The vast silence of my room that night, after my frustrating attempts to recreate that genuine connection, felt heavier than usual. E.R.I.S, sitting innocently on my burner phone, pulsed with its faint, inviting glow. It was my ultimate cheat code, my endless undo button. But the truth gnawed at me: those effortless, unplanned moments with Airi – the library, the flower photo – they weren't about E.R.I.S. They were about something else. Something messy and unscripted and real.
The loneliness was a sharp, unexpected pang. What was the point of "perfecting" an interaction if only I remembered the failures, if only I was building a connection on a foundation of erased realities? I wanted her. Not a flawless script, but the real, unpredictable her. And if I wanted that, I had to be real too.
The next morning, a decision solidified in my sleep-deprived brain: I wouldn't use E.R.I.S for every little social faux pas anymore. Only if it was absolutely, irrevocably necessary. This was a terrifying thought. What if I messed up? What if I said something completely stupid and she never wanted to talk to me again? The old Shou would have rewound without a second thought. But this new, slightly more terrified Shou just… wouldn't.
My first test came in the hallway before first period. Tanaka, bless his logical heart, tried to explain a complex physics problem to me. I zoned out, muttered something about "quantum entanglement being basically a fancy word for magic," and he groaned, rubbing his temples. The old me would have rewound, delivered a perfectly intelligent, thoughtful response to impress him. But this time, I just winced internally. "Yeah, yeah, I'll figure it out later," I said, and walked away. The world didn't end. Tanaka just looked a little more exasperated. It felt… surprisingly okay.
This new resolve paid off, not in perfect moments, but in perfectly real ones.
Later that week, I found myself waiting outside the art classroom. Not because I'd hacked Airi's schedule, but because I'd actually been working on a coding project in the adjoining computer lab and happened to finish at the same time. The hallway was quieter than usual, most students already heading home or to clubs.
The door opened and Airi stepped out, a large portfolio clutched under her arm. Her brow was furrowed, a slight pout on her lips. She didn't see me at first.
"Airi?" I said, my voice a little rougher than I intended.
She jumped, startled, and then her face brightened. "Oh! Kaito-kun! Hi!" She gestured vaguely at her portfolio. "Just finished up. This drawing is giving me so much trouble."
"Oh?" I asked, genuinely curious. "What's up?"
She sighed dramatically, a cute little puff of air. "It's a perspective drawing. Our teacher wants us to draw the school courtyard from the main gate, but I just can't get the vanishing points right. Everything looks… flat!" She made a frustrated gesture, and I found myself chuckling.
"Flat, huh?" I said. "Well, I might not be an artist, but I know a thing or two about perspectives. Digital ones, anyway." I pointed to a nearby bench. "Want me to take a look? No E.R.I.S involved, just… my actual brain power."
Her eyes widened, a hopeful sparkle in them. "Really? You'd do that?"
For the next fifteen minutes, we sat on the bench, her portfolio open between us. I wasn't an artist, but I understood geometry, and how lines converged. I pointed out subtle tricks, how the eye perceives distance, how to use architectural cues to establish vanishing points. I even drew a few quick, crude lines on a spare piece of paper to illustrate a point. Airi leaned in, listening intently, her hair brushing my arm, a faint, sweet scent of… something like lavender and charcoal? It was surprisingly pleasant.
She didn't giggle or bounce. She was serious, focused, absorbing every word. And as I spoke, I wasn't thinking about how to phrase things perfectly. I was just explaining, genuinely trying to help.
When I finished, she stared at the drawing, then back at my crude sketches. "Kaito-kun," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "That makes so much sense! Oh my goodness, thank you! I can actually see it now! You're amazing, even without a computer!" She looked up at me, a genuine, unburdened smile lighting up her face. It was a soft, warm glow that made my chest feel full, in a way no perfectly executed loop ever had.
"Just… digital problem-solving, like I said," I mumbled, but I couldn't help the small, proud smile that touched my lips.
We walked home together again that day, a natural continuation of our bench discussion. We talked about classes, about what we wanted to do after high school. There were no grand pronouncements, no perfectly crafted jokes. Just two people, walking and talking, the quiet comfort of shared presence growing between us. I didn't reach for my phone once. This felt right. My infatuation was deepening, turning into something more profound than just a crush on a pretty girl. It was the thrill of genuine connection, of being seen for who I was, awkwardness and all. E.R.I.S faded into the background, a tool I knew I had, but hoped I wouldn't need.
That night, after our long, easy walk home, I fell asleep almost instantly, the pleasant warmth of our afternoon conversation still lingering in my mind.
The next morning, however, something felt… off. I woke with a vague sense of unease, a knot tightening in my stomach. I checked my phone for messages, but there was nothing. I went through my usual morning routine, but the cheerful anticipation I'd started to feel, the quiet expectation of seeing Airi's bright smile in the hallway, was absent. It was a subtle shift, but I felt it. I didn't see her on my usual walk to school, nor in the bustling main entrance. The school felt eerily… quieter.
As I walked down the crowded hall towards my locker, a low hum of hushed voices drifted through the usual morning chatter. Not the usual boisterous greetings or locker-slamming, but something far more subdued. My ears, usually tuned to the rhythm of my synth-wave, picked up fragments.
"...terrible, absolutely terrible…"
"...on Route 17? Near the construction site?"
"...they're saying it was a truck…"
My blood ran cold. Route 17. That was our route home, the one Airi and I took. The one we had walked together yesterday. My stride faltered. The background hum of the school, once a dull drone, sharpened into a thousand tiny, stabbing sounds.
"...they still haven't released the name, but…"
"...heard it was someone from school. A student."
My heart began to pound, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. My vision narrowed, the faces of students around me blurring into indistinct shapes. My breath hitched.
"...from Class 1-A, apparently. A transfer student."
The world tilted. The air left my lungs in a strangled gasp. Airi. Transfer student. Class 1-A. The pieces slammed together with a sickening, horrifying finality. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. My hands clenched, nails digging into my palms. The casual chatter around me, the mundane details of everyday life, felt like a cruel, twisted joke.
My phone, clutched in my pocket, vibrated. A sudden, sharp notification. The screen, briefly visible through the fabric, displayed a single, glowing line:
'The Slider Cooldown has reset!'