Chapter Text
Tomorrow is supposed to be the first day of the rest of my life.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself as I roll around in bed like a rotisserie chicken, sweating through my pajamas and staring at the ceiling as though the plaster might kindly provide me with a script for how to become a functioning adult.
Step one: smile.
Step two: greet coworkers.
Step three: don’t immediately retreat into a corner with your phone like you did for three years of middle school, three years of high school, and… let’s just say college wasn’t much better.
I clutch my blanket like it’s a flotation device. “Okay, Renako. You can do this. Just be normal. Everyone likes normal people. Normal people don’t talk to printers. Normal people don’t—”
Oh god.
My mind flashes back to the day of my college orientation, where I spent half an hour nodding enthusiastically at a malfunctioning vending machine because at least it didn’t look at me funny—and maybe a bit because I mistook it for my teacher. The vending machine never responded. Which, come to think of it, is exactly what most people did.
“Not again,” I groan into my pillow. “This time will be different. I’ll—I'll have friends! I’ll have conversations that last longer than two sentences! I’ll—”
Cue panic spiral.
What if they all already know each other?
What if they can tell, just from looking at me, that I’ve spent the last decade hiding in my room and grinding through RPG side quests instead of learning how to socialize?
What if I open my mouth and the only thing that comes out is a Pokémon cry?
“Pikaaaa—” I slap my own cheeks before I can finish. “No. No Pikachu impressions tomorrow. That’s plan Z. Absolutely forbidden.”
At least, if my coworkers are kind enough, they might humour it and start a good conversation.
No—
They will definitely think I am a weird girl… wait a minute, I am not a girl anymore but a young woman.
What have I done with my life?!
I sit up, grab my notebook, and start scribbling furiously.
Emergency Backup Plans for Becoming a Normal Human™
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Smile but not too much (smiling too much makes you look like a suspicious NPC who plans to betray the hero during the last fight).
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Compliment someone’s… stapler? No, too weird. Their clothes? Safer.
-
Don’t talk about my 1,237 hours in Fantasy Blade Online.
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Pretend to have hobbies that aren’t gaming. Maybe “jogging”? Nobody will ask for proof, right?
- When in doubt, make a strategic retreat but don't make it look too obvious.
“Uuuugh…” I flop back down, pressing the notebook over my face. I can already feel tomorrow collapsing in on itself like one of those black holes from the science documentaries I used to binge at 3 a.m. No matter what I do, I’m doomed to embarrass myself.
“Can you NOT?!” A muffled yell pierces the door.
I freeze. Then—oh no.
“Renako-oneechan!” My little sister’s voice is sharp enough to cut through my self-loathing. “It’s midnight and you’re STILL yelling at yourself? Some of us are trying to sleep! Should I remind you that you have work tomorrow?!”
“I wasn’t yelling,” I protest weakly, even though I was absolutely yelling. “I was… rehearsing. For… um… tomorrow.”
“Rehearse inside your head! Normal people don’t scream about printers and staplers at midnight!” A loud groan came from Haruna's room.
Ouch. Critical hit.
Before I can reply, the door creaks open and my sister stomps in, wearing her pajamas and the face of someone who has long given up on having a sane older sibling. She marches over, yanks the blanket out of my hands, and throws it over me like she’s wrapping a burrito.
“Sleep,” she commands. “You’ll scare off your new coworkers before you even meet them if you show up with eyebags. Jeez. I sometimes wonder who is the older sister among us.”
“But—”
“No buts. Sleep.”
And just like that, my world goes dark under a thick comforter. I try to wiggle out, but she pins me down with the merciless strength of a younger sibling. My muffled whines echo uselessly under the blanket.
This is it. My final rehearsal cut short by familial tyranny.
As I finally surrender to the suffocating warmth, one last thought flickers in my mind:
…Maybe tomorrow won’t be that bad.
I prayed that my dream would be something relaxing, like counting sheep or eating something good.
When I finally open my eyes, it feels like I’ve been run over by a truck.
Then backed over. Twice.
So much for my “early to bed, early to rise, become a functioning member of society” plan. Thanks to my loving little sister burrito-wrapping me into forced sleep, my night consisted of tossing, turning, and replaying every embarrassing memory from the past decade in crystal-clear HD.
Like that time in college.
That time.
The time when someone waved in my direction and I—sweet, naïve Amaori Renako—smiled back and waved enthusiastically, only to realize they were calling for a taxi behind me.
The driver waved back. The other person chuckled and patted my head as to comfort me, saying "it happens to everyone." She was very kind but I still wanted to melt into asphalt.
Then there was that time in high school when a junior (female) gave me a letter that I mistook for a love letter, only to realize later it was a list of books she wanted to read.
Also back in middle school where the boys started talking about Final Fantasy and I approached them, bragging about my 40 hours on FFVI, but they told me to my face that game is too old and they would rather talk about FFXIII.
“Why do I even exist,” I mutter into the blanket cocoon still clinging to me. “At least in video games, respawning is an option. I really wish I could re-roll to get a less terrible build. Why does TierZoo not upload a video about cheat codes in life?”
I tug the blanket tighter. Maybe if I stay like this long enough, work will just… stop existing? Yeah, if I ignore reality hard enough, the universe might take pity on me. Logical. Sensible. Perfect plan.
“GET UP!”
Suddenly, my universe explodes as the blanket is ripped away.
“KYAA—!” I yelp, flailing like a fish on land. And there she is. My little sister, the eternal thorn in my side, standing over me with the air of a merciless jailer, pink hair tied in the usual ponytail..
“You’re hopeless, Oneechan,” she sighs, hands on hips. Her bed hair is a mess, but somehow she still manages to look more put-together than me. “You promised you’d actually try this time, remember?”
“I never promised,” I grumble, grabbing at the air where my blanket used to be. “I merely… considered it… in theory.”
“Same thing.” She flicks my forehead like a whip. “Honestly, you’re such a pain. And you wonder why people keep mistaking us for twins? Pink hair, almost the same face, almost the same height… Jeez. Why do we look so alike anyway?”
I wince. “We don’t look that alike.”
“We do,” she says flatly. “And every time someone says, ‘Oh, you must be sisters, you look so alike!’ I have to do damage control. Because if they find out my big sister is a blanket-hoarding introvert gamer, they’ll think I’m the same.”
“Guh—!” Her words pierce me like an arrow. Critical hit again. I stagger, holding my chest. “So cruel… I thought we were family…”
“We are family.” She smirks, grabbing my arm and dragging me off the bed like a sack of rice. “That’s why I get to bully you. Now move!”
"At least be more gentle. Your Onee-chan is a fragile maiden, you know."
"As if I care! Mom and Dad are helping us financially, but it's not a reason to be a NEET. We have to enjoy our youth while serving the country we live in."
Resistance is futile. I flop onto the floor in a heap, admitting defeat. Thus stripped of my protective cocoon, I shuffle like a zombie into the kitchen. I can't find my slippers so I had to go barefoot.
To my surprise, breakfast is already laid out: miso soup, grilled bacon, rice. Warm steam curls into the air, filling the apartment with comfort I don’t deserve.
We’ve lived together since my college days—back when our parents cheerfully kicked us out so they could “enjoy their second honeymoon phase.” It’s not like we minded. Our little apartment is messy, cramped, and occasionally smells like instant ramen, but it’s ours. At least, I was overjoyed back then as I could play games until early mornings without anyone complaining about the electricity bills—well, Haruna did complain a bit at first but eventually gave up.
We sit down together, the clatter of chopsticks filling the silence until she starts talking.
“Don’t hide in the bathroom the moment you make eye contact with someone. Also, remember that you are an adult now. Adults do not revolve their whole life around video games.”
I nearly choke on my rice. “I never—”
“You did it at cousin Mika’s wedding. Remember? You saw the groom’s friend smile at you and you bolted into the bathroom for twenty minutes. And then our Aunt Sumire tried to talk to you but all you did was recite the storm trooper's motto over and over again until she looked at you with concerned eyes.”
“…Strategic retreat,” I mumble.
“More like social suicide.” She rolls her eyes. “Just… don’t embarrass me, okay? If your new coworkers figure out you’re a hermit, the whole family will know by dinnertime.” She pauses, placing both chopsticks on the table. "And I know you are not comfortable with the talk, but try to find a bit of interest in romance. It will make Mom and Dad really happy."
"Like you're one to say."
She pouts. "And whose fault is it? Because of a certain person that shall not be named, I was always forced to go home early and could not attend mixers back in college to look after the certain someone at home."
I puff out my cheeks, but I don’t have a counter. My track record is… damning. Instead, I sip my miso soup in silence, warmth spreading through me. Despite all her teasing, she made breakfast, woke me up, and is actually rooting for me.
Maybe. Probably.
…Unless this is just her way of ensuring I don’t ruin her reputation.
Either way, I can’t hide in bed anymore. The first day awaits.
"Anyway, that's all in the past. I am now on my way to get someone." She looked away, a small blush on her face.
"Eh?" My mind froze. "You're joking, right?"
"Do you think I am such a looser that I would create an imaginary girlfriend? Like a certain someone."
"Urg." Bullseye. She got me there.
But girlfriend, huh?
While not as bad as me, Haruna did not have many male friends and our parents has suspected the two of us sisters might be swinging for the other team. I did know my little sister did see one of her friend from back in college as more than just friend, but I never thought about it myself.
But I mean, unlike in dating sim games, real life relationship are a pain in the butt.
There is no way I could have a lover. That is just too much to ask from an introvert.
Breakfast ends with me poking at the last grain of rice in my bowl like it’s going to give me advice. Spoiler: it doesn’t. My sister claps her hands, already finished.
“Alright, hurry up. If you dawdle any longer, you’ll be late for your very first day.”
The words first day send a cold shiver down my spine. But I push away the bowl, stand up, and shuffle toward my room. The battlefield awaits—my wardrobe.
Hanging neatly on the rack is the uniform of every respectable working woman: crisp white shirt, navy blazer, matching skirt, and… the dreaded heels. I glare at them like they’re my mortal enemy. I still remember the countless evenings I spent wobbling around the apartment, clutching the wall like a mountaineer on a cliff face while Haruna laughed herself sick.
“Today, you behave,” I mutter, pointing at the shoes as if I can intimidate them into mercy. "If you betray me, I will sent you to Brazil."
Getting dressed takes longer than I want to admit. First the shirt—buttoned up too tight, then too loose. The skirt—straightened three times before I decide it looks fine. The blazer—stiff but sharp. The heels—slipped on with a silent prayer. My toes hurt a bit, so I decided to wear a pantyhouse to soften the thing. Thankfully, the thin fabric was enough to protect my skin from this toe-eating monster.
Then, makeup. Ugh. I don’t own much, but apparently “a professional office lady should at least wear lipstick,” according to my sister’s lecture last night. So I dab on the bare minimum—basically just a light pink lipstick—and stares at the mirror.
And there she is.
A young woman stares back at me, polished and… different. The same pink hair, neatly brushed and cut mid-neck; the same round face, but somehow more serious framed by the blazer. Not the introverted gamer who hid behind screens for most of her life. Not the girl who mistook taxi signals for friendly waves.
“Maybe…” I whisper, leaning closer. “Maybe this is my chance. A reset button. New me, new friends.”
My chest swells with determination. Then immediately collapses into panic. Oh god, what if I ruin it? What if I trip in the lobby? What if I call my boss ‘Dad’ by mistake?! Wait a minute; do I even remember my Boss' name? Oh god, this is terrible!
I slap my cheeks, trying to chase away the panic.
“Pull it together, Renako. This isn’t a dungeon raid. No respawns. You just… talk to people. Easy. Simple. Definitely won’t die.”
Grabbing my bag, I stagger out to the hallway where my sister is already waiting, scrolling on her phone with a smirk. She, too, was already dressed as a proper Office Lady minus the pantyhouse.
“Took you long enough,” she says. Then, with narrowed eyes: “Not bad. You actually look like a human being. Remember: don’t embarrass me.”
“I won’t,” I say, clutching my bag like a shield.
“Don’t stutter.”
“I w-won’t—ugh!”
“Don’t lock yourself in the bathroom.”
“I wasn’t planning to!”
“And don’t—”
“I GET IT!”
She laughs at my misery, but together we step out of the apartment. The morning air is cool, the sun sharp against the city buildings. I shielded my eyes from the light, not used to walking outside this early. Side by side, we walk down the street—two sisters who look so alike, yet couldn’t be more different. She keeps tossing reminders at me every few blocks like a nagging tutorial voice.
Finally, we reach the intersection where we part ways. She heads left for her office; I head right toward mine.
“Good luck, Oneechan,” she says, softer now. “Try to… you know, smile. For real.”
I swallow, nodding. “Yeah.”
"By the way, I'll be coming home late tonight. I'm counting on you for dinner."
"Are you planning to go on a date with your girlfriend?"
She answers me with a blush, and pinched my cheeks. "This mouth just loves to argue, don't it?"
"S-sowwy."
She pouts, then patted me in the head. "Anyway, do your best, Onee-chan."
"Thanks, Haruna."
She waves at me and walks her own direction.
And then I’m alone.
The building looms ahead: modest, three stories, nothing fancy. This is it. The society that makes its living renting out printers, copiers, and other office tools. My new life, hiding in plain sight behind stacks of paper and ink cartridges.
I stop in front of the doors, my heels clicking to a halt. My pulse is thundering.
“In… and out,” I whisper, taking a long breath. My chest rises, then falls. Again. Again. Slowly, my hands stop shaking.
This is it. Amaori Renako, former hermit, future… maybe-friend-haver.
I reach for the door.