Find the real me?

Kotomi Izumi thought long and hard about Kazumi’s final words once she calmed down. Her mind raced, trying to deduce the meaning from every angle, but she couldn’t figure it out. What did those words mean?

The real me?

Could it be that the Kazumi she knew now wasn’t the real Kazumi?

Kazumi hadn’t left behind any hint.

“At least tell me where to find the real you…” Kotomi murmured softly. It hadn’t even been a day, yet she already missed Kazumi.

Almost every day she would talk with Kazumi. Without exaggeration, the person who understood her the most in the world was Kazumi.

Though they often ended up bickering, when Kotomi spoke with Kazumi, she could lay aside everything else and chat freely about her second life and her fragmented memories.

She remembered how, in the mental space, Kazumi would lounge on the sofa, playing Red Dead Redemption 2 with an elite controller, while listening to Kotomi complain about when she would finally regain all her memories. Kazumi would puff her chest proudly and say:

“Such a trivial matter isn’t worth worrying about. Once I grow stronger, I’ll restore all those forgotten memories on the spot.”

“Really?”

“Truer than azuki beans~”

They laughed and joked as Kazumi reached the Wolf ending.

And then Kazumi curled up under her blanket and cried for a long time.

That Kazumi—who always liked to use a wireless controller when gaming, keeping chips, drinks, and wet wipes nearby—vanished from Kotomi’s life without a trace once she fell asleep.

Kotomi recalled how after playing for a while, Kazumi would always set down the controller to snack and drink. She often boasted of being a transcendent existence, emotionless and desireless, claiming she could go without food or water forever. She would act all arrogant, saying human eating was nothing but a hassle in her eyes.

But whenever she ate the snacks and drinks Kotomi gave her, she always looked the happiest—her cheeks puffed out, crumbs of chips sticking to her lips. She never rushed to wipe her mouth afterward, but she would carefully clean her hands with wet wipes before picking up the controller again to continue gaming.

Since the elite controller was a gift from Kotomi, Kazumi even covered it with a protective film, and placed penguin-shaped caps on both sticks. Every time Kotomi saw this, she couldn’t help but twitch her lips—she herself had never been so meticulous when using it.

Kotomi wondered whether, before falling asleep, Kazumi had eaten a proper snack. If she ended up sleeping for a long time, knowing her personality, she would probably burst out looking for snacks the moment she woke.

Come to think of it, had Kazumi ever snuck out of her body while she slept to raid the fridge or cupboards? She couldn’t recall ever seeing that. She’d have to ask Kazumi when she woke.

After finishing the Wolf ending in Red Dead Redemption 2, Kazumi had been depressed for a while and even said she wanted to replay it. Looks like that replay would have to wait until she woke up from her slumber.

Also, Kazumi often whispered in her ear: “Kotomi, after you earn reputation points, could you set aside some for me? I want to buy a rename card. Once I change my name, I’ll repay you in a way you’d never imagine.”

Kotomi had assumed Kazumi meant renaming the system.

After all, [God-Level Heroine System]—well, how should she put it? It wasn’t that it sounded bad, but she distinctly remembered thinking the first time she heard it: what a retro-sounding system name, so fitting.

But unexpectedly, Kazumi hadn’t intended to rename the system. She wanted to change her own name. When Kotomi asked why, Kazumi said:

“Because Kazumi isn’t my real name. My true name is… hehe, not telling~ If you act spoiled and call me ‘Sister Kazumi’ sweetly a few times, maybe if I’m in a good mood, I’ll tell you.”

“Farewell.” Kotomi showed no mercy, leaving the mental space immediately.

The matter of Kazumi’s true name was left unsettled. But Kotomi remembered it in her heart, always working to earn reputation points so Kazumi could buy the rename card. Yet even now, it seemed she hadn’t earned enough.

Apparently, rename cards for systems weren’t just expensive—they were also only available during limited times. If it wasn’t the designated time, they couldn’t be purchased. On top of that, they were limited in number.

Kazumi had also said she wanted to eat Kotomi’s handmade dumplings—mushroom and pork, or celery and pork.

Kotomi had kept forgetting to make them. Compared to pan-fried dumplings, Kazumi preferred boiled ones. Kotomi had thought she’d make them for her at New Year’s, but now that girl had decided to go into a deep sleep.

Was she planning to sleep straight through to New Year’s? Kotomi wondered as she lay in bed.

From earlier until now, as she recalled all the little things about Kazumi, Kotomi had kept her arm over her eyes. Not because the light in her room was too bright—she hadn’t even turned it on. It was because she didn’t want to break down crying. With her arm covering her tear-filled eyes, she suppressed her sobs and cried silently.

Once again, Kotomi felt fear—fear that Kazumi might never wake again, remaining lost in her slumber.

Kotomi had always considered herself mature. But in the face of Kazumi’s sleep, she was nothing more than a child, quietly crying alone in her room.

That’s right… she was only a sixteen-year-old girl, after all.

When her mother called her down for dinner, Kotomi wiped away her tears, composed herself, and went downstairs.

Tonight’s dinner was abundant. Kotomi held a large bowl, eating in small bites.

Her pace wasn’t exactly slow. Compared to ordinary people, it might even seem a little rushed. But compared to her usual eating habits, she looked almost like someone with no appetite at all.

After dinner, Kotomi helped wash the dishes.

In the Izumi household, one person always cooked and another always cleaned the kitchen afterward. Since her mother had cooked, tonight her father, Kaneyoshi Izumi, was responsible for cleaning. Kotomi, having nothing else to do, stayed behind to help him wash.

Kaneyoshi handled the pots and pans, while Kotomi took care of the bowls, plates, chopsticks, and spoons. Their division of labor was clear.

Halfway through, Kaneyoshi spoke up: “You didn’t eat much tonight. Did something upset you?”

“Mm?” Kotomi looked at her father in surprise. She had already acted as though nothing was wrong—so how could her father see through her so easily?

Dad, be honest. Do you have Mystic Eyes of Death Perception?

Teach me. I want to learn too. Then when the Six School Tournament comes, I could strut around with a katana.

Oh, right—competitions only allowed bamboo swords, not real ones. This wasn’t some fantasy novel where magic academies fought with real blades.

Kaneyoshi Izumi seemed to notice Kotomi’s confusion. With a gentle smile, he rinsed the soap from the pot under the faucet before continuing:

“Normally, you eat over ten bowls of rice, but today you only ate eight. Your mom was worried you didn’t like tonight’s dishes since you ate so little.”

For an ordinary girl, eating eight bowls in one sitting would already be absurd.

But for Kotomi, it was absurd that she ate only that much.

Kotomi quickly shook her head to deny it. “Mom’s cooking is delicious. The fried chicken drumsticks—I love crispy chicken skin.”

“You also really like sweet grilled chicken skin when we have barbecue,” Kaneyoshi naturally continued. “So if it wasn’t the food, then it must be your mood, right?”

Kotomi nodded. “Dad, I had a friend leave me today. She just left. Normally, we got along well, though we sometimes argued, and I’d find her a bit annoying. But after she left today, I felt empty inside. Even during dinner, I kept thinking about her.”

“Is she a classmate? Why did she leave?”

Kotomi couldn’t exactly tell her family the truth—that it was a girl living inside her, named Kazumi, childish like a three-year-old. So she gave her a cover identity:

“She’s a friend from middle school. Even after graduation, we stayed in touch. She doesn’t attend Sobu High School, but another high school in Chiba. After school, we often met up—grab a burger, play arcade games. Sometimes we’d argue and ignore each other for a while, then naturally make up. But today she told me her family is moving abroad, and it might be a long time before we can see each other again.”

“That really does mean a long time apart.”

Kaneyoshi didn’t try to comfort Kotomi with talk like ‘friends always meet again.’ Instead, he realistically pointed out the problem. Even within the same country, just transferring schools or moving cities could mean not seeing each other for years, even decades.

And moving abroad? If Kotomi didn’t go overseas, or her friend didn’t return, they might never meet again in this lifetime.

Because in a new place comes a new life. That new life gradually fills a person’s time. And when you happen to recall an old friend, it’s always during the busiest moments when you can’t take time off. All you can do is reminisce silently in your heart.

“I really miss her,” Kotomi admitted, voicing her truest feelings.

“So that’s why you kept thinking of her, and couldn’t eat properly?” Kaneyoshi asked.

Kotomi nodded.

“Your friend is very lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Yes. To have someone who misses you after you leave is a very fortunate thing. Such pure friendship is something you only find in childhood or during your school years. Once you step into society, you’ll see how rare it is to find a friend worth entrusting your heart to.” Kaneyoshi spoke slowly.

“Then does it mean I’m lucky too, since I found a friend I miss so much?” Kotomi asked curiously.

“Of course. Who knows—maybe that friend is also missing you right now. Maybe she’s eating poorly, tossing and turning at night, and sadly telling her parents: ‘I really miss Kotomi!'”

Kotomi couldn’t help but giggle.

After her father’s words, her heart felt much lighter.

Sometimes she thought—if her father hadn’t become a businessman, psychology might have been the most suitable field for him.

After all, he was a prestigious university graduate. Maybe he really had studied psychology back in school.

“But this is the first time I’ve heard you mention such a friend. Did she ever come over to our house before?” Kaneyoshi asked casually, now that Kotomi’s mood had improved.

“No, I was planning to invite her over someday, but before I could even bring it up, she had to move away.”

After saying this, Kotomi couldn’t help but give a bitter smile. She truly had wanted to find a chance, create a suitable reason, and then introduce Kazumi to her parents.

When Kazumi left her body and appeared in the real world, to others she looked just like a human being.

In theory, as a system, ordinary people shouldn’t have been able to see her. But Kazumi was too incompetent—she had failed the most basic system certification exam several times.

Naturally, she didn’t possess the same transparency trait that made other systems invisible to outsiders.

Perhaps it was a case of gains and losses—Kazumi’s behavior and mannerisms had grown more and more like a human’s.

“When you meet her again, make sure to invite her over and let your mother and I see what kind of person she is,” Kaneyoshi said warmly, as though blessing his daughter to reunite with her cherished friend soon.

Back in her bedroom, Kotomi realized she still hadn’t changed into her sleepwear. She began to take off her school uniform shirt and skirt, intending to bathe and then put on her nightdress before going to bed early.

As she hung her shirt on the rack and reached to remove her skirt, her hand brushed against something in the side pocket.

There was something inside.

Curious, Kotomi reached in, grabbed it tightly, and pulled it out.

Slowly opening her hand, she saw what lay in her palm. Carefully, she cupped it in both hands, holding it reverently as though it were a sacred relic from a god.

Kazumi had quietly placed her own pair of black pantyhose—the ones she often wore—into Kotomi’s skirt pocket at some unknown moment. Perhaps it had been the instant she sent Kotomi out of the mental space?

Kotomi now held the black pantyhose Kazumi had worn. Thinking back, Kazumi used to always go barefoot or wear short cotton socks. But after discovering Kotomi’s fondness for stockings, especially pantyhose, she began wearing them.

Was this left behind by accident, or had it been a deliberate gift before she fell into slumber?

Kazumi was asleep now, so there was no way to ask.

“Such a precious gift—even if it costs me my life, I’ll guard it with everything I have.” Kotomi’s voice sounded like that of a devout believer speaking before a statue of a deity. And yet, she had once been a firm materialist.

She clasped the black pantyhose Kazumi had worn tightly in her hands, holding them as if they were divine.

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