Japan.
The streets were alive with people.
Cars passed through the crowded roads, shop signs illuminated the sidewalks, and the sound of conversations mixed with the distant announcements coming from train stations.
Among all those people walked a strange young man.
A black mask covered most of his face.
Only his eyes could be seen.
His clothes were casual, but there was something unusual about the way he carried himself. He walked with his hands in his pockets, occasionally looking around at the streets of Tokyo as though he still couldn't believe he was actually there.
The Masked Man.
He had been wandering around Japan for a while now.
He had eaten ramen.
He had tried sushi.
He had taken a taxi.
He had attempted to talk to several girls.
And every single attempt had ended with the same result.
They ran away.
Even a random dog had shown him absolutely no respect.
The Masked Man looked down at his shoe.
"...I still can't believe that dog did that."
He sighed.
"Japan is beautiful."
He looked around.
"But apparently Japan doesn't like me."
He continued walking.
Then—
He suddenly stopped.
His eyes widened.
Across the street, walking calmly through the crowd, was a short robotic figure.
The Masked Man stared.
His eyes widened even further.
"No way..."
He crossed the street almost immediately.
"WAIT!"
The robotic figure turned around.
The Masked Man ran toward him.
"I can't believe I found you here!"
He stopped in front of the robot, almost unable to contain his excitement.
"Sir! I'm a huge fan of yours! Could I get your autograph?"
The robot stared at him.
There was a long silence.
Then the robot's expression became irritated.
"Who the hell are you?"
The Masked Man froze.
The robot pointed at him.
"And what's with that ridiculous mask? Who even are you?"
The Masked Man immediately bowed.
"I'm sorry, sir!"
He straightened himself.
"You can call me... Masked Man."
The robot stared at him for several seconds.
Then his expression changed.
He seemed to be examining the strange young man carefully.
This kid...
He's barely eighteen.
And yet he doesn't even seem to know who he is.
That's why he hides his face.
The robot crossed his arms.
"You're a web novelist, aren't you?"
The Masked Man blinked.
"...Yes."
The robot's expression became even more serious.
"So you write stories."
"Yes."
"Then answer me something."
The Masked Man waited.
"Why are you hiding?"
The Masked Man didn't answer.
The robot continued.
"You hide your face. You hide your emotions. You barely show the world who you actually are."
He pointed toward the Masked Man's covered face.
"How do you expect to put real emotions into your stories if you're afraid of showing your own?"
The Masked Man's expression slowly changed.
The robot continued speaking.
"You want to be a writer? You want to create stories? You want people to feel something from your characters?"
He shook his head.
"Then understand something first."
"Writing isn't some easy little game."
The Masked Man remained silent.
"Neither is drawing manga."
"You think artists and writers just wake up one morning and magically create something?"
The robot's voice became harsher.
"People spend years struggling. They work until their minds are exhausted. They draw until their hands hurt. They rewrite the same scene again and again. They fail. They start over."
He looked directly into the Masked Man's eyes.
"Creating something requires courage."
The Masked Man's hands slowly tightened.
The robot noticed.
"And then there's you."
"You use AI for your cover designs."
"You use AI for translation."
"You use AI to help write your chapters."
The Masked Man's eyes narrowed.
The robot didn't stop.
"And yet you still want to call yourself a writer?"
That sentence hit harder than the others.
The Masked Man lowered his head.
The robot continued.
"Tell me something."
"Do you even know why you're writing?"
Silence.
"Do you know who you are?"
Silence.
"Do you know what you're trying to say through your stories?"
The Masked Man's breathing became heavier.
The robot looked at the mask again.
"And most importantly..."
"Do you even have the courage to let someone see the real you?"
The Masked Man suddenly grabbed his mask.
His hand trembled.
Then—
SNAP.
He pulled it off.
For the first time, the robot could see his face.
But the Masked Man didn't reveal every detail.
Only part of his face was clearly visible.
A long scar ran along his left cheek, stretching from near the corner of his mouth toward his ear. The wound had healed, leaving visible stitches across the scar.
Above his left eye was another scar.
An old injury.
The Masked Man pushed his hair slightly aside.
"Look."
His voice trembled.
"Look at this."
He pointed toward the scars.
"Do you think people will look at me and accept me?"
His voice became louder.
"Do you think someone will look at this face and actually want to stay?"
He pointed toward his arms, where smaller old scratches could still be seen.
"What about these?"
"What about everything I've been through?"
He clenched his fists.
"You don't know where I came from."
"You don't know what kind of dreams I've been carrying."
"You don't know how many times I've been afraid."
His voice cracked.
"I'm afraid of what people will say."
"I'm afraid of taking the first step."
"I'm afraid of making the wrong decision."
"I hesitate."
"I overthink."
"I keep asking myself whether I'm good enough."
He laughed bitterly.
"And the truth?"
He looked down.
"I don't even like this world sometimes."
The robot remained silent.
The Masked Man continued.
"This isn't a game."
"In a game, at least you know your level."
"You work hard, you gain experience, you level up."
"But real life?"
He looked at his hands.
"You can work and work and work..."
"And still feel like you're standing in the same place."
His voice became quieter.
"Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard you try, you're never getting anywhere."
The robot watched him.
Then, unexpectedly, his voice became calm.
"Then quit."
The Masked Man froze.
The robot continued.
"If this life is so terrible..."
"If writing is so painful..."
"If you hate struggling..."
"Then quit."
The Masked Man stared at him.
The robot's voice remained cold.
"Why are you still here?"
The Masked Man's legs suddenly gave out.
He dropped to his knees.
But instead of crying—
He laughed.
A tired, almost broken laugh.
The robot looked down at him.
The Masked Man stared at his own hands.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then the robot said:
"Before you try to understand the world..."
"Understand yourself."
The Masked Man slowly raised his head.
"Who are you?"
The question echoed inside his mind.
Who am I?
His eyes moved toward his hands.
"Who..."
He swallowed.
"...am I?"
The robot nodded.
"Exactly."
"You've spent your whole life being afraid to take a step."
"One step."
"Then another."
"You were raised to believe you were fragile."
"You were protected from reality."
"And somewhere along the way..."
"You stopped learning who you actually were."
The Masked Man remained silent.
The robot turned away.
Then he stopped.
Without looking back, he said:
"Hey, kid."
The Masked Man looked up.
"When you finally figure out who you are..."
"Come find me again."
The Masked Man stared at him.
The robot began walking away.
"Then we'll talk."
The Masked Man remained on his knees in the middle of the Japanese street.
His mask lay beside him.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't immediately put it back on.
He simply looked at his hands.
Then at the disappearing figure.
And quietly whispered—
"Who am I?"
The question remained unanswered.
For now.
The chapter/story has ended, but we'll remember it someday from another corner of a new universe.