Chapter 1: Reflections in a Broken Mirror

The first thing I did after waking up here was, naturally, deny reality.

But the girl’s memories and emotions lingering in my mind, the contents of the novel I’d been reading just moments ago, the small room surrounding me, and the mirror quickly pulled me back to the present.

After days trapped in this room, with nothing to look at but my reflection in the solitary mirror, acceptance becomes inevitable.

This is a place where people live, after all.

Assuming I’m still human.

It’s… tolerable, I suppose.

I’m confined, but they try to provide what I ask for, as long as it isn’t dangerous. Sometimes, there are even special meals.

It’s just that the list of things I dislike has grown quite long.

Memories, the cramped room, affection, the metal door, reminiscing, needles, promises, sharp objects, love, blades, electricity…

And myself.

Though I’m not sure if I can even call this me.

I tried to smile at the mirror.

My reflection wasn’t there.

Sometimes, very rarely, I see my old self.

Shaking my head slightly, I pushed away the useless thoughts and got out of bed.

Thinking about the past makes my head throb.

More often, I see someone else in the mirror.

A mischievous-looking child, for instance, running around a snow-covered village, laughing brightly with… me? No, with a little girl.

I looked at the mirror.

I made a sad face, and the girl in the mirror mimicked me. I made a sad face.

Then, I smiled.

The girl smiled radiantly. A beautiful smile that could make anyone fall in love.

I don’t think I was ever capable of such a smile.

Hair as white as if bleached and boiled flowed over my shoulders, down to my waist.

My eyes, slightly unfocused, felt dry and barren.

They were red, but devoid of life.

Like a palette splattered with crimson watercolor, left untouched for months.

Withered, feeling nothing.

How old was I? Middle school age, perhaps?

Despite the gaunt appearance, I looked… pretty.

What was my name again? Unlike my appearance, it was gentle: Yoo Ha-rin. No, wait. Number Eleven.

Staring into the mirror, I finally noticed someone outside the door. Our eyes met through the reflection, and a voice spoke.

“Number Eleven.”

The sound, of course, came from the speaker on the ceiling.

“You did this yesterday too. Have you decided to just ignore me now?”

“If you want to talk, why don’t you come inside and have a cup of coffee with me?”

“I don’t have a suicidal streak.”

What could a withered, malnourished girl possibly do to them?

“How are you feeling today?”

“Not good, as usual.”

“As usual, I’ll send in the handcuffs. Put them on and come out. If you try anything funny, it won’t just end with you being starved like last time.”

“…”

A box-like contraption dropped from somewhere in the ceiling. Handcuffs that automatically locked when your hands were inserted.

I pretended to reach for them, then hurled the box at the metal door.

“Oh, right, today is durability testing.”

“Can’t I rest for just one day?”

The woman watching me through the small acrylic window in the door offered a wry smile.

“I’m sorry, but when you’re this uncooperative, our regulations tie our hands.”

With that, a loud hiss filled the room with bright yellow gas.

I choked, my throat burning. I quickly shoved my hands into the box and held them up for the woman to see.

“See? I’m wearing them!”

I screamed. Few things are as horrifying as suffocating.

“Gah… ack…!! I’m wearing them… aagh! Get this… off!”

I writhed, gasping for air, but my vision blurred.

I was angry.

Angry that I had been transported into a novel.

Angry that my gender had changed.

Angry that I was called by a number instead of my name.

And angriest of all that I was slowly adapting to this place after almost half a year.

So much so that I could casually chat with a researcher.

I hadn’t added ‘gas’ to my list of hated things. If I survived this, I would add it to the already overflowing list.

Through my fading vision, I saw my reflection in the mirror, tears streaming from my right eye.

I stared at the familiar, hated ceiling. The surgical lamps, typical of an operating room, shone down on me.

As my vision cleared, I saw two people in blue scrubs.

“She’s finally awake. Team Leader Joo, didn’t I tell you to bring her awake if possible?”

The woman, Team Leader Joo, sighed.

“What could I do, sir? She refused to come.”

“She’s still a child. You have to be kind.”

The man approached me and held out his hand. The woman, seemingly accustomed to this, picked up several needles attached to wires from a tray laden with surgical instruments and handed them to him.

“What was our Number Eleven’s name again?”

“…”

The memory of the suffocating gas and my body seizing up kept my mouth shut.

“Doesn’t matter if I don’t hear the answer. The drugs are quite potent.”

The man proceeded to insert the needles into my body – my arms, head, forehead, thighs.

He then instructed the woman to flip the switch.

A horrifying electric current surged through me.

At first, it was bearable.

But the so-called “durability test” was nothing short of torture, and I soon screamed.

Team Leader Joo started prodding my thighs and shoulders with a sharp instrument.

“Agh… Aaaaagh!!!”

Struggling and screaming was pointless. I couldn’t break free from the restraints, and no one would come to my rescue.

All I could do was stick out my tongue. Whenever I felt myself losing consciousness, I would stick out my tongue.

They would always stop, then. Whether it was painkillers, drugs, or something else, they would always stop.

After several repetitions, the man stopped the current, pulled a probe from my abdomen, and began examining my eyes, nose, and mouth.

“Team Leader Joo! Did you administer the codeine?”

“Ah, I forgot while knocking her out.”

“Gag her and give her morphine. I don’t like seeing a child in pain.”

“By the way, the experiment seems to be a success.”

The two of them, in their blood-soaked, barely-white coats, discussing me so calmly, looked grotesque.

But here, this was normal.

People with abilities that defied logic – breathing fire, shooting lasers from their eyes, instantly healing fatal wounds – were commonplace. Probably.

These abilities were rare, though. The government would either conscript those who possessed them into the military or force them into special schools.

The protagonist, my friend, was one of these individuals.

I should have been content with the fact that I was childhood friends with someone so extraordinary.

It’s funny, though. We hadn’t completely parted ways. We weren’t never going to see each other again.

We could talk on the phone, and I could visit her school during vacations.

But my past self wasn’t satisfied with that, it seemed. I wanted to be with the protagonist, even if it meant becoming a lab rat.

I doubt I ever imagined it would be this kind of experiment.

She must have started neglecting me. With each visit, each passing day.

She was the protagonist, after all, constantly embroiled in incidents and surrounded by admirers.

Someone like me must have been insignificant. If she had visited me first, even just three or four times a year, maybe I wouldn’t be here.

“Ugh.”

A strange floating sensation washed over me. The pain subsided, replaced by drowsiness.