True Education: I Have a Life Simulator

Karuizawa Kei woke up much earlier than she had expected. If one were to go by the clock, she had only slept for four to five hours at most, but some invisible force compelled her to open her eyes before six in the morning. She didn't feel drowsy at all—on the contrary, there was a faint sense of exhilaration. If every morning in the past two months had been like an endless abyss, long and devoid of light, then this morning was the first time Kei truly felt anticipation for the new day.

She had completely forgotten the time. Kei hadn't realized it was only a little past five. She was like a flower awakened by the very first ray of sunlight. Pulling back the curtains and opening the window, she hummed a tune and headed to the bathroom to wash up.

Her heart had been beating quickly since she woke, like an excited child looking forward to a field trip. Clutching a hair tie between her teeth, she tied up her hair in front of the mirror, raising her eyebrows and widening her eyes to check for dark circles. Her mind was in turmoil, as if two little versions of herself were arguing—one urging her to rush to the hotel, the other softly persuading her to take more time to get ready. That internal tug-of-war finally settled as she finished getting ready.

The white dress she wore yesterday had already been washed. Kei casually picked a simple outfit: a short-sleeved white collared blouse with tiny embroidered patterns near the buttons, tucked slightly into high-waisted jeans, the front part tied into a neat little knot. The look was fresh, cheerful, and full of summer energy.

Leaving a note for her parents, Kei slipped on her sandals and made her way to Kitagawa Ryo's hotel. There weren't many people on the streets at this hour, and the air was crisp and clean. She took a deep breath—the scenery she had long grown used to now looked unexpectedly fresh and new.

She realized she had done something similar before.

Back when Ryo lived nearby—just a short walk from her own home—she would often visit. It only took about five minutes, half of which was spent climbing stairs. About six months ago, when they graduated from elementary school, Kei heard Ryo say that his parents had returned. She had a feeling then that he might leave someday.

She feared he might vanish one morning without warning. She'd go knock on his door, but no one would ever answer. That scene had haunted her dreams often.

So, in the days before Ryo's departure, Kei would wake earlier than anyone else. The first thing she did each morning was sneak out and knock on Ryo's door. Only after seeing his sleepy face opening the door could she go home to freshen up—or more often, crawl back into bed for a secure nap.

She cherished every second they spent together. During those days, she would stare at his face for long stretches, as if trying to etch every detail into her memory. Sometimes, she'd unconsciously reach out and touch his face, until he frowned in confusion.

They were practically inseparable. Even when she went home, she wished she could fold him up like a piece of origami and tuck him into her pocket. After he told her when he'd be leaving, Kei began treating every moment they shared as if it were their last. Every goodbye became a rehearsal for the final farewell.

Even after he left, Kei habitually went to knock on that door again. Cherry blossoms gently brushed against the glass. It was then she noticed the doorknob was made of metal—its coldness seeping through her hand and into her heart.

It felt as if one of her nightmares had come true—a fear that had grown fangs and emerged from the darkness, now staring her down like some new monster.

As Kei walked down the quiet morning street, she recalled those memories like a pilgrimage. She re-heated those moments, warming them in her heart until they burned.

Her pace quickened, nearly breaking into a run. She couldn't wait to see Ryo again. But at that moment, what surged up inside her wasn't just joy, but a strange sense of repentance—like a devout believer running to the cross.

She entered the hotel elevator and arrived at Ryo's room.

Ryo could reconnect with the past effortlessly.

But Kei could not.

For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to knock like before. She rested her fingers on the wooden door, pressing her ear to it like a timid child.

Before three minutes passed, the door suddenly opened. With the barrier between them yanked away, Kei lost her balance and fell forward. Still half-asleep, Ryo instinctively caught her. The scene looked like Kei had been waiting to pounce into his arms.

Neither of them understood what had happened. They both looked up and saw their own reflections in each other's eyes.

"Kei?"

Ryo was the first to speak. He was still in pajamas.

"Ah… it's nothing."

Kei was startled by his voice. She quickly stood up and tried to change the subject awkwardly.

"You're up pretty early, Ryo."

"If we're talking early, you definitely beat me."

Ryo, still in slippers, fetched her a new pair.

"After all, I just woke up. You've already washed up and found your way here."

Rubbing his chin, he guessed:

"You probably haven't eaten yet, have you? Want me to make you something?"

This deluxe suite reserved by Izaki came with a kitchen. Ryo had already checked the fridge last night and confirmed there were plenty of fresh ingredients.

"Okay."

Kei nodded. She looked around, unsure where to sit, then chose to sit on the bed Ryo had just slept in, hugging her knees and waiting.

"Want to watch TV?"

Ryo pointed to the giant screen hanging on the wall before heading into the kitchen.

Kei gave a soft response. After a pause, Ryo guessed she was looking for the remote.

"It's in the second drawer of the nightstand."

Blushing, Kei quickly stuffed some suspicious items back into the first drawer and retrieved the remote from the second to turn on the TV. It was nearly 7 AM—early morning news had already started.

[The annual fireworks festival will kick off in five days. Meteorologists predict clear skies and minimal chance of rain. Citizens are encouraged to enjoy the rare festive celebration.]

Today's top story was about the upcoming fireworks festival. It was scheduled unusually late this year—typically falling between mid-July and mid-August.

"Ryo."

Kei's voice layered itself atop the TV broadcast. Ryo instantly froze.

A strange unease stirred in him as he turned. Kei wasn't watching the TV at all. She looked dazed, her blue eyes unfocused, as though she were sleepwalking. When Ryo turned, her gaze finally aligned with his.

Tilting her head, she asked quietly:

"What's wrong?"

"I thought I heard you call me just now."

"Did I? I don't remember."

She curled up, looking cold. Pulling the blanket over herself again, Ryo figured the air conditioning might be too strong. He stepped out and adjusted the temperature.

Something about Kei now felt… off.

As he fried the eggs, Ryo found himself trying to recall her past self. Not enough time had passed to blur memories or drastically change her appearance, yet he couldn't clearly summon her old image.

Back in elementary school, she had been feisty and strong-willed. They only interacted outside of school during the first five years, and Ryo had been the quieter one. Kei always led the conversations and planned their activities—like the time she convinced him to sneak off to a park dozens of kilometers away.

That Kei had been full of agency.

In contrast, the Kei before him now felt different.

Placing the cooked eggs on plates, Ryo felt Kei's eyes on his back the entire time.

And yet—

Kei felt like a version of Ryo himself.

He tried to find the right adjective for that feeling… but gave up and just settled on "special."

"Let's eat. Though, this is about as far as my cooking skills go."

They sat across from each other. Golden eggs, sliced bread, and two glasses of warm white milk.

And so, the day-to-day life between Kitagawa Ryo and Karuizawa Kei began.

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This was, for a girl's room, an extremely simple one. There were no unnecessary decorations—walls and ceiling alike were plain white without any wallpaper. The layout of the room was minimalistic: a spotless, neatly organized bookshelf filled with categorized books, and furniture that matched a unified simple style dominated by soft whites and pale blues. This was Horikita Suzune's room.

The alarm went off at six in the morning, and it was silenced instantly by a slender, fair hand. Without a hint of hesitation, Horikita Suzune got out of bed and swiftly changed into light workout clothes. After a simple yet meticulous wash-up, she stepped outside for her morning exercise.

The girl had maintained this rigorously disciplined routine for years. Horikita Suzune was a perfectionist.

Or rather, she was a younger sister chasing after the perfect image of her older brother. Since Horikita Manabu was, in her eyes, the embodiment of perfection, pursuing perfection herself was the natural path.

After completing a thirty-minute workout and returning home, Suzune changed clothes and took a hot shower. Her usually pale skin turned slightly rosy under the stream of water. Her waist-length black hair, now loose and wet, clung to her back, dark as a raven's wings soaked in rain.

Having washed away the sweat from her morning training, she meticulously prepared breakfast. Cooking was a survival skill she had mastered during her years of living alone, and now her culinary abilities were quite impressive—even outstanding among peers.

Placing her prepared breakfast on the table, Suzune turned on the television to catch the morning news. Living alone didn't mean isolating herself from all external information. She calmly cut her food with precision and brought each bite to her mouth while absorbing various news segments.

After breakfast came dishwashing. To avoid getting her hair in the soap suds, she casually pulled her long hair into a high ponytail. Normally, Suzune didn't bother with elaborate hairstyles, usually letting her straight hair fall freely. Because of this, the occasional change gave her a completely different look. The high ponytail swayed slightly with each movement, adding a sense of liveliness to her composed demeanor.

Horikita Suzune's daily routine was always like this—unchanging.

Until three minutes later, when she received an international call from Horikita Manabu:

"It'd be best if you met Ryo today. Even just to get acquainted, or become friends."

That's what her older brother said over the phone.

And so, Horikita Suzune's daily routine came to an end.