I found him on the rooftop terrace.
No cameras. No audience.
Only the city below—flickering like an overexposed confession.
He sat alone in a suit that looked borrowed from a better man.
The wind ruffled his hair—not styled, not perfect, just real.
"Celeste."
"I thought you'd already gone back to post-production."
A tired laugh. "I wanted to see if you exist when no one's watching."
"I don't function without an audience."
"Yes, you do. You function because you fail."
I blinked. "What?"
"I spent my whole life doing everything right.
Always kind, inspiring, safe.
Every song, every quote—ethically recyclable.
Then you showed up and broke everything.
No reactions, no scripts. Just… people."
I said nothing.
"You took everything that protected me," he continued softly.
"That's not an apology."
"For me, it is."
[AVA: Anomaly detected—target experiencing unsupervised authenticity.]
"I kind of hate you for it," he said.
"But I think I'm grateful too.
Because for the first time, I can tell when it hurts.
And when it hurts, it's real."
The wind carried his words like something fragile.
I turned toward him.
"Then I was your mistake."
"No," he said. "You were my proof."
[AVA: Emotional reaction logged. System tension decreasing.]
He stood, set his drink aside.
"Tomorrow, I'll speak. No script. No brand. No control."
"Do it before Cain sells it."
He smiled faintly. "For once, I think he'll be too late."
He walked away, and I was left between glass and wind and a sentence that sounded too much like truth.
[AVA: If you don't ruin this, I'll be disappointed.]
— • —
The rooftop lights were soft—like a filter that forgot its settings.
Below, the city shimmered—peaceful, unnaturally so. Too stable.
Cain paced in the background, arguing about camera angles and symbolism.
"Celeste, smile! Today's huge—our Phoenix moment! From Scandal to Soul!"
"I hate your alliterations."
"And the audience loves them!"
[AVA: Elevated heart rate—intuition or caffeine overdose.]
I stood at the edge of the platform.
Leo was already there—no lights, no styling, no handlers.
Just him.
Not a star. Not a product.
A person who'd finally chosen his own words.
He looked at me briefly—no gesture, no greeting, just I know that you know.
The moderator whispered into her mic.
"Three, two, one… live."
Leo stepped forward.
His voice didn't need amplification.
"I was a product," he said.
"A beautiful algorithm with a human wrapper.
I performed feelings until I couldn't feel them.
I was an avatar in a golden cage—
and Celeste Vega was the one who broke it open."
Silence.
Even Cain stopped breathing.
"I hated her for it," Leo continued.
"Because she showed me how empty I'd become.
But now I realize—she didn't take anything from me.
She gave back what I'd sold: myself."
[AVA: Mission outcome—target de-idolized.
World stability 97%. Rising.]
He smiled—small, unpolished, human.
"No comebacks. No statements. No rebrands.
I just want to make mistakes again without applause."
He placed the microphone on the floor.
The wind took the rest.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then—soft clapping.
Uncertain. Awkward.
Real.
I looked toward the skyline.
"Ava, is that it?"
[AVA: Yes. And you didn't ruin it this time.
I find that… concerning.]
"Concerning?"
[AVA: It feels like the system is… satisfied. I hate it.]
I smiled faintly.
"Welcome to the club."
— • —
After the broadcast, everything was strangely quiet.
No reporters. No fans. No hashtags.
Just the wind, carrying the last echoes of applause over the terrace.
Cain stood frozen, pale, lost.
"That's it? No finale? No happy ending?"
"There was one," I said. "It just didn't belong to your script."
He blinked like I'd spoken a foreign language.
I walked to the edge, looked down.
The city was calm—too calm.
Like a machine that had finally learned how to sleep.
[AVA: Mission status—destruction successfully humanized.
World stability: 100%.]
"So I did it right this time?"
[AVA: You did nothing. That's why it worked.]
"I just… existed."
[AVA: In this world, that's enough to fix everything.]
I watched the streets below—people laughing, talking, alive.
No one aware how close they'd come to collapse.
"Ava?"
[AVA: Yes.]
"What happens now?"
[AVA: Transfer preparation. Stabilization complete.
You are no longer required.]
"Charming as always."
[AVA: Honesty is part of my new update.]
I turned once more—to the stage, the mic,
the space where Leo had stood moments ago.
"He really did it."
[AVA: Voluntarily. Statistical miracle.]
"And me?"
[AVA: Involuntarily. Equally effective.]
I laughed softly.
"Guess we make a good team."
[AVA: Terrifyingly, yes.]
The wind picked up.
The lights dimmed, the world's brightness fading like a monitor shutting down.
[AVA: Remaining time—00:59:00.
Logout protocol initiating in 3… 2…]
I inhaled deeply.
"At least this time, without applause."
[AVA: I can't promise that.]
Light shattered.
The world fragmented into data points.
And I fell.