Chapter 41: Stories of the past, Part 1

One morning, I woke to a terrible sense of dissociation.

Or rather, I wasn’t sure if it could be called “waking up.”

The dizziness and disorientation felt more like the aftermath of losing consciousness than simply waking from sleep.

I sat up, hoping a splash of water would help, but a profound sense of wrongness persisted.

It was more than the disorientation a child might feel upon waking up significantly taller.

My limbs felt… disconnected, as if I were controlling a video game character.

My long hair, which I hadn’t cut in a while, shifted with my movements.

My body felt stiff, my shoulders aching.

I got out of bed, intending to use the restroom, and promptly collapsed.

It felt like misjudging the last step on a staircase, my leg hitting thin air.

I clutched my aching leg and struggled to stand.

Something… something was profoundly wrong.

My legs felt unsteady, like a toddler’s first steps, my movements uncoordinated.

I stumbled and almost fell again before finally reaching the restroom. There was no sink.

Only a dusty, grimy mirror.

And in the mirror… an image I shouldn’t have seen.

A woman with brown hair and red eyes, her expression a mixture of shock and confusion.

The same expression I was making.

I remembered me.

Returning home after a long shift, turning on my laptop.

Completing daily quests in my favorite game, then browsing online forums for new updates.

That mundane life… I remembered it clearly.

Dark brown hair that almost looked black, clear hazel eyes.

An ordinary-looking man, nothing remarkable.

The woman in the mirror was… different.

Yet, I knew her.

The character who always greeted me when I visited the in-game shop after completing my daily quests.

Kayleen.

She wasn’t me.

She was a video game character.

A resident of a two-dimensional world, intangible, not real.

But the evidence before me, reflected in the mirror, suggested otherwise.

Her usually cheerful expression was replaced by a look of shock and confusion.

Unlike the static, almost expressionless, character in the game, the woman in the mirror displayed a range of emotions.

Confusion, fear, panic.

The same emotions I was feeling.

It was… only natural.

Because she was me.

I’d entertained a similar thought experiment before:

If two individuals shared the same thoughts, memories, and personality, but differed in every other aspect, could they be considered the same person?

It was a question related to the concept of immortality, so I’d found it intriguing, but I hadn’t dwelled on it.

Such a scenario was unlikely to occur in my lifetime.

I was struggling to survive in the real world, let alone contemplate such hypotheticals.

But now, faced with this reality, I couldn’t ignore the question.

Could the reflection in the mirror be considered… me? The same person as the unremarkable man from my previous life?

It seemed like a pointless question. What did it matter if my body changed as long as my mind remained the same?

But the premise was flawed.

My mind… I… couldn’t accept this body as my own.

Was I… her?

No. I was a man.

But the woman in the mirror… was me.

But I didn’t look like that.

An endless loop of meaningless questions.

Simultaneously acknowledging and denying my own identity.

A sense of detachment, as if I were an observer, watching myself from a distance. Was I controlling this body, or was I being controlled?

I couldn’t reconcile the two.

Confusion.

And fear.

Was I… truly… me?

Were these memories… truly mine?

Was this… truly the world of the game?

Or was this… reality?

Or just a… horrifying, agonizing dream?

Confusion… and more confusion…

“Ugh…”

Knock. Knock.

I must have fallen asleep, my head throbbing. My hair was a mess.

My legs still felt awkward as I walked towards the door.

The sleep, or perhaps the passage of time, had slightly eased my confusion.

I reached for the doorknob, and then… I hesitated.

Should I open this door?

Who was on the other side?

If they knew this body, this “me,” how should I react?

Should I pretend to have amnesia?

“Ah…”

The door opened before I could decide.

An elderly woman stood in the doorway.

“Dear, are you alright? You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

Dear…

She was addressing me.

My mind still reeling, unable to process the situation, I could only understand her words after a slight delay.

“Ah… haha… I’m fine…”

I forced a smile. The woman’s eyes widened, as if she’d seen something strange.

But only for a moment. She offered me a bowl of warm soup.

“Dear, you look terrible. Eat something. Even if you’re not feeling well, you need to eat to recover.”

“…Yes. Thank you…”

Who was this woman?

Did she know Kayleen?

I wanted to ask her, to ask if she knew me.

But at the same time… I didn’t.

I didn’t want to hear the answer.

If she confirmed my fears, if she confirmed that I was… her, this stranger, this Kayleen, not the me I remembered…

I would break.

In this world, no one knew me, no one remembered me.

Even if someone claimed to know me, they would know her, the owner of this body.

My memories were the only anchor to my identity, my last lifeline.

If that was severed… if I was forced to accept that I was Kayleen… my fragile mind wouldn’t be able to handle it.

I remained silent as the woman placed the tray of soup and bread on the table and left the room.

I could only manage a weak, awkward laugh.

The “me” sitting there, staring at the soup, wasn’t the man I remembered, nor was I Kayleen, the merchant.

I was just… someone lost, unable to accept reality.

Driven by hunger, I took a spoonful of soup. It was warm.

I had a nightmare.

I was in the dream.

Not as Kayleen, but as my former self, an ordinary man.

I stood before… myself, but wearing Kayleen’s form.

However, my former self had no face.

The area where my eyes, nose, and mouth should have been was a smooth, featureless surface, like a blank canvas.

I picked up a brush and tried to paint my face.

Round eyes, slightly upturned lips.

No. That wasn’t me.

Red eyes, slightly upturned lips.

No. That wasn’t me either.

Brown hair, upturned lips.

No, no. This wasn’t me.

Long hair reaching past my shoulders, a mocking smirk.

No, no, no. That couldn’t be.

This… wasn’t me.

The brush strokes, guided by my memories, formed… Kayleen, her expression mocking.

It was like looking in a mirror, except for the expression.

This… wasn’t me.

I wasn’t… this foreign-looking woman.

I painted and repainted, but every attempt resulted in Kayleen, her mocking smirk a constant reminder of my futility.

“No…!”

Frustrated, I punched the image, and the world shattered, jolting me awake.

A true nightmare.

My clothes and bedsheets were soaked with sweat.

I stumbled towards the restroom, hoping a splash of cold water would clear my head.

“Huh…?”

I saw my reflection in the mirror.

The same mocking smirk.

Still dreaming?

I touched my face.

But the expression in the mirror… the smile…

“Haha…”

…was mine.

As if mocking me, reminding me that I could never return to being me.

Me, mocking myself.

Me, mocking me.