Chapter 95

1.

Someone says that people are like gears. We are nothing more than small or large parts that keep the massive machine of society and nation running.

Then, someone else says that since each person is given a different role and task, we live in harmony, creating the structure of society that safeguards the individual. The value of humanity lies in nothing other than this harmony and coexistence.

Still, another voice tells a darker tale—that from a macroscopic perspective, the societal realm that humanity considers a universal community is, in reality, a place where people kill each other, trample others, and rise on the blood of others.

They argue this using philosophical, economic, and social metrics and information as evidence.

And they conclude with the question: What does “ordinary” mean for humanity?

What is the ordinariness given to us, born into the same species? Is it the inevitability of death that ties all humanity, making it our ordinariness?

If not, has ordinariness ever truly existed at all?

What is the criterion that separates the ordinary from the extraordinary?

Social norms? Ethics? Laws? Gospels and revelations?

Some argue that all humans are equal, solemn before deities and law—and hence, to be ordinary is to not deviate or distort from these principles.

To them, ordinariness means not violating societal norms and ethics, understanding and fulfilling your assigned role and position.

You must act like a student. An adult. A man. A woman.

We are all expected to appear a certain way in the eyes of others. Those who meet the given standards are ordinary, those who don’t are not.

Thus, our ordinariness is, paradoxically, something we don’t possess.

Because the standard of ordinariness isn’t something we can personally define—it’s something we’re all aware of.

Moreover, upon reflection, there’s little in this world that we truly decide ourselves:

Our appearance at birth, the formation of our personalities, the regions we’re born into, our races, genders, and the parents assigned to us.

The environments we’re exposed to, the economic conditions of the families we’re born into—it’s all decided for us.

Our very lives weren’t chosen but rather the result of chance or someone else’s decision.

We’re all born with some things predetermined.

It’s the natural law of this world.

Thus, we also know:

This world, where everything is decided from the moment of birth, is neither equal nor ordinary.

And furthermore:

Even the names we bear and the flow of our lives are not entirely our own.

Our “names” are given to us by others.

The “environment” we grow up in is given to us by others.

Our appearances, flaws, and personalities are not formed solely by ourselves.

It’s simply the way of the world.

This is what ordinariness looks like in this world. This is equality.

…

Occasionally, I feel that all of it—absolutely everything—is meaningless.

What remains for me, who has lost my world, my life, even my name?

Fear creeps in that the ‘past’ lingering only in my mind is nothing more than an illusion.

But, of course, it wasn’t my fault.

The reason I agonize so deeply, the reason I’ve ended up in this situation, the reason I was thrown into this world, all of it…

It’s simply the way the world is.

Grievances, hatred, pain—it all feels meaningless.

I’ve reached a point beyond just cynicism.

Because harboring resentment about my own situation wouldn’t change it.

But I still want to ask:

What does it mean to be ordinary?

To me, who was never given what others take for granted—to me, who’s trapped in a body that isn’t even mine…

To me, who has even lost my original name…

Can I say that I’m ordinary?

Some might argue that everyone is special, and therefore the concept of ordinariness might not exist at all.

They might be right.

After all, the children who live in this world are all, without exception, precious and special.

But maybe that’s why…

The body I’ve taken over belongs to a child called ‘Mob’—a child without even an original name in this world.

Perhaps I wanted to possess some sense of uniqueness, some value.

Perhaps through my only skill, I wanted to prove myself.

Ordinariness might also be called ‘nonentity.’ If I hadn’t stepped forward in front of others, would I have been ordinary?

I was afraid—afraid of losing my sense of self.

So, perhaps that’s why I rejected the role of being just a cog in the societal wheel, longing for someone to affirm my existence.

Perhaps I feared forgetting myself, crushed by this society—because forgetting something can be both a blessing and a curse. I feared rejecting and forgetting the past that remains only in my memories.

So, perhaps I wanted to hear from someone…

Like how the warmth of a flame can save someone shivering from the cold.

Like how a single drop of water can bring life back to someone dying of thirst.

In this mysterious world where I alone remember reality, I wanted someone to offer words to comfort my loneliness and solitude.

…

Or, more accurately…

Perhaps I just wanted to be happy.

Perhaps I wanted my life to be filled with happiness.

Not knowing what ordinariness was, I was given another chance to learn. It was truly a blessing.

Even as a student and a child—someone who never learned to truly be a proper student or child—the phenomenon I encountered might have been a divine blessing and gift to help me rediscover those things.

Adults and children. Students and teachers. And love.

I learned about these things through the [Blue Archive], though I didn’t fully understand them.

Because our reality was already too broken to apply the values this world talked about.

The authority of teachers had fallen. Students had forgotten what it meant to be students.

Adults saw children as tools. And children, tormented by the harsh realities of life, forgot what it meant to be children.

Like rusted gears, they squeaked and ground as they moved through the jungle of society, prioritizing survival and pleasure.

There was no room for youth or love in this world.

I lived in such a world.

And thus, I cannot grasp the ordinariness of Kiburatos.

I often wonder:

Is my reality, where the values of adults and children have been lost, the norm? Is the world that talks about the responsibilities of adults and stories of youth and love the norm?

What does it mean to be ordinary?

2.

“…”

In the late afternoon, the chaotic sunset pierced the forest of buildings and was slowly retreating.

It was the same familiar view, but the everyday scene of the sun setting, scattering its crimson hues and casting light on the people below who were living their busy lives seemed, without a doubt, beautiful.

“…It’s pretty.”

I, Nanashi Hiiro, stood at the window for a long time, admiring the world’s scenery.

The crimson sunset slowly faded into the dark indigo skies and was gradually replaced by the dazzling lights of the densely populated buildings. The shimmering lights of cars flowing like a river across the roads were like an endless trail of the Milky Way.

Scenes that were routine and mundane.

Scenes which, under ordinary circumstances, wouldn’t have stirred much feeling, but, for some reason, in this moment, they seemed more beautiful than any art Hiiro had ever seen before.

I knew that the glittering lights had no inherent meaning.

The warm sunset that penetrates the city is just a burning ball of fire consuming itself in outer space.

The dazzling night view and the flowing lights on the road that resemble shooting stars are merely traces of people diligently finishing their daily tasks.

But sometimes, beauty isn’t found in reality but within our hearts.

Hiiro glanced upward, raising his head to the sky.

The crimson sunset gave way to the encroaching darkness, signaling the end of the day.

In the dark indigo canvas, there was a line unlike the night sky I remember.

It looked like a boundary line, almost as if it revealed that this world wasn’t real.

“…Ah.”

When I realized that boundary, I involuntarily exhaled.

It was so different. Three months might have passed, but it wasn’t enough time to fully adapt to this world.

Even so, it was surely enough to recognize this world as a reality.

The crimson sunset was gone, and the sky was now filled with a dark indigo canvas.

It looked similar to the real Earth, but this world’s night sky bore not dullness but a certain poignant beauty.

A pale blue moon lingered among the scattered stars, illuminating the paths of the people below.

It was undoubtedly the same scene but felt so different.

This was the difference between the reality I lived in as ‘Hiiro’—no, as ‘me’—and this world.

When my harsh, hell-like reality transformed into something fantastical, I was childishly delighted.

But reflecting on that memory now, a sharp pain welled up in my heart.

Why?

Why was I joyful and yet sorrowful at the same time?

“…”

Ah. That’s why.

I rejoiced because my reality was so grim.

And I sorrowed because I had no joyful memories left in that reality.

To live ordinarily. To be just like everyone else.

I have no idea what that truly means.

Perhaps, I didn’t want to accept that fact. Hence, I spent so much time deliberating, pondering over it again and again.

My birth was someone’s downfall.

My growth caused harm to someone.

My aspirations became despair for others, weighing down my sense of normalcy.

I knew nothing of love, friendship, or ordinariness.

In reality, I was an endlessly weak underdog.

But in this reality, Hiiro became a capable hero.

The true or false nature of my past memories, which remain only in my head, no longer mattered.

Because I’ve already decided to live in the present.

I’ve made up my mind to fulfill my role in this world’s landscape, beneath that night sky.

Still, when the moments of my deficit come unbidden, I find myself slipping unknowingly into the ocean called “the past.”

It’s a world of stark contrast.

It’s neither a world where everyone loathes each other as in reality,

nor a world where humanity destroys its own tower to head toward extinction.

It’s not a world where the lives of all humanity rest in the hands of a few power holders.

This world, where I’ve suddenly been incarnated, isn’t Eden without conflict and hatred.

It’s a world with confusion, disputes, conflicts, and hatred that undoubtedly exist.

Yet, despite all this, I see this world as breathtakingly beautiful, even lovable.

To me, this world is like starlight.

Brilliantly shining but a place I could never reach.

Surely my being here is a miracle.

A blessing and an opportunity bestowed by some great one.

Occasionally, the thought arises that all of this could vanish with just one gesture from that transcendent being.

But more often, I carry gratitude much larger than that fear.

The sisterhood of Trinity believes in God, but I have directly experienced the traces of God.

Perhaps there’s no one in this world who believes in the existence of God more than I do.

God: an utterly unrealistic and fantastical story, right?

But that’s precisely why I like it. Unrealistic, fantastical, and rife with dissonance.

Precisely because it is dissonant, I’ve come to love this world.

Because it is a world that has lost its ordinariness, similarly allowing me, who doesn’t know ordinariness, to love it.

“…Haha.”

The faded memories, the memories that have gradually eroded my soul as I reflected on them, now seemed as if they could be healed by just gazing at the scenery.

With a strange laugh and a sigh, I slowly stood up.

It was late at night. So absorbed was I in the outside view that I hadn’t realized how late it had become.

It’s time to leave. It’s time to discard my weakness and become a hero.

And it’s time to find my sense of normalcy.

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