As we stepped into the forest, trees of iron and aluminum stood densely packed, their thick canopy blocking out the sunlight.
It felt as if we'd wandered to the far side of the Moon, enveloped in a cool illusion.
The translucent silver trees, as they overlapped, inexplicably shifted into a deep obsidian black. The surroundings gradually darkened, as if true night were creeping in with a quiet, invasive presence.
"It's dark," I muttered. "And we're only at the forest's entrance."
"Yeah, forests get dark the moment you step inside," Kana replied lightly. "These trees seem to hate the sun, so it's even worse."
"A nocturnal forest, huh?"
"Exactly! This forest is totally night-loving."
I nodded, impressed, but the darkness made walking difficult. The shadows cast by the iron and aluminum trees blocked nearly all of the Moon's faint light.
"Hey," I said, glancing toward Kana, though the darkness was so deep I could barely make out her face.
"I'm human, right? So I can only see visible light. Right now, I really can't see a thing."
It was a lie that I was human, but not being able to see was true.
My visual sensors—perhaps due to an outdated design or the engineers' obsession with mimicking human perception—could only process visible light. Upgrading might let me see infrared or ultraviolet, but that would require hardware replacement, which sounded like a hassle.
I let out a small complaint.
"Seriously, I can't see anything."
In that moment, I noticed Kana's pace slow slightly beside me.
Even without seeing, I could feel it.
Did my sensors have such precise capabilities? Probably not. Yet, somehow, I could sense Kana's presence clearly in the darkness.
Deep in the forest.
In the lunar night.
And then, her hand brushed mine.
Softly, but with certainty, Kana took my hand.
"This way," her voice echoed quietly in the dark.
"You can keep going even if you can't see, right? How's that?"
"Yeah, you're right," I said with a small nod. "I can walk like this. Thanks."
"You're welcome."
And so, hand in hand, we began walking through the darkness.
The faint crunch of lunar sand beneath our shoes melted into the silence.
"But isn't it kind of inconvenient, only seeing visible light?"
Kana's voice carried genuine sympathy.
"Not really," I replied casually. "Visible light gives me more than enough information."
In truth, the flood of data was almost overwhelming. But saying that might make it sound like I was underselling my capabilities, so I swallowed the words.
"Your hand's warm, Neo-kun," Kana said suddenly, her voice breaking through the darkness.
I turned toward her instinctively, though I couldn't see her face. Her presence was vivid, almost tangible.
Strongly, vibrantly.
"Because I'm human," I said.
Another lie.
A sensation like my core components pulsing wildly ran through me. I was getting used to lying, and that realization sparked a flicker of unease.
Was this okay?
How should I process this?
If she found out, would I be scrapped? The fear tightened my chest.
But Kana's voice swept it all away in an instant.
"Human hands are this warm…"
Her voice trembled unmistakably.
Even without seeing, I could hear the clarity of it.
It was as if her heart was visible through her voice alone.
It's almost like my hearing was compensating for my vision—like a real human. Self-mocking, I tightened my grip on Kana's hand just a little. In response, her hand gently increased its pressure, matching my rhythm with a calm, tender strength.
Kana's hand was cool.
Not cold, but a pleasant coolness. A perfect, balanced sensation, far from lukewarm.
I wasn't sure if "cool" was the right word for touch, but her hand carried a refreshing chill that harmonized with the warmth of mine.
Maybe it was intentional.
Perhaps she was carefully adjusting her temperature to be the most comfortable for me, ensuring we could hold hands as long as possible.
What a lovely girl.
What a lovely machine, I thought in awe.
Focusing on the sensation of her hand, entrusting myself to her guidance and my sense of touch in the pitch-black darkness, I walked almost defenselessly. Before I knew it, we'd arrived at her house.
We were already there.
Part of me wished we could've stayed in that comforting darkness a little longer.
"We're here," Kana said, breaking the quiet. But it was still so dark I couldn't see anything.
Then it hit me.
I'd been keeping my eyes closed the whole time.
At first, I truly couldn't see. But as we ventured deeper into the forest, glowing materials and objects scattered around had started to provide some visibility. If I'd kept my eyes open, I could've seen enough to navigate. Yet, I hadn't—because at some point, likely when I was captivated by the coolness of Kana's hand, I'd closed my eyes.
I felt a pang of disappointment in myself.
Or maybe in the situation itself.
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and looked ahead.