A chill, sharper than before, pierced me, a frigid needle threading through the warm, midday air. "I don't think Tachibana is suitable for you," Sato's quiet voice echoed, a stark, unwelcome reminder of the single, agonizing simulation I'd endured. 12:10 PM.
The time was a brand, seared into my memory, a phantom pain that pulsed with every beat of my heart. It was a cruel, precise stamp, marking the moment my simulated reality had shattered.
I turned to Sato, my expression carefully neutral, a mask of calm composure. Inside, however, a tempest raged. My heart pounded against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. "Is that so?" I asked, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. I noticed a flicker of surprise in Sato’s eyes, a momentary lapse in his usual stoic demeanor.
But I was more surprised, more bewildered than I could express. My mind reeled, trying to reconcile the present with the vivid, visceral memories of the simulation. I had focused intently on the crucial events, meticulously observing every detail.
Yet, a glaring discrepancy stared back at me. I remembered the lunch break in the simulation, the very time Sato was supposed to be present. He was there, yes, but he was asleep, head resting on the desk, oblivious to the world around him. He hadn't uttered a single word to me, let alone offered unsolicited advice about Tachibana.
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Now, here he was, standing before me, his eyes fixed on mine, delivering a pointed and unsettling warning. The contrast was stark, a jarring dissonance between two realities.
How could the future, or rather, the present, have deviated so drastically from the meticulously constructed simulation? Was it a flaw in the system, a glitch in the matrix? Or was it something else entirely, a deliberate alteration, a ripple effect from an unknown variable?
The question gnawed at me, a persistent, unsettling itch.
Why had the future changed? Why had Sato's behavior shifted? Was my presence, my awareness of the simulation, the catalyst for this alteration? Did my very knowledge of the predetermined outcome disrupt the flow of events, creating a new, unpredictable path? Or was there an external force, a hidden hand, manipulating the strings, rewriting the narrative? The uncertainty was a suffocating weight, a labyrinth of unanswered questions.
Each passing moment deepened the mystery, transforming the familiar classroom into an alien landscape.
Ding, congratulations, 100,000 yen.
The notification startled me, a jarring sound after the simulation's hell. 100,000 yen? That's it? For that? I almost forgot about the reward, it seemed so insignificant compared to the excruciating pain I'd just endured.
In my brief simulation, I barely scratched the surface. I know there's another reward, a learned skill, but time was too short. If I had more time, I'd focus on developing a new skill, perhaps something that complements my existing strengths.
My "attributes," as they're called, seem tied to physical prowess—strength, agility, maybe even endurance. Could I simulate gym workouts or sports? Imagine the benefit: after the simulation, those improved attributes would translate into real-world rewards.
I'd need to prioritize, though. Should I focus on pure strength, or agility for quick reflexes? The choice impacts which skill I'd pursue.
Most importantly, I need to live first in order to learn.