Mario sat back at his spot after the break, picked up the knife with his right hand, then picked up a fish with the other.

  The knife slid into the fish's belly with practiced ease. A shallow cut, precise and controlled. His wrist turned slightly, avoiding the gallbladder, and the entrails were removed in one clean motion.

  Wash.

  Place aside.

  Repeat.

  While gutting and cleaning the fish, his eyes stayed fixed on his hands as his mind tried to recall and re-enter the same state as before.

  But he failed.

  Again, and failed again.

  "What's wrong," he muttered, brow furrowing in puzzlement.

  He lifted his head and scanned his surroundings. The other workers beside him—some talked while they worked, while others kept their heads down and focused.

  'Why can't I re-enter it? Am I doing something different?'

  For a few minutes he thought carefully, letting the noise wash past him while he searched for the answer within himself.

  But despite the effort, nothing came and he had only wasted time.

  Eventually, Mario could only sigh in resignation, take another fish, and continue.

  Once. Twice. Thrice.

  While gutting and cleaning, he didn't notice his surroundings slowly going quiet as his mind emptied and sharpened at once.

  His hands moved as though in sync with each other—the knife entered, turned, and withdrew in a single motion.

  Wash.

  Place aside.

  Repeat.

  His breathing fell into rhythm with the movement of his hands, and his eyes grew distant, as though seeing a different scene entirely.

  Tap.

  His left hand brushed the empty basin.

  Mario paused.

  The knife slipped from his fingers and struck the floor with a dull sound.

  He turned his head to the left. His eyes landed on the empty basin.

  '…Empty?'

  Then to the right. A basin filled with cleaned fish.

  He paused briefly.

  "…I see," he muttered, picking the knife up from the floor. "So that's how it is."

  He set the knife aside, turned, and glanced at the large wall clock behind him.

  —2:30 P.M.

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  'I've finished my quota four hours early. That's already 20 copper coins.'

  '…Should I head home?'

  He considered it for a moment, then lightly shook his head and stood up to ask the loaders for another basin.

  Once it was brought over and set at his spot, he thanked them and sat back down.

  He took a deep breath, picked up the knife, and started again.

  Once.

  Twice.

  By the third fish, he had slipped back into the same state.

  Time passed.

  Before he reached the last fish—

  A cooling sensation moved through him, briefly settling at his head before spreading to his limbs, lingering especially in his hands.

  But Mario was too focused to notice, even after he finished the final fish.

  His hands stilled before clarity slowly returned.

  He looked at the empty basin, then at the one filled with cleaned fish, and set the knife aside.

  He cracked his fingers and wrists, stood up, then rolled out his shoulders and neck.

  Mario joined the line of workers waiting to collect their wages, then walked out of the warehouse and headed toward the convenience store.

  As he walked, he glanced at the thirty copper coins in his hand.

  He stepped inside and bought the same supplies as the other day, adding charcoal, a thin slice of meat, and an egg.

  ---

  Mario let out a tired breath as he sat down on the wooden bed.

  He set the plastic bag of supplies beside him, then carefully leaned his back against the wall and let his shoulders drop.

  After a few minutes of rest—

  He got up, took out some of the supplies, and hung the rest above.

  He washed the rice, placed it in the pot, lit the charcoal beneath it, and added some dried sticks to the flame.

  He pulled out the chair, sat to the side, and watched the pot over the fire, his eyes catching its light as his thoughts drifted.

  Time passed.

  The rice finished cooking. He used a cloth to hold the pot, poured the rice into a bowl, then cleaned the pot out.

  He set it back on the flame and opened the ramen packet. He took out the oil sachet, poured it in, and laid the thin slice of meat inside.

  He let the meat sear before covering the pot and pulling a few pieces of charcoal and sticks away to lower the heat.

  A few minutes later, he lifted the lid, poured in the water, and waited for it to boil.

  When it did, he cracked the egg directly into the pot without replacing the lid and waited a minute and a half before adding the remaining seasonings and noodles.

  He covered it again and waited three minutes.

  When it was done, a cool sensation spread through his body and scattered inside his head.

  Mario exhaled slowly at the feeling.

  ---

  Burp.

  Mario, seated on the plastic chair, burped in satisfaction. It wasn't comparable to the meals his older self had always eaten in the simulation, but it was satisfying all the same.

  He sat for a moment before calling up the proficiency panel in his mind.

  [Proficiency]

  [Skill: Fish Cleaning — 0 Tier (Advanced) 1/500 | Rough Cooking — 0 Tier (Basic) 75/100]

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face at the first entry, followed by a slight frown.

  "It became Advanced," he muttered. "…When?"

  He couldn't remember feeling the cool sensation when the skill had advanced.

  He let the matter go and turned his attention to the new entry: Rough Cooking.

  "It seems my guess was right," he muttered, then stood up and switched off the light before heading out.

  Mario took down his dried clothes from where they hung outside and made his way to the public bathroom.

  He washed himself and his worn clothes, hung them up afterward, then retrieved the chair and brought it outside.

  He sat down.

  The night was quiet except for the chirping of crickets—though the sound barely registered as his thoughts drifted back to the orphanage.

  But something felt off.

  He felt uncomfortable.

  Mario let out a heavy breath, feeling the weight of the silence press in.

  The conversation from the day before surfaced in his mind.

  He knew he could stay. But should he really go against the director's wishes?

  He shook his head lightly and exhaled again.

  "Do I even want to go there?" he muttered.

  The question brought the clearest memory from the simulation to the surface.

  'Is this how Kevin felt back then?'

  "I didn't even ask him if he wanted to go. I just forced him." Without realizing it, Mario had accepted the simulated self as his own.

  'No matter how I justified it back then… does it even matter if the simulation was real? If it wasn't, why does it affect me this much?'

  A bitter smile of quiet recognition crossed his face. He was experiencing the same thing Kevin had.

  With one more sigh—

  He tilted his head back and looked up at the night sky, watching the stars in silence.

  "Mario!"

  The quiet broke. A loud, excited voice cut through it. He frowned briefly, then looked toward the source.

  A young man, roughly a year older than him, was waving in his direction. Darker skin, black hair tied back, brown eyes, and a broad, muscular build.

  An acquaintance.

  Mario put on his usual mask and smiled. "You only just got back?"

  Jason nodded—he'd just stepped off the ship after more than a month at sea.

  He was from the same orphanage as Mario, though he worked on the water, his physique better suited for it.

  "Still staring at the sky?" Jason asked, his tone playful.

  Mario nodded. "Yeah. Just… thinking."

  Jason stepped closer. "Something bothering you? Go on, you can tell your big brother."

  Mario let out a flat sigh. "You're only a year older than me."

  Jason grinned. "Still older."

  Mario glanced at him for a moment, catching the grin.

  Jason didn't appear in the simulation—he went missing six months later.

  Eventually, Mario shrugged. "Alright… fair enough."

  He fell quiet and turned back to the sky.

  A few minutes of silence passed—

  Jason, never comfortable with quiet for long, opened his mouth and said softly, almost to himself, "You know… sometimes when I talk to you, it feels like you're here and not here at the same time."

  Mario raised an eyebrow, glancing at him briefly. 'Was he always this perceptive?'

  'Come to think of it... did I ever try to get to know any of them?' The thought lingered as he found himself thinking of the others from the orphanage.

  He had formed many connections over the years, but for him, they had always been acquaintances. The director was the only one he had ever been truly close to.

  After the thought, he asked, "Jason… was I always like that? I mean... Distant?"

  Jason blinked, caught off guard, then answered truthfully. "Well… yeah. The others noticed it too. Even when you were talking or laughing, it always felt… off. Like there's a barrier that separates us from you."

  'I see... So they also noticed it, huh?'

  For a moment Mario remained silent before he stood up.

  "Thanks."

  He picked up his chair and headed inside, leaving Jason standing there, slightly stunned.

  "Thanks?" Jason murmured, repeating the word under his breath.

  In that moment the gratitude felt more real and sincere than before—but why?

  His thoughts were disturbed as Mario's voice drifted back from inside.

  "Ah, right—six months from now, the sea's going to get rougher. Take your leave before then. And… say goodbye to the others for me."

  Jason stood very still. "A… goodbye?"

  He waited for clarification, but even after standing for a few minutes, Mario didn't speak another word.

  Eventually Jason walked off.