Life After You
Day 2: Morning

When I open my eyes again, it is already nine o’clock in the morning. I slept better the night before than I have ever remembered being able to back in my own world.

Is it Mykel’s magic? Is it the fact that I have a healthy body now? Probably both.

I sit up in bed.

Delilah: ...I thought Zeph’s busy? Why did nobody throw me out of bed for work?

Regardless, I get ready, and about ten minutes later, I open my door to head down. But just as I open it, I almost crash head-first into someone else.

Delilah: “!”

Kendric: “!”

We both bounce back.

Delilah: “I’m sorry!”

Kendric: “Sorry!”

Having apologized at the same time, we share a glance and chuckle.

Kendric: “Mornin’. Did you sleep well?”

Delilah: “Yeah...”

I avert my gaze, feeling a little awkward.

Delilah: “I probably missed out on some duties, huh? I had no idea I’d sleep for this long.”

Kendric: “Zeph actually was about to come get you an hour ago, but Mykel asked him to let you rest a bit.”

Delilah: “Mykel?”

The musician rarely speaks up like that. Is it because of what I said last night?

Kendric: “Rare, yeah, so Zeph just looked at him and...left.”

Delilah: “Where is he now?”

Kendric scratches his cheek. I notice only now that in his other hand is a rectangular bag. He hands the bag to me. I receive it with both hands. Then, he lowers his voice.

Kendric: “He decided to do your part of the work too. I think he should be at his office.”

Delilah: That explains nothing?

I glance at him, the bag in my arms, and back up at him. I unzip the bag a little to see that there are two identical lunchboxes inside.

Delilah: “So...you are saying...he didn’t eat?”

Kendric nods once.

Delilah: “And you were on cooking duty this morning?”

He nods again.

Delilah: “I’ll bring it to him, but...why didn’t you just do that yourself?”

Kendric chuckles again, this time less merrily and a bit bitterly.

Kendric: “Uhh...well, he looked a little scarier than usual today. Plus...after he left, Rehan said it’s better to have you bring it to him if I don’t want extra work...”

It’s my turn to laugh—the sound of a singular dry laughter.

Delilah: If Zeph had his memories intact, that would work. But...he doesn’t. But then again, by the time Rehan met us, Zeph had 200 points. It...makes sense, sort of...

Delilah: “Nah, he likes all of you. New as I may be, that’s the one thing I’m sure about.”

Kendric: “Really?”

For a moment, it almost looks like his eyes are sparkling.

Delilah: “Yes, really. But um...I mean, I probably deserve whatever penalty he gives me, so...wish me good luck!”

Kendric: “It’s not that bad, probably...but good luck!”

I wave before dashing in the direction of Zeph’s office. Kendric waves back, and even as I run without looking back, I can feel his gaze on me until I’m out of his field of vision.

[Kendric +50]

I knock on the door to Zeph’s office, but there comes no response. I wait for a moment before knocking again.

Delilah: “I’m coming in.”

With that said, I push the door open.

In his office, Zeph is sitting at his desk, two stacks of paper in front of him and a pencil in his hand. It looks as if he hasn’t noticed me, but with two centuries of constant action, he can’t possibly be so focused that he would fail to notice someone knocking on his door.

It must be intentional, then.

My heart sinks before my mind can even put words to the feeling.

Delilah: He’s ignoring me on purpose. Why though?

I take a breath in. As I reason with myself in my head, I try to keep the tone of my thoughts as light as I can, hoping it will help regulate my emotions as well.

I walk to him, a little cautiously, and place the bag Kendric gave me on the side of his desk where there are no papers.

Delilah: “Eat something first.”

Zeph: “...”

He isn’t even looking at me. Pencil in hand, Zeph’s gaze is on the windows on the other side of the room.

Delilah: What exactly is he waiting for?

Delilah: “...”

Delilah: “...sorry.”

I mumble.

At last, the manager shifts his gaze to me.

Delilah: Oh, so he was mad. About what? I mean, I did plenty of things...

Zeph: “...pft. Look at you.”

Delilah: “?”

Zeph: “You look like you’re afraid I’ll eat you up or something...hahaha. Have you started to share their view yet? Maybe we shouldn’t try to find out what happened between us.”

Delilah: “Wait...what? I’m sure you read me wrong. And what are you talking about?”

Zeph: “...”

He is smiling, but his smile is unfathomable. Unlike all the other times when he smiles as he contemplates a prank, this time, it looks as if Zeph is actually about to say or do something terrifying.

Zeph: “Let’s eat first. You won’t be able to after seeing what I have to show you.”

Half an hour later, I close the boxes and put all the utensils back into the bag. Zeph watches and remains silent until I have put away everything and am properly seated opposite of him again. Then, he leans forward only slightly.

Zeph: “What do you know about my pranks?”

Delilah: “That you play them?”

Zeph: “Pft. Satisfactory, I suppose. And do you recognize this?”

He flips over a piece of paper on his desk. It is revealed then that on the other side of the paper is a sketch—a very fine sketch of a table, four chairs, a plate of pancakes with sauce on the side, and a rough sketch of two silhouettes sitting on two sides of the table. The detailed features of the two people are not drawn, but their postures are shown clearly enough for me to recognize, together with the setting, what this is.

Delilah: “! This is...!”

The day we met in Pistevo’s world. This was our first encounter—the first time I saw Zeph as a real-life person and not an illustration. That morning, he’d made me pancakes with strawberry jam, and I’d questioned why he hadn’t mixed onions into the jam like he normally would if he were meeting anyone else. He told me then that I was his number one fan.

Zeph: “Tell me about it.”

Delilah: “Did you draw this? I’ve never seen you draw! Oh my gosh, this is so good!”

Zeph: “Hahahaha...I get it, you’re in love with me. Now don’t get sidetracked. You haven’t asked the most important question.”

Delilah: “...”

Delilah: It actually did slip my mind. I’m too busy admiring his drawing skills.

Delilah: “Sorry. Um...how did you...?”

Zeph: “I saw this whole scene last night in a dream—from the moment you walked in the door to when we decided to get changed and disappeared into the hallway. And this right here...”

He points at the sketch in my hands.

Zeph: “...is exactly the point of view from which I saw it.”

Delilah: “...”

At first, my mind doesn’t register what it is Zeph is really trying to point out to me—without shocking me. I stare at the picture for a long time. Perhaps five seconds, perhaps thirty minutes. He doesn’t speak, simply watching me and waiting.

Finally, I realize what is wrong with it.

A chill travels through my entire body, causing me to shiver. I begin to drop the picture in the process but catch it just in time to stop it from falling onto the floor. With trembling fingers, I put the picture back onto Zeph’s desk.

Zeph: “Well?”

Delilah: “You...”

I clear my throat because no sound came out of my mouth when I tried to speak the first time.

Delilah: “You dreamed of this?”

Zeph: “That’s what I said.”

Delilah: “But this is...this picture is the perspective.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Zeph: “Mm-hm.”

Delilah: “So...you didn’t remember it. This can’t be your memory.”

Zeph: “That’s right.”

I look up at him then, hoping he will tell the rest.

Zeph: “I didn’t regain any thoughts or feelings I would have if this were my memory. It was played to me like a cutscene.”

He lifts the picture, pointing at the silhouette that is not eating the pancakes.

Zeph: “Which is why I can see myself.”

Delilah: “If it was your memory, there would be no you in this picture. There would just be me, the pancakes, and the door from your perspective.”

Zeph: “Yes.”

Now, Zeph puts the picture back onto the desk and turns it to me so that I can still see it properly.

Zeph: “My question is this: whose perspective is this, at this angle? Do you know what’s here?”

I stare at the sketch for some more, recalling to the best of my ability the exact layout of the apartment we were assigned—which isn’t too difficult, considering that every unit in Pistevo’s world was designed the same way.

Delilah: “The TV.”

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