Arou woke up with a strange feeling.
The ceiling above him was clean and plain, without a single crack. Morning light poured through the window at the perfect angle, as if it had been arranged beforehand.
Slowly, he sat up on the bed.
The room was… neat.
Too neat.
No clothes scattered around. No objects carelessly left behind. Everything was exactly where it should be—the wardrobe closed perfectly, the desk spotless, the bedsheets smooth without a wrinkle.
"I…" he murmured softly.
He stared at his own hand.
There was a ring on his ring finger.
Arou stood and stepped out of the room.
He found himself inside a warm and comfortable-looking house. The living room was spacious, the sofa arranged symmetrically, the table spotless. The kitchen beside it looked as if it had never once been used incorrectly—everything was orderly, balanced.
The house was beautiful.
Yet for some reason, Arou's chest felt tight.
He walked slowly, touching the sofa, the bookshelf, the framed photos on the wall.
A picture of himself and Airi—smiling, standing side by side.
"Since when…?" he whispered.
There wasn't a single memory of choosing this house.
No discussions.
No memories of moving in.
The house felt as though… it had always existed.
His steps stopped in front of a hallway.
The hallway was short and quiet, and at the end of it—
a door.
Locked.
Arou approached and turned the handle.
It didn't move.
He tried again. Still locked.
"Why…?" he asked quietly.
He placed his palm against the door. Cold.
There was no sound from the other side, yet an unsettling feeling lingered—like something existed there that he was never meant to know.
Slowly, he stepped back.
If this was his house…
why was there a room he could not enter?
"Arou?"
The gentle voice made him turn around.
Airi stood at the end of the hallway, dressed in neat home clothes. Her expression was calm, her smile faint.
"You're awake," she said.
Arou looked at her for a moment before glancing back at the locked door.
"This house…"
He paused briefly.
"Did I choose it?"
Airi blinked, then smiled softly.
"We chose it together."
The answer sounded natural.
Too natural.
Arou nodded slowly, though the heaviness in his chest only grew stronger.
He didn't ask any more questions.
But deep inside him, one conclusion formed clearly:
This house was perfect.
Too perfect.
And perfect happiness—
was never something he would have chosen for himself.
Morning passed quietly.
Arou sat by the small table near the window, staring at a cup of tea that had already gone cold. Sunlight gently filled the dining room, illuminating the perfectly organized space—too organized, just like every day before.
He let out a long breath.
"I'm going to start looking for a job today," he finally said.
Airi, who had been arranging the dishes, turned toward him.
"Oh?" she replied softly. "Then… I want to look for one too."
Arou lifted his gaze, slightly surprised.
"You?"
Airi nodded.
"Yes. I want to work too."
A few seconds passed in silence.
Arou slowly shook his head.
"There's no need."
Airi stopped moving.
"Why?"
Arou stood up, trying to arrange his thoughts.
"Working is… my responsibility."
He looked at Airi seriously.
"I'm the one who should handle that."
Airi stared at him quietly, not offended, not angry—only silent.
"Because you're a man?" she asked softly.
Arou nodded.
"Yeah."
The answer came out too quickly.
As if it had been planted inside him long ago.
Airi lowered her gaze for a moment, then smiled faintly.
"If that's what you believe."
She continued cleaning the table as though the conversation had ended.
But Arou remained standing there, his chest feeling strange.
He grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door.
"I'll be out for a while," he said.
Airi looked at him.
"Be careful."
The door closed behind him.
Outside, Arou walked through streets that felt unfamiliar despite looking familiar. Stores, buildings, job listings—everything existed, everything appeared normal.
He read them one by one.
Minimum two years of experience.
Age 20–30 preferred.
Experienced applicants prioritized.
"Strange…" he muttered.
No one questioned his age.
Nothing appeared out of place.
Yet every time he saw his reflection in a window, that unsettling feeling returned.
As though this role—
husband, breadwinner, adult—
had already been decided long before he ever had the chance to choose it.
By evening, Arou returned home.
Airi greeted him with the same smile she had worn that morning.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"There were several places," Arou answered shortly.
Airi nodded.
"If you ever change your mind… I still want to help."
Arou looked at her.
He wanted to say something—
but the words never came.
He only nodded.
Night slowly fell.
Arou's days began to follow a pattern.
Every morning, he prepared himself with neatly arranged clothes that, somehow, had always been hanging in the closet.
During the day, he visited workplaces he had supposedly contacted before—the names and addresses already written on a small note in his pocket.
He couldn't remember when he wrote them down.
Yet his feet knew exactly where to go.
At every place, everything went too smoothly.
Simple questions.
Answers flowed naturally from his mouth, as though memorized long ago.
Several places hired him immediately.
"You can start tomorrow," one manager said with a friendly smile.
Arou only nodded.
There was no relief.
No happiness.
Only a forced sense of normality.
In the evening, he returned home.
The house welcomed him in the same state as before—clean, quiet, and perfect. Airi was already waiting in the dining room.
"You're back," she said gently.
Arou sat down and placed his jacket aside.
"I got accepted at several places," he said.
Airi paused for a moment before looking at him in surprise.
"Eh? Several places?"
Arou shook his head lightly.
"That doesn't mean I'll work at all of them," he explained.
"It's just… too many of them accepted me immediately."
Airi frowned slightly.
"That was… really fast."
"Yeah," Arou replied quietly.
"As if they were already waiting for me."
Airi fell silent.
Her smile did not immediately return.
"Then… which one will you choose?" she asked softly.
Arou lowered his gaze for a moment.
"I haven't decided."
Silence settled between them.
"Why?" Airi asked.
Arou looked up.
"Because it doesn't feel like I'm choosing anything."
Airi didn't respond immediately.
She only gave a small nod.
They ate dinner without speaking much.
That night, Arou couldn't sleep.
He got up and walked into the living room. A dim light glowed softly while the wall clock ticked quietly.
His steps stopped at the hallway.
The locked door was still there.
He stood before it, staring at the cold handle.
"If I open it…" he murmured,
"what will change?"
The air felt heavy.
Then a voice echoed calmly, emotionless.
"Roles make life simpler."
Arou stiffened.
"Zata…"
There was no figure.
Only the voice.
"You were accepted without difficulty," it continued.
"Your wife waits for you at home. The world moves neatly."
Arou clenched his fists.
"That wasn't my choice."
"Choice only complicates things," Zata answered.
"I gave you stable happiness."
Arou raised his head.
"Then why do I feel trapped?"
Silence followed.
Then the voice whispered closer.
"Because you still want to ask questions."
The lights flickered.
When Arou regained his senses, he was standing alone in the hallway.
No voice.
No one there.
From the bedroom, Airi's voice called softly.
"Arou…?"
He turned toward her.
"Yeah," he answered quickly.
Arou stepped away from the locked door.
But now he understood one thing:
Working, getting married, living peacefully—
none of it was a lie.
What was wrong was…
he had never truly been given the chance to choose it.