Chapter 5: A Slow Morning

‘Her world, half-coded, half-real. Between virtual and reality, she finds herself again.’

The morning alarm rings, faint against the rustle of the city outside. I open my eyes, but my body refuses to move. The sheets feel heavy, as if holding me down—or maybe it’s not the sheets.

A dull ache lingers in my chest. Yesterday’s walk… or maybe…

The memories of him that won’t stop replaying. I stare at the ceiling, watching sunlight spill slowly across it—pale, gold, and too gentle for the turmoil inside me. My breath slips out, quiet and uneven.

“Love, huh…” The word leaves my mouth in a whisper, half a sigh, half a question to myself.

I could’ve said something yesterday—anything. Something that might’ve hurt him. Something that might’ve set him free. But instead, I said nothing. No matter how much my thoughts stumbled forward, my heart refused to follow.

“I…” The rest of the words stay locked somewhere deep, trembling and uncertain. Maybe no one could understand it—this hesitance, this fear that always lingers right where love begins.

Love… isn’t something easy for me.

The alarm had long stopped, but I still hadn’t moved. Only when the faint chime of a message broke the silence did I finally reach for my phone. The screen glowed to life—a few missed notifications, a message from him, unread.

I stare at it. Not opening it.

Just… staring.

The morning light creeps across the room, sliding through the curtain, cutting across the floor in thin, quiet lines. I sit up slowly, brushing my hair back, letting my eyes wander to the window.

Outside, the world seems normal—

A group of students laughing, the smell of fresh bread from the nearby shop. A cat stretching lazily by the sidewalk.

I rest my chin on my knees. How strange…

Everything keeps moving, like nothing has changed. But for me, something has. I pick up my phone again, thumb hovering over the message. Then set it back down without reading it.

For now, I just want a little more silence. A little more time before I face him again.

I gather what little strength I have left and push myself to move. Step by step, I go through the motions—shower, change, breathe. I put on something nice, something that makes me feel… lighter, maybe. I can manage my own happiness. 

In front of the mirror, I force a smile—one of those bright, practiced ones that’s supposed to convince even yourself. But the longer I stare, the more it bends, softens, collapses into something heavier.

A quiet breath escapes me.

“Let’s start again,” I whisper.

I make breakfast—simple, familiar. Two slices of bread, tuna, egg, and a bit of mayo. It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t ask anything from me, just lets me exist while I eat. When I’m done, I sink into the couch, letting the morning silence fill the room.

For a moment, I just sit there—motionless, mind wandering somewhere far. Then, finally, I reach for my phone. One tap, and the game opens.

The screen glowed softly in front of me. The familiar login jingle played, and my fingers moved automatically—tap, swipe, enter. 

The world is loaded. 

A faint mist rolled across a forest clearing, the light shifting gently between trees, the kind of quiet setting that always greeted me at spawn. The game felt eerily silent today. No lively chatter, no playful emotes flashing across the screen. 

Maybe it was just the weekend—everyone out there living their real lives, hanging out, laughing somewhere warm and bright. I stayed in the digital quiet. Doing my dailies. Checking the event list, ticking off tasks one by one.

A new banner caught my eye—a limited outfit promotion, beautifully drawn. The art had that soft ancient Chinese aesthetic this game was known for, graceful and intricate. 

The outfit glimmered on the preview screen.

Soft shades of green, gentle yet elegant—something between a modern blouse and a hanfu. Simple lines, flowing fabric, but the hem stopped boldly at the knees. Unlike the usual designs that trailed long to the ground, this one looked freer. 

I tapped ‘Preview’. 

My character spun slowly, the digital fabric swaying as if alive.

“It’s nice,” I murmured. 

The thought lingered longer than I expected. Something about it—that small defiance, the confident cut of the design—stirred a faint warmth inside me. A reminder, maybe, of something simple yet strong. I carefully read through the event rules, tracing every line until I understood exactly how to earn the outfit.

Step by step, I began planning—calculating routes, rewards, and the most efficient path I could think of. The goal was simple: get the outfit, while spending as little as possible.

“I don’t want to use too much gold,” I muttered under my breath.

In this game, there were three kinds of currency—silver for common trades, gold for special ones, and jade, the rarest of all, bought with real money. That last one… well, that was out of my control for now.

Over the months, I’d saved everything I could. Grinding through events, skipping temptations, waiting for something that really felt worth it. And now, this was it. 

Something I wanted—no, something I chose to want.

So I began the event. Clicking through battles, collecting fragments, completing side quests. I lost track of time—until suddenly, a soft chime echoed across my screen.

“Eh…?” 

There it was. The prize—sitting neatly in my inventory. For a moment, I just stared. Then a quiet laugh escaped me. Excitement, small but real, bubbled in my chest. I hovered over the icon, my fingers trembling slightly, and pressed ‘Equip’.

I put on the outfit and wandered into the main plaza, my character’s robes flowing with every step. Maybe I was showing off a little—but who wouldn’t?

A laugh slipped out of me, light and unguarded. For the first time today, I felt my mood lift. 

I was… genuinely happy.

Then the chat box blinked with new messages. Someone from my guild:

“Holy Rhea! She’s got the new outfit already!” A flood of excitement filled the screen as my guildmates’ avatars appeared one after another, circling around me in the plaza.

I opened the chat and typed,

“Hellow!” 

Just a small, playful greeting—the kind of message that fits the moment. Soon, more messages came pouring in. Questions about the event, jokes, teasing remarks. 

The plaza buzzed with energy—avatars hopping around, emoticons flashing across the air.

We shared tips, tricks, little shortcuts we’d discovered. For a while, the screen was alive with motion and laughter. And then, as the excitement waned, I slipped away quietly. Warping to my in-game house, I stepped into the garden. 

The scene changed—soft lighting, a peaceful breeze, petals drifting through the air. I walked to the swing at the corner and sat down.

The seat began to sway gently, creaking in rhythm.

I turned my eyes toward the space beside me—the usual spot where his avatar would stand. The one who always waved, or jumped in his clumsy way to greet me. But the spot was empty.

He wasn’t online.

The ambient sounds of the game filled the silence—birdsong, distant chatter, the soft whisper of wind through virtual trees.

I closed my eyes for a moment. It almost felt real enough… to hide inside of.

I logged off. The game world faded from the screen, replaced by my dim reflection. I set my phone aside, exhaling deeply—a breath that felt like peeling myself back into reality.

Time to be alive again.

After a moment, I unlocked my phone once more, opening the message app. My first thought was to face him—to reply, to say something. But before I could scroll to his name, another caught my eye:

‘Professor Ikimura.’

“Eh…” I murmured under my breath, startled. I hadn’t even noticed the notification earlier.

Opening the chat, I read the message carefully: A polite greeting. A brief mention of the conference. An apology for interrupting the weekend—followed by a simple question:

‘Would I have time to meet up?’

The message was short, composed, and straight to the point—the way he always was. I checked the time. It wasn’t too late to reply. After a moment’s thought, I agreed. Then, almost instinctively, I checked my reflection again—fixing my hair, adjusting my clothes.  

A small breath, a nod to myself. And I stepped outside.