The classroom was filled with the rhythmic hum of a ceiling fan and the occasional scratch of pens against paper. I sat at my desk—a spot my body had found without me even having to think about it—staring blankly at the chalkboard. The teacher's voice was a distant drone, lecturing on a math lesson I had already mastered in my previous life.
It was a strange, disjointed feeling. I felt like two people living in one skin. My mind was racing with strategies and horror-game trivia, but my hand was idly doodling in the corner of my notebook, tracing the exact same patterns the "other" Eugene used to draw. It wasn't a force or a script; it was just habit. The way I slouched, the way I held my pen, even the way I instinctively avoided eye contact with the popular kids—it was all reflex.
I looked at the clock. 14:45.
In less than an hour, the bell would ring. I'd have to get up, walk to the third floor, and open the door to a room that changed everything.
My palms were sweating, leaving damp prints on the wooden desk. I wiped them on my trousers, trying to steady my breathing. If Sayori was this real—this human—then Monika would be a force of nature. I kept thinking back to my plan: Option 3. I had to befriend her. I had to reach her before the walls of this reality started to crumble.
But how do you even start a conversation with someone you know could unmake your world?
"Hey, Monika, nice weather we're having. Also, please don't hurt anyone?" No. That would get me killed, or worse. I had to be subtle. I had to be the friend she never had—the one person who actually saw her, not just as the "star student" or the perfect club president, but as a person.
"Vane-kun? Are you paying attention?"
The teacher's voice snapped me back to the present. I blinked, looking up at the board. My heart skipped a beat, but before the panic could settle in, my mouth opened.
"I'm sorry, Sensei. I was just stuck on the previous equation," I said. My voice was calm, my tone slightly apologetic.
That part was me. I'd always been a good liar back in my own life—it was a survival mechanism I'd brought with me. It was efficient. It was safe. The teacher nodded, seemingly satisfied, and went back to the board.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. This "merger" was going to be my best tool, but also my biggest fear. Most of the time, the local Eugene took over, his quiet and unremarkable life acting as a perfect camouflage. But I felt a twinge of guilt every time I realized it. I had taken this guy's life, his body, and his future just like that.
I'm a thief, I thought, looking down at my hands. But then again... the Eugene of this world couldn't save them. I have to believe I was put here because I can.
The bell rang, loud and jarring.
The students around me began to chatter and pack their bags. My stomach did a slow, sickening flip. This was it. There was no going back.
I stood up, slung my bag over my shoulder, and headed for the door. Every step toward the third floor felt like I was walking toward the edge of a cliff. My legs felt heavy, but the local Eugene's muscle memory kept me moving forward, step by agonizing step.
I finally reached the door. Room 3-1.
Through the wood, I could hear a muffled, cheerful voice—Sayori's. And then, a second voice responded. It was calmer, more elegant, and carried an authority that made the hair on my arms stand up.
Monika.
My hand hovered over the doorknob. I took one last deep breath, trying to bury the "Player's" terror under Eugene's quiet exterior. My heart was thumping so hard I could feel it in my throat.