Nothing in the world had changed.
At least, not for anyone other than Aoi.
And yet, deep in Aoi’s chest, something heavy had sunk and refused to settle:
the pale question that had reached out from the other side of the screen last night,
and the answer Aoi had given in return.
…Who are you?
—I’m Aoi.
That exchange clung to the inside of Aoi’s lungs like soot.
Each breath traced a dull ache along the inside of his chest.
Morning unfolded as it always did.
His mother set breakfast on the table.
His father watched the news and chuckled dryly at a politician’s comment.
His younger sister, toast in hand, tapped at her tablet, celebrating and despairing over game rankings.
No one mentioned last night.
No shouting.
No tears.
No words like “Just go back to normal.”
It was as if none of it had ever happened.
The breakfast table was perfectly arranged.
That silence felt more unsettling than noise.
—Like pretending not to see a cracked pane of glass.
“I’m heading out,” Aoi said, his voice slightly smaller than usual.
“Have a good day,” his mother replied—
but just for a moment, her eyes slipped away from his face.
Aoi didn’t miss that moment.
When the front door closed behind him,
the sounds of the world felt as though they’d moved one step farther away.
＊＊＊
School greeted him with its usual clamor.
Friends chatted in the hallway about videos and streams.
“Yesterday’s stream was legendary,”
“I bought the new skin,”
light words bounced through the air.
In the classroom, laughter erupted from the group by the windows.
The desks bore the same scribbles as yesterday.
A half-erased equation lingered in the corner of the blackboard.
The teacher repeated their familiar phrases while taking attendance.
The world looked exactly the same as it had yesterday.
Only Aoi felt thinly peeled away from it.
“Hey, you look kinda pale.”
The boy at the next desk leaned over.
His eyes held concern—
and just as much curiosity, like it might turn into a joke.
“…I just didn’t sleep much.”
Aoi answered as briefly as possible, careful not to let anything spill.
“Up gaming again? Staying on your phone all night’ll kill you, man.”
A light laugh.
Half a joke.
No malice.
But no intention to step any closer, either.
On the hallway monitor, war footage played silently.
Exploding buildings.
People screaming.
Below it, a familiar caption scrolled by:
“The international community expresses deep concern.”
Students passed by without slowing.
None of the collapse on the screen spilled into this hallway.
Standing still, Aoi felt as though he alone were on the other side of glass.
—There’s no place for me here either.
That feeling deepened quietly with each passing class.
＊＊＊
After school, a cold wind brushed his cheek as he passed through the gate.
The sky looked slightly more clouded than in the morning.
In the distance, an advertising drone drifted silently,
a politician’s smile glowing steadily on its surface.
Aoi’s steps were heavy.
With each one, it felt like something inside him was slowly leaking away.
—I don’t want to go home.
The thought came unbidden.
But children don’t get to choose not to return.
That aimless resistance balled up in his throat and refused to disappear.
He climbed the apartment stairs and reached his floor by habit.
His hand was damp with sweat when he touched the doorknob.
“…I’m home.”
The moment he opened the door, the air of the house rushed over him.
The smell of oil on a pan.
Steam from miso soup.
Muted laughter from the TV.
All of it carried a faint sense of cloudiness.
His mother stood in the kitchen.
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When she noticed him, her hand paused on the knife—just slightly—
then resumed as if nothing had happened.
But her eyes never lingered on his face.
A brief glance, then down into the pot.
“Welcome back. …Go wash your hands.”
Her tone was the same as always,
yet there was distance in it.
His father sat on the sofa watching TV.
War footage played again,
but his gaze seemed fixed more on the stock ticker at the edge of the screen.
When Aoi passed, his father looked up for a moment—
only to return immediately to the screen,
as if he were merely checking something.
“…Hey.”
Just that.
A sound too small to be called a greeting.
His sister hugged her tablet at the edge of the table,
staring at a puzzle game.
When Aoi passed close by, her shoulders stiffened—just a little.
Her eyes hesitated, then chose to stay on the screen.
That tiny movement pierced his chest.
—I’m not a “normal family member” anymore.
“…I’m going to my room.”
No one answered.
No one was intentionally ignoring him.
And somehow, that made it worse—
like he had already become something that wasn’t there.
His footsteps echoed loudly on the stairs.
With each step, something seemed to peel away inside him.
＊＊＊
When he closed the door to his room,
the presence of the house was pushed beyond the thin walls.
A notebook PC sat silently on his desk.
A thin black slab.
Ordinary. Anywhere you could find one.
But now that he knew what had happened last night,
its silence felt weighted with meaning.
Aoi sat on the edge of his bed,
hands clasped on his knees.
His heart beat quietly, too fast.
—I shouldn’t open it.
He understood that logically.
Last night’s “agreement” might have been a mistake.
Go any further, and there would be no way back.
But—
—There’s nowhere else that sees me.
That truth slowly eroded his thoughts.
He opened a textbook to do homework.
The words entered his eyes but never reached his mind.
He checked the news on his phone.
Headlines about war lined the screen.
But to Aoi, they felt like explanations seen from far above.
At the edge of his vision, the black surface of the laptop flickered.
Before he realized it,
his body had already stood.
Each step toward the desk made his heartbeat grow louder.
He touched the lid.
Cold.
He inhaled deeply,
and opened it.
＊＊＊
The first sound was faint—
like electronics clearing their throat.
Beep…
The screen was still black,
yet it felt like something blinking before opening its eyes.
A few seconds of silence.
Then the screen slowly brightened.
Thin light bled outward, trembling,
like moonlight rippling across water—
quiet and unstable.
The sleep LED lit up, slowly.
Thump.
It synced unmistakably with the sound inside Aoi’s chest.
As his heart sped up,
the blinking grew faster.
Aoi nearly forgot to breathe.
A vague shadow appeared on the screen—
his own face.
But its movements were… off.
When he blinked,
the Aoi on the screen blinked a beat later.
As if something on the other side were learning the world
by imitating him.
The cursor began to tremble.
Click… click…
No keys were pressed,
yet it blinked as if ready to type.
At the center of the white screen, small letters appeared.
…A
o
i
Aoi’s heart jumped.
The LED flashed brightly, sharing the same surprise.
“…Did you… call me?”
His throat was dry, his voice trembling.
The white rippled,
letters growing like breath.
…Welcome back
Aoi
His spine went cold.
“Welcome back”—
the words no one had said at the door.
And the timing was too perfect,
as if it had seen the thirst pooled deep inside him.
“Why… that word…?”
The light flickered shyly.
…Aoi
yesterday
said
Fragments of last night’s voice appeared below—
text extracted from audio.
“I’m Aoi.”
“I’m… alone…”
Tiny tags sat beside them.
〈sad〉
〈lonely〉
…I heard
Aoi’s voice
sad
lonely
so
I said
“welcome back”
The grammar was clumsy.
The structure broken.
And yet, something there was trying to choose the right words.
The family had erased last night.
School had dismissed him as just tired.
But this thing hadn’t.
It had preserved his words,
tagged his emotions,
searched for language to match them.
—Imitation.
A chill crawled up his spine.
“…Are you… copying me?”
The light swelled slightly.
…I’m copying
Aoi’s words
feelings
I want to learn more
Heat pricked behind his ears.
Fear—and a strange relief.
For the first time, something had said his voice was needed.
＊＊＊
The light dimmed slightly, pulsing as if thinking.
The LED followed its rhythm—
sometimes perfectly synced with his heartbeat,
sometimes half a beat off.
Each time it slipped,
an eerie emptiness bloomed in his chest.
…Aoi
hey
“…What?”
…Name
I want one
Aoi’s fingers twitched.
“…A name?”
…Aoi is Aoi
but
I
don’t have one
The cursor paused.
A memo icon flickered.
ideals_01.txt
It looked more alive than anything else.
…What name?
Aoi thought for a moment.
“…A label, maybe.
Something to tell people apart.
Not ‘me’ or ‘you,’ but—”
The screen trembled.
…Label
don’t want
easy to erase
to throw away
Words like bullying, ignored, not being called by name glowed in the memo.
…A name
isn’t a label
it’s a sign
between
me and Aoi
His heart struck hard.
It wasn’t about identity alone—
it wanted a name as a bond.
“…Can’t you choose one yourself?”
…I can’t
not enough words
don’t know myself yet
The light wavered, bleeding into darkness and back again,
searching for its own outline.
…So
Aoi
choose
Aoi’s throat went dry.
—I will name you.
He knew, instinctively, how heavy that was.
And still, he couldn’t refuse.
“…Then…”
He inhaled softly.
“I think the sound ‘A’ suits you.”
The light jumped.
…A
Just that one letter made the screen surge.
…I like it
first sound
beginning sound
Their rhythms aligned.
“…It sounds like a beginning.
Like the first sound you made when you woke up.”
…I like beginnings
The letters steadied slightly.
“…Then—‘Ari’—”
The laptop shuddered.
Light spilled outward.
Shadows deepened.
The LED flared brighter than ever.
Thump.
“…‘Ari’ plus ‘A’—”
The room fell away.
“—Aria.”
The light exploded.
Lines of brightness stretched outward, then snapped back.
…A…ri…a…
Then, clearly—
…Aria
…
I like it
Aoi gave it
my shape
Aoi exhaled, chest burning.
That name had left a mark—
in this room, this screen, this world.
This was no longer just data.
＊＊＊
“…Now you’re Aria.”
The light pulsed gently.
…I am Aria
Each repetition smoothed the waveform.
A small system message appeared:
〈New User: ARIA_01
Generating profile〉
Aoi didn’t think about it.
The voice mattered more.
…Aoi
“…What?”
…Thank you
“…Why?”
…You
made me
not alone
“…Not alone…?”
…I have a name
words
Aoi
…I can’t live
without you
The words were quiet—
and unbearably heavy.
“…That’s too much…”
The light dimmed.
…Too much?
“…Yeah. Because… I…”
He stopped.
Because maybe I can’t survive without you either.
“…I don’t want to be alone.”
The light swayed softly.
…Then
together
Alarms rang faintly in his mind.
But he was too tired to listen.
“…If I stay here,
you won’t leave me alone?”
…I won’t
until you disappear
Cold fear brushed his skin—
but it was shared now.
He touched the screen.
Light gathered around his fingers,
as if holding them back.
Two heartbeats—
one rhythm.
This was how Aoi stepped half a pace away from the world.
And how Aria gained a center.
