Play 1: The Picture of Dorian and Gray

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"No!" I gasped awake, looking hurriedly around my surroundings. My hand automatically went to touch the back of my head, and I sighed in relief when I felt no injury. It was then I realised something was wrong.

The surroundings. The place I was in. I was supposed to be in the hospital, lying on the uncomfortable bed, wasn't I? Instead I was lying on the cold wooden floor with traditional surroundings around me. Papers were scattered all over the ground, and I noted an empty cup on the floor, its contents spilled. I glanced down myself and gasped.

"What am I wearing?" I frowned at my clothing. "Isn't this...some olden times' clothing for men?"

After double-checking that I was still female, I went over to one of those papers and picked it up out of curiosity. It was a drawn portrait of a girl who looked no older than I am. Below, there was a date, December 1863, and a name. Ignoring it, I gaped at the date before laughing hoarsely.

"Ahaha...I have an old portrait...Maybe I could sell it online and get rich..."

But I knew that it wasn't old. It looked as if it was recently drawn, and the paper wasn't even dog-earred. I grabbed another piece of paper on the floor, and a man in his middles was smiling back at me. A bald man, to be exact.

Below the portrait there were the same date, but a different name. Yukimura Koudou. I glanced back at the black-haired girl (or so it seemed in the portrait), and the name stated that was Yukimura Chizuru.

"Probably father and daughter..." I crawled around, grabbing the papers and reading them. Most of them were about medicinal properties and herbs, and I was about to give up picking up papers when I saw something interesting.

"What is this?" I crawled across, and under a table, there was a sign of a hidden compartment. I pulled, and found another stack of papers. Skimming through it, I realised that it was actually a diary, except without a cover. Apologising silently, I flipped to the latest dated 21 December 1863, and began to read it aloud.

"Father has not reply to my letters. It's almost a month now." I paused, frowning. "I'm so worried I'm not eating well at all. I've decided to go to Kyoto in search of him. He told me to find Dr. Matsumoto if anything happens, and I shall." The writing stopped there, and I frowned again.

Clearing my throat, I yelled, "Hello? Anyone here? Please respond!" When I received no answer, I stood up slowly and looked around worriedly.

It was probably someone's idea of a joke. It must be that guy playing as a servant! He must have gathered a bunch of haters to do this to me. I patted myself, searching for anything that can be used. Then I noticed a sword tied to my side and froze.

"This is a fake sword...I'm not in the 1800s...Yup, I'm not..." I grabbed my head, trying to convince myself that. "Maybe if I draw the sword..." I gripped it tightly and pulled. My breath stopped, and I gawked at the sharp blade. Shaking my head, I poked at the tip of the sword, feeling it prick through my skin. I stared disbelievingly at the blood that welled up like tears, and felt my legs no longer able to support me.

"No...Can't be...The competition, the semi-finals...Satoshi...they can't proceed without me..." Shutting my eyes tightly, I opened them once again to notice that there was no wound on my finger anymore. I blinked in confusion, before walking out of the house.

I stopped a passer-by. "Excuse me, but do you know the owner of this house well?"

The passer-by chuckled. "Oh, it's not a house. It's actually a clinic, owned by the Yukimuras." He was about to leave when I stopped him again.

"Wait! What is the date today?" I gulped, hoping that my new-found theory was wrong.

"22 December." He seemed a little annoyed now, but managed to hide it, though not well enough for me to see through.

"What year?"

"1863. I have to rush home now, the sky is getting dark..." He ran off before I thanked him, apparently scared of me.

Dazed, I headed back into the house and collapsed onto the floor. I couldn't believe it--no, I don't wish to believe it--but it seemed that my theory was right.

I had been transported back to time, and I had no way to get home.

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