Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Can You The Hell Away To The Back Seat?

Currently, there is no way to contact the System. This meant that for the foreseeable future, she would have to face this real world alone.  

A galgame world turning real wasn’t inherently terrifying—because no matter how horrifying or unimaginable the world became, wasn’t the System supposed to be her safety net?  

The System wasn’t just her only lifeline when drowning in this world—it was also her last tether to her past life.  

It had arrived without her consent, and now it had shut down without warning, vanishing into silence. Its departure had shattered her unrealized wish and would erase all proof of her past existence.  

No one in this world would remember the girl who had once fallen like a white flower dancing in the wind from the top of a skyscraper beneath the dome of the sky—how her life had been lived. Come to think of it, even she herself was starting to forget. Those memories had grown hazy, blurred by countless game resets.  

Shimizu Sakuya stood blankly at the top of the slope, watching the figures below slowly climb upward. The spring breeze swayed the scattered cherry blossoms and the hem of her skirt, tousling her seaweed-like bangs until they obscured the beautiful, real world before her eyes.  

Should she enter the school where all stories began? Or should she run? If she could somehow reconnect with the System, could she still collect this ending?  

She could choose to sprint away—escape this cursed place that had wounded her body and soul.  

But there was still an unfinished wish… No, she couldn’t give up yet. Maybe there was another way to reboot the System.  

If death could reset the game world, did that mean she could try restarting the world to wake the System?  

At the bottom of the slope was a busy two-lane road, a hotspot for traffic accidents. All she had to do was—  

At this thought, the fog of confusion in Sakuya’s eyes cleared. She tucked her windblown bangs behind her ears, and her vision sharpened.  

She shed her restrictive blazer, loosened the necktie that hindered her breathing, and began descending the slope against the flow of students.  

The cars roared past like a raging current, their slipstreams whipping up fierce gusts. Charging into them would be a death sentence. Yet just as gravity should have carried her faster downhill, her steps slowed.  

Humans instinctively reserve their deepest reverence for the unknown. Since ancient times, no one who has experienced death has ever returned to describe it—making it the pinnacle of terror.  

But she had died too many times already. No one understood better than her that fleeting moment when life drained away, when the mind and body were finally freed from all pain.  

So it wasn’t the agony of death that gave her pause—it was the thought of what this death would mean for the world. What if this time, instead of fixing the System, it meant permanent oblivion?  

The realization struck her like a bucket of ice water. She came to a full stop at the edge of the roaring traffic.  

No. She didn’t want to see it again—those heartbreaking scenes.  

She didn’t want to see—  

Fujiwara Yuki, who had shackled her limbs and locked her in a lightless basement, clutching the nylon collar around her own neck like a fawn caught in a trap, weeping softly in her arms.  

“Sakuya… if only I were a boy.”  

She didn’t want to see—  

Amami Saori, ever gentle and warm, driving sharp scissors again and again into her own slender arms without flinching, crimson blood spraying like rain, her once-violet eyes now dull as dead embers.  

“Sakuya… I really am useless, aren’t I?”  

She didn’t want to see—  

Ayase Aoi, forever proud and aloof, bowing her head like a ragged, homeless beggar, tears streaming as she pleaded.

“Sakuya, please love me. I’m begging you—don’t leave me.”  

Even if she left, she should at least give them a happy ending.  

No matter what unforgivable things they’d done to her, they were just pitiful souls. Everyone deserved happiness.  

Whether the System rebooted or not no longer mattered. Reality and fiction had long since blended like the intertwined halves of a yin-yang orb—light and shadow always coexisted.  

So just this once—let everyone be happy.  

Having resolved herself, Sakuya turned back. She retied her necktie, shrugged on her blazer, and strode up the slope without hesitation.  

—  

By the time Sakuya finished adjusting her uniform in the hallway mirror and entered the classroom, most of Class A had already arrived.  

Before homeroom began was prime time for socializing.  

Students clustered in groups, laughing, gossiping, or debating the latest trends.  

Ayase Aoi was no exception. Surrounded by admirers, her lustrous hair stood out like a solitary violet blooming under the sun—making her the first person Sakuya noticed in the crowd.  

Aoi sat with her eyes downcast, arms folded on the desk, nodding occasionally at whatever topic was being discussed. To outsiders, she seemed perfectly integrated into the class.  

But only Sakuya knew—when Aoi lowered her gaze like that, it usually meant she found the conversation boring and was just humoring them.  

Though according to the game’s timeline, she shouldn’t even be here. At this point, Aoi was supposed to be preparing her third solo single as an idol. Why was she attending school?  

As Sakuya puzzled over this, a voice interrupted her thoughts.  

“Ah! Sakuya’s back! Are you feeling better?”  

The speaker was Kobayashi Shizuko—a bubbly girl with twin black ponytails and blunt bangs, the class’s unofficial mood-maker.  

Though not as strikingly beautiful as Sakuya, her kindness and warmth made her popular.  

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, drawing the entire class’s attention—including Aoi’s.  

For the first time since entering the classroom, Aoi showed genuine interest. Her delicate brows lifted slightly as her gaze swept over Sakuya—first assessing, then tinged with something akin to disgust.  

The disdain was subtle, expertly masked, but Sakuya caught it anyway.  

This was nothing like their first meeting in the original timeline. Back then, Aoi had looked at her like a satellite locked in orbit—devoted, tender, adoring.  

The stark contrast left Sakuya unsettled.  

“Ah, thanks for asking, Shizuko. I’m fully recovered now.”  

As she responded, she made her way to her seat—which, apparently, was right next to Aoi.  

Shizuko glanced between them and cheerfully made introductions:  

“Sakuya, you were absent last week, so you missed it! This is our new transfer student, Aya—”  

Aoi cut her off, extending a hand with a picture-perfect idol smile.  

“Ayase Aoi. ‘Aoi’ as in sunflower.”  

“Shimizu Sakuya. Nice to meet you.”  

Sakuya shook her hand without hesitation.  

Aoi’s smile deepened. She gestured to the hallway.  

“Shimizu-san, since we’re neighbors, there’s something I’d like to discuss. Would you mind stepping outside?”  

“Sure, no problem.”  

A glint of amusement flashed in Aoi’s eyes as she turned to Shizuko.  

“Kobayashi-san, we’ll be right back.”  

“Go ahead!” Shizuko waved them off. “Wow, Ayase-san sure is eager to talk to Sakuya!”  

Something was undeniably different about Aoi. As Sakuya followed her into the hall, she catalogued the changes from the previous timeline.  

First, the most obvious—height. Hmm… She’s shorter.  

The 26-year-old Aoi had towered half a head over her. Now they were the same height.  

Second, her shampoo’s scent had changed. Before, it was a crisp peach fragrance. Now it was sweeter—a blend of orange blossom and cedar.  

But none of that mattered as much as the shift in her eyes. It was as if her very soul had been replaced. What’s going on?  

Lost in thought, Sakuya didn’t notice Aoi suddenly turning—until they nearly collided nose-to-nose.  

Instinct made Sakuya step back, but Aoi closed the distance instead.  

Up close, her crimson eyes—pure, unblemished—burned with undisguised loathing, as if Sakuya were some vile scourge upon the earth.  

She tilted her chin up like a tyrant surveying her subjects, radiating arrogance and contempt.  

Her smile stayed sweet as poisoned honey, but her voice was glacial.  

“Can you get the hell away to the back seat? The farther you are from me, the better. Having you next to me makes me sick. You’re like a fucking cockroach.”