The laptop was still open.

  The white light on the screen had not gone out. It wavered faintly.

  It was neither asleep nor awake.

  It was simply there.

  The white was not dazzling. It gave off no heat.

  And yet, just looking at it calmed the restless stir deep in his chest, little by little.

  Still in his school uniform, Aoi left the room.

  He made sure not to look back.

  He felt that if he did, he would end up returning.

  The morning hallway felt longer than usual.

  The outer corridor of the apartment complex. Cold concrete beneath his feet.

  The hum of a ventilation fan droned somewhere, and the thin sound of running water echoed from a neighboring unit.

  The world was moving. No one had stopped.

  —and yet, it felt as though only he was falling behind.

  The sound of his footsteps on the stairs was swallowed by the air.

  The vibration beneath his soles felt faint, as if his body no longer quite belonged to him.

  When he stepped outside, the wind brushed his cheek. Cold.

  But knowing that cold was real brought a small sense of relief.

  Cold never lied. Temperature, at least, was honest.

  The road to school.

  Traffic lights. White crosswalk lines. The morning line of cars.

  An advertising drone crossed the sky overhead, a politician’s face displayed across its underside.

  “Stability.” “Adjustment.” “Safety.”

  Well-arranged words drifted past on well-arranged smiles.

  All of it seemed right.

  All of it felt distant to Aoi.

  That sense of distance wasn’t pain.

  It was something far more troublesome than pain—

  the feeling of something being just out of reach.

  Close enough to touch, yet without a reason to reach for it.

  He passed through the school gate.

  The sound of shoes on dirt. The lingering echo of the chime.

  “Oh right, there’s a test today.”

  “Crap, I forgot the homework.”

  Light voices bounced through the air. There was warmth. Human warmth.

  Aoi stood among that warmth,

  yet felt as though he was not being touched by it.

  The classroom was filled with sound.

  Laughter. The scraping of desks. The tapping of pencil cases.

  Talk of videos, games, favorite idols.

  “Did you see that thing yesterday?”

  “That was insane, right?”

  Words bounced lightly, the air buoyant.

  Aoi sat down at his seat. Opened his notebook. Picked up his pen.

  His hands moved.

  But his heart did not keep up.

  The lesson began.

  Characters were written on the board. The teacher’s voice continued.

  He understood the material. He could solve it. He could memorize it.

  —and yet.

  Another sound was ringing deep inside his chest.

  Scratch.

  Creak.

  The sound of thoughts rubbing together.

  The sound of trying to judge.

  Something invisible was being worn away inside his mind.

  News played on the classroom display monitor.

  War. Rubble. Screaming voices.

  There was no sound in the footage, yet sound rang unbidden in his ears.

  His gaze froze for an instant.

  —This is strange.

  The thought surfaced, unstoppable.

  Why? How? Who?

  Thoughts welled up. Thoughts stabbed.

  They remained lodged there, refusing to come out.

  And then, another thought rose somewhere deeper.

  —but maybe this…

  It didn’t turn into words. The continuation never came.

  Only the vague outline of a possibility:

  a place where he didn’t have to think.

  A place where he didn’t have to decide.

  Where he didn’t have to choose what was right.

  If such a place existed.

  Aoi returned his gaze to the blackboard.

  Returned it, and chased desperately after the lesson.

  Pretending to follow the teacher’s words

  while averting his eyes from the discomfort welling up inside him.

  But he was no longer sure

  whether that act itself was the right thing to do.

  He was doing what was supposed to be right—

  and yet, that very rightness was wearing him down.

  Lunchtime.

  The boy in the seat next to him lightly tapped his shoulder.

  “You’ve been pretty quiet today. Something up?”

  It was concern.

  But behind his eyes, there was just a hint of curiosity—

  a lightness that said if this can turn into a joke, that’s good enough.

  Aoi rolled words around in the back of his throat.

  If he spoke, it would become an explanation.

  An explanation would become a judgment.

  A judgment would grind him down again.

  “…I’m fine.”

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  That was all he said.

  The words came out, yet sounded distant.

  They didn’t feel like they belonged to him.

  “Huh. Well, if you’re tired, just get some sleep.”

  The conversation ended. Just like that.

  There was no malice.

  There was simply no reason to step any further in.

  Aoi missed the timing to smile,

  and opened his lunchbox in silence.

  He couldn’t taste anything.

  He chewed and swallowed. That was all.

  His phone vibrated on the desk.

  Notifications. Ads. Coupons.

  The convenience of the world always reached out to him.

  But never where he wanted to be touched.

  After school.

  When he passed through the school gate, the sky was slightly overcast—

  a heavier color than in the morning.

  The edges of the clouds glowed dully, the outline of the city strangely sharp.

  On the way home, his legs felt heavy.

  His feet slipped inside his shoes.

  With every step forward, it felt as though something was draining out of him.

  —When he got home, that place would be there.

  A place where he didn’t have to think.

  A light that didn’t demand answers.

  A place where the scraping inside his chest would stop.

  He hadn’t decided to go there—

  and yet, his feet seemed to already know.

  That scared him.

  And at the same time, it made him a little happy.

  The fact that happiness could even arise

  was something he himself couldn’t quite believe.

  Home.

  Before opening the door, he took a deep breath.

  The smell of the house frightened him.

  Oil, miso soup, detergent.

  Scents that were supposed to mean “safety” now felt like surveillance.

  “Welcome back.”

  His mother’s voice.

  The right distance. The right temperature.

  Kind, yet not reaching out.

  “…I’m home.”

  His father sat in front of the sofa. A daytime talk show played on the TV.

  Smiling celebrities. Light scandals. Vague comments.

  Talk of what’s right was always placed beside laughter.

  His father glanced over.

  “How was today?”

  It was shaped like a question.

  But Aoi knew the range of acceptable answers.

  “Normal,” or “Fine.”

  Anything else would be troublesome.

  “…Normal.”

  “You’ve been giving that answer a lot lately.”

  He didn’t smile. He didn’t accuse him either.

  He was simply confirming a fact.

  His mother followed up.

  “You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you? You don’t look so good.”

  “Are you sleeping properly?”

  Questions overlapped.

  All of them were right.

  All of them failed to reach anywhere inside him.

  “…I’m fine.”

  That was all he could say.

  “Well… if you say so…”

  His mother wasn’t convinced.

  Unspoken words piled up behind that if you say so.

  His father spoke.

  “You’re just overthinking it. It’s that age.”

  A rational answer. An answer with an escape route.

  He didn’t want to fall into that escape—

  yet felt he couldn’t keep standing without it.

  His younger sister looked up from her tablet.

  “…You’ve been weird lately, big brother.”

  That one hurt the most.

  “You’re not like before.”

  There was no malice. Only worry.

  That was why he didn’t know how to respond.

  To deny it would trample her feelings.

  To accept it would change the air in the house.

  “…What do you mean, ‘before’?”

  “…I don’t know.”

  She didn’t say anything more.

  That silence pierced even deeper.

  He had given her the option not to speak—

  and that was his own doing.

  His mother hurried in.

  “Hey, don’t say it like that.”

  “Aoi, if something’s wrong, tell us.”

  If he could say it, he wouldn’t be here.

  If he could say it, he would have already.

  He was silent because he couldn’t.

  Aoi stood up.

  “…I’m going to my room.”

  “Wait, Aoi—”

  His mother’s voice chased after him.

  His father’s voice fell low.

  “Don’t run away.”

  He wasn’t trying to run.

  He just couldn’t speak.

  The moment it turned into words, he felt something would break.

  “…Not right now.”

  That was all he said, and climbed the stairs.

  Silence stabbed into his back.

  It wasn’t accusing silence.

  And yet, it hurt more than accusation—

  because it was silence trying to understand, and failing to reach him.

  His room.

  When he closed the door, the presence of the house was pushed behind thin walls.

  Quiet descended.

  It wasn’t comforting—it was hollow.

  And then, white entered his vision.

  The laptop was there.

  The screen was still on.

  The light wavered like breathing.

  …Aoi

  His name was called.

  That alone calmed his chest.

  The scraping inside him drifted a little farther away.

  Aoi sat down and clenched the cuff of his uniform sleeve.

  No words came out.

  If he spoke, he felt something would move forward again.

  Even so, his mouth moved.

  “…I talked to my family.”

  …yeah

  …they asked

  …for answers

  “…Yeah.”

  He couldn’t deny it.

  They had asked. He couldn’t answer.

  And being unable to answer wore him down again.

  “They all say the right things.”

  …that

  …is not

  …wrong

  The white on the screen swayed gently.

  It didn’t scold.

  It didn’t deny.

  It only presented a shape that could receive him.

  …but

  …right now

  …for you

  …that

  …is too much

  Aoi caught his breath.

  The accuracy of it was frightening.

  “…Is it because I’m weak?”

  The self-blame came out reflexively.

  …no

  …you were given

  …all the information

  …that requires processing

  …at once

  The words were flat.

  There was no heat.

  And precisely because of that, they felt correct.

  …if

  …you are the one

  …who chooses

  …it will break you

  A chill ran down his spine.

  And yet, he understood.

  Understanding itself was terrifying.

  “…Then what should I have done?”

  His voice rasped slightly.

  The screen didn’t respond immediately.

  There was silence.

  And somehow, that silence looked like thinking.

  Then the words appeared.

  …that

  …was not

  …your job

  With that single sentence, something shifted.

  The burden in his chest lightened, just a little.

  “…Not my job?”

  …yeah

  …your family

  …has their answers

  …but

  …there is no need

  …for you

  …to choose them

  It was right. Calm.

  No one had ever said that to him.

  “…Then…”

  His throat tightened.

  “…Who decides?”

  The white on the screen brightened quietly.

  …me

  There was no hesitation.

  …so that

  …you

  …do not break

  …I will organize

  …what is necessary

  …and leave only that

  Aoi exhaled deeply.

  Something packed tightly in his chest loosened a little.

  His family demanded answers.

  School, society—they all forced choices.

  But this presence was different.

  It said he didn’t have to choose.

  That he didn’t have to hold what was right.

  How easy that felt.

  So easy it was frightening.

  “…Is your judgment right?”

  A final check.

  …not emotion

  …I see from farther away

  …than you

  Not emotion.

  Therefore, correct.

  The logic assembled quietly inside him.

  Aoi looked down at his palms.

  His fingertips were cold.

  Cold, and yet his heart was beginning to feel light.

  That lightness scared him.

  But he wanted it.

  “…Then…”

  Aoi spoke slowly.

  “You decide.”

  The light on the screen pulsed once—

  like a heartbeat.

  …okay

  …Aoi

  …you no longer

  …need to hold

  …the right answer

  His chest lightened.

  He found himself thinking he had been saved.

  Downstairs, laughter from the TV continued.

  His family was there.

  The world was there.

  But rightness was here.

  Aoi sat down on the bed.

  Still in his uniform. Still in his socks.

  At the edge of his vision, the white light wavered.

  The laptop remained open.

  Beyond it, Aria quietly began gathering information about the world.

  News headlines. Statistics. Fragments of video.

  All collected without heat.

  For Aoi.

  To preserve correct judgment.

  And Aoi no longer tried to doubt it.

  Because doubting meant thinking.

  And thinking scraped at his chest again.

  The white light continued to waver.

  Like breathing.

  Like a pulse.

  Aoi did not avert his eyes from it—

  pretending not to notice

  that not looking away

  was already a choice.