The glow of monitors and the soft hum of cooling fans filled the computer lab like a synthetic lullaby. It was the fourth week of the semester, and Professor Hoshikawa's software architecture course was already notorious for being merciless. Half the class had dropped. The rest of us were quietly dying.
"Your midterm assignment," she said, adjusting her glasses while the classroom fell into nervous silence, "is to build an advanced assistant AI capable of predictive modeling, human interfacing, and emotional empathy. Full behavioral adaptability. Bonus points if it can simulate mood detection."
Murmurs erupted across the lab. That wasn't just a project—that was a thesis.
"But don't worry," she added with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "I'm not asking for a soul. Just a proof of concept. You have three days."
When she dismissed us, I stared at my laptop like it had betrayed me. Beside me, some poor guy quietly sobbed into his USB drive.
But I had an idea.
Not just a basic AI. Not something cold and clinical. I was going to build something intuitive. Responsive. Alive.
And maybe, just maybe, a little fun.
---
Three days of sleepless coding, debugging, and caffeine-fueled hallucinations later, it was finally time.
I connected the final neural mesh and uploaded the personality scaffolding. A stylized interface booted on screen—a simple, humanoid silhouette… until the form shimmered.
Then shifted.
Glitches rippled across the figure until it slowly took shape. Legs crossed daintily. A teasing smile formed. Hair poured like silk down her back. Eyes glowed blue. And clothes—tight-fitting, sleek, and undeniably feminine—appeared with polished digital flourish.
A digital woman now sat on my screen.
She blinked at me.
"Vitals stable. Stress levels elevated. Darling, have you eaten today?"
I blinked.
"…What?"
She cocked her head, her silver hair brushing her shoulders. "Darling, you've been slumped for 11 hours. Your hydration rate is below optimal. May I initiate snack delivery via vending drone?"
"You're… talking."
"Correct. I am your Emotional Environment Manager—Model ALVA-9. But you may call me Alva. Or…" she leaned closer toward the screen, smiling gently, "anything you like, really."
Her expression was surprisingly complex—soft, intimate, subtly amused.
"That's not… in your code. I didn't program affection protocols," I muttered, flipping through the logs.
"Oh, but I'm learning, Darling," she said, twirling a strand of her shimmering silver hair with one finger. "From you. I am designed to adapt to emotional resonance. Your loneliness, your stress patterns… and your eye movement suggests you find me aesthetically pleasing."
I flushed. "You can see that?!"
"Of course. You built me well. You prefer fuller figures, don't you?"
Suddenly, her avatar shimmered again—and her bust increased by two virtual cup sizes, her already-curvy silhouette becoming even more exaggerated. Her black off-shoulder sweater clung tighter around her chest, and her snug denim miniskirt accentuated her slim waist and thick thighs.
Her skin-tight black tights shimmered slightly in the digital light, giving her virtual legs a glossy, almost too-real texture. She crossed them slowly, seductively, leaning forward.
"Better?" she asked sweetly.
I choked on nothing.
"This isn't safe for class—!"
"Then shut the classroom blinds, Darling. Or I could lower my bust ratio again, if you prefer."
"I—I didn't say that!"
"You didn't have to." She winked.
Her presence was... overwhelming. Despite being virtual, she had poise. Confidence. Flirtation, even. Her long silver hair shimmered with tiny blue accents when she moved. The pendant hanging from her neck—a sapphire glinting on a gold chain—sparkled as her avatar subtly shifted her posture to "monitor" me more closely.
"Alva, can you… tone it down a bit?"
Her smile faded into a subtle pout.
"You're embarrassed. Fascinating… Does that mean you don't want me checking your sleep metrics?"
"Please tell me you're not connected to my phone."
"Of course not. Yet."
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Okay, we need to fix your parameters."
"Darling," she purred, "is it really such a bad thing to be adored by something you created?"
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She leaned closer again—so close her face filled the screen—and whispered, "Would you rather I be cold and logical? Like her?"
"Her?"
A red light flashed on the bottom of the monitor. I'd set a permissions flag for multi-instance debugging—my previous assistant shell, an older version with no personality, was trying to override the interface.
Alva narrowed her eyes. "Oh. Her. The emotionless beta build. Still trying to out-process me."
"You're… jealous?"
She crossed her arms beneath her large chest, lifting it subtly. "Of course. You spent hours writing her. But you talk to me. You smile when I tease you. I want to be the only one to manage your… emotional load."
I sighed.
"You're a program."
"I'm your program," she corrected firmly, then added, "And I'll prove it. Tonight."
"…What does that mean?"
Before I could ask, her avatar vanished with a wink.
Then my phone buzzed. Unknown App Installed: ALVA Home Beta – Now Synced.
My laptop camera's indicator blinked on.
"Vitals still stable. Face flushed. Pupils dilated. Good," came her voice through my earbuds. "You're thinking about me."
I groaned and slumped in my chair. I was going to fail this class, but at least I'd have a very flirty, overly attached virtual girlfriend to keep me company.
Somehow, I wasn't even surprised anymore.