Recursive Dreams : COTE Reacts to COTE Alter Self-Test

I often wonder—can we ever truly see a person for who they are?

Human perception is a flawed lens, distorted by the mind's need for simplicity.

It begins with appearances—the curve of a smile, the sharpness of a gaze, the confidence in one's stance.

From these fleeting glimpses, we form impressions, assigning value and meaning where there may be none.

This is how we decide whether someone is charming, indifferent, or dangerous, all before a single word is spoken.

Then, we move to actions. A warm greeting might suggest kindness, while a hesitant silence might seem suspicious.

But these interpretations are no less superficial. People rarely act as they are; instead, they show what they want others to see, disguising their true selves beneath layers of social masks.

Everyone has these layers—versions of themselves tailored for survival, manipulation, or convenience.

A smile can hide disdain, just as indifference can mask a raging storm. What is seen on the surface is often only a fragment of what truly exists beneath.

And yet, we persist in clinging to these fragmented truths, eager to simplify the chaos of human existence into neat categories.

Perhaps it's easier this way—to believe that what we see is all there is.

The truth is, there is no singular "true self."

It is not a static, unchanging core, but a fluid, ever-shifting combination of countless layers—each shaped by the moment, the expectations of others, and the roles we assume to navigate the world.

We wear different faces depending on who is looking, hiding parts of ourselves while revealing others.

Even in solitude, when no one else is watching, we are still performing.

Alone, we may think we are free of the layers we present to the world, yet we create new versions of ourselves based on our desires, fears, and self-perceptions.

The process of self-creation never stops.

It shapes the person we think we should be, or the person we wish to become.

In this sense, solitude is no escape from the negotiation of identity.

We still wear masks—only now, they are for our own minds, not for others.

This isn't deception—it's the essence of being human.

A constant negotiation between who we are, who we need to be, and who we wish to be.

Sigh.

"There's no point in thinking about such things," I muttered, breaking the chain of spiraling thoughts as I gazed out at the endless sea.

I lived a mostly solitary life. Apart from a few individuals, most people saw me as an "NPC"—someone whose presence went unnoticed unless absolutely necessary.

Not that I minded. If anything, I was satisfied with it.

Back when I had just started school, I'd wanted to make friends. I even dreamed of making a hundred of them.

But naturally, everyone settled into their own separate factions. It was only a matter of course. It was inevitable.

Even though my social circle consisted mostly of the three idiots—with occasional interactions with Horikita, Kushida and Sakura—my school life wasn't all that bad.

Or so I liked to believe.

But life rarely sticks to a simple script.

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts.