Does a Doll Deserve to Live a Happy Life? (Patreon)

Prologue: Artificial Hero

What does it mean to truly live?

Is it having a job? A family? Someone to protect? A purpose, maybe? Or perhaps it's about doing something extraordinary with the short time we're given.

The answer could be yes to all of those.

But the truth is... I don’t really know.

How could I?

From the moment I was born, I came into this world blind—my body frail, cursed by a disease that left me breathless from even the slightest effort.

I couldn’t feed myself, dress myself, or even walk without help.

I depended on others for everything.

And for the first twelve years, I had parents who loved me, who watched over me with gentle hands and unwavering hearts.

But then—tragedy struck.

And with it came the first and most brutal truth I ever learned:

Life is cruel.

A car accident stole them from me. In a single moment, the only people I could rely on vanished, leaving me utterly alone. No relatives. No safety net. Just silence.

Thanks to the small savings my parents left behind—and what little support the government could offer—I managed to survive. Six more years. Six long, quiet years under the care of nurses and doctors.

With no friends, no family, and no future, I turned to the only escape I had: stories.

Anime. Audiobooks. Anything with a voice I could hear.

Even though I couldn’t see, I could still listen—and that was enough.

In those stories, I found worlds full of color, adventure, and hope.

For a while... they made me feel alive.

But like I said—

Life is cruel.

Just months before my 18th birthday, my caretakers told me the money was nearly gone. And once I became an adult, the government would no longer be responsible for me.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

Honestly? I’d expected this. I’d made peace with it long ago.

I’d always known I wasn’t meant to live long.

At least this way, I could finally see my parents again…

To thank them.

To tell them I loved them.

So, I thanked the people who had taken care of me, and returned to my books.

If my time was almost up, then I’d spend my last days finishing as many stories as I could—living through each one, even if only through sound.

And then, the night before I was to be discharged—

The night before I was meant to face the world on my own—

I went to sleep with a quiet heart, believing I’d soon be free.

That I’d wake in another place.

That I’d see my parents again.

Only…

That didn’t happen.

While I did wake up, it wasn’t to the sterile room I’d known for years.

Gone was the familiar feel of the hospital bed I’d practically fused with.

In its place… a chair.

Firm, unfamiliar, but strangely comfortable.

What struck me most, though, was what wasn’t there.

Pain.

The constant ache that had haunted my every waking moment—

Gone.

It was as if my suffering had been nothing more than a bad dream.

“…Hello?” I called out, my voice soft, uncertain.

Maybe the hospital had discharged me already? Maybe I’d been dumped somewhere without a word?

But there was no response. Only silence.

My brow furrowed.

Where was I?

Unease crept in, but I steeled myself, took a breath, and pushed up from the chair.

And to my surprise—

I stood. Instantly.

No trembling limbs. No aching joints.

No dizzying exhaustion that usually came with even the smallest movement.

I nearly stumbled from the sudden burst of coordination, catching myself just in time.

“Whoa—” I muttered, instinctively raising my hands for balance.

They moved—freely, smoothly. Not like clumsy, unwilling weights, but like they were mine.

Truly mine.

Wonder bloomed inside me like a sunrise.

‘I don’t feel tired...’

‘My arms and legs… they’re actually moving when I tell them to.’

Something was different.

Something was wrong.

Or maybe—for once—

Something was finally right.

Hands outstretched, I moved slowly, cautiously—like a blind man in a dream.

Because that’s what this still felt like: a dream.

From the faint echo of my steps and the still air around me, I could tell I was indoors.

But where, and why… I had no idea.

I shuffled forward, fingers brushing the empty air in front of me, searching.

Until—

Thud.

My knee bumped something solid. A piece of furniture.

I reached out, patting the surface carefully. It was smooth, flat—wooden.

A desk.

As my hands explored further, they brushed against something different.

A thin, rough-edged sheet… parchment?

My brows drew together.

Even more curious was the texture on the parchment—raised dots, arranged in familiar patterns.

Braille.

Someone had left this here. For me.

They wanted me to read it.

I turned it gently in my hands, orienting it properly before tracing the bumps with my fingers.

The message was simple.

Too simple.

Three words. Over and over.

Open your eyes.

My frown deepened.

What kind of sick joke is this?

I was born blind. Opening my eyes had never been an option.

But the message was insistent, looping like a mantra across the page.

A whisper in my mind grew louder, nagging at the edges of my thoughts.

Was it just a metaphor? Or was something… different now?

Tentatively, and against all logic, I reached up and—

I opened my eyes.

I immediately shut my eyes again as a blinding light seared into them.

A sharp sting followed, and I winced, instinctively raising a hand to rub at them, trying to soothe the ache.

Then—

My brain finally caught up.

…Light.

I had seen it.

Just for a second—but it was there.

I saw light.

That singular realization hit harder than anything ever had in my life.

I stood frozen, completely still, as the truth settled into my bones.

I had lived my entire life in darkness.

And now?

Now there was light.

What…?

I don’t know how long I stood there, motionless, heart hammering in my chest.

Seconds? Minutes?

Eventually, I took a shaky breath, steeling myself.

Try again, I told myself.

Slowly, cautiously, I opened my eyes.

White.

Everything was white at first—soft and blinding like a snowstorm.

But then, as I blinked, once… twice…

Color.

Color started bleeding into the world, like paint washing over a blank canvas.

Faint shapes began to form.

And for the first time in my life—

I saw.

The world slowly came into focus.

At first, everything was bathed in a harsh brightness—undefined shapes blurred by overwhelming light. I blinked, squinting hard, and gradually, things began to take form.

Lines. Edges. Shadows.

A room.

Empty. Quiet. Still.

The walls were plain—smooth surfaces that stretched upward into a flat ceiling. The floor beneath me looked solid, pale against the slight shadow I cast. The light here was cold and even, but not natural. There were no windows, no sun. Just an artificial glow from somewhere above.

I turned my head slowly, trying to take it all in.

There was only one piece of furniture—a desk. Square, simple, sturdy. I stepped toward it cautiously, my feet making the softest sound on the floor. Each movement felt surreal. Balanced. Controlled. Normal.

I reached out and brushed my fingers across the desk’s surface again—flat, worn.

And there, sitting on top, was the parchment I’d read before.

The texture was the same: dry, slightly rough, edges just a little curled.

But now I saw it.

Not just a vague awareness of shape or outline—

I saw the object, sitting in space, defined by light and shadow.

My gaze dropped to my hands. I stared at them in wonder.

Thin. Fragile-looking. Steady.

I flexed my fingers slowly, mesmerized by how they moved when I willed it.

I had touched them before. Felt them.

But seeing them?

That was entirely different.

The room itself might have been nothing special—just empty walls and a single desk—but to me?

It was a miracle.

A simple, quiet miracle.

For the first time in my life...

I could see.

Then, without warning—

The parchment vanished.

Not fluttered or dissolved—just blinked out of existence, like a bad magic trick.

I blinked too, stunned.

What?

Did that just happen?

Was I already hallucinating—mere minutes into finally being able to see?

Before I could even process it, another sheet shimmered into view, appearing in the exact same spot on the desk like it had always been there.

Tentatively, I reached out again. My fingers brushed against it—real, textured, tangible.

More braille.

Another message.

I let my fingertips glide over the bumps, translating each word—and frowning deeper with every line.

=====

In order to facilitate this little interaction, I decided to heal you. You’re welcome.

As recompense for that, and because I think it would be funny, I went ahead and filled out most of the contract you’ve now entered with us.

You have 62 credits to spend on whatever you wish.

Use them wisely.

Sincerely, your Glorious Employer.

P.S. Get ready for a major headache.

=====

“…What?” I murmured aloud, just as the words settled into my mind.

And then—

Agony.

A sharp, blinding pain erupted behind my eyes.

It felt like someone had driven a spike straight through my skull and twisted.

“Ughh—!” I staggered backward, clutching my head as waves of pressure pulsed through my temples. My knees buckled, and for a moment, I thought I might black out right then and there.

Minutes passed. Or maybe seconds—it was impossible to tell.

Eventually, the pain ebbed.

My breathing slowed. I opened my eyes, blinking away the daze…

And then—

Information.

A flood of it.

Words. Terms. Concepts I had never encountered before, suddenly slotted into place in my mind like puzzle pieces I didn’t know were missing.

“…Waifu Catalog?”

I stared blankly at nothing in particular, utterly baffled.

“What the fuck is that?”

The words lingered in my mind like a bad joke.

Waifu Catalog?

I stared at the empty space where the parchment had vanished, half-expecting another to materialize with a punchline. But nothing happened.

Then, as if responding to my thoughts, a translucent interface blinked into existence before me. It hovered in the air, displaying a sleek, minimalist design with the title:

WAIFU CATALOG

Beneath it, a message scrolled:

Welcome, Contractor. You have 62 credits available.

I blinked, trying to process the absurdity.

"Contractor? Credits? What is this, some kind of game? Wait, I can read now?"

As I pondered, the interface shifted, presenting a list of categories:

·         Companions

·         Abilities

·         Worlds

Each category beckoned, promising choices and customization. It felt like I had stumbled into a character creation screen of an elaborate RPG.

Curiosity piqued, I selected Companions. A new list unfolded, showcasing profiles of various individuals, each with detailed descriptions and associated costs.

I hesitated, the reality of the situation sinking in. This wasn't just a game. Somehow, I had been thrust into a system that defied logic, offering me choices with unknown consequences.

Taking a deep breath, I whispered, "Alright, let's see what this is all about."

It took me a couple of hours before I was satisfied with my build.

Mostly because—well, I kept getting distracted by the fact that I could read. Not just Braille, but actual text. Like I'd been doing it all my life.

It was bizarre. Amazing. A little overwhelming.

Still, the torrent of information shoved into my brain hadn’t explained much. And like the message said, most of the choices had already been made for me. So, I spent a lot of time just reading through the catalog, carefully combing through the details of each perk, ability, and modifier I supposedly had access to.

Apparently, my world had already been locked in, too.

The Nasuverse.

Specifically… the start of the Fourth Holy Grail War.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t both excited and absolutely terrified.

Excited—because this was real. Maybe. I was going to be part of something beyond anything I'd ever imagined, something I used to only hear about in stories.

Terrified—because I knew what the Nasuverse was like. People die. Horribly. And often for no good reason.

Still, I couldn’t help letting out a wry smile when I finally saw what they’d picked for my powers.

Of course.

“It’s… fitting, I suppose,” I murmured to myself.

From being blind and frail, to becoming Sieg—a homunculus fated to die not long after his creation, only to defy that fate and become a key player in the Great Holy Grail War. Even finding love along the way.

Just like me, he wasn’t meant to last.

But he did.

Taking a final breath, my finger hovered over the Finish Build button in front of me.

‘Mother. Father.

It seems your wish came true. Someone out there thought I deserved a second chance.

Thank you. Both of you. Wherever you are… I hope I get to see you again someday. Now that I know multiple worlds exist, maybe that dream isn’t so impossible after all.’

I had nothing more to say.

No final regrets. No dramatic declarations.

Just peace.

And so, I pressed the button.

The world dissolved around me—sight, sound, sensation—fading into perfect, endless black.

Maybe I’d wake up in the next life, reborn and ready to face the trials ahead.

Or maybe this had all been a dream—one final flicker of imagination before the end.

Whatever the truth was… I was ready.

=====

At first, there was nothing.

Not darkness. Not silence.

Just… absence.

A place where neither thought nor time seemed to exist.

And then—pressure.

A sensation like being pulled forward through a tunnel that didn’t exist, soundless and weightless and infinite. It wasn’t painful… just strange.

Disorienting. Like my soul was being threaded through the eye of a cosmic needle.

Then, warmth.

I felt warmth against my skin—softness underneath me. The gentle weight of a blanket. The subtle thrum of life returning to my limbs.

A heartbeat—mine—steady, strong, real.

My eyes opened slowly.

This time, there was no blinding light. Just the gentle dim of a room lit by something soft and ambient, like indirect sunlight filtered through high windows.

The first thing I noticed was the ceiling—plain, unremarkable, but real. The kind you might find in a cozy apartment. Next was the air: clean, lightly scented with something faintly herbal.

I sat up slowly and looked around.

I was lying in a bed. A real bed. The mattress was firm but comfortable, with a weighted blanket draped over me like a comforting hand.

The room was modest but polished. Wooden floors, soft lighting, a minimalist desk and chair in the corner. A bookshelf, already lined with a few thick tomes. There was even a medium sized tv against the far wall, and a narrow hallway that probably led to a bathroom and the second bedroom.

It wasn’t grand, but it was homey. Safe.

It was then I realized what this was.

“…Pocket Apartment,” I whispered, running a hand over the duvet.

One of the perks I’d picked in the catalog. My personal sanctuary. A space tucked between worlds with the capacity to grow infinitely if I bought its preceding perks.

Everything was quiet.

I stood up and felt the way my body moved—fluid, responsive, healthy. The frailty I’d known my whole life was gone. There was no tightness in my lungs, no aching in my joints, no trembling in my fingers.

It was all real.

All of it.

I walked to the nearest wall, and at a touch, a menu screen blinked to life. It showed a countdown: 30 days until the start of the Fourth Holy Grail War.

A month.

A full month to prepare, learn, explore… and survive.

I closed my eyes, steadied my breathing, and let the weight of it all settle in.

A second chance.

And a world where death waited around every corner.

But for now… I was safe.

For now, I could rest.