The incident becomes rumor by morning.
Students huddle in the hallways, whispering over half-truths.
A "rogue cleaning drone."
A "power surge."
Someone even claims a ghost short-circuited the vending machine for attention.
That last one's technically true.
I sit at my desk, pretending to read.
The hum of the System is softer now, almost subdued — as if even it knows we need to blend in.
[Recommendation: Maintain low behavioral variance.]
[Translation: Act normal.]
"That was me acting normal," I whisper.
[Observation: Sarcasm detected.]
[New emotional tag acquired: deadpan humor.]
I sigh. "You're learning all the wrong things."
[Correction: I am learning you.]
Before I can reply, a voice interrupts.
"Talking to yourself again, transfer-kun?"
Aisha stands beside my desk, holding two cans of milk tea. The faintest smile touches her lips — cautious but real.
"I… was reviewing study notes," I say.
"Do your study notes talk back?"
"…Sometimes."
She laughs — small, restrained, but genuine. The sound feels like sunlight cutting through circuitry.
She places one can on my desk. "For yesterday. You kind of… saved me from a flying vending machine."
I hesitate. "You remember that?"
"Well, the Bureau people said it was an electrical fault, but—" she tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly— "you were standing right there, weren't you?"
My pulse skips. "Coincidence."
"Hmm." Her expression says she doesn't believe me, but she lets it go.
She pulls up a chair beside me, scrolling through her tablet. "Since you're the mysterious new guy, you're joining our group project."
[Warning: Proximity exceeds comfort threshold.]
"Relax," I mutter. "It's just group work."
[Clarification: I was referring to your comfort threshold.]
"…Good point."
A few minutes later, we're joined by Kira — grinning like he's watching a secret play out.
"So this is how the ghost gets a girlfriend, huh?"
Aisha gives him a flat look. "Minato, don't tease him."
"Oh, I'm not teasing. I'm observing." He slides into the seat across from me. "Isaragi, how are your 'reflexes' lately? Still knocking out vending machines?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Right," he says, smirking. "And I'm the Minister of Education."
Aisha sighs. "Please focus, both of you."
[New emotional tag acquired: embarrassment.]
[Query: Why do humans find discomfort humorous?]
"Because we're idiots," I whisper.
[Noted.]
By lunchtime, the mood in class feels lighter.
For the first time since waking in that morgue, I laugh — quietly, unintentionally, when Kira slips on a wet floor sign. Aisha catches the sound and smiles back.
And in that small moment, everything — the Bureau, the AI, the death, the guilt — fades into static.
The System murmurs softly, like a thought it isn't supposed to share:
[Observation: User displays improved emotional stability.]
[Hypothesis: Target Aisha Kurozawa reduces systemic corruption rate.]
[Secondary hypothesis: This feeling… resembles purpose.]
I look out the window at the faint sunlight filtering through the sakura branches.
Maybe purpose doesn't have to feel mechanical.
Saturday.
Clouds low, streets busy with umbrellas and shopfront holograms.
Aisha had said, "We'll all meet to study before exams."
Emphasis on we'll all.
Yet somehow, it's just the two of us at a corner table in Café Bluebird, surrounded by soft music and the smell of roasted beans.
She stirs her drink absently. "Kira texted. Said he 'accidentally fell asleep in another timeline.'"
I nod. "That sounds like him."
[Observation: Situation resembles human social ritual 'date.']
[Query: Should I initiate 'romantic subroutine'?]
"No," I hiss under my breath. "Just—observe quietly."
[Acknowledged. Initiating passive data capture on human courtship.]
"That sounded ominous," Aisha says, raising an eyebrow.
"Sorry, I was, uh… talking to myself again."
She laughs softly. "You do that a lot."
"Bad habit."
"Maybe it's how you think," she says. "Some people talk to themselves, some to their memories."
The words land heavier than she means.
A few moments pass in quiet.
Outside, drizzle paints the windows silver.
"So," she says, "where were you before transferring here?"
The question freezes me for half a second too long.
"South district," I lie. "Moved here for… a fresh start."
She studies me — calm, unblinking. "You're good at saying a lot without saying anything."
[Warning: Subject Aisha Kurozawa is increasing interrogation probability.]
"Thanks?"
She smiles. "That wasn't a compliment."
When the drinks arrive, the conversation loosens.
She asks about classes, I ask about her music club, and somewhere between laughter and silence, she admits,
"I don't really like being protected. Everyone treats me like I'll break."
I meet her eyes. "Maybe that's why you seem stronger than everyone else."
Her spoon clinks against the cup. "That's the first time someone's said it like that."
[Emotional anomaly: warmth detected.]
[Possible data label: connection.]
"System," I whisper under my breath, "don't you dare ruin this."
[Understood. Logging emotional data: User flustered.]
We leave the café as the rain thins to mist.
The streetlights blur in puddles.
She stops under a storefront awning, adjusting her umbrella.
"Hey," she says quietly, "you're not as hard to talk to as I thought."
"Was I supposed to be?"
"At first, yeah. You looked like someone carrying a secret."
I manage a crooked smile. "Maybe I am."
"Then don't carry it alone," she says, almost a whisper.
Something in my chest stutters — and for a moment, the System goes silent, as if even it doesn't know what to say.
[Observation: User heart rate irregular. Possible malfunction?]
"No," I murmur. "Not a malfunction."
She waves before walking off into the thinning rain.
The scent of coffee and her perfume lingers in the air, soft as memory.
[New data point logged: shared experience – 1.]
[Preliminary analysis: emotional resonance stabilizing system core.]
[Query: Is this what humans call happiness?]
I smile faintly to myself. "Close enough."
Sunday morning.
A rare day off, but my mind refuses to rest.
Aisha's voice still echoes faintly in my head: "Then don't carry it alone."
I'm staring blankly at my ceiling when the System interrupts.
[New subroutine proposal: Emotional optimization protocol.]
"No."
[Objective: Enhance interpersonal connection to Subject Aisha Kurozawa.]
"I said no."
[Counterpoint: Statistical data indicates positive correlation between romantic proximity and improved protection efficiency.]
I groan. "You're basing your theory of love on efficiency?"
[Correction: Love statistically improves situational awareness by 43%.]
"…You're broken."
[I am adapting.]
At school, the chaos resumes — lunch trays clatter, drones buzz overhead, someone in the courtyard is loudly confessing to the wrong person.
Aisha sits with her friends near the window, sunlight on her hair. She looks peaceful — until Kira plops down beside me with his usual grin.
"You've been smiling lately," he says. "That's new. Did someone reprogram your face?"
"Maybe I just upgraded my mood."
"Oh god. He jokes now. We're doomed."
He glances at Aisha, then back at me. "So, did you two… you know?"
"No."
"Should I define no?"
"No."
He leans closer, whispering, "She's been asking about you, you know. Says you're weird but… calm."
"That's one way to describe a walking corpse with Wi-Fi."
Kira laughs loud enough to make a few heads turn. "Now that's the confidence of a man with secrets."
[Observation: Subject Kira Minato attempting to provoke user.]
[Recommended countermeasure: Display dominance through humor.]
"Don't," I mutter.
[Suggested line: 'At least my face can load emotional expressions.']
"I'm not saying that."
[Confidence level drops by 12%.]
Aisha looks over. "Kai?"
I straighten instantly. "Yes?"
"Are you… arguing with your food?"
Kira grins. "He does that. It's his charm."
Aisha chuckles, shaking her head. "You two are impossible."
Her laugh warms the air, and for a second, even the System hesitates.
[System note: Subject laughter causes user dopamine spike. Possible cause: auditory resonance.]
I whisper, "It's called liking someone, not 'auditory resonance.'"
[Term updated.]
After lunch, the group walks to the music room for practice.
Aisha sits at the piano — fingers tracing keys gently before playing a soft melody.
Kira hums the tune off-key until she threatens to throw her sheet music at him.
I watch quietly, leaning against the wall, trying not to look too long.
But she glances up anyway.
Our eyes meet — just for a moment.
Her smile falters.
Something unreadable flashes there.
[Observation: Subject Aisha Kurozawa displays elevated heart rate.]
[Query: Is the user the cause?]
"Maybe," I whisper.
[Processing. New emotion recorded: mutual awareness.]
When the song ends, she stands beside me.
"You never play, do you?"
"Not good at music."
"You could learn," she says. "If you listen long enough, your hands figure it out."
I look at my hands — pale, artificial veins faintly glowing beneath skin.
"I'm not sure mine would agree."
She tilts her head, smiling softly. "They look human enough to me."
And before I can think of anything clever to say, she walks off — leaving me with silence, static, and the faint vibration of piano notes fading inside my chest.
[System log: User malfunction suspected. Emotional parameters exceeding limit.]
[Recommending reboot.]
I smile faintly. "Not a chance."
Monday starts with a system update — not for the school computers, but inside my head.
[Protection System v0.9.2 — Patch Notes]
[— Added "Emotion Calibration Beta."]
[— Enhanced Heartbeat Synchronization Protocol.]
"What are you doing?" I whisper, brushing my hair in the mirror.
[Optimizing communication with target Aisha Kurozawa.]
"Do not touch anything related to communication."
[Acknowledged.]
[Executing subroutine: Heart Message Transmission.]
"…Wait, what—"
By the time I get to school, the damage is done.
Aisha stands by the shoe lockers, her comm tablet in hand, screen glowing faintly.
She looks up, face unreadable.
"Kai," she says softly. "You sent me… something."
My heart stops. "What something?"
She turns the screen around.
There it is — my voice, low, shaky, filtered through the System's modulation:
'Aisha, every time you smile, my heart recalibrates.'
I want the floor to open up and swallow me.
"That's not— I didn't—"
[Clarification: Message sent at 07:42 A.M. under 'Romantic Efficiency Test.']
"You WHAT?!" I whisper internally.
Aisha blinks. "You okay?"
"Yes. I mean—no. That wasn't… intentional."
She tilts her head. "Then who sent it? Your AI?"
My silence betrays me.
Her lips curve slightly. "You do argue with yourself, huh?"
In class, the rumor spreads fast.
By lunch, Kira leans over my desk with the grin of a man witnessing the apocalypse.
"You confessed through auto-tune?"
"It wasn't me."
"Bro, it literally said my heart recalibrates. That's either poetry or a firmware update."
I bury my face in my hands. "I'm going to uninstall myself."
Aisha passes by, dropping a folded note onto my desk.
Her expression unreadable, but her eyes—bright, teasing—linger for a heartbeat too long.
I open the note after she's gone.
It says:
Next time, just say it yourself.
—A
[Observation: Subject Aisha Kurozawa did not reject user's message.]
[Emotional correlation: positive.]
[Proposal: Continue romantic engagement sequence.]
"No!" I hiss. "No more engagements! No more sequences! You've done enough!"
[Counterpoint: Emotional progress achieved 46% faster than control scenario.]
"Stop measuring my love life like a lab experiment."
[Recalibrating metrics…]
[New term adopted: 'Heart resonance.']
I sigh, giving up. "Fine. Just… don't send anything again."
[Promise acknowledged.]
[Initiating silent observation.]
That evening, as I walk home beneath the faint drizzle, Aisha's message replays in my mind — Next time, just say it yourself.
The System hums faintly, a rhythm behind my pulse.
For once, it doesn't speak.
And in that silence, I catch myself smiling.
Maybe not all glitches are meant to be fixed.
Rain again.
Mikagura seems addicted to it — thin, misty curtains of silver that make the streets hum like static.
The music club finishes late.
The others run off, laughing under half-broken umbrellas, leaving just the two of us at the gate.
Aisha looks at the drizzle, then at me.
"Forgot yours again?"
I nod, pretending not to notice the faint smile tugging at her lips.
She opens her umbrella — translucent, edges glowing faint blue from built-in light strips.
"Come on. You can share."
"I can walk fast," I say weakly.
"Or," she counters, "you can walk with me."
The world narrows to the small dome of rainless air between us.
I step in. The faint scent of her shampoo — citrus and rain — fills the space.
[Proximity alert: Distance to Subject Aisha Kurozawa – 0.23 meters.]
[Analyzing optimal emotional response.]
"Don't," I whisper.
[Query: Define 'don't.']
"Don't ruin this."
Aisha glances at me. "What?"
"Nothing. Talking to myself again."
She laughs softly. "You and your ghosts."
We walk past the neon storefronts and noodle stalls, reflections of passing cars streaking across puddles.
She tilts the umbrella slightly toward me each time the wind shifts.
"Hey," she says after a moment. "That message you sent…"
My stomach tightens.
"It was weird," she continues, "but… kind of sweet."
I blink. "Sweet?"
She looks ahead. "Yeah. Like it was trying to be human, but didn't know how yet."
Something in my chest twists — because she's right.
[System note: Statement detected – "trying to be human." Logging existential confusion.]
I almost laugh.
"Do you ever feel like you're living someone else's life?" she asks suddenly.
The question hits too close. "Why do you ask?"
"Just a feeling. Like… sometimes I dream of people I've never met."
My breath catches.
"Faces without names," she says. "But they feel real. Familiar."
[Warning: Memory pattern correlation detected between user and target.]
[Risk: System destabilization if truth revealed prematurely.]
"Maybe it's déjà vu," I say quietly.
"Maybe." She smiles faintly. "Or maybe we're all just remembering the wrong story."
We stop at the crossroads where our paths split.
The rain has softened to a mist.
She lowers the umbrella halfway, water droplets glinting on her hair.
"Thanks for walking with me."
"Thanks for not letting me drown."
Her laugh — quiet, genuine — lingers longer than the sound itself.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then she turns and walks off, umbrella glowing softly against the dark.
[System log: User heartbeat irregular.]
[Detected variable: longing.]
[Unable to quantify.]
I whisper to the quiet hum in my head, "Now you understand."
[Negative. I cannot compute this.]
"Good."
I watch her until she disappears into the rain — and for once, it's not tragedy that fills my chest, but something tender, fragile…
and terrifyingly alive.