Chapter 1: The Beginning

‘She thought it was just a coincidence. He thought it was just a game—between their quiet moments, something real began to take shape.’

I still remember her words.

“Let’s keep playing after school, okay? That way, we’ll always stay connected.” 

She said once — her voice soft but certain, full of the kind of promise only children can make.

Back then, I believed her. 

I thought things like friendship would last forever, that as long as we played together, nothing would really change.

But time moved on. People grew busy with their own lives, their screens went dark one by one… and I was the only one still there, waiting, logging in — playing alone.

And now, here I am again. Logging in, still.

The familiar glow of the virtual world blooms across my screen. 

For a moment I close my eyes and imagine I can actually feel the digital wind brushing my cheeks, carrying faint echoes of laughter from the chat box. 

This place has become more than a game to me; it’s a reality where I still belong.

A voice snaps me back.

“Sorry! Hey — what do you want to grab for this week’s loot?” 

The vice-guild leader’s text pops up, bright and playful.

“Umm… can I get the gem box, please? Gem box for both my quotas.” I type back, fingers flying without thinking.

“Yeah, sure!!” she replies instantly.

She tilts her avatar’s head in my direction. 

“So, like… what about your alt? Same thing?”

I glance behind me, at the figure standing there — silent, patient. A small smile tugs at my lips.

“Just give him the same as my request, please.” I answer.

“Okay, hunn!!” 

She spins her character toward other members, already juggling more requests as the guild chat scrolls with cheerful chaos.

I switch to a private message and type one word.「ばか.」

The person behind me — my partner — takes a step forward. 

Their character glances at me, a soft giggle spilling into the quiet between us. 

The avatar they’ve built is a mirror of mine, down to the smallest details, a female reflection of my own.

This person… my partner in the game.

For a moment I glance at the screen, then lift my eyes to the one sitting across from me. 

Not an avatar now, but a real boy. 

His fingers move quickly over his phone, eyes fixed, lips curled slightly in quiet amusement.

He lets out a small laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Then he glances up at me, his eyes soft with a hint of shyness.

「ごめん、困ってるの？」

(“Sorry… am I troubling you?”)

I shake my head slightly, unable to hold back a small smile. 

Memories ripple through me like gentle waves — I never expected to have someone sharing this moment. 

Yet here he is, sitting right in front of me, the glow of both our phones reflecting in his eyes.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. 

The hum of the café around us fades into the background, leaving only the sound of tapping screens.

Remembering the day I first met him… it was during a conference.

As part of my research studies, I had to publish papers and attend several academic events. 

That one, held in Tokyo, was supposed to be just another formality — a few presentations, polite conversations, maybe a few new contacts. Nothing more.

On the first day, I arrived early. 

The air inside the hall was thick with quiet chatter and the rustle of papers. 

I walked toward the registration counter, clutching a neatly printed form — my personal information and confirmation slip.

The committee staff took it from me, already holding a stack of ID passes. 

He scanned both my sheet and one of the passes before looking up.

“A-rin…” 

He murmured, almost testing the sound of it, as if asking for confirmation.

“Yes, thank you,” 

I replied, taking the pass and my documents back from his hand. 

His eyes lingered for a brief moment—just a second longer than usual—before I turned and walked away.

I wandered through the venue, looking for a session that might spark my interest. 

Eventually, I found a quiet room where presentations had just begun and slipped into an empty seat. 

The voices of speakers droned softly, one after another—educational, precise, but monotonous.

After a while, my focus began to fade. I slipped my phone from my bag, lowered the screen brightness, and quietly opened the game. 

The familiar title screen flickered to life, and I felt an odd sense of comfort. 

The soft music, the familiar icons—it kept me awake, grounded in something that was mine.

A few careful taps, a quest accepted. 

I tried to be discreet.

Then, from beside me, came a quiet voice.

“Sorry… is this seat empty?”

I looked up to see a man standing there, a polite smile, a handphone clutched at his hand.

「はい、どうぞ」

(“Yes, please go ahead.”) I replied, my tone casual, mindful that this was Tokyo — switching to Japanese felt natural here.

He stared straight at me, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. 

Then, as if coming back to his senses, he lowered himself into the seat beside me.

I noticed him glancing at my phone screen. 

Panic prickled at my skin. 

Without looking up, I tried to cover it, fingers tapping quickly, replying to my in-game conversations, finishing the quest as discreetly as possible.

Then, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropped to a near-whisper.

“Can I join you?”

I froze. 

Startled, I locked my phone screen and turned my face away from him. 

I bent over my notebook instead, pretending to take notes. 

My heart raced; I couldn’t find a response — maybe out of embarrassment, maybe out of shock. 

All I could think was how much I wanted the session to end, to slip away, out of his sight.

At last, the session concluded. 

Chairs shifted and murmurs rose as people streamed toward the exit. 

I gathered my things quickly, hoping to disappear into the crowd.

But then—

「待って!!」

(“Wait!!”)

The voice called out to me.

I turned and saw him — the same guy from before — standing now in the aisle, reaching out as the crowd thinned.

「本当に 日本語 を 使える んだね」

(“You really can speak Japanese.”) he said, his expression bright with surprise.

I stopped, confusion flickering across my face as I scanned him. 

Slightly taller than me but not imposing. 

Neat, silky straight black hair that caught the overhead light. 

His eyes, a muted shade of brown touched by amber, seem to catch light easily but reveal little. 

Facial features of a Japanese teenager, a softer outline that frames his face and gives him a perpetual look of gentle attentiveness. 

The ID tag on his lanyard marked him as a committee member.

His face brimmed with an almost childlike excitement, as though he was waiting for something—some kind of answer.

「突然 話しかけて ごめん、れんです、よかったら 仲良くなりたいです」

(“Sorry to talk to you out of nowhere. I’m Ren. If you’d like, I’d like to be friends.”)

He glanced away shyly as he said his name, then back at me.

I blinked several times, trying to process his words — words in a language I barely understood. 

We just stood there for a moment, looking at each other, the conference chatter fading into a dull murmur.

Realizing my confusion, he added quickly in halting English.

“I–I’m sorry… My name is Ren. I… would like to know you better.”

He hesitated, cheeks coloring, then tried again.

“I thought… Maybe you might want to share your hobbies with me. So… that’s… why I asked to join your game earlier.”

He stuttered over his words, his awkwardness strangely endearing. 

The thought of it—the image of him nervously trying to find a way in—made me giggle without meaning to.

I gave him a small smile and finally replied, my voice soft and relieved:

「なんだ」

(“Oh… so that’s what it was.”)

His shoulders relaxed a little at my tone.

「変なこと聞くね」

(“That’s a strange thing to ask.”) I replied, half teasing.

We both smiled then — awkward, fleeting smiles that neither of us seemed to know how to hold.

I glanced around, unsure what to do next. 

He blinked a few times, clearly lost for words, then tried again.

「あの…」

(“Umm…”) his voice was hesitant, unsure whether to speak or stay silent.

Before he could continue, I turned and began walking toward the lunch section. 

I heard his quiet footsteps behind me, following.

The hall was filled with soft chatter and the faint clatter of utensils. 

I scanned the tables, reading food labels absentmindedly, but nothing really caught my appetite. 

In the end, I picked up a bottle of juice and found an empty seat by the corner.

When I looked up, I noticed him again—still there, standing a few steps away. 

My brow lifted slightly, silently asking what he was doing.

He looked flustered for a moment, then asked.

“Do you not… get the food?”

His accent was a mix of English and Japanese, uneven but endearing. 

I couldn’t help but smile.

He reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, then brushed his ear, clearly embarrassed.

“Can I take a seat here?” he asked again, voice lower this time.

I didn’t answer—just took a sip of my juice, pretending to study the people around us.

After a pause, he quietly sat down across from me. 

Neither of us spoke. 

He kept glancing around the room, then back at me, as if unsure whether he was allowed to say something more. 

I finished my drink slowly, the silence between us oddly peaceful.

When the announcement for the second session echoed through the hall, I stood up, gave him a polite nod, and made my way toward another conference room. 

We parted ways without a word.

The next speaker was engaging—his tone lively—but my mind drifted elsewhere. 

My eyes followed the presentation, but my thoughts wandered back to that table, that awkward lunch, that quiet boy with the mix of languages.

I stood up midway through the talk, slipping out as quietly as possible.

One room after another, I kept moving, searching for a topic that might spark some interest. 

But nothing did. 

No matter what room I entered, my thoughts kept circling back to the same place—to that first conversation, and the person who started it.

The very same boy who once started a conversation shyly, quietly, in that conference room.

Is now sitting in front of me, playing the same game, sharing the same “meaningless” hobbies as I do.

People see games as a waste of time. 

To them, it’s just pixels and distraction. 

But for me, this thing holds a world — no, many worlds.

I find myself reaching out in chat, starting random conversations about the smallest details: outfit designs, whimsical character backstories, the shimmer of a lake rendered in perfect blues, the art style. 

There’s so much to appreciate here, so much beauty woven into the digital fabric, far beyond what outsiders call “just a game.”

I had started this one out of simple curiosity—a banner ad glimpsed somewhere, a moment of boredom. 

I only meant to try something new, to wander in and wander out, nothing more.

But the people… the people changed everything.

The connections I made. The strangers who became familiar names in the chat box. 

The guild I stumbled into, with its chaotic warmth and quiet camaraderie.

And now, sitting here with him—this partner who’s crossed from both pixels and reality, who plays beside me instead of only on a screen.

I can feel myself drifting, carried away by something I hadn’t expected to find.