A New Reality
ring… ring… ring…
A telephone ring wakes you.
You reach out and lift the receiver.
“Hello, Kitagawa Counseling Room.”
Your voice and Mio’s voice sound as one.
scritch… scratch… scritch… scratch…
Your fingertips travel across the white paper. That faint friction the instant the pen’s tip meets the surface.
scritch… scratch…
You bend over the patient record, carving out characters today in the same rhythm as every other day. The counseling room is filled with afternoon sunlight, yet inside you a cool, clear stillness reigns.
“Tanaka Masahiko, thirty-two, recurrent nightmare syndrome…”
scritch… scratch…
Each time the pen’s tip meets the paper, a faint vibration travels to your eardrums. As an HSP — a Highly Sensitive Person — you feel every sound through your skin.
But today, something is different.
Mixed into the layer of sound is a familiar resonance.
Déjà vu.
tick… tick… tick…
The second hand of the wall clock shaves away at your consciousness, one second at a time.
Two in the afternoon. The time of Tanaka Masahiko’s session.
You notice.
You have already experienced this moment.
As someone else.
tick… tick…
From deep in a layer of memory, the name Mio echoes faintly.
But to you, Mio is a stranger.
An unknown woman, an unknown story.
tick…
And yet you are certain.
What is about to happen — you already know it.
knock… knock… knock…
A knock at the door.
You brace yourself.
Against what, you do not know.
“Excuse me.”
The one who enters is a man in his early thirties. Thin. Deep shadows under his eyes.
Tanaka Masahiko.
A known unknown.
You should be seeing him for the first time, yet the tone of his voice, the way he walks, the habit he has of sitting down — you anticipate all of it.
“Please, have a seat.”
Your voice affects a professional calm, but inside you warning signals are ringing.
scrape… scrape…
The sound of Tanaka sitting down.
This sound too, you know.
hiss… huff… hiss… huff…
Tanaka’s breathing is irregular. You feel your own breathing falling into sync with it.
Déjà vu within déjà vu.
“Tell me about the dream.” You open a fresh page.
scritch… scratch…
“Every night, I have the same dream,” Tanaka’s voice rasps. “A dream of walking down a hospital corridor. But the corridor goes on without end…”
clack… clack… clack…
Footsteps begin to echo inside your consciousness.
This is not déjà vu.
It is the inheritance of memory.
You are not Mio. But Mio’s experience has been inscribed inside you.
As a memory of the collective unconscious.
As the shared property of the species.
zzt… zzt… zzt…
White noise fills your skull.
But this time, you have a way to manage it.
Mio’s experience is teaching you.
Do not resist. Accept. But maintain the boundary.
“Excuse me, just a moment…” You press a hand to your forehead.
Tanaka leans forward. “Are you all right?”
In his voice, a familiar note of satisfaction is mixed in.
That strange satisfaction Mio experienced.
But this time, you are prepared.
zzt… zzt…
“Tanaka-san.”
You look steadily at him.
“What are you?”
silence…
Complete stillness.
But you are no longer afraid.
You know the meaning of this silence.
Tanaka moves his lips. No sound reaches you, yet you understand.
“We met inside your dream, didn’t we.”
“No.”
You deny it clearly.
“I have never met you inside a dream.”
It was Mio who met you, you add silently.
“I am not Kitagawa Mio.”
clack… clack… clack…
The footsteps return.
But this time, you hold the lead.
thud… thud… thud…
Your heartbeat rings in your eardrums.
Tanaka reaches out. He is trying to touch your wrist.
You withdraw your hand.
“I do not permit physical contact.”
Mio’s experience is teaching you.
That physical contact accelerates the fusion of consciousness.
Confusion rises in Tanaka’s face. This was outside his expectations.
thud… thud…
“You… are different.”
Tanaka murmurs.
“Different from the last woman.”
blink… blink… blink…
You blink deliberately, several times.
According to Mio’s memory, reality transformed at the moment of blinking.
But this time, nothing happens.
You smile.
blink…
“I have boundaries,” you tell Tanaka.
“Boundaries that will not dissolve.”
Through Mio’s sacrifice, you have learned.
The difference between empathy and assimilation.
The distinction between understanding and fusion.
blink… blink…
Tanaka’s figure grows thin.
It seems he cannot parasitize a host who offers strong resistance.
tick… tick… tick…
The clock’s hands mark time in their normal rhythm.
You open Mio’s file.
The file of a patient who did not exist.
And yet, Mio’s trace is recorded there.
“Case Study: Empath Syndrome.”
“Patient: Kitagawa Mio (pseudonym), 29, psychological counselor.”
“Progression of symptoms: first stage through to fifth stage.”
“Outcome: the individual consciousness integrated into the collective consciousness.”
tick… tick…
You read on through the record.
Mio’s experience. Mio’s discoveries. Mio’s transformation.
And the conclusion Mio arrived at.
“The empath need not lose all boundaries.”
“To reach deep understanding while maintaining those boundaries is possible.”
“However, it requires conscious training.”
scritch… scratch… scritch… scratch…
You open a fresh page.
You begin to write your own record.
“Case Study: Prevention and Treatment of Empath Syndrome.”
“Researcher: You.”
“Hypothesis: by learning from Mio’s experience, it is possible to prevent similar symptoms.”
scritch… scratch…
The sound of your pen sliding across the paper.
This sound is the same as the sound Mio’s pen inscribed, yet decisively different.
There is intention. There is will. There is a boundary.
ring… ring… ring…
The telephone rings.
You lift the receiver.
“Hello, Kitagawa Counseling Room.”
“Please, Doctor. Help me.”
The voice belongs to Yamada Hanako. No — it is a new patient who goes by the name of Yamada Hanako.
A different person from the Yamada Hanako Mio experienced.
But the symptoms are strikingly similar.
“Another personality keeps appearing inside me.”
You breathe in deeply.
Mio’s experience guides you.
“You’ll be all right. There is a treatment.”
ring…
You replace the receiver and begin to prepare.
hiss… huff… hiss… huff…
A session with a new patient.
You apply Mio’s techniques and achieve deep empathy while maintaining your boundaries.
You understand the patient’s suffering, yet do not assimilate.
You stand beside the emotion, yet are not swallowed by it.
hiss… huff…
This was Mio’s legacy.
Not sacrifice — contribution.
Not destruction — discovery.
clack… clack… clack…
You walk the corridor.
A white corridor. But it does not go on without end.
A real corridor of appropriate length.
clack… clack…
Your footsteps are certain and purposeful.
Footsteps heading towards the next patient.
Footsteps that follow the road Mio walked, yet move towards a different conclusion than Mio’s.
drip… drip… drip…
The sound of a drip reaches you.
You check the source.
In another room, another patient is receiving treatment.
drip… drip…
You understand.
This sound is not the sound of an ending.
It is the sound of healing.
It is the sound of hope.
float… float… float…
Fragments of memory drift upward.
But they are not your memories.
They are Mio’s memories, and memories of the collective unconscious, and — the memories of every patient you are about to treat.
float… float…
You organise the memories.
Your own. Others’. Those to be shared. Those where boundaries must be maintained.
You learned this skill from Mio.
tone… tone… tone…
The sound of communication.
But this time it is not a disconnection.
It is the establishing of a new connection.
tone…
You contact a colleague.
You share Mio’s case, discuss preventive measures, and work to establish a course of treatment.
So that Mio’s sacrifice will not be wasted.
thud… thud… thud…
A new heartbeat.
It is neither the heartbeat of an individual nor the heartbeat of a collective.
It is a heartbeat of coordination.
Remaining as individuals, yet coordinating with others.
Maintaining boundaries, while realising deep understanding.
thud… thud…
This was Mio’s true legacy.
Not complete fusion, but conscious coordination.
………………
Silence.
But this silence is not empty.
It is a silence of readiness.
You rise.
The time has come for the next patient to arrive.
a new sound begins…
The sound of a knock at the door.
knock… knock… knock…
“Excuse me.”
A new voice. A new patient.
You smile.
Carrying Mio’s experience, you are ready.
This time, towards a different ending.
But—
blink…
You blink.
In that instant, the face of the patient who has entered becomes Mio’s face.
blink…
You blink again.
Tanaka Masahiko’s face.
blink…
Yamada Hanako. Sato Kenta.
And then — your own face.
scritch… scratch… scritch… scratch…
Your hand moves of its own accord and begins to write a record.
“Those who feel together become those who are together.”
“Memory becomes a bridge, and the bridge becomes a road.”
“The healer returns to the one being healed.”
scritch… scratch…
The pen’s tip trembles.
You understand.
That knowing Mio was to become Mio.
tick… tick… tick…
The clock’s hands begin to turn in reverse.
The patient’s lips move.
But what comes out is Mio’s voice.
“Welcome back.”
clack… clack… clack…
From beyond the corridor, multiple footsteps resound.
Tanaka, Yamada, Sato, and Mio.
clack… clack…
You stand and begin to walk towards them.
Down the white corridor.
This time, without losing your way.
ring… ring… ring…
The telephone rings.
Someone lifts the receiver.
“Hello, Kitagawa Counseling Room.”
“Please, Doctor. Help me.”
A new voice.
ring…
“You’ll be all right.”
ah…
“You’ll feel better soon.”
(end)