Tsukumodo:Volume 2 Self

Have you ever wished that you existed twice?

I'm not talking about twins or anything like that. I’m talking about a second "you" who can stand in for you.

Come to think of it, there was a copy-robot in a famous anime show that I used to watch when I was a child.

In order to act as a mysterious superhero, the protagonist made the robot go to elementary school in his place. The robot had some amazing abilities: it had free will, would act independently, and could then share its memories with the protagonist.

If you had access to something like that, you could make it do your homework when you felt tired, go to school when you weren’t in the mood, or earn money for you to fritter away on whatever you wanted.

Aah, that would be so convenient.

It does sound like you’d be acting like a pretty nasty slave-driver, but that’s not really the case. After all, the two of you share everything - fun and not-so-fun - at the end of the day.

Mh? Then take on the not-so-fun stuff yourself, you say?

...Now that's a whole other kettle of fish.

Well, there’s no point in daydreaming. Possessing something like that would be too good to be true, and even if it were possible, there’d bound to be some kind of catch.

◆

"I'm back."

"Ya," I said as I paused the game I was playing and turned to the person who had just entered the room.

It was a high school student. He had just come back from school, so he was still wearing his uniform and carrying the official school satchel. His short haircut, sun-tanned skin, and strong build suggested that he played a lot of sports.

If there were a third person in the room, he would have been flabbergasted.

The face of that student looked identical to mine. Not similar, but the exact same.

And our faces weren’t the only things that were identical—our body sizes, haircuts, shoulder widths, weights, skin tones, leg lengths, shoe sizes—everything was the same.

We weren't identical twins. Even so-called “identical” twins look similar at best, and aren’t actually identical.

Our appearances, however, were exactly the same in every respect.

He was like my mirror image, which is why I called him "copy."

"Give me the satchel."

After taking the satchel from my copy, I rummaged in it for a manga that had just come out today. I had commanded him to buy it for me on his way home. When I took the manga out, I accidentally snagged a sheet of paper, which then fell to the ground.

"What's that?"

"The results from the quiz I told you about yesterday."

"Did you mention it to me?"

I took a look at it. Next to my name, Jirou Kishitani, was a 100. It was a perfect score.

"Not bad at all."

"The test covered the stuff we studied yesterday. It paid off, didn't it?"

"You're the one who studied, though."

(But I get all the credit. Heh, looks like I can look forward to my report card this year.)

I tossed the sheet away and threw myself onto my bed with the new manga. My copy picked up the sheet and sat down where I had been sitting.

"Oh? You made a lot of progress, didn't you?" he suddenly said as he looked at the TV screen.

I’d been gaming all day while my copy was at school. Of course I made some decent progress.

‘Cause both my parents work from the early morning ‘till late at night, there's no one who would bitch at me for skipping school. No, I was at school, I guess? Or rather, my copy was. But practically speaking, it's the same thing.

"Train my characters while I'm reading this manga!"

"I don't mind, but let's share our memories before you start reading manga."

My copy refers to himself as "boku," but that’s only when he's with me, of course. I had also made him change his manner of speaking a bit. I would feel really awkward if we talked the exact same way. After those small tweaks, I no longer felt like I was talking to myself and could relax.

My copy got on the bed, lay on top of me and touched his forehead to mine.

It was a sight that could easily be misunderstood. But we weren't doing anything questionable; this was how I could turn the memories of my copy into my own.

While I collected myself, I felt something flowing into my head. It was the memories my copy had experienced that day.

I saw that he went to school and attended classes. He surprised everyone with the full mark he had received on the short test. Figures—I haven't gotten a full mark in my entire life. That’s unsurprising, because I never did my homework properly, let alone prepared myself properly for school. It was kind of funny to see the reactions of the teacher and the other students.

There was also a scene that stood out from my club activities, where he played soccer. I saw him score an amazing goal in a practice game. The goalie was a guy from the first-string team who I couldn't stand. He was gnashing his teeth. Glorious. After that, my copy went to a convenience store, bought my manga, and came home.

"Man, you rock." I had to praise him after seeing that test score and his soccer playing.

My copy got off me and smiled wryly.

"Is that self-praise?"

"Oh, looks like it is. You're me after all, aren't you?"

I couldn't explain what on earth he was.

I could only say that he was my copy.

A copy that looked the same as me and had the same skills. One who did things like going to school, studying, and training my game characters for me.

It's like there were two of me.

But while he was me, he somehow wasn't me.

He was a version of me who had to obey my every command.

What a convenient tool I had gotten my hands on.

I could do whatever I wanted. I never had to do anything boring or annoying anymore.

Ever since I had obtained that tool, my life had been fulfilled.

The manga scene I was reading wasn't particularly funny, but I couldn't stop laughing.

Ah, right. Gotta make him do today's homework.

◆

"Nhaaa," I yawned as I watched the match.

It was one to one with five minutes remaining. I guessed it would end in a draw.

The motivated players were fighting hard for control of the ball, while the unmotivated players like me just watched from afar.

Some background: PE today was a soccer match.

"Kurusu, the ball!"

"Gotcha!"

The ball was kicked toward me. I just wanted to pass it to a teammate and be done with it, but Kishitani, an opposing player, stole the ball from me and dribbled around me toward the goal.

"Kurusu, get your act together!"

Even though my teammates were complaining, I didn't run after him. My opponent was in the soccer club; even if I managed to catch up with him, I wouldn't be able to steal back the ball. As if to further bolster my decision, Kishitani easily dodged the defenders, one after another.

"Man, how childish can you get? That guy's in the soccer club and still gives it 110%...

"The guys he's beating are in the soccer club too," said my teammate Shinjou as he approached me.

He was right - the players opposing Kishitani were also members of the same soccer club, but utterly failed to regain the ball.

"Heh, believe it or not, he's actually restraining himself!"

"Really? I mean, look, they've already got nothing on him!"

"He used to be a good-for-nothing who would just rush onto the opponent's side of the field like an idiot, but he's become incredible lately! He's been practicing like a different person, and keeps at it alone, even when everyone else had gone home. I guess something made him turn over a new leaf? I've heard that by now even the seniors on the first-string team have a hard time stealing the ball from him."

When the defense finally seemed about to overwhelm him with sheer numbers, he skilfully passed the ball to a teammate.

"He's even started to do some decent team play - like just now."

"Has he only improved lately?"

"Yeah. He's like a totally different person."

"Like a different person, eh?" I said while gazing at Kishitani, who was running toward our goal.

Right before time ran out, Kishitani received a pass and slammed the ball into the net.

"The losing team's in charge of clearing up!" announced the teacher right after he had blown the final whistle.

Back at the Tsukumodo Antique Shop, Saki served us some black tea. She asked "so did you discover anything?"

"Yeah, I've narrowed down my list of suspects considerably."

"I see."

After I sat down next to Saki, Towako-san entered from the living room and plopped down before the counter, waiting for me to elaborate.

About a week ago, Towako-san had told me that someone in my school had a Relic.

Apparently, when she dropped by our sister shop, she happened to notice a customer who was wearing my school’s uniform. The owner of the sister shop told Towako-san that he had bought a Relic.

The name of the Relic was "Masquerade," and as the name suggests, it looked like a mask. When that white and expressionless mask was placed on a doll or mannequin, the mask would transform it into a perfect copy of the user. It would not only have the same appearance, but also the same skills and personality as the user.

The user was at risk of becoming so lazy that his ability to interact with society would be lost. He might start to unload even the smallest of tasks onto his copy if he kept using Masquerade, which would lead to his ruin.

That being said, at first I wanted to ignore this incident because I thought that someone just getting lazy was hardly a real problem, and that it would serve him right if he ruined himself due to laziness.

But I couldn’t get it off my mind, so I ended up unobtrusively observing my classmates.

In addition to a school badge, our uniforms also had class badges that displayed the students’ school years by color and the class number as well. Towako-san had not clearly seen the customer’s face, but she had seen his class badge. It happened to be the same as mine.

Considering the power of Masquerade, it was highly unlikely that I could distinguish the copy from the real thing – after all, it was a perfect copy. Nevertheless, I was on the lookout for the even the slightest trace of strange behavior.

And after observing my class for a week, I had drawn the following conclusion:

Kishitani was definitely suspicious.

◆

"I'm back."

I woke up to the greeting of my copy.

"Ah, sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No, it's cool. I can sleep all day, after all."

It seemed that my afternoon nap had gotten quite long.

(It figures. Lately, I've basically been sleeping in the day and active at night.)

"I've got good news for you today!" my copy said as he approached me with a smile on his face.

"What is it? Tell me more."

"Best just see it for yourself!"

My copy pressed his forehead against mine and started the memory sharing process.

It was just the normal school scenery. By now, I didn't consider flawlessly answering every question the teacher posed or getting a high score on a quiz particularly good news anymore.

What exactly is he so happy about? I thought right before the memories of that day's club activities entered my mind. I was similarly unimpressed: neither his skillful shots, nor the fact that he was practicing with the first-string players impressed me.

Suddenly, he was called out by our coach.

"You’re on the starting lineup in the match tomorrow. Don't let me down!"

Even though we were still in the middle of sharing our memories, I immediately jerked my head back. My copy gave me a triumphant smile.

"In the starting lineup for tomorrow's match?"

"That's right!"

That was the first time I was selected for the first-string. Considering that I hadn't even entered a real game thus far, suddenly being added to the starting lineup was a great leap forward. All those efforts had paid off.

"Okay, I'll go to school tomorrow."

"Eh?" my copy uttered with wide eyes.

"What? Got a problem with that?"

"N-No, I don't... but are you all right?"

"If you were all right, how could I not be? After all, we're the same, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we are."

"Okay, now that that's decided, time to get some sleep." I got on my bed again and added "Prepare yourself for tomorrow! You better not forget about any of your regular preparations."

"Hah...hah...hah..."

I was gasping for breath, and about to collapse from a lack of oxygen. I was trembling so hard that I couldn't stand up without supporting my knees with my hands.

"Here goes!"

I received a pass from a senior player, but could not take another step. Just as the ball passed the goal line, the final whistle was blown. I somehow managed to stagger back to the bench.

"W-Water...," I groaned as I plopped down on the ground, holding my hand out to our team manager.

That manager, however, ignored me completely and handed out towels to the other players.

"Hey, what're ya doing? Get my some water!" I ordered a second-string team member standing nearby from my year. He reluctantly brought me a water bottle, which I whipped out of his hand and greedily drank from.

(Ah, that really hits the spot. I didn't think that the playing on the first-string would be so hard; man, I was about to die! I haven't gotten that much exercise in ages. Well, I haven't really been doing much lately, because I pushed all that kind of stuff onto my copy.)

While my copy could share his memories with me, he couldn’t apparently do the same with physical fitness.

I had really been looking forward to this Saturday’s match…but the first half had ended with almost no achievements on my part.

"What's wrong, Kishitani?" our coach said as he approached me. "Where's your commitment today?"

"I-I'm sorry. I didn’t get enough sleep..."

That wasn't a lie. While I had intended to go to sleep right after I heard about the game from my copy, I hadn't been able to sleep a wink because I already been asleep for too long during the day.

"I see. Well, I guess you've gotten a bit overanxious about the game because this is your first real match."

"I'm sorry."

"Got it. I'll sub in someone else for the second half."

I was relieved: I couldn't walk another step. Playing the second half would have been pure hell.

"I'll give you one more chance during tomorrow’s match. Make sure you get enough sleep tonight, okay? Well, I guess you'll sleep like a log since you look completely worn out."

(Tomorrow? You wanna make me go through that pain again on Sunday...?)

I slumped down all the way, and couldn't even imagine standing up.

"How was it?" my copy immediately asked after I got back.

"It was terrible! Dammit..."

After throwing down my satchel with some difficulty, I slumped onto my bed.

"Looks like it didn't go well, huh?"

"Oh just shut up. Have you trained my characters at least?"

"I have! All day."

I looked at the TV screen and saw that they had gained roughly thirty levels. Those PC’s sure had it good—they didn't get exhausted no matter how long they fought.

"...The coach said he wants to put me on the starting lineup tomorrow, too!"

"He did? But that's good news, isn't it?"

"You go."

"Huh? May I?"

"Yeah. I'm fed up with this–it’s such a pain. Besides, I think my muscles will be killing me tomorrow. Anyway, make sure you kick their asses, okay? You better not suck!"

"My skills are your skills."

I wanted to ask if he was being sarcastic, but I was just too damn tired.

I fell into a sound sleep right away.

I momentarily thought to pool our memories, but my overwhelming desire to get some sleep immediately killed that idea.

"Hey, how was it?" I immediately asked after my copy got back from the match.

I didn't mean to imitate him—I was genuinely curious. I hadn't even been able to focus on playing my video game all day.

"Not bad, I guess."

My copy brought his forehead toward me. I touched mine to his and started to receive the memories of the match.

Just as I was yesterday, he was on the starting lineup as a forward. The coach slapped him on the back, reminding him to do better this time. Even though it was only a memory of something that had already happened, I got kinda tense.

The match started.

I don't want to admit it, but unlike me, my copy ran around up and down the field quick as a flash. Of course, that reassured me that I’d have been able to do just as well had I not been so exhausted.

He run with perfect timing in order to receive a pass from a senior. Just before the offside line, he took control of the ball and rushed toward the goal, leaving the opposing defense in his dust.

Shoot! I shouted in my heart.

Our thoughts were in sync; my copy slammed the ball home just as I shouted. The ball brushed the fingertips of the goalie and went straight into the net.

My seniors ran to my copy to congratulate me and pat me on the back, while our coach nodded approvingly.

It felt great.

In the end, we won the match by three to one. My copy really kicked some ass – he scored one goal and made two assists.

"Well done!" I praised him after I had viewed all of the memories. "'Not bad'? Come on! That was kick-ass!"

"As I said, that's self-praise!"

"I guess you're right. Man! I would have been able to do the same yesterday if I hadn't been so tired..."

"It doesn't matter—my achievements are your achievements!"

He was right. It may have been me yesterday and my copy today, but from anyone else's perspective, it was me both times.

Since our skills were identical, I would have been capable of the same success if I had gone today. Well, if I had really gone today, I would have had a hard time moving due to my sore muscles, but that's neither here nor there.

Besides, my copy and I were sharing our memories; I could perfectly recall that day's match. I could practically remember the feel of the ball when I scored that goal.

I suddenly felt as if I had just smashed the ball into the net and raised my arms like my copy had back then.

"Ouch-owowow!"

The sore muscles all over my body pulled me back to reality. They were actually doing much better now; in the morning I hadn't even been able to stand up.

"Don't overstrain yourself and get some sleep!" my copy said.

"Yeah, good idea. I'm sure I'll have nice dreams tonight."

◆

I don't like Mondays.

The thought that a whole new week has just started depresses me, and I can't help but count the days until the weekend.

I entered the classroom just as the bell rang and noticed that it was rather noisy.

Shinjou’s desk was in front of mine, so as I sat down, I asked him "What's the matter?"

"Do you mean that?" he said as he pointed to a gaggle of girls. The classroom noise appeared to be centered there. "Kishitani scored a goal and made two assists in the first-string match yesterday, you know. Now the girls are going wild because the team manager just told them about it."

As Shinjou had said, Kishitani was standing in their midst, getting praised from all sides and blushing with modesty.

I had never seen him act that way before. While Kishitani is not loathed by the girls, he was also far from popular because of his crude and over-confident personality.

I fixed my gaze on him.

Of course he looked the same as always, like a perfectly normal human. He in no way resembled a copy created by Masquerade. Of course, it was also possible that the real Kishitani was in fromt of me right now, though.

"This sucks," muttered Shinjou in a displeased tone. He was also in the soccer club.

"And? How did you do?"

"One goal and one assist."

"Hey, that’s not half bad!"

"It was a match among farm teams."

(I see. Life sure can be cruel.)

"Sorry everyone—! Please give me a moment!" the class representative called from the teacher's platform. The chattering subsided and the students' attention focused on the representative. "Today's first period is self-study because the teacher is absent due to illness."

After a moment's silence, a wave of cheer spread in the classroom.

"So I thought we might just as well change the desk assignments now, and not after school as originally scheduled. Is everyone okay with this?"

Right away, sir! a few students responded like elementary school students.The students who didn't reply weren't opposing the plan, either. Of course, I was perfectly happy to avoid staying after school, too.

"Okay, then please go to your seats."

The students sat down at their respective desks.

"We'll draw lots to determine the new desks. As I informed you beforehand, the absent students will be allotted the free desks

"Why don't we just put a doll there?"

A few students started making jokes, causing a bout of laughter.

But their laughter was interrupted by a roar.

"Watch your tongue!"

A deep silence fell, and everyone’s gaze focused on the person who had yelled out.

It was Kishitani. He had stood up when he spoke out, but after bathing in the surprised gazes of his classmates for a few moments, he sat down again without saying anything further.

"You should hardly be one to talk!" Shinjou hissed silently while glaring at Kishitani.

"What do you mean?"

"Sagara stopped coming to school because of Kishitani, you know?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It's a pretty famous story in our soccer club! Kishitani forced him to do various chores, like buying him drinks, under the pretext that it would help Sagara train his body. And he's rumored to have done even nastier stuff to Sagara in private. But it looks like bullies forget about their bullying in no time flat, eh? Or did his success make him a different person? Meh, just meh."

(A different person, huh.)

Indeed, I had similar thoughts.

But I was still unable to say for sure that Kishitani's personality change was due to Masquerade.

"The personality?"

I had asked Towako-san again about the characteristics of Masquerade upon arriving at the Tsukumodo Antique Shop.

More specifically, I had asked if it's possible for the copy to have a different personality than the original.

Lately, people often mentioned that Kishitani was like a different person, and because he had changed for the better, those changes had mostly been well received. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but smell a rat.

"To put it simply, the personality is the same as the original's."

"...I see..."

"You don't look convinced, eh?"

"Well, yeah."

"That being said, it depends on what you mean by a 'changed personality.'"

"What do you mean?"

"You see, your impression of someone else's personality can easily change," Towako-san said, and shifted her position on the chair before getting into detail. "Kishitani, was it? Let's use him as an example. Pretend that he ignores you when you try to talk to him because he's in a bad mood; what would you think? Wouldn't you think that he's an antisocial fellow?"

"Most likely."

"Now pretend someone else tries to talk to him. However, this time Kishitani happens to be in a very good mood and responds to this person’s approach with a smile. In that case, would that person also consider Kishitani antisocial?”

"No, I guess not."

"At the end of the day, our ability to judge others' personalities is pretty poor: our evaluations flip back and forth depending on timing and circumstances—or what you already think of the other party."

"I guess you've got a point there..."

"Anyways, let's get back to Masquerade. As I mentioned before, the copy's personality is exactly the same as the user's. Even if everyone else is bewildered by something atypical that his copy has done, the user would certainly act the same way if the circumstances and his mental state were the same. They are also identical in terms of skill, so his copy can't do anything that Kishitani is incapable of, and it can do everything that Kishitani can do."

The sudden spike in his soccer skills didn't bother me. Kishitani might have been able to improve through sheer effort.

What bothered me was that Kishitani would almost certainly fail to make an effort to improve.

I had once taken a retest together with him, which made for a good example.

The reason some people pass an exam and others fail it, despite attending the same classes and taking the same test is plainly and simply the difference in effort. Every student has been confronted with the same problems when he cleared the entrance exam. Everything after that point is just a matter of effort.

The guys who make an effort rise in the ranking, while the guys who goof off fall down the charts.

Kishitani used to fall firmly in the latter category, and clearly shunned any extra efforts.

"You think that Kishitani has become a changed man, but do you actually know him well enough to judge?"

"No, I have to admit I don’t know him that well."

"You mentioned that he had been promoted to the first-string team and became smarter, but maybe something has simply caused him to reconsider his lifestyle and start to make an effort? Who knows, maybe he's fallen in love with some girl and wants to show off? Sometimes, people can change for such simple reasons."

What Towako-san said made perfect sense. I could agree with her.

I had no clue what exactly made me suspect him so strongly—which might in fact be the reason I couldn't get it off my mind.

"Let me confirm this once again: Masquerade is designed to create a copy of its user that has the same personality and skills?" I asked.

"Exactly."

"Everything's perfectly identical, right?"

"Right. There would be no point in a copy otherwise."

Indeed. It would defeat the point to have a copy if it weren’t identical.

Perhaps I was reading too much into Kishitani's atypical behavior, and the uneasiness I was feeling would prove groundless.

"However," Towako-san suddenly said with a serious mien, "our experiences have a strong influence on our personalities. Should the user ever allow his copy to engage in lots of experiences and grow negligent in syncing their memories, then their personalities will diverge more and more, eventually leaving them as two completely different beings.

"—A copy is anything but a marionette."

◆

My copy came home earlier than I expected.

"What's the matter? Don't tell me you thought it would be okay to goof off?"

I didn't want to admit it, but that was very possible, given that he was my copy.

"I wouldn't do that! Unless you order me to, that is. Ah, did you become anxious because your only order was for me to go to school? Don't worry, I'm not going to split hairs!"

"Yeah, you wouldn't. But then why are you back so early?"

"Because we had two matches in a row, there were no club activities today. That's all."

"Aha. And did anything happen today?"

"We changed desks! We're sitting in the last row now."

"I see. That makes it easier to nap."

"There's no need for you to go to school just to doze off; that's what I'm here for, after all. You can make yourself comfortable at home in bed."

"Word. Anything else happen?"

"I guess there was nothing else noteworthy?"

"Didn't people say anything about the match?"<-- in general trying to make him sound more casual so several of these minor edits are of that nature grrarr-->

"Ah, I see what you're getting at. They did talk about that match—our manager waxed lyrical about my success in front of the rest of the class."

"Hey, I wanna see that."

I had started to get tired of syncing our memories, but I definitely willing to make an exception for something like that.

"Just cut straight to that part."

"Okay!"

My copy’s memories started to enter my mind.

He was surrounded by girls. They heaped praise on me as our team manager was telling them about our achievements.

The manager said that she would make me a boxed lunch for the next match, making the other girls squeal and tease her. While she claimed that she didn't have any romantic intentions, she didn't seem all that averse to dating me, either.

I felt great. Finally, I was starting to get acknowledged. Finally, I was starting to get attention. Right: my high school life was always supposed to be like that.

"Well, that's pretty much it. After that, we just switched seats and had classes like normal."

At that moment my copy removed his forehead from mine, and I was pulled back to reality.

The praise I had received from the girls was still sparkling in my ears. That was the first time I'd ever had such a great experience, yet I was somehow dissatisfied. I couldn't help but feel that I had wasted an opportunity. I should have gone to school today, and enjoyed standing in the spotlight first-hand.

Strange as it was to envy myself, I was still a little jealous of my copy.

"Hey, I'll go to school tomorrow."

"Mm? As you wish."

I was feeling kind of annoyed. "If there's any homework or other stuff like that, do it all," I ordered my copy.

However, on the next day, practically no one gave a shit about the match anymore. Our manager did quickly pat me on the back, and told me to practice hard for the next match.

I also tried to bring up my victory, but no one really responded. Apparently, it was all water under the bridge now. I regretted coming to school in place of my copy.

That being said, it was too late to switch now.

Besides, it made for a nice change to go to school once in a while. I toyed with the thought of doing so from time to time going forward, instead of relying completely on sharing memories.

"Hey, Kishitani, here's the ball!"

(Whoops! Gotta get my act together. It's soccer time now.)

That day was the first time I had shown up—in person and not as my copy—at our club in a long time. Before, I would have only been a ball boy, but this time I was allowed to take part in a practice match with a selected group of participants.

I received a pass from a senior, and dribbled toward the goal.

I took a quick peek at the side of the field. Our manager was watching me.

(Okay, time to take a shot at the goal!)

The match on Saturday had been a debacle because of a lack of exercise and because my initial first-string game made me nervous, but this time I was just playing in a practice match. No problem.

I evaded the enemy defense, wound up for a kick, and... lost the ball before I could shoot.

"Fuck!"

"Don't sweat it! I'll pass it to you a few more times!" a senior said to me as he patted my back.

"Here!"

I waved my arm, urging a teammate of mine to give me a pass. I promptly received it, but this time around an opposing player on defense stole the ball before it even reached me.

"Please shoot the ball better next time!"

"Whoa, whoa! You have to move more, dude! If you take root like that, you'll just be an easy target!" said the defense player who had taken the ball from me with an amazed look on his face. "Your problem is that your playing style is inconsistent."

"Y-You think so?"

(I never bothered to think about it, but he’s probably right - my play is sometimes inconsistent. Well, I guess that's just the nature of gifted people.)

"Give it your best! We need good newcomers in our team, so we're counting on you!"

"Got it."

"Just play like you normally do."

(Like always, huh. He's right. I shouldn’t try to show off—it's all about playing like normal.)

"Here!"

This time I got moving and succeeded in receiving the ball. There was still some distance between me and the goal, but I didn't care; I was going to rush all the way there.

"Kishitani, I'm open!" a teammate yelled as he raised his arm. But the goal was already within reach. I just had to get by the last line of defense...

However, my attempt to dribble past them failed; the opposing senior easily stole the ball from me.

"Dang it!"

"Kishitani! It's not over yet!"

A teammate recaptured the ball and passed in to me once more.

(All right then, I'll show you what a real shot looks like!)

I kicked the ball with all my might. But because my posture was kinda awkward, I lost my balance, went down ass over teakettle, and sent the ball flying way over the goal.

My teammates gathered around me.

"Jeez, don't overdo it, Kishitani."

"Besides, I was open earlier. You should have passed to me instead of trying to go all the way on your own!"

"Like I said: play like you normally do. You're trying too hard."

While I was apologizing to them, I got confused.

(I'm trying too hard, you say? Pass more often, you say?)

Even though I was pretty damn sure that I was playing like normal, they cocked their heads in perplexity. They may have told me to play like normal, but I was unable to form a clear image of how I used to play.

"I’m sorry - I though I was playing like normal..."

"Not at all! Today, you've been playing like you used to - totally hogging the ball!"

(Used to? When was that?)

"Yeah, or like how you played on Saturday. That was really bad."

"Absolutely, that was terribad. There's gotta be a limit to how nervous you can get. Your stamina went down the drain, too. Anyway, the thing is, just keep up doing what you’ve been doing lately."

"Exactly. How you've been playing normally during practice recently."

(How I've been playing lately? Lately? But I haven't shown up for our practice lately. No, that's wrong; that's not true. I've become a first-string player because of my achievements in our practice matches, and I even scored a goal in a real game, didn’t I?

Yeah. I gotta have more confidence in myself. I can do it.)

"Kishitani, here you go!"

I received another pass. This time I lost the ball because I was absent-minded and didn’t capture the ball properly.

"Hey, receiving a pass like that would normally have been a breeze for you!"

(What damned "normal" are you talking about?)

"Shoot, Kishitani!"

Again, someone sent me a pass. This time the ball hit my foot at a bad angle and just rolled away.

"Hey, slamming that ball into the net would have been a breeze for you normally!"

(What damned "normal" are you talking about?)

"Kishitani, like normal!" "Kishitani, just play the way you've been playing recently!" "Kishitani, you've supposed to be better than that!" "Kishitani, where did all your recent skills go?" "Kishitani..." "Kishitani..."

(You've lost me. How have I been playing recently? How have I played normally?

I can't remember. Then how about really recently? When did I play best recently? On Sunday. How did I play in the match on Sunday? Think! Right... I scored a goal. I also made some assists. I was great. And everyone praised me!

Huh...? But was that me?

Yeah, it was.

But somehow it wasn't.

That can't be. If it wasn't me, who was it then?

Who on earth—)

"Ah..."

"What's wrong, Kishitani?" our coach said as he patted me on the back. "—You haven’t been yourself."

My heart skipped a beat.

"C-Coach, when have I been like myself then?"

"Mm? Now that's a strange question, but I guess…lately?"

"But what do you actually mean by 'lately'?!"

"Hey, what's wrong? Don't get too worked up. Just calm down and try to remember…for example, how you felt when you played on Sunday."

I felt dizzy. My head started spinning. My legs started wobbling. Why was the ground so shaky?

"I feel like vomiting..."

"Kishitani! Kishitani! Kishitani...Kishi...Ki...!..."

I can only listen as their voices fade into the distant background.