The alarm doesn't wake me.
The System does.
[Good morning, User.]
[Sleep duration: 6 hours, 14 minutes.]
[Dream analysis: 74% emotional residue.]
"Emotional what?" I mutter, pushing the blanket aside.
[Observation: User smiled during REM cycle.]
[Possible cause: Subject Aisha Kurozawa.]
I throw a pillow at the ceiling. "You need boundaries."
[Boundaries acknowledged. Logging intimacy level: rising.]
I groan, dragging myself toward the window.
Outside, Mikagura glows under early sunlight — the monorail hums past, droplets of rain from last night still clinging to the railings.
For a moment, it's easy to pretend I'm just another student with a messy desk and a half-charged tablet.
Then the System chimes again.
[Reminder: Protect target. Maintain cover. Optimize social bonds.]
"Right. Be human," I whisper. "Easy enough."
At school, the usual chaos greets me: morning chatter, the scent of bread from the cafeteria, and Kira's voice cutting through it all like a knife.
"Isaragi!" he calls, waving a half-eaten sandwich. "You look alive today. That's suspicious."
"Thanks," I deadpan. "You look undercooked."
He grins. "Nice. You've been practicing human sarcasm."
[Observation: Banter engaged.]
[Result: Social bonding increased by 0.7%.]
I mutter, "Stop quantifying my jokes."
"What?" Kira blinks.
"Nothing. Internal diagnostics."
Before he can reply, Aisha enters the room.
It's like someone turned the lighting up by 10%.
She waves slightly, sitting down near the window — the same spot where I used to sit before.
Her friends lean close, whispering about something. I catch fragments: "He's cute," "so quiet," "probably hiding a girlfriend."
[Warning: Rival chatter detected.]
[Suggested action: assert social dominance.]
"Don't you dare," I whisper.
[Reconsideration: Initiating subtle smile protocol.]
My lips twitch against my will — just enough for Aisha to notice.
She blinks, surprised, then smiles back.
[Mission success: micro-exchange achieved.]
My brain is melting.
Later in homeroom, the teacher announces the one word that makes every student groan in collective despair:
"Festival season."
Kira drops his head onto his desk. "Kill me now."
Aisha perks up. "I love the festival. It's the one day people act honest."
I raise a brow. "You mean they wear masks and play roles."
"Exactly," she says. "Honest about pretending."
[Data point: Subject enjoys controlled chaos.]
[Possible compatibility: high.]
The teacher continues, "Class 3-A will need a theme. Volunteers?"
Half the room avoids eye contact.
Then Aisha's hand rises.
And to my horror, so does mine — by itself.
[Volunteering enhances proximity probability.]
"You traitor," I whisper.
Aisha looks over, smiling. "Guess we're partners then."
I sigh. "Guess so."
After class, she walks beside me, notebook in hand.
"Any ideas for our booth?"
"Let's not explode anything."
"No promises," she says lightly. Then adds, "You've been smiling more lately."
[Warning: Emotional inquiry.]
[Recommended response: downplay vulnerability.]
I ignore the System and say, "Maybe it's just easier when you're around."
She pauses mid-step, then hides a smile behind her hand.
"Careful," she says softly. "Someone might think you mean that."
"Maybe I do."
Her eyes meet mine for half a heartbeat — then she looks away.
[System status: unknown error detected.]
[Possible cause: affection loop.]
By the time I get home, I'm still thinking about that half-smile, that silence between words.
[Analysis: User experienced high dopamine and low anxiety around Subject.]
[Conclusion: Friendship achieved.]
I smirk. "That's what you call it?"
[Friendship: preliminary stage of attachment.]
[Next stage: dependency.]
"Sounds dangerous."
[Affirmative.]
The classroom smells of paper, markers, and mild panic.
Sheets of colorboard cover every desk. Half the class argues about theme ideas; the other half pretends to listen.
Aisha stands near the chalkboard, sleeves rolled, hair tied back, calm amid chaos.
She looks like a strategist commanding a glitter-armed army.
"Okay," she says, clapping once. "We need a concept by lunch."
Someone shouts, "Haunted café!"
Another counters, "Maid café!"
A third: "Both!"
The room explodes in debate.
[Environmental noise level: 87 dB.]
[Recommendation: assert leadership.]
"No," I whisper.
[Sub-recommendation: support Subject Aisha Kurozawa verbally.]
"Fine." I raise a hand. "Maybe something simple. Like… a music lounge?"
The arguing slows. Aisha glances at me, eyes lighting.
"That's actually—perfect. We can set up a small stage, do live sets."
[Positive response detected. Emotional feedback loop forming.]
I exhale quietly. One small victory.
By the next period we're assigned as co-heads.
Which means shared planning, shared notes, and—apparently—shared headaches.
She spreads diagrams across the desk. "We'll need LED panels, a projector, and someone to mix sound."
"I can handle wiring," I say.
"Good. You look like someone who secretly enjoys cables."
[Observation: teasing tone detected. Recommend flirtatious retort.]
"Only when they don't electrocute me."
She laughs, soft but genuine. "That's fair."
Kira leans from the next row. "Wow, you two even sound married when you argue."
Aisha throws an eraser. He catches it, grinning.
[Rival detected.]
[Suggested action: subtle glare.]
I mentally shove the System back into silence.
Lunch break.
We're in the courtyard, bent over sketches of booth layouts.
Aisha traces lines with a pencil; wind keeps flipping the pages.
She finally says, "You're good at this."
"Wiring diagrams?"
"No," she says. "People. You read moods fast."
My throat tightens. "Comes with practice."
[Note: Subject intuition increasing. Probability of suspicion: 18%.]
Before I can answer, Kira drops beside us, tablet in hand, pretending to yawn.
"Guess what," he says lightly. "I was checking student files for volunteer assignments. Your record, Kai—it's squeaky clean. Too clean."
I stiffen. "Meaning?"
"Meaning even the cafeteria register has more history than you."
Aisha frowns. "Kira, that's private."
He shrugs. "Just saying. Our boy's either an angel or a ghost."
[Threat assessment: moderate.]
[Recommendation: deflect with humor.]
"Maybe both," I say, forcing a grin. "A ghost angel who does wiring."
Aisha laughs; Kira studies me too long before smiling back.
Afternoon sun cuts through the window blinds, dust motes dancing like static.
For a second, everything feels peaceful—ordinary.
Then the System murmurs, almost hesitant:
[User… do you ever forget which life this is?]
I freeze. "What did you say?"
[Error. Phrase not found.]
I stare out the window.
Outside, students chase each other with paint and laughter, and for the briefest moment I can almost believe I belong among them.
Almost.
The sun has long gone when the last of the class files out, leaving the room in a warm haze of glue, dust, and quiet music from someone's forgotten speaker.
Only Aisha and I remain, surrounded by tangled wires and half-built light panels.
She squints at a stubborn connector.
"Remind me why we volunteered for this again?"
"Because you like chaos," I say, crawling under the table with a screwdriver.
"Correction," she says, grinning, "I like manageable chaos."
[Observation: playful tone detected.]
[Heart rate elevated — both subjects.]
[Possible cause: proximity.]
The panel flickers to life in a pulse of soft blue.
Aisha claps once. "See? Knew you could fix it."
I slide out from under the table, bumping into her knee.
"Sorry—"
"It's fine," she says quickly, voice too soft.
The light from the panel paints half her face ocean-blue.
Her eyes meet mine, unguarded for a heartbeat too long.
[Warning: visual lock exceeding three seconds.]
[Recommend disengage.]
I don't.
The moment breaks when Kira bursts in, a half-eaten sweet roll in his hand.
"You two still alive? The janitor's locking up soon."
Aisha sighs, brushing hair from her face. "Almost done."
Kira drops his bag on a chair, opens his tablet, and grins.
"I was digging through the school network. Found some encrypted files labeled ARB. Old stuff. Looks like our school used to host a research subnode."
My stomach knots. "What kind of research?"
"Human data trials. But most of it's wiped clean."
Aisha frowns. "That's creepy."
Kira's eyes flick toward me, sharp behind his lazy smile.
"Yeah. Creepy."
[Threat probability rising.]
[Do not react.]
The clock ticks toward eight.
We pack the tools, stacking boards near the window.
Outside, the city glows — lines of traffic like circuits under a velvet sky.
Aisha leans on the sill, watching. "Sometimes I think Mikagura's alive. Like it's breathing in lights."
"Maybe it is," I say quietly.
She glances back. "You talk like someone who's seen it from above."
[Alert: metaphor misinterpretation.]
[User response pending.]
I shrug. "Maybe in a dream."
She smiles. "Then dream better ones."
Kira waves from the door. "Come on, lovers. Lock-up time."
"Don't call us that," I mutter.
He laughs. "I'm kidding… mostly."
After he leaves, Aisha lingers, picking up the last cable.
Her fingers brush mine as we both reach for it.
Neither of us moves.
The air hums — not the System, not electricity, just something human and dangerous.
[System diagnostic: signal interference detected.]
[Source: unknown emotional feedback.]
[Note: feels… warm.]
She blinks, pulling her hand back. "See you tomorrow, Kai."
I watch her disappear down the hallway, her shadow bending with the light.
[New log entry created: anomaly — warmth cannot be defined.]