Noon drove by quicker than expected. Tang-Ji gazed out of the window into the city, watching the kingdom of drones buzzing around—'mechanical flies'—servicing the city's citizens. Most of the students had already gone home or attended after-school club activities.
Tang-Ji, a "kitakubu," found herself wandering in solitude around the desolate corridor for hours before heading home. (Kitakubu refers to a mildly derogatory term for students who are not actually part of a club or active in club activities and simply go straight home once school is over.)
She knew she had to try—had to reach out, to be something more than a shadow slipping through the cracks. But the first step was a step off a ledge.
The words sat on the tip of her tongue, stagnant, unmoving, a song left unsung. She understood what had to be done. Yet, knowing was one thing—moving was another.
She strolled down the orange-coloured hallway, painted by the evening sun. Echoes could be heard with each footstep as she walked into the warm realm.
Each step—'Tap, tap, tap.'—a little echo reminding her she existed in this quiet, empty space where no one looked and no one cared. The piercing, bright light from the sunset beamed through the school window, covering her azure eyes with a tawny blush.
'Tap.'
'Tap.'
Not her footsteps. Someone else. Heavy, impatient—the normal walking gait echoing off her indoor shoes was suddenly counteracted, charging right through her silence.
"Bang!" Right around the corner of the tanned hallway, a burst of cardboard and collapsing boxes, swallowing her in one messy thud.
"Ah! Jeez! Ouch, ouch, ouch, my hand." The tall boy rubbed his hand against the front of his shirt, a thin red scrape streaked across his skin.
He glared down at the pile of broken tech. "Why am I carrying all this junk, anyway?"
"Just because I'm the club president—" his foot scuffing against the tile, fingers digging into the cardboard edges. "Apparently that means designated pack mule."
He nudged the shattered monitor with a toe. A spiderweb of cracks glimmered in the dying light, its once-bright display now a lifeless black void.
"They broke the damn computer," he grumbled, "and I clean up after them. Babysitting—that's what this is."
A sigh. A thud. He dropped the box again—it wasn't worth holding up anymore. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to press the headache back inside. "A few weeks and already ditching every responsibility."
A gentle breeze drifted through the window, stirring the dust. It brushed against their faces, and their eyes met, lingering in a quiet moment.
His raven hair lifted with the wind, strands brushing the quiet curve of his cheek—and for an instant, it felt familiar. His downturned lashes swept over deep, shadowed iris that seemed to hold her entire world in place; they were veiled but inviting, something she should know yet couldn't name.
The warm glow of the setting sun carved faint lines of light across his lean frame, his white shirt barely concealing his slender build, silhouetted in the rich orange light.
Then—he moved. The boy swiftly bowed low before Tang-Ji, the sudden gust stirring loose papers nearby.
"A-are you unharmed?" His voice trembled as he straightened, taking a half-step back, hands hovering awkwardly.
"I am terribly sorry—I should have been paying attention.." He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing, lashes lowering again.
"I mean! I sincerely apologise for my carelessness," he rushed out, words tumbling out fast and frantic, almost like he was tripping over his own words. "Please, tell me you are not hurt?"
He extended his hand out, palm open, and hesitant. His eyes searched her face, brows drawn together, waiting, hoping for her assurance.
Tang-Ji stared for a moment—then reached, extending out her puny hand, grabbing onto the strange boy. Just as her small hand slipped into his–
The hallway melted.
Once again, she entered my world.
There was a boy before her—'this boy?'—though his face blurred, fog over glass, hidden behind a veil of mist. He reached out, his warm and familiar hand enveloped hers—guiding her down a path bathed in fading amber light.
The world around them shimmered, surreal and fragile, the sun sinking low, casting their shadows long and indistinct. And just as quickly as it began, the dream unravelled, pulling her back into darkness as she collapsed, the vision slipping away, sand through her fingers.
Our minds suddenly intertwined, causing her to pass out cold in the orange hallway.
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She twitched her eyes as they slowly gaped into an unfamiliar ceiling.
"Where am I?"
"Oh–thank goodness." His voice came soft, distant, whispers through water. "You fainted in the hall. I was truly worried something serious had happened, so I brought you to the nurse's room."
Tang-Ji blinked, the memory still seared into her mind—shadows stretching, flickering, curling around something she couldn't quite grasp.
It was like watching an old TV playing a half-broken tape, the screen shrunken, boxed in by static lines and a black frame. The edges warped, a faint hum buzzing underneath, while the rest of the screen was filled with nonsense—weather updates, numbers scrolling, a blinking timestamp that didn't belong.
The scene played in a corner of her mind, incomplete, fractured.
He bowed again–quick, earnest. "I am very sorry. My clumsiness caused this…and the heavy boxes I was carrying only made things worse." He fumbled his fingers behind him.
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
'Had it been real?'
'That place…that boy…his hand…'
"It is quite alright," she forced calm into her words. "I was wandering around without thinking. I should have assumed someone else might still be here." She exhaled, grounding herself.
He blinked, startled—then readjusted. "Right, I forgot. Let me introduce myself. My name is Kazami Lynn of class 3-B."
She hesitated a second. Softly: "I'm Tang-Ji Shizukesa. Class 2-A."
Kazami's eyes lifted—lingering on her for a fraction too long before darting away quickly.
"Shizukesa-san… nice to meet you." His expression tightened almost imperceptibly, but he quickly masked it with a polite smile; his hands fidgeted in his pockets as he resisted the urge to say more.
She barely noticed—the weight of the vision continued to linger in her chest, unsettling.
The ceiling above her was just a ceiling again, but the wrongness—the familiarity—still clung to her bones.
It was as though time paused with those two; their moments together were short, yet their time was golden.
I knew this day would eventually come, but I could not believe it would come this early. I wonder what will happen once her memories return. Will I disappear?
The two gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, his voice cut gently through the silence:
"Um… Shizuseka-san. I.. if you haven't joined a club yet, may I invite you to join mine?" His chin lifted slightly, pride flickering through his nerves.
"I'm the president of the Esports Club. We train for national or international tournaments–representing the school with our best efforts"
"Esports…games?"
"Yes," he nodded. "Our current focus is Fever Dream–an open-world PVP MMORPG. It is older, It's a pretty old game, but V.I.R.M recently updated everything!"
"Thankfully, they didn't reset everyone's stats; otherwise, it would take forever for us to gear up again."
He realised suddently that, as he continued to speak, Tang-Ji was exhausted. A soft cough escaped him as he reached for the blazer neatly folded by her bedside and slipped it on with a practiced movement that somehow still seemed shy.
Tang-Ji's face stayed blank, but her heart somersaulted—suddenly, absurdly aware of how tall he was. 'Why does that matter?'
"There is no pressure," it came quickly. "This is merely my way of apologising. Our club is technically full, but…I can make an exception for you, if you would like."
"It was truly my fault as well. But…I will think about it." She meekly responded.
His relief showed in the slight softening of his shoulders. "Then—here's my number. Contact me anytime." A bright, genuine smile. "Please rest well tonight! And..I hope you recover swiftly." He backed towards the door, bows of farewell stitched into every step.
"I have to go back to my club now; I'll see you later, Shizukesa san."
"Thank you for the offer, Lynn Senpai," she whispered, hiding beneath the blanket as warmth crept into her cheeks. *(Senpai is a term that is used to refer to your senior, upperclassman)
The door slid closed.
'Why did it feel so natural? As though we've spoken countless times before…l As though she should remember him.'
His smile burned gently in her mind.
'Kazami Lynn, huh?' She noted, continuing to sit by herself silently under the dimmed light of the nursing room.
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The sun finally slumbered into its dreaming place, swallowed by the rising silver of the moon. Night draped itself over Tang-Ji's room, quiet except for the soft hum of her computer. She leaned closer, curiosity stirring as she stared at the official Fever Dream homepage.
"Huh? This address is already registered?" Her brows tightened together. She typed again. And again. The same error—the screen itself was denying her existence.
"...Maybe it's a bug." Doubt tugged at her voice.
On impulse, she tried signing in instead—using the same familiar password she always used, a tiny secret she trusted too much.
A breathe.
A flicker.
A soft chime.
"It…worked?" Confusing pooling in her chest. "How is that possible?"
The screen bloomed open—colour, light, the gentle curve of an interface she had never seen before. A fully-made avatar spun lazily before her: a sleek figure labeled Zilynx.
Her thoughts tumbled loose—messy, slippery things.
'Could I have gotten hacked? That must be it…but no, if I were, I shouldn't be able to log in. Unless…unless…'
Her pulse quickened, a strange weight pressing behind her ribs.
"..It cannot be." Her voice was small, fragile. A jolt of shock suddenly stunted her mind as she realised her situation. "Is this…something my past self did? Seven years ago?" The words felt heavy, she was borrowing them from a ghost. The past had finally decided to begin to lurk back on her shoulders.
Her fingers curled slightly around her sleeve, grounding herself. "What did Senpai say his in-game name was…?"
Summoned by her worry, her phone chimed sharply—ding!
The text lit up her screen.
'Kazami-senpai: My IGN is Kirizkuuk. Add me when you log in.'
She stared at the name—familiar yet foreign—feeling the boundary between past and present thin into a trembling thread.