This is my first diary entry.
After I woke up in the hospital, a doctor I didn't recognize came to see me right away.
Do you remember your name?
He... lentine.
Good. Can you see clearly?
...Yes.
Do you know where you are right now?
A hospital.
Do you remember why you were brought here?
I spent a long time trying to remember, but the memories were like water I couldn't hold onto. The harder I gripped, the more slipped through my fingers.
I don't...
The doctor didn't look surprised. He just looked down and wrote something on his clipboard.
He told me memory loss is one of the most common aftereffects,
and that I shouldn't push myself to remember. For the time being, the priority is observation.
After that, he began asking about my past.
He asked if I remembered my grades from F.O.S. College,
any grade at all.
But when I tried to think back to that time,
all that came to mind were images shrouded in fog.
They seemed to exist, but behind a distant pane of glass
that I couldn't reach.
So the only answer I could give was: I'm sorry. I can't remember.
Then the doctor asked if I remembered what I did while working at Spelmin. That question was even harder than the last.
The images I could see didn't even belong to me.
...I'm not sure.
Still, the doctor showed no surprise as if he'd known my answers all along.
Then he told me to look at the person standing beside him, and asked if I recognized her.
The face beside him felt very familiar.
...
She was quiet the whole time. Her face was pale, with faint dark circles under her eyes that she couldn't quite hide. She looked exhausted, but she was holding herself together, refusing to look any more undone than she already did.
Something in my body knew what to say before I did.
Ophe... lia?
...Recognition of family seems to be intact.
Helentine, I have a few more questions.
Have you noticed any headaches, ringing in your ears, nausea, or trouble focusing for short periods?
I didn't think so, not at the time. Or if there was something, it was too faint for me to name.
Tell me your impression of yourself.
I went quiet for a long while. My impression of myself? What kind of person am I? What kind of person am I supposed to be?
The images in my head were like knotted threads. No matter how I tried, I couldn't untangle them.
I can see the memory of myself crying at F.O.S. I can see that I seemed frustrated, stuck, and powerless when struggling with work.
Judging by those moments alone, I seem like an ordinary person. Someone who cries, who gets sad, who blames herself when she falls short.
But then, I can see so many other memories that contradicted all of that.
People were always praising me. It seems I'd been recognized, watched, and taken for granted as the "best" one.
Those images contradict each other so completely that they can belong to two different people. And I have no way of knowing which one is closer to who I really am.
Or maybe what unsettles me more is... when I look at that "Helentine" in the memories, I don't strongly feel that person is "me."
It's more like watching through glass, observing someone connected to me, yet not.
<o=ffffffff|2.5>How do you answer a question like "What kind of person are you"?
It's far too complicated. So I just shook my head and said I wasn't sure.
The doctor's face stayed blank. Hard to tell what he was thinking.
Family can keep trying memory stimulation, but don't overwhelm her all at once. We need to avoid putting too much strain on her M.I.N.D.
I'll update Mr. Spelmin on her condition. That's all for today.
The room became much quieter once the doctor left.
I turned to the young woman beside me. She looked worn thin.
She's one of the few people still clear in my memory.
The silence between us stretched on. She just stared at me. Her tired eyes didn't move away, and I found myself not knowing where to look.
Were we... close before?
Symptom of M.I.N.D. deviation...
Ophelia falls quiet for a beat.
Our relationship is... complicated... What do you remember, Helentine?
So much has vanished from my memory, but she's still there, stubbornly.
I think... I only remember you're my sister. Everything else is kind of hazy... like, what we used to do. Things like that.
That's it...?
I don't know how to describe the look on her face in that moment.
A little disappointment, maybe. Some resignation, too. But beneath that, something deeper was giving way, like a small, hidden letting go.
Do you really not remember who you are?
Sigh...
So... what kind of person am I supposed to be?
If Father saw you right now, he'd probably feel even more guilty.
What I'm about to say... just take it as me giving you a little cheat sheet.
The old you would never ask who you're supposed to be.
You always knew what to do before anyone else. Or... you looked like you did, anyway.
It didn't sound like a compliment. She said it more like a fact she'd long accepted, but one she'd never really liked.
What do you mean, I looked like I knew?
Because I never had you figured out either.
Someone's in trouble, you go help. Someone's crying, you stop.
Even if it had nothing to do with you, you always took it on like it was yours.
I never understood why either.
That sounds... kind of nosy. Not exactly likable.
It was nosy. And you were stubborn.
You wouldn't be talked out of anything. Couldn't be stopped... Once you set your mind on something, no one could change it.
...You sound angry.
Yeah, I am. You can't remember anyway, so I might as well be honest. Helps you figure out who you are, doesn't it?
So... does it feel easier? Looking at me now?
Who knows.
Everyone wants the old you back, you know.
Everyone?
Father. People in our family. A lot of them.
Everyone went through so much just to bring you back.
Do you remember how you ended up like this?
I shook my head.
She watched me, like she was waiting for me to piece together something from the scraps.
You had to run straight into the middle of that explosion for the rescue. I tried everything to talk you out of it, but you wouldn't listen.
And you came out of it covered in wounds...
That's just who you are, Helentine.
But... I sound like a good person.
Sure. So good it gets annoying sometimes.
If that's what you think, then go on playing the good person. Father wants the old you back, after all.
What about you?
What I want doesn't matter.
That answer didn't fit what I remember.
If Father asks, you should tell him you're starting to remember things.
He's tired enough as it is. Don't add to it.
I understand.
...Let's leave it here, then. Get some rest. I'll see you again.
She left, and I still couldn't sleep.
I'm confused.
According to Ophelia, it seems everyone wants me to go back to being the person I was before.
But what was that person like? What am I supposed to become for everyone to be happy?
And so,
I picked up the pen and paper from the bedside table
and began this first entry.
I don't want to forget.
I want to record what others say about the person I used to be.
Maybe then I can become the one they all remember.
What I've learned today, I suppose, is this:
the old Helentine...
she was probably someone who put others before herself.
Helentine really was a strange one.
The office lights were dim.
Tavis held the hospital report in his hands, silent for a long while.
I spoke with your sister. The situation... could be worse. Helentine has retained most of her basic self-awareness.
I see. That's good to hear.
But she's still recovering.
I need you to take over some of her responsibilities for now.
Tavis lifted his weary eyes and looked at his daughter standing before him.
Me?
Mainly disaster relief coordination, external communications, and research documents that don't require her direct oversight.
All of this will be transferred to you in the short term.
Haven't you always wanted to be involved in these matters?
You do keep track of things, Father.
Tavis paused for a moment.
...I'll have Helentine assist you. And I'm hoping the work will help her recover her memories as well.
My theory is she borrowed too much from... another consciousness. It weakened her own M.I.N.D.
Based on clinical experience, frequent memory stimulation from someone close may accelerate the recovery of the primary personality.
So I want you to help her while you work together. Consider it a form of rehabilitation.
And once she's recovered?
...You'll both continue serving Port Podesta and become the pride of the Spelmin family.
Ophelia's hand tightened around her sleeve. She wanted to say something, but the words never came.
In any case, Helentine will be discharged soon.
The coming days may be demanding for you, but once we get through this, everything will fall into place.
I understand.
...Wait.
Ophelia stopped, though she did not look back.
How have you... been feeling lately?
Ophelia froze for a moment.
I'm managing fine.
Any headaches, ringing in your ears, or mood swings?
Nothing.
Tavis remained under the light, his face drawn more taut than when they had spoken of family affairs only moments before.
The consciousness surgery you went through is unprecedented. I'm still a bit concerned... Come see me every day for a check-up from now on.
You seem to be recovering well, but... I can't help worrying.
...Okay.
Thank you, Ophelia.
Mm... I'll take care of everything, Father.
With that, she walked out.
The door whispered shut at her back.
Silence returned to the office. Tavis remained where he was, alone, his gaze fixed on the unfinished paperwork that covered his desk. He did not move for a long time.
Meanwhile, Ophelia walked down the corridor with quiet steps.
She suddenly felt like laughing.
Even now, the first words from her father's mouth had been about her sister. She knew exactly where his thoughts always lingered.
She used to envy her sister, who shone so brilliantly.
And in her darker moments, she had wondered if she might finally have a chance to replace her.
But when that chance finally came, delivered in the cruelest way,
she found herself incapable of even the smallest joy.
She knew the truth. Her sister, the one she had grown up beside, was never coming back.
Strange emotions crawled up her chest with each step, weaving themselves into a web that bound her tight.
Perhaps her sister had come to this because she herself was so painfully average.
It felt like everything was her fault.
The corridor stretched on endlessly. Only after walking for some time did she realize her hand had been clutching her sleeve this entire time, never once letting go.
As though, from this moment on, something had caught hold of her and pulled her down into the darkness her sister had left behind.
Cough... cough cough...!
Suddenly, a faint dizziness crept up from the back of her skull, as if something deep within her mind had quietly torn open.
Ophelia stopped and braced herself against the wall.
Nngh... What's... happening...?
She looked down. A dark red droplet landed on the pale tile, spreading slowly.
For a moment, she stood still, then lifted a hand to her nose. Her fingers came away warm and damp.
...
She looked at the stain without expression, then quietly erased it with the cuff of her sleeve.
