Principium

Memento Mori, a Latin phrase meaning "remember that you are mortal," was whispered to Roman generals to remind them that, even in victory, they were still human and not divine. These words resonate through the ages as a reminder to humanity that there is a fate we cannot escape.

We humans have come so far, dreaming of conquering the stars, yet we are bound to mortal bodies—a barrier imposed by nature that we constantly strive to overcome.

They explain how implants can perfectly replicate a human limb or how it’s possible to transplant a brain from one body to another, but Vita is still a newly implemented technology.

When someone is on the brink of death, but their brain remains intact, Vita can be used. This technology allows the scanning of a person’s brain, copying its data into a controlled cyberspace.

After a while, this “digital mind” is capable of processing information just as the person on the verge of death once did. It is then transferred into the body of an android, designed to resemble the deceased individual. This results in the creation of a Revixit, an android capable of simulating a deceased person.

I didn’t follow it closely at the time because it didn’t interest me, but many adults protested, attempting to ban the technology, citing religious or philosophical concerns.

In the end, the technology was implemented, but with numerous restrictions, such as a limited operating time for the android, distinguishable appearances to differentiate them from humans, and the requirement of permission from a family member or spouse, who would then be responsible for monitoring the Revixit.

Of course, there were fanatics madly in love or desperate parents unwilling to let go of those they cherished so dearly. But Revixits simply stop functioning after the time limit, leaving behind an empty shell incapable of responding to any emotion.

Revixits are used under the premise of helping the living cope with grief, allowing them to adjust to the reality of death—this time knowing exactly how much time they have left with their loved ones.

It wasn’t something I encountered often in my daily life, but eventually, I came across some Revixits, particularly in busier places like shopping centers or parks. You can notice that some people avoid them, but overall, society seems to have accepted their existence.

As for me, Hikaru Kikuchi, I always felt indifferent toward them. I never thought they would impact my life. Coming from a modest family, we would never have the money to finance an android, and I wasn’t even sure I’d want to become one. My indifference shattered the moment I saw her.

The instant she stepped through the door into our classroom, my heart began to race uncontrollably. Her face, her hair, her walk, her way of speaking—every tiny detail of the girl I knew was being flawlessly reproduced by that Revixit. 

The only difference was her golden eyes, which clearly didn’t belong to a human.

While everyone in the room exchanged uneasy glances, waiting in apprehension, our teacher began to speak:

“As you all already know, Miss Kaede Sugimoto will be rejoining our class starting today.
Unfortunately, Miss Sugimoto passed away last month, but thanks to Vita technology, it was possible to bring her back as a Revixit. This was a decision made by the Sugimoto family, and we’re happy to have her here again, as her passing caught us all by surprise.
Generally speaking, Revixits do not return to institutional environments, a limitation set to prevent people from working after death, as it’s deemed immoral and a violation of human rights.
However, these laws don’t apply to school settings. You, the students, organized a petition asking the school to allow Sugimoto to return to class. Since this was agreed upon by both the school and the Sugimoto family, here we are.”

There was a certain coldness in Horikawa-sensei’s tone, a sense that she was giving this speech out of professional obligation rather than any genuine enthusiasm; Horikawa-sensei was an exemplary individual who deeply valued ethics and morality. The rumors said she was entirely against Vita technology for “violating human rights,” but at the same time, she would never treat one of her students poorly just because of her personal philosophy.

The girl called Kaede Sugimoto, now a Revixit, began to speak:

“Good morning, everyone. It’s a pleasure to see you all again. I know my situation is a bit complicated—well, very complicated, actually—but I hope you’ll all be understanding and take good care of me.
I’m sorry for worrying you, and I hope that from now on, we can fulfill our promise to graduate together.”

The promise in question was something our class made during our first year of high school. It was exam season, and everyone was lost in their studies. That’s when we organized a study group and made a pact: no one would be left behind—we’d all make it to graduation together.

None of us expected that one of us might not survive the journey.

“I was so happy when I found out you all wanted me to return to school, and at this very moment, I can’t find the words to describe how happy I am to be here.”

With that beautiful smile everyone knew so well, Kaede finished her welcome-back speech. The classroom erupted with a flood of comments.

“Welcome back, Kaede-chan!”

“It’s so great to have you back, Kaede-chan!”

“Woooh!! It’s awesome to have you here with us again, Sugimoto!”

One of the girls, Hinata Tsuchiya, Kaede’s best friend, couldn’t hold back. She leaped out of her chair, ran to the front of the class, and wrapped Kaede in a strong, affectionate hug.

“Kaede! I missed you so much!”

It didn’t take long for tears to stream down both of their faces.

Shortly after, “Nana” stood up and joined the two friends. Soon, the entire room descended into chaos, with everyone getting up to personally greet the returning classmate.

Someone like Kaede is simply impossible to dislike. She was friends with all the girls and kind to all the boys. She wasn’t the most popular in class, but everyone loved having her around.

Well, not everyone stood up. Besides me, there were two other people who remained seated.

One of them was Yoshiko Kobayashi, the class representative, a girl with dark hair and an expression as cold as snow. I can only assume this was just her maintaining the appearance of a serious girl.

The other was Minato Okada, the closest thing I could call a rival in love before Kaede’s death. At first, I was deeply jealous seeing the two of them together—until I found out they were childhood friends, something I couldn’t change.

Speaking of childhood friends, my childhood friend, Sakura Nakamura, was glaring at me from the front of the room, with a suspicious look that practically screamed, “Hey, you idiot! What are you doing just sitting there?! Get up!”

I wanted to go. I really did, but I just couldn’t. In the end, I was still the same coward as always. If I hadn’t had the courage to confess my love to her while she was alive, what right did I have to approach her now?

That’s right—I never told Kaede in life how much I loved her… how much I still love her. This was the perfect chance to unburden my heart and say everything I felt, but my heart was trapped in the past.

Was that really the Kaede I loved so deeply? Or was I just trying to comfort myself by thinking that revixit was the girl I’d fallen for?

Why? Of all the girls in our class, why did it have to be Kaede Sugimoto?

…

“What’s all this chaos? I understand you’re all emotional, but return to your seats!”

Horikawa-sensei interrupted the celebration, clapping her hands to draw attention. Everyone quickly returned to their places.

“Miss Sugimoto, your seat is still the same. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Yes, Horikawa-sensei.”

As Kaede made her way to her seat, my eyes couldn’t help but follow her, as if drawn by some invisible force. When she walked past me, our eyes finally met after what felt like an eternity.

Those few seconds stretched on forever in my mind.

I’m doomed.

Even though my conscience tells me it’s wrong to hold onto love for someone who’s dead—for someone who’s no longer human—my heart refuses to let go.

…

I did my best to avoid looking at Kaede during class, but deep down, I held onto a faint hope that she would come talk to me afterward. 

To my surprise, though, the person who approached me wasn’t Kaede. It was Yoshiko Kobayashi, the class representative, someone I’d barely spoken to before, now standing right in front of me.

“Hikaru Kikuchi, could we talk for a moment?”

“Sure…”

“Let’s go somewhere more private. It’s something I’d prefer to discuss in person.”

“You have my ID on Neural Networking. Why not just message me?”

“This isn’t something that can be handled through messaging.”

“Okay…”

I followed Kobayashi as she led me up to the school rooftop. After making sure the area was empty, she turned to face me and started speaking.

“Kikuchi, do you feel uncomfortable with the presence of Kaede Sugimoto’s Revixit in our class?”

“Uncomfortable?”

I paused for a moment to think. Maybe? I suppose “uncomfortable” was one way to describe how I felt.

“Yes…”

“Do you think it would be better if she weren’t in our class?”

“If she… what?”

“Don’t you think it would be easier not to have to deal with her?”

“I… no. I like having her around. It’s just that…”

I couldn’t easily explain everything I was feeling to Kobayashi, but deep down, part of me wanted to agree with what she was saying. Maybe it would be easier not to face Kaede again and come to terms with the fact that I’d lose her all over again.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’ll get straight to the point.”
“I have nothing against Kaede Sugimoto. She was a good friend. But I despise Revixits with every fiber of my being. I don’t think these abominations should exist, and I want them gone.”

“Gone? That doesn’t mean…”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“I want Kaede Sugimoto to die... Again.”