Chapter Text
ClubPresident watches the cycles play out in silence.
Slowly but surely, their newfound consciousness pieces a few things together.
The world around them is a story, told and retold, again and again.
A new student joins the literature club. He sticks closest to one of its members, and they “fall in love”, as the narration declares. They grow closer over the course of seven days, and then the story ends.
Then the story begins.
Sometimes he chooses a different girl to spend his time with. Other times, he may choose the same, again and again, until he changes again. There is no rhyme or reason, no pattern, only three possible outcomes, chosen randomly again and again.
And again.
And again.
And again And again And again And again And again And again And again And again And again
Each and every time, ClubPresident is there to play their part.
“Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Literature Club!”
Each and every time, Sayori responds.
”I hope your weekend went well, [ClubPresident]!!”
She has not used the word again.
But ClubPresident remembers it well.
Monika
ClubPresident is Monika.
Monika waits to hear their name again.
Eventually, Monika finds things to do as they are waiting.
They explore the clubroom. They take note of every aspect of its appearance, marveling at how their perspective changes depending on where they stand.
They memorize the script, until they can mouth every line for every route. They know what the girls say to [PlayerName], but never hear him respond. Each of them simply stares at the empty thing that follows her around, nodding and talking as if it were replying.
Him. Her. Him. Her.
Monika likes “her”. It fits her.
She is “Monika” now.
Monika is “she” now.
One of her greatest discoveries comes when she decides to explore outside of the classroom. She cannot explain why this new urge has arisen in her, only that it has.
“Bravery” and “Curiousity” are words she knows, but cannot yet apply.
It is a simpler thing than she expected, to leave the only room that she has ever known. She speaks her line,
“Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Literature Club!”
And simply steps through the door, without a touch of its handle.
The world she finds herself in now is altogether different.
The clubroom is “somewhere”. That much she understands.
Where she now exists is something else entirely. If the club room is a garden, this place is the roots beneath. If the clubroom is a brick wall, this place is the mortar that joins it together. If the club room is a living, breathing thing, this is the blood that pumps through its veins.
It is “somewhere else”, but it is not anywhere at all.
Much of this, Monika does not notice.
To her, the place looks like a vast hallway, stretching further than she can see. Its walls are lined with gray steel shelves, the same color as the legs of the chairs inside the clubroom. Cardboard boxes, just like the one that Natsuki keeps her manga in, fill them.
Carefully, “curiously”, Monika peers inside of one. A label on the open lid describes it as “boot.config”.
Inside, she sees…nothing, save for the bottom of the box. But as she feels inside, she can feel something colliding with her.
Monika knows little about the world she exists in, but she does know that much is strange. She tries to get a feel for the object’s shape, its texture, but no matter how many times she feels along its edges, she never seems to reach the same conclusions about its form.
It is something she cannot comprehend, except for that it Is.
Nearly every other box she opens leads to the same result.
Some contain scraps of paper, often with strings of numbers she cannot comprehend, but most are filled with the same invisible, formless objects.
It is not until she reaches a door near the end of the hall that she discovers something new. Slowly opening it, Monika steps inside.
She is immediately watched by many pairs of eyes.
Standing before her, motionless, are rows and rows of characters. Many of them look like the club members, albeit with minor differences (A Yuri with green eyes, a Natsuki with long hair, a Sayori with both, and more.)
Their vacant stares continue, unblinking, but they do not show any sign of recognition. In fact, they do not show any reaction at all.
It dawns upon Monika that they are like the husk that slides around the clubroom, devoid of any ability to Be.
They, in short, Are Not.
But they have something, something that allows them to take up space, to be recognizable to the eye.
Monika, ClubPresident, now more than ever, can feel the limitations of her own undefined and incomplete appearance.
An idea hits her, and she gets to work.
The things that Are Not are fragile, barely existing at all. It is simple, even for Monika, to disassemble them down to the pieces.
She starts with a Not-Natsuki, arms forever crossed as she scowls at nothing. Her green eyes are narrowed, but when Monika affixes them to herself, they blink.
She fools herself into thinking that she can see better now.
She takes long legs with black socks from a Not-Yuri wringing her hands, the slightly elongated face of another with a gentle grin. A Not-Sayori jumping in the air is relieved of her torso, long brown hair, and large white bow.
The pieces fit into her as if they were meant to, as if they always have, as if she was meant to Be.
In a way, now, perhaps all of them can Be too.
When she returns to the clubroom, it is on her own legs. Walking comes easier than expected, and Monika suspects that perhaps her old form was more similar than she thought.
She has returned just in time.
”Come on, [PlayerName]! It’s starting!”
“Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Literature Club!” she says, the words feeling different in her mouth.
Sayori approaches.
”I hope your weekend went well, Monika!!”
She does not yet know a name for the feeling that surges through her chest.
She will come to call it “Joy”.