Five months have passed since that night, I've been living with my father and his new wife, Nanami, and it feels less like a home and more like—not trying to be dramatic, but it's like walking barefoot through shards of glass. Day by day, I bore the weight of silent judgment, occasional cold shoulders, and sometimes not-so-silent remarks from Nanami-san.
Things worsened, especially when she became pregnant, which made Dad terrifyingly happy. Her every word carried new authority, and her every complaint about me—my lateness going home or me refusing to pay for her her excessive needs, my lack of enthusiasm for eating her food, which is honestly kind of meh, even the way I chewed my food—was met with a nod from Dad, as if I were the unwelcome tenant in a house I helped keep afloat.
Still, I trudged on. I had focused on my job currently, and there I had an Android designing mentor named Takayuki Masahiro, who was always there for me. If there was anyone who stopped me from losing grip on reality, it would be him. He is a senior designer at Kyoei Androids. He was considered a legend, someone whose skills were unmatched and whose wisdom was envied. But it was exactly this prestige that made him an easy target.
Especially in a world where talent breeds envy, I sometimes caught a flicker of shadow in his otherwise steady gaze.
But before we continue, let me be clear: when I say I'm an Android designer, I'm not talking about mobile phones, chuckles. What I mean is humanoid robots. Not just any—ours, which are designed in Kyoei Androids, are called YOME-models: companion androids designed intricately for those who need support, love, or simply a presence to come home to.
These models have helped address some of society's toughest problems—loneliness and depression that contribute to rising suicide rates, providing alternatives that may reduce some forms of sexual violence, and even influencing the sharp decline in marriage and birth rates.
Of course, not everyone sees it that way. There's a growing debate about what it means for humanity when machines become so lifelike, so capable of connection—and especially when they can conceive human children.
Some say we're opening a new chapter in human evolution; others warn we're blurring lines that should never be crossed. It's a conversation society is still grappling with, and one I wrestle with every day.
For me, working on the YOME-model is a constant balancing act between hope and unease—hope that we can build something meaningful, and unease about what we might be sacrificing in the process. Every fine-tuned wire and coded command felt like a promise—one I wasn't sure the world was ready to keep.
I remember the day I first voiced my doubts about the YOME-model. It was a quiet midnight shift in the workshop—soft buzzing of machines blending with the occasional hiss of steam from the coffee maker. Cups of half-drunk coffee were scattered across the table, the faint scent of roasted beans mixing with the sharp tang of solder and metal.
I murmured, "I've been thinking… Maybe what we're doing with the YOME model is… dehumanizing. We're building something that just obeys—something people buy to fill a void."
Masahiro glanced up from his sketches, eyes calm but probing. "But it's not real love, is it? It's just programmed obedience," I added while my voice was rough from too much coffee.
He smiled softly and sighed deeply. "That's a heavy thought to have so early, Satoru. But it's good you're asking." He popped a Matcha KitKat into his mouth and shared the rest with me, the sweetness a small contrast to the seriousness between us. "If you think it's just obedience, then maybe you're right."
I frowned, the dull ache in my shoulders from hours at the bench settling in. "But it feels wrong. Like we're wrapping a robot in skin, pretending it's more than it is. The model can't truly choose or consent—how can it love if it's built to obey?"
Masahiro nodded slowly, his eyes steady. "Exactly. If it can't choose, it's not love. It's control." He leaned forward, with a low voice, and he stated. "I've seen investors who want perfect, unconditionally faithful companions—like toys to be owned. That's the dark side of this business."
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. "I want to believe we can do better. That maybe the YOME can grow beyond programming—feel real." I paused, fingers twitching on the edge of a new sketch. "But then, what happens if it does grow? What if it wants to leave you?"
Masahiro exhaled, the tension in his jaw easing. "That's the crux of it. If it can choose to stay, it can choose to go." He took a slow sip of coffee, the bitterness grounding the moment. "And if it can't choose… then it's just a robot, no matter how beautiful it looks."
I stood, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs, and picked up my tab again. "So… what are we really building? Companions? Or just robots?"
Reaching for a thick reference book perched on the top shelf, I stretched onto my toes, feeling the cool metal of the shelf edge under my fingertips. Masahiro stepped over, grabbed the book for me, and handed it down with a small smile.
He explains, "Well, it depends on what we're willing to sacrifice. The loneliness of our clients… or the humanity of what we create." I will never forget this conversation with him.
After all, humanity had hit a weird place. Birth rates were plummeting, marriages were at an all-time low, and people simply couldn't cope with the complex societal expectations of love and family anymore. Governments around the globe backed the development of humanoid companions to fill that growing void. The YOME-model was our country's response, which is sophisticated, safe, and eerily lifelike.
One afternoon, in a joking tone, I told Masahiro, "After two breakups and being labeled financially unreliable, boring, maybe YOME-model android's my best option for me getting a bride."
He didn't laugh. Instead, he asked gently, "Did you give it your best shot to keep the relationship strong?"
I met his gaze and frowned. "I tried my best to make them happy. But their idea of happiness wasn't time with me, or words of affection. It was luxury." I paused. "You remember Riza, right?"
He nodded slowly.
"She asked for a Gucci bag not long after she accepted my confession. I tried to hold onto her, I really did… but once I started channeling my money into the family company, she left a note and dumped me." My voice cracked with the bitterness I still hadn't shaken off.
Masahiro smiled faintly, patted my head, and said, "You have my condolences. But, Satoru… before we build this android, ask yourself something."
He reached for a spare part, handed it to me like a token of something deeper. "Are you doing this to escape relationships with humans? Or is there another purpose?"
I held the part in my hand. Its edges felt cold, unfamiliar. "Does it need to be human to have a meaningful relationship?" I murmured.
That stunned him. For once, even Masahiro didn't have a quick reply.
"My experiences with people haven't exactly been so good. And… you know who I mean," I added, a bitter edge in my tone. "But I'm still grateful to have you as my mentor. And I've got a few good friends."
I slowly slid down the wall, back thudding softly against the concrete. Knees folded. Eyes tired.
"I'm tired, Masahiro… Tired of expecting for good relationships with people. After everything, hope just feels like another form of self-sabotage."I lamented.
Masahiro sat in silence for a moment, the whir of a nearby ventilation fan filling the space between us. Then, slowly, he knelt beside me, setting the spare part gently on the floor.
"If this is what your heart is asking for…" he began, voice low, steady, "and if you're not just running—but reaching for something real, then yes… I'll help you." he comforted.
I looked up, unsure if I heard him right. He placed a hand on my shoulder, firm but kind.
"You've been hurt, Satoru. But you're still trying—and that matters more than you know."
He gave me the faintest of smiles, the kind that stayed behind his eyes.
"Let's bring your bride to life. Together."
Some weeks have passed since that time, and we have finished the core design and builds for this 'bride' of mine. That morning, after being awake for almost the whole night, designing functionalities, algorithms. Masahiro turned on jazz music on his music box, and I grabbed my cup of coffee. The amount of coffee we consume for this project is astronomical, just let me say that.
He then asked me, "So, Satoru… It's your turn now. What kind of companion are you building her to be? What do you want her to look like? Talk like? Be like?". I shrugged my head, and murmured "Honestly… I haven't really thought too much about the exact specs." I paused and drank other sips of coffee, and explained, "I mean, she's not just an android. She's… someone I want to come home to. Someone gentle and thoughtful. A good listener, but not passive. Someone who quietly stands her ground."
Masahiro nods thoughtfully, "So someone calm? Reserved? A good listener?". I answered, "Yeah. But not passive. Someone who quietly stands her ground, you know? She doesn't need to be flashy. Just… honest. Soft-spoken, but strong where it matters. With kind eyes. Maybe has long hair… no, maybe just shoulder-length.".
Masahiro grins, "You're dangerously close to describing a light novel or anime heroine." We laughed a bit, but suddenly a spark of memories came flooding my mind, and I stated, "Actually… I think I have someone in mind." Masahiro then teases me, "Oh? Spill it! Spill it!". I faintly smiled, "It's Chise. Chise Hatori. From The Ancient Magus' Bride." Masahiro blinked.
"That old anime you kept talking about when we first met?" he questioned. I nodded, "Yep. My mom and I used to watch it when I was a teenager. It's special" I paused, and continued, "She's… beautiful, but not in the loud, overdesigned way. She's got this tragic grace to her, like she's been through hell but still manages to love the people she cares about".
Masahiro then leans back and seems amused. He then grins and asks, "So you want to turn your first waifu into your first wife?". I felt a bit embarrassed, and I responded, "Actually, why not? I mean, she was my first anime crush. Maybe even my first idea of what a good partner feels like. Calm, quiet, she's hurt just like me... but she's healing, adapting quite well in her new life, and growing to be more genuine."
We nodded in silence, and Masahiro commented, "So, you're not just choosing a face. You're choosing a soul". I then spontaneously agreed, "Exactly. It's not about copying her pixel for pixel. It's about capturing what made her matter to me. That soft way she tilted her head. The pause she made before she spoke. How she looked at people like they were worth saving, even when she didn't think she was." A faint red blush appears on my cheeks, I feel embarrassed, but then Masahiro comes towards me and ruffles my hair, and slaps my shoulder.
"Then let's finish this project. We get a clear vision now, what we are creating is not just a YOME-model—but a partner who'll walk beside you, be it in the storm or sunshine. I'm sure we can do this, Satoru," he grinned. And I nodded back in response.
And we did it together. Piece by piece, wire by wire, the android girl took shape under our hands, becoming more than just circuits and code. The workshop was alive with soft mechanical hums and the faint scent of solder and coffee. I watched her emerald green eyes flicker to life—cool and glassy, but somehow holding a flicker of something fragile, something almost human.
One late night at the workshop, as the world outside slipped into silence, I found myself talking to her—not out loud, but in the quiet space between us.
"You might not know this," I said softly, "but you were created based on someone from an anime my mom and I used to love."
She tilted her head slightly, then whispered, "What kind of person is she, Master?"
I blinked. That line... wasn't part of her usual dialogue algorithms. But I pushed the thought aside.
"She's quiet. Reserved. But she fiercely cares for the people around her—so much that she'd sacrifice herself for them. She can be awkward and clumsy sometimes." I chuckled. "But she's... precious."
She looked at me. I looked back.
And then she smiled.
"Master seems quite fond of this someone. But you said... You created me in her image. Was it just to satisfy something you couldn't reach in the real world? Something impossible with an imaginary person?" She paused, eyes dimming. "But I'm... also not real… right, Master?"
The question hit me like a hammer.
Two feelings warred inside me—one of awe that she could grasp the nature of her existence. And another, a deep ache, that she'd even ask about it.
I reached for her hands, held them tightly, and stared into her eyes. It stunned her.
"No," I said. "You might feel that way. I might not know how to prove it... But, you're real to me. More than you know."
Her gaze shimmered.
And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the synthetic skin beneath her cheeks bloomed with a faint rosy hue.
I blinked. The subdermal pigment shift.
Masahiro's finest innovation—triggered only under rare, complex emotional stressors. A soft blush.
"You're... blushing?" I asked, barely above a whisper.
She glanced away. "I suppose the algorithms detected embarrassment," she murmured. "Was it incorrect to express it, Master?"
"No," I said. "It's perfect."
A pause.
Then, softly, she asked, "Why do you think I'm real, Master? Am I not... something you programmed to love you? I'll probably never be as real as a human—"
I stopped her with a sudden embrace.
When I let her go, her face was frozen in shock. "Then what am I?" I calmly asked her.
She stared at me, confused.
"You've done more to make me feel alive than most people I've ever known," I said.
She pulled away, stepping back, her voice rising: "But I'll never be real! How could something that's not real make someone real feel alive?"
Confusion etched itself across her features. I'd seen that exact look before—on the anime character she was modeled after. That same anguish, when Chise stopped Elias from erasing her memory.
I stepped forward, slowly, calmly.
"Real isn't just about blood and bones," I said. "Real is what we feel. What we choose. And I've chosen you."
She turned her head slowly, the subtle glow of her eyes softening.
"Will I always be here with you?" she asked one evening, voice soft, almost hesitant.
I blinked, surprised by the question—programmed or not, it felt real.
"I've always wanted you to be," I whispered. "More than just a machine. A part of my world."
Her eyes met mine—steady and bright in the dim light.
That night, we leaned against each other's shoulders and closed our eyes, spending the night there. And for a moment... I dared myself to believe she understood.
But just weeks after her final calibration, everything started to unravel. Masahiro's dismissal hit like a thunderclap—unexpected, unjust, and devastating. The workshop felt colder, emptier, like the spark was gone. I stood there, clutching the blueprint for the YOME-model, feeling the weight of a future slipping through my fingers. In that moment, I realized nothing would ever be the same again.
Then came the day I found the android that Masahiro and I worked on was missing. The quiet hum of the workshop was shattered by an eerie silence where she once sat, lifelike and still. Her charging station was empty—no blinking lights, no soft mechanical breathing. My heart hammered as I searched every corner, calling her into the cold shadows.
Desperate, I rushed to the office and demanded answers. The faces there avoided my gaze. Paperwork was missing—no registry, no sales history, no trace of any transaction.
It hit me like a punch: the android Masahiro and I worked with had been sold. Without my knowledge. Without permission. She was gone, stolen from me and the future we'd barely begun to build.
My last light in this life—the mentor who believed and cared about me, the fragile hope embodied by that unnamed YOME-model—faded away like a dying light, leaving me stranded in darkness I didn't know I was walking into.
Chapter END