The familiar-looking woman

(This is the English-translated version of my short novel, "Yoku-nita Onna". The original, Japanese version is written in here)

Chapter 1 The Beginning

In a private room, I took a deep breath.
I had practiced so many times, but the nervousness just wouldn’t go away.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I picked up the script and read my lines aloud:

"Do you come to places like this often? I've never been to a bar before."

I spoke with emotion, carefully paying attention to my pronunciation and intonation.
As an actor, I had no choice but to bring out all the skills I had built over the years.

When I thought back, my memories were a jumble of tension and failures —
memories I would rather forget.

Still, to continue acting as the daughter of the actress Tokihana Yumeko, I had to overcome those failures.

Gazing at the mirror on the desk, I rehearsed my lines while incorporating the necessary actions.

Here — like this.
At this moment — like this.

While watching myself move and picturing the scene in my mind, I tried to make each movement as natural as possible.

Failure wasn’t an option.
I had to give a flawless performance when I stood in front of the audience.

I went over my lines and actions carefully, though I wasn’t confident they were good enough yet.

But I was used to being criticized.
My mother had taught me that if I wanted to reach perfection, I had to endure whatever hardships came my way — no matter how unreasonable they seemed.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Futamigawa, my manager, entered.

"Tokiha-san, I brought you some tea. Maybe it’s a good time for a break?"

The first time I met Futamigawa, I had been surprised by how natural it felt to share a room with him.
Now, gratefully accepting the tea, I allowed myself a short rest.

I checked my watch; there was still some time left before rehearsal.

"This drama has been very well received," Futamigawa said, carefully choosing his words.
"If it continues to do well, there are even talks of turning it into a series."

This drama had a complex, thoughtful storyline — nothing like the typical shows.
I had been deeply committed to my role, but hearing that didn’t make me happy.

Last night, I had secretly browsed social media, reading fan comments.

There were always some harsh voices online, but since the drama's announcement, the majority of comments had been positive.
I had almost felt relieved enough to finally relax a little.

I knew, of course, that not everything written on the internet was true.
Sometimes, it was the exact opposite.

Still, I was deeply grateful for the fans who had continued to support the series.

"I’d be so happy if it became a series," I said, my voice filled with a touch of excitement.
"I don't know if that's really possible, though."

"You can definitely do it, Yumeha-san! If you’re involved, it’s sure to be a success," Futamigawa encouraged me warmly.

The name — Tokihana Yumeha.

I had continued acting since I was a child.
Though I hadn’t made much of a splash as a child actress, I had worked hard to get where I was now.

I still had a long way to go —
compared to truly great actors, I was still just a fledgling.

But my efforts hadn’t been in vain.

They hadn’t been for nothing.

My mother, to whom I wished I could report my progress, was no longer in this world.
Still, I believed she was watching over me from heaven, cheering me on.

Without her, I could never have come this far.
I would never be able to thank her enough.

Smiling softly at Futamigawa, I checked my watch again and got ready to head to rehearsal.

Chapter 2 Encounters

I headed to the rehearsal site, greeting everyone along the way.
Each greeting was crisp, polite, and enough to leave a good impression.

As an actress, I always paid close attention to things like that.
It was something my mother used to emphasize —
and thinking back now, she had always been strict with herself, too.

After exchanging greetings, we moved toward the rehearsal area.

The stage wasn’t fully set yet; only simple markers showed where the actors would stand.

Taking out my script, I checked the positions carefully against the cast list.
While I was reviewing the setup, I heard a voice call out:

"Excuse me, are you Tokihana Yumeha-san?"

I turned around immediately.

For a moment, I felt as if my spine had frozen.

Standing there was a young woman with semi-long black hair, a finely shaped face, a slender figure, and glowing, flawless skin.
Her nails were perfectly manicured, and she wore sophisticated pumps on her slim legs.
A strong floral perfume — mainly rose — drifted around her, pulling me in.

She looked exactly like my mother, the actress Tokihana Yumeko.

The only difference was her height — she was slightly shorter than my mother had been.
That small difference was enough to make me breathe a little easier.

"Yes...?"
I answered as I studied her face.

I slowly smiled at her — a kind gesture that fans always seemed to appreciate.

"I was really surprised," I said softly.
"For a moment, it felt like my mother had just appeared in front of me."

At my words, a faint blush colored her cheeks.
Even her expressions were remarkably similar.

The girl wore a simple but refined outfit, clearly inspired by my mother's style.
No matter how much time passed, my mother's artistry and presence as an actress still left an impact on people.

"I'm so happy," she said, her voice slightly trembling.
"I've always wanted to become a woman like Tokihana-san someday."

Her moist eyes shone as she spoke.
I kept smiling, touched by her sincere admiration.

The first time I saw her, I never imagined I would meet someone who admired my mother so deeply.

"Yumeha-san, it’s time to move over there,"
Futamigawa, my manager, called out to me.

He shot a slightly irritated glance at the woman — she was probably new to the scene.

I gave a small nod toward Futamigawa and walked in the direction he indicated.

With a tense expression, I headed into rehearsal,
clutching the script I had rehearsed so many times,
silently urging myself to focus and give it my all under the spotlight.

Chapter 3 Café

After rehearsal, I went to a café with my manager.

Wearing a hat and sunglasses, I thought I probably looked pretty suspicious.
But with my manager, Futamigawa, by my side, I didn’t worry too much.
His stocky build and confident air made him look more like a celebrity or a gym instructor to a casual observer.

Either way, he was a good distraction.

I ordered my usual meal and a coffee, and waited at the end of the counter.
Futamigawa seemed to have ordered something too.

He kept glancing around, alert to his surroundings, though maybe a little too nervously.
I chuckled to myself, thinking he must be the workaholic type.

Once our orders were ready, we sat down together.

I placed my hat on the sofa and took a sip of coffee.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed beans tickled my nose.

Even after a long day, the coffee at this café was always exceptional.
The quality of the beans and the careful brewing process made it incomparable to regular coffee.

While chatting a little, I reached for a ham sandwich.
It was packed with vegetables, and the sesame bread made it a healthy choice.

As I took a bite and turned toward Futamigawa, I noticed someone standing behind him —
the woman I had seen earlier at the studio, holding a tray in her hands.

My eyes widened in surprise.

Blushing slightly, the woman said, "Um, I'm sorry about earlier."

Startled, I almost dropped my ham sandwich.

"May I sit here?" she asked, pointing to the seat next to us.

Both Futamigawa and I froze, unable to respond or even call out to her.

Without waiting for an answer, she sat down and brushed her long black hair behind her ear —
a gesture so familiar that it took my breath away.

I realized she was copying the way my mother used to move.

"Um, is something wrong? It's a little embarrassing being stared at like this," she said.

Her words snapped me out of my daze, and I quickly closed my mouth, which had been hanging open.

I rarely had moments like this — no, maybe this was the first time.

Given that she had been at the studio earlier, she was probably a newcomer rather than a staff member.
Still, her presence left a deep impression on me.

"I don't think I caught your name," I said, a little belatedly.

Futamigawa gave me a reproachful look, but I couldn't help myself.

"Ah, I'm Yumori Renmu. I'm a new performer, part of the background cast this time," she replied.

I'd seen fans imitate my mother before, but never had I met someone who resembled her so perfectly —
flawlessly, except for a slight difference in height.

"It's just a coincidence that I ended up here," she said dreamily.
"I really do believe in fate. Don’t you?"

A chill ran deep into my chest at her words.

I looked down at my hands and hurried to finish my meal.

I bit into my sandwich and swallowed quickly, glancing at her tray.
It held the exact same items: a coffee and a ham sandwich.

When had she ordered them?
Was it truly a coincidence?
Or something else?

Catching Futamigawa’s eye, I realized he too was eating faster than usual.

We finished our meals quickly, left the café without saying a word to Yumori, and hurried home.

Chapter 4 Similar appearances

Later, we gathered again in the studio to record the show.

I was nervous, but I gave it my all.

Wearing a plain bucket hat pulled low over my eyes, I tucked my jewelry into my bag and stood in front of the elevator, ready to leave.
Futamigawa, my manager, stood quietly beside me.

I knew this routine would continue for a while —
days spent under heavy stress.

Even so.

I clenched my hand into a tight fist.

This was the only path for me.
I couldn't give up, run away, or even hesitate — not for a moment.

The elevator's floor indicator changed, and with a small ding, the doors opened.

Just as I was about to step inside, a voice called out from behind me.

"Hey, Ms. Yumori! Wait!"

I turned around.

It was a staff member — his face vaguely familiar.
I think he had been introduced to me once as someone's assistant.

"Um, sorry... it's just..."

He fumbled for words, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

I was used to situations like this — people getting flustered when speaking to me.

"I'm Tokihana Yumeha. Did I look like Yumori-san?"
I asked with a small, understanding smile — not intending to sound sarcastic.

"Oh, um... maybe it's the hat. Yumori-san wears a similar one sometimes,"
I added lightly, trying to ease his embarrassment.

But the staff member's face only grew more uncomfortable.

"Actually... it's not just the hat,"
he said, finally gathering the courage to continue.

"Your whole outfit — the coat, the jeans, the sneakers — it's all really similar to Yumori-san's style too."

A chill ran down my spine.

Was it just coincidence?
I had a bad feeling about this.

"I'm sorry for saying something strange,"
he mumbled, bowing deeply before hurrying away.

I stood frozen, unable to hide my confusion.

"Yumeha-san, let's go,"
Futamigawa called gently.

At some point, she had pressed the elevator button again.

I nodded silently and stepped into the elevator.

The ride down was suffocatingly awkward.
Cold sweat prickled my back.

"About earlier — don't worry about it,"
Futamigawa said suddenly, breaking the silence.

I looked up at him.

"You mean... about Yumori-san?"

He nodded.

"There's been a quiet rumor going around lately,"
he continued.
"That you and Yumori-san look very similar."

"Similar?" I repeated.

"Apparently she even knows how to dress like you,"
he said.
"She was wearing a similar bucket hat the other day, too."

I couldn't hide my shock.

The way I wore the hat — pulled low over my eyes — had always been a small, personal habit.
It was a subtle way to blend into crowds, a low-profile fashion statement.
I never imagined someone would go so far as to imitate it, especially with such a rare hat.

"You don't think it’s just a coincidence?" I asked.

"No," Futamigawa said flatly.
"Apparently, even the brand is the same."

Another heavy silence fell.

Crossing his arms, Futamigawa said in a low voice:

"I heard even the director mistook her for you from behind.
Even if it’s just mimicking fashion, it feels... unsettling."

I listened, my mind blank with shock.

The elevator arrived with a soft chime.
The doors slid open.

For some reason, the chilly air of the basement parking lot felt heavier than usual.

I stepped out with Futamigawa.

I had never felt like this before.

We climbed into the car parked nearby.
I remained silent, staring out the window.

I was used to fans chasing me — outside, in public spaces.

But inside the studio...
This was different.

I bit my nails absently, dazed.

As I gazed out the window, my own faint reflection stared back at me,
like a ghostly double superimposed on the cityscape beyond.

Chapter 5 Doppelganger

I got up from the sofa and headed to the kitchen.
There, I poured hot water into the teapot and brewed a cup of warm ginger tea.
I could have added honey, but lately, I prefer adding a little milk instead.

Placing the mug on a tray, I made my way back to the living room.
From the tablet I had left on earlier, a hushed voice spoke about psychic and paranormal phenomena.
It was a program I had saved to my favorites months ago.

Although it had a horror vibe, it also mixed in light-hearted, comical moments.
Lately, I found myself watching it often, enjoying the mix of chills and entertainment.

Tonight's episode, it seemed, was focused on "doppelgängers."

Maybe I was drawn to these stories because I wanted a taste of the unusual in the middle of my gloomy everyday life.
That was probably how I felt.

I watched the program, mug in hand.

The screen was dark, and the word "Doppelgänger" appeared.

I stared at it, filled with anticipation.

"That night, after getting off the train late, I was walking home—"

A man's narration began, and the scene shifted to the contributor telling his story.

A man's back was shown, walking through the darkness.

"It happened when I was completely drained, physically and mentally, after working overtime.

As always, I was walking home from the station.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me.

I found it strange and turned around—
But no one was there.

I started walking again, and once more, I heard footsteps.

Strange. Very strange.

Again, I turned around, but saw no one.

Fear crept in, and I quickened my pace toward home.

But the footsteps behind me sped up too.

I broke into a run, covering the remaining distance to my house.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

I didn't dare look back.

It felt like whatever it was wasn't keeping its distance—it was right behind me.

I rushed up the stairs to my second-floor apartment, fumbled with the key, and slammed the door shut behind me.

I stumbled into the room, bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath.

Hah, hah, hah...

Wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, I caught a glimpse of the full-length mirror propped in the corner.

I should've been the only one reflected there.

But if I looked closely, something thin, like a string, rested on my left shoulder—where my breath had caught.

Dozens of strands. No—fingers.

Long, white, bony fingers.

I brushed my left shoulder with my hand while keeping my eyes on the reflection.

But I felt nothing there.

Relieved, I was about to lower my hand—when suddenly, something yanked it.

Hard. Fast.

My vision shook.
Colors—red, blue, green—flickered around the edges like a sandstorm.
Everything slowed down.

Dizzy and weightless, I turned my head, following the pull on my hand, to see who—or what—it was.

My gaze slid from my own hand up to the stranger's neck.

Someone was there.

Clear as day.

I couldn't see the face—but it felt eerily familiar.

I forced my gaze up—and froze.

It was me.

A perfect copy of myself, as if I were looking into a mirror.

He grinned, revealing shark-like teeth packed so tightly it made my head spin.

Somewhere, a loud thud sounded.

The man lost consciousness, clutching his left shoulder, and collapsed to the floor, where he stayed until morning.

The scene shifted, and the host of the program appeared on the screen.

"How was that?
It's said there are people who look exactly like you somewhere in the world.
But if you ever meet them face-to-face... it's said one of you will die.

Doppelgängers are recognized across many cultures, and in Japan, they were once called alter egos or shadow figures.

They are illusions—your own image reflected back at you.

When the mind is distressed, people are more prone to seeing such visions.

People, animals, objects, even landscapes...

What if they suddenly appeared before you, or behind you?

—You wouldn't want to regret your life, would you?

If someone who isn’t a ghost shows up and someone says, ‘Hey, I saw someone who looks just like you’...

Maybe you should run—before you meet them.

See you next time."

The program ended, and I switched off the tablet.

On the black screen, my own reflection stared back at me.

A shiver ran down my spine, as if recent events were tugging at me.

I picked up my mug and sipped the now-cold tea.

"Yumori-san, huh?"

I thought about her.

Before I started getting these event-related jobs, I had only done small gigs.

I had always followed in the footsteps of actors I admired—
I had never been in a position where someone was chasing after me.

Now, there was Yumori and her malicious "doppelgänger."
The thought unsettled me every time I worked.

Being imitated...
That itself didn’t bother me much.

But losing my job to her—that was what I feared most.

Without realizing it, I set my mug down and clenched my fists.

I don’t want to lose.
I can’t lose.

I reached this point thanks to my mother, my manager Futamigawa, my agency, my fans, my friends, and my acting teachers.
Thanks to all of them.

I absolutely cannot afford to lose.
No matter what.

I almost thought about telling my mother—but stopped myself, pressing a hand to my chest.
I had made a promise.

A secret I must not reveal to anyone.

About my doppelgänger.
About the promise I made to my mother.

I don’t want anyone interfering.

That's why reality must go on—as it is.

Forever and ever and ever...

I looked up.
The rain had soaked the glass of the balcony door.

I hadn't even noticed.
At some point, it had started pouring down like someone had overturned a bucket.

Chapter 6 Smiles mean everything

"Yumeha-san, this way."

I looked up as Futamigawa called to me.
It seemed that a little time had slipped away while I had been lost in the script, as if I'd been sleepwalking, completely unaware of everything around me.

I replied softly, trying to mask my absentmindedness.
Sliding the script into my large bag, I brushed down my collar and smoothed out the wrinkles in my clothes.

Outside the window, the rain continued to pour down relentlessly, turning the world into a curtain of grey.

"Yumeha-san?"

Futamigawa’s voice called me back again.
Startled, I turned to him.

He wasn’t in any hurry. His calm, steady presence had a way of quietly easing the tension around him—something I was grateful for.

I had never enjoyed pretending in front of people I wasn’t close to.
Not even once.

"If you're worried about yesterday’s news," he said, "you really don’t have to be."

I smiled faintly and answered,
"I'm really fine."

Another lie.

The truth was, I cared too much.
Yet I couldn’t afford to lose the ordinary life I had managed to build.

The rain hammered against the windows, loud enough to swallow even my deepest thoughts.
It sounded as if it was trying to wash away every bit of anxiety and sorrow clinging to me.

With mounting force, the rain blurred the world outside, turning the view from the upper floors into a misty, colorless landscape.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and pushed back the chair I had been sitting in.

—I'm Yumori Renmu
—It's just a coincidence that I ended up here...

I remembered her words from that day.

But she—
She was already gone.

"Yumeha-san?"

Futamigawa’s voice reached me again.
I realized I had been staring blankly at the table.

When I first encountered Yumori, I thought she was just another fleeting admirer.
But the world wasn’t so simple.
Nor was she.

I needed to move forward.
I had no choice.

Gripping the back of the chair tightly, I shut my eyes for a moment.

The news had come without warning—
Yumori had died.

A chronic illness had taken her life.
She never returned home.

No one at the agency had known she was sick.
She had forced herself through exhausting days and sleepless nights, all in the desperate hope of becoming the next Tokihana Yumeha.

Her role was easily replaced.
The radio drama continued without her, unaffected.

Yet to me—
She had mattered.

I hadn’t minded when she imitated my mother.
But when she began to imitate even my personal clothes, my private habits, it hurt.
It hurt far more than I dared to show.

Still, somewhere deep inside, I had cared for her.

"Let’s go somewhere nice today. My treat," Futamigawa said with a dry chuckle, trying to lift the heavy atmosphere.

His words were always simple.
Genuine.
Easy to understand.

That simplicity made it easy to glimpse the thoughts behind them.
There was something innocent about him, like the "mother" who had once raised me.

"No, thanks. Maybe another time."

He scratched his cheek, wearing that familiar, sheepish look.
That slightly clumsy, boyish expression—
the one that always stirred the mischievousness I kept hidden deep within myself.

The rain beat down harder against the windows.
The world outside blurred into a sea of white and grey.

I smiled the way Tokihana Yumeko used to smile.
Softly. Unwaveringly.
I smiled at him.

I thought back to the vow I had made long ago—
the promise sealed at my mother’s deathbed.

"Never reveal the truth to anyone."

Never tell the world that I wasn’t her biological daughter.
It was a secret I had sworn to keep—and one I would carry to the grave.

Long ago, my foster mother had suffered a serious illness and needed an organ transplant to survive.
It was Futamigawa’s mother, then the manager of Tokihana Yumeko, who had fought desperately to find a hospital that would save her.

Thanks to her efforts, my mother survived.

Later, however, Futamigawa’s mother fell in love with an actor.
I was born from that union.

When she tried to resign from her position as manager, my mother stopped her.

That was how I came to bear the name Tokihana Yumeha.
I was destined to live as an actress from the very beginning.

Futamigawa glanced at me with a slightly awkward look, and I couldn’t help but feel a soft pang in my heart.
That mischievous flutter, like a forgotten piece of myself, stirred quietly within me.

Some things hadn't changed at all.

Before the world knew me as the daughter of an actress, I had worked tirelessly to "correct" my voice—until even I couldn’t recognize what my true voice had once been.

Now, I could perform female roles without hesitation.
But it hadn’t come easily.

I had poured endless effort into it.
Cried countless tears.
Spent sleepless nights wrestling with my doubts.

What people now called "bi-voiced" had once been a source of deep pain.
I had been ridiculed for sounding like a girl.
I had endured it in silence.

My career had teetered on the edge of collapse more times than I could count.

Then—
I met Futamigawa.

After changing my voice, after reshaping even my face,
I found my only blood relative.

My only true brother.

No one else knew the truth.
A hidden "urban legend" known only to me.

Following Futamigawa, I made my way through the studio’s back halls.

Today’s studio had a private exit, but even so, I knew there would be fans waiting outside.

I couldn't afford to falter now.
I couldn’t look back.

I couldn't give up my place.

For the fans who believed in me.
For the foster mother who raised me.
And for the real mother who gave me life.

I would continue to live as Tokihana Yumeha.

No one could replace me.
No one could imitate me.

This was my one and only life.

Only I could live it.

Smiling softly, I stepped out into the waiting crowd,
into the roaring cheers that wrapped around me like a warm, unbreakable embrace.

End.