True Education: I Have a Life Simulator

You often find yourself remembering that autumn day in the park, the day you and he buried the cat named Hotaru. That fluffy white companion had been with you both for eight years. You grew up from childhood together, while it walked the entire path of its short life.

As you dug the hole with a shovel, it struck you that you didn't even feel like crying. You blinked, but your eyes stayed dry—unbelievably dry, for someone who had just lost a pet they'd raised for nearly a decade.

Only when you saw him sobbing—his tears and snot mixing chaotically on his face—did the ache in your heart begin. You had never seen Kitagawa Ryo like that before. From such a close distance, you could see the shimmering sorrow pooling in his dark eyes.

His emotions refracted through those tears, clearly transmitted into your heart.

"The reason I rejected her is because I like someone else. Her name is Ichinose Honami."

"The person I like is Ichinose Honami."

Then, he confessed to you.

You had already resolved to turn him down—but in that moment, you truly considered dating him. You thought about being lovers, about wedding dresses and bouquets, and you could even picture yourself walking down a long aisle toward him in a tailored tuxedo.

But only for an instant.

Everyone who knew you both might have assumed you were destined to be together. Even the white cat, now part of the earth, had only known the intimacy between you two.

But your mother had long foretold the ending between you and him:

In the future, you would have to endure being separated by great distance. You would grow apart. You'd see photos of other girls on his social media. Perhaps you'd still give those posts a like—just to show that as long as he was happy, you could be content.

Of course, you could be with him. You already had been, for so long. You could become his girlfriend—but never his wife.

Your mother's words echoed in your mind as you pictured yourself, five or ten years from now, meeting the girl he brought to introduce to you. By then, you'd have the money to buy yourself a decent, stylish outfit—something he once complimented. Loose around the upper body, because he got more easily embarrassed post-puberty. Tight around the waist, to prove you hadn't gained weight while apart. A skirt just long enough to graze your knees. No lace. A simple black hem—his favorite color, even if you used to think it looked too old-fashioned. After all, he always had terrible taste.

You wouldn't tie up your hair or wear any intricate styles. Just let it down, cascading over your shoulders and chest. Of course, it would still be your signature pink-gold color, with that faint citrus scent he knew. You never bothered switching shampoos once you found one you liked.

But doing all this would surely make that new girl feel you were declaring war.

Fair enough. But if that ruined his new relationship, it would go against everything you wanted.

Fairy tales end with, "The prince and princess lived happily ever after." If your story ended here—if time could freeze—you could record that same ending too. But real time doesn't pause for two people. The pages of life continue to turn until the very end. You can't see the final chapter—but one thing is certain:

You couldn't say yes.

His father. Your mother. Your little sister. Love was never just a fairytale between two.

As your mother said, the child who cuts firewood can't play with the child who herds cattle. At the end of the day, his work will be done. But what about your wood?

Worse yet, your sister clearly harbored feelings for him, too. You knew how fragile the Ichinose household had become—like a giant made of clay that could crumble with a nudge. Right now, it couldn't afford his presence. He would shatter even the illusion of peace.

So, you rejected him. You had turned down many confessions before this past year. At first, you used to agonize over whether your words were too harsh. Then you saw one of those confessors already flirting with another girl the next day, and you stopped caring. You became mechanical:

Listen patiently. Smile. Shake your head. Decline. Bow slightly and apologize.

But this time, you couldn't even begin your usual routine. You tried to smile as always, but even moving your vocal cords felt exhausting. All you managed to say in response to his confession was: "No."

The next day, Kitagawa Ryo moved out of the apartment. You can't even remember what excuse he gave.

Packing his belongings took all day. By dusk, you were helping him organize the last room. He stood silently like a wall for the first time, and you avoided his gaze like a prisoner nailed to a cross by their own hands, awaiting judgment.

Your sister was confused why the friendly neighbor was suddenly leaving. But your mother was unexpectedly cheerful—as if the final variable in your life had been eliminated. You hadn't seen her that relieved in ages.

You didn't hide the confession from her. She always dismissed young love. With a veteran's air, she'd say:

["Boys this age change every day. They think they're in love one moment and forget it the next. They make grand promises with all their hearts, but they're never reliable. Even if he's sincere at the time, he'll change."]

["Why does everything have to be about love? People don't live just for romance."]

You had no argument. For once, she brought up your father—a man you'd never met. She recalled their passionate love as students, and how he left for an overseas trip right after their wedding and never came back.

Back then, she had clung to his pet names, his sweet words. Like irresistible bait on a hook she didn't notice until it was too late.

For six months after he vanished, she called him every day, texted him long emotional messages while caring for two kids. She poured her entire being into those words, hoping he'd return.

But he didn't. She spent six months trying to scoop the moon from water—only to end up with fading reflections.

So now she was glad you had escaped that fate.

You were torn. Your mother's happiness should've made you happy. You had always craved her approval, followed the path she set, grown earnestly along her blueprint. You loved seeing her relax, watching her smile when she praised you.

But you could also feel Kitagawa Ryo's pain—raw and suffocating, like touching the soft flesh inside an oyster shell.

When you left the apartment, rain had started falling. Autumn leaves, yellowed but not yet fallen, were soaked and scattered. They didn't crunch underfoot—instead, they thudded softly.

You held the large umbrella that shielded you both from the rain, and said, "See you tomorrow."

For the first time, you resented the umbrella's size—so big it protected you both perfectly, making it impossible to pretend your blurred vision came from rain.

Yet you were thankful, too. A slight tilt of the umbrella's brim was all it took to hide your expression.

I & K. You traced the engraving on the handle and watched the car disappear.

-------------------------------------

After Ichinose Maki's birthday party, Karuizawa Kei and Ichinose Honami had a conversation.

Karuizawa looked up at the girl in front of her, steam from the hot cocoa rising.

"Karuizawa-san, did you call me out for something?"

Ichinose Honami was holding her own warm cocoa. Her small sips resembled a cute hamster's. Even as a fellow girl, Karuizawa Kei couldn't help but admit her feminine charm—from looks to figure, and a warmth Kei could never match.

"Here… this is for you."

Karuizawa pulled something from her bag—a long wooden stick, roughly made and cheap.

"A love fortune tag?"

Ichinose blinked, remembering something.

"From that shrine..."

"Yeah. The one you and senpai drew together. I went back and asked for it."

Karuizawa gently bit her straw and explained:

"After I got home, I looked it up online. Turns out that shrine offers custom-made love fortunes. You write your message beforehand, and through a rigged system, both people draw the exact same one. That's why they say not to untie them. Like it or not, the connection's already made."

"So this… should be what senpai wanted to tell you."

She looked into Ichinose's eyes, trying to see some reaction. But there was none.

Ichinose just smiled, as if hearing someone else's story:

"Got it."

"You're not going to read it?"

Ichinose handed it back, sipping her cocoa.

"No need. It's probably a confession."

Kei was irritated by her calmness. That word should have made any girl's heart race. Yet Ichinose said it like commenting on the weather.

Kei knew the entire mountain plan—how Ryo had arranged everything. If Ichinose had climbed to the summit with him that day, she'd have seen fireworks lit just for her, drones forming words in the sky.

The most romantic confession ever.

"Tch."

Kei swallowed her disgust. She was just the catalyst in their romance—the push like the cat named Hotaru had once been. That was her role.

"You like him, but refuse to say yes. You tie him up in this childhood friend bond and leave everything to fate. That's not fair."

Kei was proud of her acting. If Ryo were here, he'd applaud the venom she poured into those words.

"Why does everything have to be about romance? People don't live just for that."

Looking at Honami's smiling face, Kei suddenly thought of the phrase "old before her time." It was like speaking with a 35-year-old single mother, not a 15-year-old girl.

"Then be clear. Just like before—pick some random guy and say he's your boyfriend. Tell Ryo you like someone else."

Kei's temper broke through. She stared Ichinose down like a hawk peeling flesh to the bone.

"He's going to confess to you again. During the fireworks festival."

"What did you say?"

Ichinose's voice suddenly turned cold.

"What are you afraid of? Didn't you already decide to turn him down again?"

Only then did Kei feel she had finally angered Ichinose.

That day, Kei realized two things:

First, Ichinose Honami isn't some perfect angel. She can hate, too. And that made Kei indescribably happy. She wanted to see Honami crack—tear away her mask and sob.

Second, she understood why Ryo had ordered her hot cocoa the first time she met Ichinose Maki.

Even after Honami left, Kei sat there a long time. Before leaving, she whispered as she tossed the wooden charm into the café trash:

"After all… you're the one who gave it up."