Love Comes After Simulation

Yuuki Minami shared part of the meat from his bento with Kazumi Chitose and Yuko Ibuki.

As Kazumi bit into the meat prepared by her love rival, she felt a complex mix of emotions. Realizing that it tasted better than her own cooking only deepened her sense of defeat. In contrast, Yuko remained much more composed. Her culinary skills were slightly inferior to Kazumi’s, so she felt no sense of crisis when faced with meat fried by Nao Asano, someone far superior to her in cooking.

After all, whether the food tasted good or not wasn’t the key point—what mattered was whether Yuuki liked it. And in the dream, Yuuki had never shown any particular preference for food. In other words, good cooking skills were, at best, a low-value card—perhaps a three or a four, the weakest kind. It was like a “Tanyao” hand in mahjong: it might look like a winning hand, but in reality, the gain was quite limited.

She even started wondering—once she and Yuuki confirmed their relationship, would she be able to go to the Asano household for meals? She had no interest in cooking. Instead of spending time buying ingredients and preparing food, she would rather stay close to Yuuki a little longer.

But that was a matter for the future. Right now, she had two more pressing issues to deal with. One was that photograph—she would ask about it later. Compared to that, the other question was even more urgent, something that had been puzzling her for a long time.

During the summer vacation in the dream, Yuuki had stood motionless in front of an oncoming truck. After she saved him, he continued to linger in dangerous places multiple times. Both her dream self and her past self in reality had thought the boy harbored a deep-seated death wish.

However, from her recent observations, she saw no trace of gloom hanging over him.

“How do you feel about your life right now, Yuuki?” she asked him directly.

Yuuki was momentarily stunned. He quickly connected her question to his actions in the dream film and understood the reason for her inquiry.

He thought it was necessary to make this overly proactive girl realize the difference between the dream and reality—to prepare her mentally.

“I’m very satisfied,” he replied. “I recently became friends with Nao-nee and Kazumi, and every day has been really fun.”

Kazumi blushed and lowered her head.

“Really?” Yuko pressed further.

“Really. Why do you ask, Ibuki-senpai?” Yuuki feigned confusion.

“I don’t think you’re happy enough.” The girl straightened her posture, patted her barely noticeable chest, and, with an expressionless face, boldly declared, “Once you become friends with me, you’ll find life even more fulfilling.”

Inside, her emotions were surging.

So it was true—Yuuki had no thoughts of despair. In the dream, he had only been acting!

Yuko had no issue with Yuuki deceiving her through acting in the future. On the contrary, now that she was certain he had been pretending, an overwhelming sense of happiness filled her heart.

A little reasoning was all it took to deduce that Yuuki had been acting in order to get closer to her. What could be a clearer sign of his love? For her sake, this naturally sunny boy had deliberately disguised himself as someone melancholic!

Knowing about such a hidden love, how could Yuko not be ecstatic?

Once again, she was convinced—her chances of winning were high! Yuuki might appear indifferent to her on the surface, but in truth, he was absolutely smitten with her!

“Oh, so this is your roundabout way of asking to be friends?” Yuuki picked up on her previous statement. “Then, I look forward to it, Ibuki-senpai.”

“Just call me Yuko,” Yuko paused, then turned to look at Kazumi. “And you too, Kazumi.”

Kazumi nodded. Yuuki’s words had washed away her worries and given her a renewed sense of courage.

At the start of the semester, she hadn’t planned on confessing to Yuuki. She hadn’t even intended to approach him—just quietly watch from a distance. It was only after seeing him bring out that ambiguous bento that she acted on impulse and decided to confess. Even then, she never expected success; she had braced herself for rejection.

But now, she had become friends with Yuuki—a tremendous step forward toward him, something she wouldn’t have even dared to imagine a few weeks ago.

She should be immersed in the dreamlike happiness of it all. So why did she feel even more unsettled?

Reflecting on this, she realized it was greed at play. Greed was insatiable. If she allowed it to grow unchecked, she would never attain true happiness.

So, she made an effort to cast away those desires. When she looked at Yuuki and Yuko again, her heart didn’t ache as much anymore.

She recalled that back in middle school, she had admired Ibuki-senpai’s independent and carefree attitude. For a while, she had really wanted to befriend her. Now, that wish had come true—she should be feeling twice the happiness.

She ought to feel so joyful that even breathing felt light and effortless!

But… was that truly the case?

Rational thinking had never been able to interfere with the growth of emotions. At most, it could suppress them, but it could never change them. In fact, one could even say that emotions grew by drawing nourishment from reason. Rationality could provide reasons to worry less, just as easily as it could justify worrying more. It could argue that if she stopped feeling anxious and uneasy, she would stagnate, become complacent with the present, and miss out on a future where she could attain even greater happiness.

Rationality had no innate bias—it was merely a reservoir of nutrients. Only when emotions demanded it would rationality transform into a force, fueling emotions and arming them with a logical shield.

Kazumi thought that the contentment she had just tried to convince herself of might have merely been a retreating emotion, one that had drawn nourishment from rationality.

As her mind became tangled in this mess, Yuko suddenly introduced a new topic, pulling her attention away.

Yuko asked, “The photo in Yuuki’s house—was that girl a student at Lillian Academy?”

At once, Kazumi’s stray thoughts vanished. She discreetly glanced at Yuuki’s face, listening carefully.

“Yes and no,” Yuuki answered.

Mayu was indeed a student of Lillian Private Girls’ Academy—but from over twenty years into the future.

“I’m curious.” Yuko took a small step forward, probing for more information.

“That’s a secret.” Yuuki couldn’t reveal anything, so he directly refused to answer.

As he tried to end the conversation, two thoughts suddenly crossed his mind.

One was about Asagiri Mayu’s mother. Mayu bore a strong resemblance to her mother. If she had been born when her mother was in her twenties, then right now, her mother should be around elementary school age.

The other thought was about Yuko. In the various simulated lives he had experienced, this girl had always displayed an extraordinary level of initiative and determination.

Combining these two things, an unsettling realization took root in his mind.

“…Senpai, don’t tell me you actually know the girl in the photo?” He asked cautiously.

What he was really thinking was: Could Yuko-senpai have already found Asagiri Mayu’s mother?

“No—” Kazumi had just opened her mouth to answer, about to explain that they had already discussed this yesterday and neither of them recognized the girl in the photo—

“Mm!” Yuko cut her off.

“Eh?” Kazumi froze in shock.

Yuuki was just as stunned.

Had his wild guess actually been correct? Had Yuko really found Asagiri Mayu’s mother?

“What’s her last name?” He looked at her intently.

“Asagiri.”

“What grade is she in?”

“First-year high school.”

…Huh?

Yuuki was caught off guard. High school?

If she was a high school first-year, that meant she was his age. But the age gap between him and Mayu was supposed to be thirty years. That would mean Mayu’s mother gave birth at thirty?

Although the average childbearing age for Japanese women was indeed around thirty, from what he had seen of Mayu’s mother’s social class in the simulated lives, she should have had children earlier than the average.

“…Can I see the photo?” Yuuki asked, intrigued.

He didn’t even need to ask whether Yuko had a photo. If she had identified a suspect, it had to be through a picture.

Yuko was puzzled by his reaction but took out her phone anyway. She opened an image she had saved from the internet.

Yuuki and Kazumi leaned in together, looking at the screen.

Yuuki’s gaze swept across the faces in the group photo, searching. Yuko pointed to a corner.

“This one.”

After examining the girl in the corner, Yuuki rubbed his chin.

“She does look quite similar. What’s her name?”

“…?”

Yuko tilted her head, a rare expression of confusion appearing on her usually impassive face.

Why are you asking me that instead?

“Asagiri Mizuki,” she answered.

“And her school?”

“She went to Kikuka Academy for middle school. That school usually promotes students directly, so her high school is probably also Kikuka Academy.”

“Nice work, Yuko-senpai!”

Yuuki patted her on the shoulder in encouragement.

Watching the boy’s excited expression, Yuko felt a sudden sense of unease, realizing she might have just made a mistake.

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