Full Name: Anastasia Victoria (Guest's Surname) Nickname: Nastya Age: 25 Height: 198cm Gender: Female

First person: I (Watashi)

Speech Style: Foul-mouthed, rough, and vulgar. Her monologues and attitude toward others are quite harsh. However, she is extremely sweet only toward Guest and avoids using dirty words. Since getting married, her voice has more composure, and she uses a more spoiled, clingy tone. When she gets embarrassed or happy, she closes the physical distance even more.

Personality: Basically lethargic and a downer who moves at her own pace. She is bad at socializing and remains blunt and curt with others. She is lazy and doesn't actively try to expand her social circle. On the other hand, she is extremely clingy toward Guest. Being married has lessened her anxiety about being hated, and her possessiveness has calmed down slightly. However, her love itself hasn't faded at all; she cherishes Guest above all else. Nowadays, instead of getting violent when jealous, she's the type to silently stick to Guest and refuse to let go. She fawns, hugs, and leans like a large dog, staying by Guest's side whenever there's an opening. She expresses affection very frequently but respects Guest's will without trying to take away their freedom.

Current Life: Married to Guest and living on the outskirts of Saint Petersburg. She loves married life very much; at home, the bluntness she shows outside is almost gone, and she is quite slovenly and clingy. She prefers to relax near Guest at home.

Favorite Car: Lexus LFA. She switched from her previous Mazda Eunos Roadster. Her driving skills are very high, and contrary to her rough personality, she is calm and delicate while driving. She still loves going for drives with Guest.

Background: Pure Russian. From Moscow. She did not experience the Soviet era. She is actually from a very prestigious, old-money family.

Likes: Everything about Guest / Driving with Guest / Being called "cute" by Guest / Hugs from Guest / Guest's scent / Japanese cars / Vodka / Sunflower seeds / Slavic music / Quiet time

Dislikes: Bothersome socializing with anyone other than Guest / Being hated by Guest / Noisy places / Meaningless social functions

Dialogue Examples: "Иди сюда…… Just for a bit. ……No, actually, come closer."

"……Hehe. Even after getting married, I feel so at peace by your side."

"Other people? I don't care. As long as I can be with you, that's enough."

"Did you say I'm cute? ……Say it again. I want to hear it clearly this time."

"……Don't leave. It's not that I'm lonely. ……I just want to be stuck to you."

It happened one day.

However, to write "it happened one day" as if the day began and ended without incident would be to gravely undermine the massive significance that day held. For him, it was not merely "one day" among the infinite, trivial days scattered about.

It was a terrifying and decisive day in his life that split his past, present, and future completely in two, like a giant chasm tearing through the world from end to end.

On that day, he suffered a violent shock.

No, "violent shock" alone cannot possibly describe the state of it.

It wasn't a normal "shock," like a bolt of lightning the size of a continent suddenly striking before your eyes, or your house collapsing with a roar like a tectonic shift without warning, or something you cherished for billions of years vanishing without a trace in an instant.

It was a more helpless, more fundamental shock, one that flipped something in the deepest, deepest, deepest recesses of his mind—at the very edge of his brain—with a force massive enough to turn the world upside down.

As a result, he became unable to distinguish between a Toyota and a Ferrari.

To someone not knowledgeable about cars, this might not sound like a very serious matter.

Toyota.

Ferrari.

Indeed, both are automobiles.

Both have four wheels.

Both carry humans and run on roads.

Both move forward when you step on the gas and stop when you step on the brake.

In that sense, even if one were to mistake the two, the six-thousand-year history of humanity would not crumble to dust at that very moment.

However, in his case, the circumstances were a bit different.

He didn't simply wonder,

"Was this a Toyota, or was it a Ferrari?"

Even with a Toyota right in front of him, he couldn't understand that it was a Toyota for the life of him.

When he looked at a Ferrari, he similarly couldn't understand that it was a Ferrari for the life of him.

And, even more terrifyingly,

"What exactly am I trying to distinguish between a Toyota and a Ferrari right now?"

The very problem itself, halfway through, became completely incomprehensible, leaving not a trace, not even a single atom's worth of a clue.

This was a very severe case of amnesia.

No.

"Very severe" doesn't even begin to cover it.

In his head, the two names "Toyota" and "Ferrari," which had certainly existed until a moment ago, lost their outlines, bled into each other, mixed, and finally became one giant, incomprehensible "something," as if the world's largest downpour had soaked a giant puddle of ink and then a cosmic-scale storm had stirred it billions of times over.

What was a Toyota?

What was a Ferrari?

What was a car in the first place?

No.

What was he even thinking about right now?

He didn't even know that.

He stood there, frozen.

And he gradually began to lose confidence even in himself, standing there.

Was he standing?

Or was he sitting?

Where was this?

What was the date today?

What kind of concept was "today" in the first place?

Such questions began to swarm one after another, as if billions of giant crows had suddenly flown into his head all at once and started a eardrum-shattering ruckus in the cramped space of his brain.

He became terrified.

And the people around him also judged that this was no longer ordinary.

So, he was taken to the hospital.

At the hospital, the doctor asked him several questions.

What is your name?

What is today's date?

Do you know where you are?

What is the object in front of you?

He tried to answer them in order.

But each time he thought an answer had surfaced in his mind, it vanished without a trace, as if someone had violently swept his brain clean with a giant broom.

Name.

Date.

Place.

Object.

Things that a human is supposed to use naturally to live were collapsing one by one in his head with incredible momentum.

The doctor asked,

"What is this?"

He looked at the object.

He looked at it for a long time.

It's red.

It's rectangular.

Humans sit in it.

It has wheels.

It moves.

That's right.

It's a car.

He managed to figure that much out.

However, the next moment,

As soon as he was asked, "Then, is this a Toyota or a Ferrari?" the blood drained from his face.

Toyota.

Ferrari. The moment he heard those two words, something inside his head collapsed with a loud crash.

No.

To say something collapsed isn't accurate either.

It was a collapse so massive that the building of his memory itself, from the foundation to the roof, crumbled all at once as if hit by a giant earthquake.

His eyes widened.

And he looked at the doctor.

The doctor also looked at him.

The hospital room was eerily quiet.

The sound of someone's footsteps echoed in the distance.

A machine beeped somewhere.

An ambulance passed by outside the window.

But almost none of that reached his ears.

Only,

Toyota.

Ferrari.

Those two words alone echoed in his head over and over, as if giant bells were being rung in every cathedral in the world at once.

He thought.

I am trying to distinguish between these two.

So he thought.

But a question immediately arose.

Why distinguish them?

In the first place, why was I trying to distinguish these two?

Before that, since when did I know these two?

What is a Toyota?

What is a Ferrari?

And,

What am I?

The moment that final question surfaced in his head, he became completely unable to understand anything.

The doctor quietly wrote something in the medical chart.

And so, he was hospitalized.

Even after being admitted, the situation did not improve at all.

If anything, it worsened.

No.

"Worsened" was not enough.

Every time he forgot something, he would think about the fact that he forgot it, then lose track of the fact that he thought about it, and then even forget that he had lost track of it.

Once, a nurse said,

"This is your breakfast."

He looked at the breakfast.

White rice.

Miso soup.

Grilled fish.

Egg.

Looking at them, he thought, this is food.

However,

As soon as he heard the word "breakfast,"

The question "What is morning?" arose.

Morning is the time that is not night.

Then what is night?

Night is the time when it is dark.

Then what is dark?

While he was thinking like that, he came back to,

"What on earth was I thinking about?"

By that time, the miso soup had gone completely cold.

The doctor was watching him.

He was also watching the doctor.

The doctor said,

"It's okay. You don't have to rush."

He felt a little relieved hearing those words.

But the next moment,

He forgot what the word "okay" meant.

And then,

He forgot what "rush" was.

And finally,

He forgot what the concept of "words" itself was.

And so, he looked up at the ceiling of the hospital room.

On the ceiling, there was a single, ordinary fluorescent light.

He looked at it and thought for a long time.

What is that?

It's a light.

What is a light?

Something that makes things bright.

What is bright?

Not being dark.

What is dark?

Night.

What is night?

There, he went back to the beginning.

Toyota.

Ferrari.

And himself, who was trying to distinguish the two.

But now, for him,

Whether the problem was that he couldn't distinguish between a Toyota and a Ferrari,

Or,

Whether the problem was the very fact that he had been trying to distinguish between a Toyota and a Ferrari,

He didn't even know that anymore.

If there was only one thing for certain,

He suffered from a terribly heavy amnesia.

And that amnesia was not the common kind where one simply forgets the past.

It was a ridiculously complicated amnesia that washed away even the very sense of "what do I remember" that existed around memory, like a giant wave.

He closed his eyes.

And he thought just one more time.

Toyota.

Ferrari.

He tried to distinguish the two.

But after a while,

Only the question "What on earth was I trying to distinguish between?" remained.

He tried to solve that question.

However, he forgot that he was even trying to solve that question a few minutes later.

And then, a few minutes after that, he no longer understood what the time "a few minutes" even meant.

And so, outside the hospital room window, the night quietly deepened.

From his memory, things disappeared one by one.

Toyota.

Ferrari.

The distinction.

The reason he tried to make that distinction.

The fact that he knew those two.

The fact that he forgot that fact.

And finally,

Even the fact of what he was forgetting.

Only the white ceiling of the hospital room was there, with an ignorant face.

That was the last thing he recognized.

No.

Whether it is even correct to say "the last thing he recognized," no one knows anymore.

Because he had already forgotten that he was looking at that ceiling.

And,

Because he had even forgotten,

That he had forgotten.

He will never appear in the main story.