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At fifteen, Monika Kita would consider herself… A good student. If she were to toot her own horn, maybe even an excellent one. Certainly, striving towards it, not just passively, but actively putting the hours in. In general, she'd gotten to the point in her education that she found subjects to be, at best deeply rewarding (such as Japanese, especially Kambun) and at worst, a repetitive grind, tiring yet comprehensible (mathematics came to mind). To her annoyance, there was one exception, one inky black spot, that left her completely irritated, frustrated, embarrassed, really just every terrible emotion under the sun.
Foreign Languages. Her reading comprehension crawled to a tenuous, shaky grasp - every other facet, somehow, even worse; precise, prideful writing stumbled at the simplest hurdles; eloquent speech tapered off, awkwardly; keen ears muffled and warbled. Monika didn't even have an excuse, having heard the English structure from her own father's lips. He did business in the States, frequently! It was just… Unacceptable. How was she going to advance to proficiency classes if she couldn't even…?
The Sensei, with his patient corrections and unwarranted praise, made her feel even worse. "You're a smart girl," he tells her, gently. All Monika could hear was the other half, left unsaid, just clearly not smart enough.
It was paradoxical, then, that Monika should waste her break times and after school hours lingering in the classroom. Stupid and practically torture, her friends had said, less charitably. They didn't understand, as academic as they were, they didn't have quite the same drive (desperation), she did. Just let it go, they said, you won't have to continue it past first year, the less classes, the better. Lately, their eyes, grew coffee bitter, left out in the cold, abandoning the childish cream comforts, or the reflection of herself in their pupils did, poisoned with failure and disappointment. She swore they begun to resemble their fathers, all except for her, left in the echoing emptiness of the same old creaking floorboards. Maybe, they always have, silently judging her, until the distance grew into a scream.
"They just don't understand you, Monika. Not like I do. I see it, I see your potential," the Sensei whispered. His American voice shone through the dim, creeping darkness outside.
---
By sixteen, Monika's English has made great improvements. Her social life… Not so much. Outside of her clubs, that is. But it was okay, Sensei always let her stay. As long as she spoke English, of course. The practice was good for her.
---
"Sorry, it's been a long day. The kids get to me, just, the noise and..."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I hope I'm not--"
"No, no... You're... Different. Special."
"...You mean that?"
"I really do. You're so much more... Mature. You make me feel things... I shouldn't feel..."
"Like what?"
"Monika... If I say it... I don't know if I'll be able to stop."
"... Maybe, I don't want you to."
"We shouldn't..."
"I'm so sorry, I--"
"But, we just can't help it... Can we?"
---
"Can... I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"Promise you won't break up with me."
"I would never."
"Okay... I, uh... Did you know that there's a theory that everything's false? Everything on earth? And it's not just... There's whole thesis... Es? Thesisi? Anyway... On it. The idea that a universe could accurately simulate another. And so... I don't know... Don't you ever wonder the chances that our universe is just that...? A simulation? Doesn't... Doesn't it feel that way... Sometimes?"
"..."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I sound--"
"Monika... How did you figure it out?"
---
At Ñ̨̞̮`̴̈͛ ̐̌́E̛͘͜c̗̽͜ ͛̔̾w͓̓̑Y͑̐͟ ̪̤̃t́͆͟een, Monika quit Debate Club. Track and Field, too. It didn't matter, anyway. Just cycle sequences to fill out the game.
Her parents' unskippable dialogue nagged.
Sensei suggested making a new club, he would be happy to sort out all the forms and make it real, it could be in his classroom. He was very smart like that, maybe all real people were.