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.
[All students, report to the top deck.]
The notification glared back at me—simple, sterile, and somehow ominous.
It had only been three days since the special test on the uninhabited island ended. Another sudden exam would be draining—especially for students unaccustomed to these surprises.
My gaze lingered on the horizon, drawn by a breeze that seemed to whisper something just out of reach. There was a fleeting tenderness in that moment, urging me to hold onto it—as if I might never experience anything quite like it again.
Not long after, I made my way toward the top deck.
Though I had half-expected something like this, the sight still caught me slightly off guard. The students who had already arrived looked visibly surprised too.
The top deck was divided into two sections. One featured a swimming pool where students could relax and enjoy themselves. The other had been closed off, with an announcement claiming that construction work was underway. That explanation had always felt a bit off to me.
Both Horikita and I had speculated that this might be a cover for a new special exam. And now, it seemed our suspicions were right on the mark.
The once-restricted area had been transformed into a full-fledged stage, with a massive screen looming overhead.
From where I stood, I couldn't see clearly, but the faculty seemed busy setting up some kind of equipment—probably a projector, though it didn't look like any I'd seen before. Their quiet urgency, along with teachers quickly pushing away curious students trying to peek, made it feel like something important was about to take place.
"What the hell? Don't tell me we're actually going to have to take a quiz exam for real!" Sudo exclaimed, his usual dissatisfaction evident as he arrived with his regular circle—Ike, Yamauchi, Hondo, and Miyamoto.
"Ha ha! Looks like the great Yamauchi-san called it!" Yamauchi said proudly, puffing out his chest.
"Huh? You were the one who said there'd be a prize-giving ceremony up here for winning the last exam—not another special test," Ike shot back.
That wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility. But the school had already rewarded us with class points, and going this far just for a simple prize ceremony seemed unlikely.
As Ike and Yamauchi fell into their usual bickering, Yukimura—one of my roommates on this trip—approached, having noticed us.
"Wasn't it obvious?" he said. "We had a physical exam on the deserted island. A study-related special exam doesn't seem out of place."
He directed the comment toward me.
I doubted Ike and the others were even paying attention to their surroundings.
"Maybe," I replied. "We'll see soon enough."
As more students began to fill the deck, the homeroom teachers instructed us to take our seats in an orderly manner.
The seating was divided into four sections. Class D was assigned to the far right, with the boys seated on the outermost side and the girls next to them. To our left sat Class C, followed by Class B, and finally, Class A on the far left.
I took a seat near the back, and surprisingly, Yukimura sat right next to me.
By now, the top deck was nearly full. I noticed Horikita sitting toward the front.
Perhaps she was determined to make up for her shortcomings during the deserted island exam. This one didn't appear to be physically demanding, but that might've only pushed her harder to prove herself.
When our eyes met, she gave me a slight nod. The sudden announcement earlier had cut off any chance for conversation.
As I turned my attention back to the rest of the deck, a quiet stir caught my eye on the left side—where Class A was seated. A small crowd had gathered around one seat in particular. Sitting there like royalty was a petite girl with lilac-colored hair, completely unfazed by the attention.
"Do you know who she is?" Yukimura asked, watching the gathering. "They're acting like she's someone important."
"If I'm not mistaken, wasn't she the one who missed the deserted island exam due to health issues? That made Class A lose 30 points right from the start," Kikuchi Eita chimed in from the seat to my left.
"So, does that mean she knew about this special exam in advance? Otherwise, why would she go through all the trouble of making such a long trip in her condition?" Yukimura said, clearly suspicious.
"Huh, that's totally unfair. If they knew about the special exam beforehand, then of course they're going to be more prepared than the rest of us," Kikuchi added, voicing his frustration.
Even I was slightly surprised to see that girl—who I assumed was Sakayanagi Arisu—not because I believed she had insider knowledge about the exam, but simply because she chose to participate at all.
I'd assumed she deliberately skipped the trip so that any losses in points would fall solely on Katsuragi, making him the scapegoat. That way, once Class A returned to school, Katsuragi's influence would be gone, and Sakayanagi would naturally rise to the top as leader.
I was sure Ryuuen had figured that out too—that's probably why he was able to make a deal with Katsuragi during the island test.
That brought back yesterday's encounter—when Ryuuen had approached Horikita and me as we discussed the possibility of another special exam taking place on the cruise. He had interrupted us with his usual arrogance, casually threatening that he would soon uncover the mastermind behind Class D.
Now, he sat near the front with his crew, a smug grin on his face as he glanced toward Class A.
At that moment, the principal entered the top deck, accompanied by several others—likely senior administrators.
All the students stood up to show respect as they approached.
Once the principal and the others—presumably high-ranking school officials—took their seats on the stage, the rest of us sat down in turn.
Strange.
This was the first time I had noticed their presence on the trip.
"You haven't seen them before either, right?" Yukimura asked.
"Yeah. This is the first time I've seen them," I replied.
"Then this exam must be a big deal," Yukimura speculated. "The principal and those higher-ups wouldn't be here otherwise."
"Oh no. Now I'm even more scared," Kikuchi muttered.
The tension was spreading among the students too.
"Silence, students. Listen up," came Mashima-sensei's voice through the chatter.
Standing on the stage, he called for everyone to settle down. Beside him stood Chabashira-sensei, Hoshinomiya-sensei, and Sakagami-sensei.
For a brief moment, Chabashira-sensei glanced in my direction. In her eyes, I caught a faint glimpse of concern—perhaps a silent acknowledgment that this upcoming test could go badly for our class. Given that only a handful of students in our class truly excel academically, it wasn't an unreasonable concern.
Gradually, the noise began to die down.
"I understand that many of you are still tired—it's only been three days since you returned from the deserted island," Mashima-sensei began, his voice steady but slightly less sharp than usual. "So it's only natural that this sudden announcement, which some of you may have already suspected to be another special exam, would leave you feeling frustrated. That's perfectly reasonable."
A low murmur passed through the deck. At first, it was just scattered whispers, but it quickly spread into louder, more animated complaints.
"Couldn't they just hold the exam after we got back to school?"
"Yeah, exactly. Just look at the setup—it's clearly some sort of quiz. This could've easily been done in the auditorium or gymnasium."
"And how are we supposed to take a test with zero prep?"
As expected, students from our class and Class C voiced the most objections.
Students from Class A and Class B looked relatively composed—unsurprising, considering their academic advantage.
"Everyone, please calm down. We understand how you feel," Mashima-sensei continued. "Which is why I want to clarify: there will be no special exam today."
The moment those words left his mouth, a wave of relief spread across the students. Some even started cheering.
Surprisingly, even Class A students looked visibly relieved.
Mashima-sensei paused again, waiting for the room to return to silence.
"Yes, you heard correctly—there won't be any special exam today," he repeated. "In fact, the special exam that was originally planned for this trip.. is no longer happening."
That announcement sent the students into even more of an uproar—but this time, a positive one.
"I told you!" Yamauchi declared proudly. "This is a prize-giving ceremony! After all, the great Yamauchi-san gave an outstanding performance during the island test—it only makes sense the school would celebrate me!"
Most students laughed at his over-the-top confidence, though a few couldn't help but wonder if he might be half-right about the prize ceremony.
Sudo, clearly fed up, smacked Yamauchi on the head. "Shut up already. Let sensei finish what he was saying."
Sudo's interjection brought the remaining murmurs in Class D to a halt, refocusing everyone's attention on Mashima-sensei.
"You've all been called here today for a very specific reason," Mashima-sensei began, his voice cutting through the quiet with deliberate precision. "Today, you will be observing a carefully constructed simulation—a reality distinct from the one you know, yet deeply familiar."
A hush fell over the students, confusion spreading like ripples across the deck.
"What's that even supposed to mean? Are we going to watch some sci-fi movie or something?"
That same question seemed written across everyone's face.
Mashima-sensei remained unfazed. "In a way, yes."
That only deepened the confusion.
"It's called a simulated reality," he continued. "And despite how it may sound, this isn't science fiction. It's a serious subject of philosophical and scientific debate. A simulated reality refers to an artificial environment in which the participants genuinely believe what they're experiencing is real—even though everything, from their surroundings to their senses, and perhaps even their memories, is artificially generated."
From my seat, I heard Ike whisper to Yamauchi, "So... like VR?"
Yamauchi responded, "Bet it's a Matrix thing. Are they gonna plug us into machines or what?"
A few quiet laughs broke out. But Mashima-sensei spoke over them, unbothered.
"Not quite. Unlike virtual reality, where users are aware they're inside a simulation, simulated reality is designed to be completely indistinguishable from the real world. The participants aren't supposed to know they're in a simulation. Everything you see, touch, feel—even your thoughts—will seem completely real."
He paused, scanning the room. Then continued, "Let me give you some context. The idea isn't new. Ancient thinkers like Plato and Descartes asked similar questions centuries ago. Descartes even posed: What if everything we perceive is an illusion created by a powerful deceiver?"
The students were listening now. Even the more skeptical ones had gone quiet.
"In modern times, scientists revisited these questions through the lens of consciousness. Despite mapping neural pathways, decoding brain signals, and understanding chemical triggers, we still haven't explained why we feel. We don't know what gives rise to the sensation of being alive—the subjective experience called qualia."
Mashima-sensei's voice lowered slightly.
"This led to a bold question: If all perception is merely the brain interpreting electrical signals... then could those signals be artificially generated?"
A stillness followed.
"Neuroscientists and AI researchers theorized that if the brain could be simulated—if the mind could be replicated or even uploaded—then consciousness itself could exist within a simulated environment, without ever realizing its artificial origin."
The students were now paying full attention. Even the usual whisperers had gone silent.
"After years of intense research and effort, that theory... has become reality. We have successfully developed a simulated reality. And today, you'll be among the first to witness it."
Shock spread across the students. Their expressions shifted—from confusion to disbelief.
I noticed skepticism flash across the faces of Ryuuen, Horikita, Ichinose, and several others. None of them said a word, but their doubt was plain to see.
Given the seriousness of Mashima-sensei's tone and the level of preparation by the school, it didn't seem like a joke. Still, why was such a groundbreaking scientific revelation being shared here, now?
As if reading our minds, Mashima-sensei continued, "You might be wondering: why reveal something this significant to high school students? Why today? Why you?"
The students nodded hesitantly, waiting.
"The answer is simple," he said, pausing just long enough to build anticipation. "The characters embedded within this simulation—and the timeline constructed around them—are 99% identical to all of you."
A wave of murmurs swept through the deck.
"That's completely absurd. How could that even be possible?" a student from Class A exclaimed.
"Yeah, I don't remember participating in any simulation," another added. "No one asked for my data either."
The disbelief was written on every face—except those standing on the stage.
Even I was struggling to wrap my head around it.
"Your skepticism is understandable," Mashima-sensei replied calmly. "But let me finish. Once I'm done, Chairman Sakayanagi will deliver a short address. After that, you'll see everything for yourselves."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"For now, I suggest you focus on the why. The how will be explained later. This isn't going to be over in a few minutes. We're about to embark on a long journey. Your questions will be answered."
His composed voice introduced a faint stillness into the previously chaotic atmosphere.
But I noticed something else.
Chairman Sakayanagi... Could he be related to Arisu Sakayanagi? Is that why she seemed to know about this event in advance?
My gaze instinctively drifted toward her—and I wasn't the only one. I caught Ryuuen glancing in her direction too, a faint smirk on his lips.
So, he noticed it as well.
Mashima-sensei continued, "This simulated reality is modeled entirely on your daily lives. The timeline within it spans from April 1st to August 10th."
A ripple of confusion passed through the students.
But some were starting to connect the dots.
"Wasn't April 1st our first day at this school?" Kikuchi asked aloud.
Several voices echoed that realization.
"And today is August 10th," Yukimura added, his voice more pointed now.
The coincidence felt too precise.
Mashima-sensei gave a small nod.
"This simulation is a flawless recreation of those four months, down to the smallest detail. The characters—who are essentially you—possess the same memories you had prior to the simulation. Their inner voices are identical. Everything unfolds almost exactly as your original lives did because the consciousness within the simulation is your own."
That was the tipping point.
The deck erupted into chaos. Students who had been quietly listening could no longer contain themselves.
"This is absolute bullshit!"
"Why are you tormenting us like this?"
"If this is some kind of test, just say so! Stop this insanity!"
The disbelief spread like wildfire.
"Sensei," Ichinose spoke up for the first time, her voice sharper than usual. "With all due respect... could you please explain it in a way that actually makes sense?"
This clearly too much even for her.
Her classmates nodded in silent agreement.
Until now, most of us had assumed this was just another elaborate exam. A psychological test, maybe. Something we were meant to quietly observe before reacting. But the more we listened, the harder it became to accept what Mashima-sensei was claiming.
"Calm down. I understand your skepticism and frustration," Mashima-sensei said, turning first to Ichinose, then scanning the crowd. "But to be honest, none of you will take this explanation seriously until you see the simulated reality with your own eyes."
He exhaled slowly before continuing. "It's my responsibility to provide a surface-level explanation before you witness it firsthand. So let me tell you how this simulation was created. Of course, this alone may not convince you—but at least hear me out."
He paused, letting his words settle.
"The day you gave your entrance interview... that was when you became part of the experiment. I understand how morally questionable this sounds—we used you without your consent. But if we had asked for permission, you would've been aware of the simulation. That awareness would have rendered the entire experiment invalid."
The students were quiet again, listening carefully.
"You were synchronized with the technology using the memories you had before the experiment began. Once inside the simulation, your consciousness became a part of that reality—while your body remained here, connected to the simulation system."
I couldn't fully dismiss the unease creeping in.
The more he spoke, the harder it became for anyone to believe.
I wasn't sure if what I was hearing was truly coming from Mashima-sensei.
I couldn't tell whether he was lying. I glanced at Chabashira-sensei, then the principal, and finally at the chairman—but none of them showed any reaction that could confirm or deny the truth.
One thing was certain: I had absolutely no memory of being part of any experiment.
But that led to another question—why would the school make such an outrageous claim? Especially in the presence of the higher-ups?
Mashima-sensei continued, "Time flows differently in the simulation. While your bodies have only been connected to the technology for two days, your consciousnesses inside the simulated reality have experienced over four months. As I mentioned earlier, we extracted only the first four months of your school life."
Disbelief hung thick in the air—every student on the deck wore the same stunned expression.
None of them seemed to buy the explanation, not even for a moment. I myself, for the sake of self-satisfaction, went through my memories of the past two years. Still, there wasn't a single memory suspicious enough to make me feel that what Mashima-sensei was claiming could be true.
The chatter on the deck grew louder and louder. Karuizawa and her group, students from Ichinose's class, Ryuuen's class, and even Class A—all of them were complaining, demanding that the drama be stopped.
Even calm and composed figures like Hirata and Ichinose weren't trying to restore order within their classes. The confusion and doubt were visible on their faces.
No one wanted to believe Mashima-sensei.
Mashima-sensei tried to regain control using the microphone, warning that continued disruption could result in class point deductions—or in extreme cases, immediate expulsions. But the warning wasn't enough.
Several homeroom teachers stepped down from the stage to help calm the students.
And then, the chairman stood up from his seat.
Mashima-sensei attempted to stop him, but he held up his hand and motioned him aside.
The deck was still buzzing with unrest. The students hadn't calmed down yet.
Five seconds passed... ten... fifteen... and after nearly a minute, the noise slowly began to subside.
Mashima-sensei stepped aside.
Now, it was the chairman who stepped forward, taking the same spot from where Mashima-sensei had been speaking.
"Hello, students. I am Naramuri Sakayanagi, Chairman of Advanced Nurturing High School," he began calmly.
"This is the first time many of you have seen me attend an event directly. Typically, it's the principal who represents the administration at school functions," he added with a faint smile.
"I can imagine today must feel bizarre to most of you. Your reactions are expected, given the extraordinary claims made by the school. Some of you suspect this is a hidden special exam. Others think it's an elaborate prank. But I assure you—every word Mashima-sensei spoke is true."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the students.
"That said, your reactions so far have been disrespectful—especially with senior administration present. Mashima-sensei instructed you to take this seriously and even warned you about potential class point deductions. And yet, many of you continue to chatter and treat this event like a joke. That is not how Advanced Nurturing High School operates," he said, his voice now colder, firmer.
A tense silence followed. Several students looked down, guilt and unease creeping in.
"Regardless of what the school asks of you, you are expected to comply with sincerity and discipline," the Chairman continued, his tone unwavering.
"Advanced Nurturing is a government-funded institution. It represents a significant investment in the future of Japan. Our recent collaboration with leading scientists on a simulated reality experiment, with your involvement at its core, is a remarkable milestone. Some of you may feel violated upon realizing your past choices and personal data were shared with us. But let me be clear—that is a small price to pay compared to the progress this experiment has brought."
He spoke slowly now, his words carefully chosen.
"This project allows us to better understand the mechanics of simulated consciousness. From it, we gain insights that can shape not only technology but also human development. And for you—this is an opportunity. You can now reflect on your decisions, actions, and regrets through a lens you've never had before. Ask yourselves—were your choices truly optimal? What would've changed if you had chosen differently?"
He took a measured step forward.
"As human beings, we are inherently biased by our own limited perspective. But through this technology, we can view ourselves from a third-person point of view—something far more objective. You'll notice patterns, mistakes, and truths that would've remained invisible otherwise."
He looked at the students more sternly now.
"I know many of you are still skeptical, even if you're quiet now. And that skepticism is understandable. But let me make one thing clear: this is not a joke. If you continue to treat it as one or behave disrespectfully, there will be consequences."
The Chairman's tone softened slightly.
"I understand it may be difficult to accept what we're telling you right now—and that's a perfectly natural response. But once the demonstration begins, I believe your doubts will begin to fade. So I ask that you remain patient, follow instructions carefully, and approach what lies ahead with the seriousness it deserves."
With that, the Chairman's speech came to a close.
There was no applause. No one dared speak, not with the threat of potential class point deductions from the homeroom teachers looming. But the murmurs of disbelief rippled through the room, barely contained.
The tension was thick, almost suffocating. Some students still believed it was just another adversity test. Others were convinced it was a hoax. The claims made by the school sounded logically incoherent and downright nonsensical from our perspective, yet the faculty was treating it with the utmost seriousness.
As the chairman stepped off the stage, faculty members began setting up equipment, their movements quick and purposeful. It became clear that they were preparing to broadcast the so-called "simulated reality." This wasn't something anyone could have expected from a school like Advanced Nurturing High.
A part of me still wondered if I was dreaming. No matter how much I tried to reason through it, nothing they said made sense.
But at the same time, it was hard to believe that Advanced Nurturing would go to such extremes for something so absurd.
Still, no matter what happened today—whether they were lying or not—one thing was certain: my view of reality, and of life itself, would never be the same again.
***
A/N:
That wraps up this chapter of the reaction fic!
So, what did you think?
Honestly, I doubt most of you read all the way through — but hey, I put a lot of effort into making this chapter feel as realistic and grounded as possible!
I know I could've trimmed it down a bit, but I really wanted to establish the worldbuilding properly without leaving any plot holes.
Don't worry — the next few chapters will focus purely on reactions.
See you then, and thanks for taking the time to read!