A Man Who Lost Confidence, to a Gentle Chastity-Reversed World

Chapter 2: A Morning Room, Different from Usual

I wake up to the sunlight, as always. But the ceiling’s color is different today.

Normally, the first thing I’d see is a stained ceiling. But today, it’s so white, like it belongs in a brand-new apartment.

To begin with, I don’t recall ever installing such a stylish light fixture in my home. Feeling a slight unease, I get out of bed and look around the room.

The aloe plant I’m growing by the window, the French textbook I’ve been studying for no reason lately—they’re definitely mine.

But the room is too big. I’m supposed to live in a typical, plain apartment, but this room feels as spacious as the private hospital room I stayed in long ago.

At first, I wondered if I’d gotten sick or something, but since my belongings are here, it’s hard to believe this is a hospital. Besides, the place has a lived-in feel, so it’s definitely someone’s home—probably mine.

Is this a dream, then? A dream I’m seeing in my sleep, having lost all energy in the real world?

I pinch my cheek and the back of my hand, feeling pain, but that doesn’t prove it’s not a dream. Could this be what they call a lucid dream? I only know the term, nothing more.

On the pristine wall, a uniform, seemingly freshly cleaned, hangs in a transparent cover on a hanger.

Am I a high school student in this place? But it’s a blazer-style uniform, completely different from the one I used to wear.

In other words, I’m likely seeing a dream where I’m not my past self but someone entirely different.

Maybe, in this dream, I could be a cool person. Looking in a mirror was scary, but I steel myself and check my reflection in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room for the first time in years.

What I see is myself from about ten years ago. Me, around sixteen years old, not much different from now. To me, it’s the same face I’ve come to hate, already taking shape back then, a face I don’t want to see.

Even in a dream, I can’t become someone I like? My heart sinks instantly. To think I have to see this face I’ve come to hate—one of the reasons for my lost confidence—even here fills me with sadness.

The faint hope I held in this dream shatters in just three minutes, and I decide this is a nightmare. So, I lie back down on the bed, half out of spite, to sleep again.

If I sleep and wake up again, will I return to the real world? I’m not thrilled about going back to that dull world, but there’s no helping it.

As I try to fall asleep in this emptiness, I hear a knock at the door. Startled but choosing to ignore it, I don’t bother getting up.

The knocking sounds three more times. Probably, in this dream, it’s my mother coming to wake me for school. For a dream, it’s starting to feel like it has some kind of story.

But to me, this dream has no value the moment I see this face. Being younger or a high school student doesn’t change that.

So, I turn my back to the door and stay motionless on the bed.

“…E-excuse me.”

A reserved voice speaks, and the person who knocked enters the room.

Their polite demeanor makes me feel uneasy. Would a mother use such a formal, subordinate-like phrase? And the voice feels too young to be a mother’s.

Curiosity gets the better of me, so I slowly get up and cautiously look at the woman. Our eyes meet.

She’s wearing a plain yellow apron, her long hair tied back in a ponytail. Her almond-shaped eyes pair perfectly with her slender eyebrows.

Her lips are small but look soft and dewy, and she’s probably in her early twenties. Among the women I’ve met up close, she’s easily one of the most beautiful.

I realize she’s definitely not my mother. No matter how you look at it, she’s far too young to be my mother, given her age.

At the same time, a small spark of desire makes me want to see where this dream leads.

Maybe this dream could release the dark, pent-up lust from reality in a pleasant way, like a wet dream—a vulgar thought, I know.

The woman in front of me just stares, her expression tinged with slight confusion.