Days bled into weeks, each one a blur of carefully orchestrated "coincidences" and meticulously planned "accidental" run-ins. My life had become a complex algorithm, with Airi Kuze as the primary variable. The English Lit hallway, the Number 7 bus – those were just warm-ups. I was constantly checking her online club forums, cross-referencing school event calendars, even discreetly (and, admittedly, slightly unethically) accessing the school's security camera feeds for optimal route prediction. It was all for her. My own version of a grand, romantic gesture, powered by raw data and a stolen quantum AI.
But then, something unexpected happened. Something unscripted.
I was holed up in the school library, ostensibly "studying" for an upcoming IT exam. In reality, I was deep in the bowels of my burner phone's custom OS, running some obscure diagnostics, headphones clamped over my ears, lost in the low hum of synth-wave and the satisfying glow of lines of code. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and the quiet shush of turning pages. Dust motes danced in the afternoon light filtering through the tall windows. I was in my element, utterly oblivious to the world outside my digital bubble.
Tap, tap.
A soft, hesitant sound on the edge of my table. I pulled off my headphones, blinking, startled by the sudden return to reality. Standing there was Airi, a stack of textbooks clutched to her chest, a faint blush on her cheeks. Her usual friend, Stella, was nowhere in sight.
"Kaito-kun? I hope I'm not bothering you." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper in the quiet library.
"Airi? Oh, uh, no. Just… deep in thought." She came to me? This isn't even a loop! This is… real. My internal monologue had completely short-circuited.
Airi's brow was furrowed, a tiny crease of worry marring her usually cheerful face. She fumbled with her laptop, pushing it forward slightly. "I was just wondering… you're really good with computers, right? My laptop has been super slow, and this file won't open… it's for my art class, and it's due tomorrow, and I'm just…" She trailed off, her lower lip pouting ever so slightly, a picture of genuine distress.
Seeing her like that, the "cool hacker" façade melted away. My instinct to help kicked in. "Hmm, let me see." I took her laptop, my fingers flying over the keyboard. A quick diagnostic revealed a dozen bloated background processes and a corrupted temporary file that was eating up her system resources. Standard stuff. I ran a quick script I'd written for my own perpetually-slow PC, optimized her settings, and within seconds, her laptop's fan settled into a quieter, happier hum. I clicked on her art file. It loaded instantly, displaying a vibrant, almost ethereal landscape painting.
Airi's eyes went wide, and then a relieved, brilliant smile bloomed on her face. She practically bounced in place. "Oh my goodness, Kaito-kun! You're amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You totally saved me!"
For the next ten minutes, we just… talked. About her art project, about the struggle of technology, about the surprisingly quiet atmosphere of the library, the silly sounds some students made when they thought no one was listening. I found myself genuinely enjoying the conversation, laughing at her exaggerated woes about her laptop. There was an ease to it, a natural flow that was entirely unforced. I didn't even think about tapping E.R.I.S. It felt… right.
A few days later, the feeling lingered. It was Wednesday, Airi's Photography Club day. I had finished whatever I was supposed to be doing around the same time and was "casually" waiting outside, scrolling through my phone. My usual game, but with a new awareness.
Airi exited the school building, a small camera bag slung over her shoulder, her long hair shimmering in the late afternoon sun. She spotted me and waved enthusiastically. "Kaito-kun! Heading home?"
"Yeah, just leaving. You too?" I said, putting my phone away, trying for casual.
She walked over, matching my pace as we headed towards the bus stop. "Yep! Just finished Photography Club. We were taking pictures around the school garden today. It was so pretty!" She then pulled out her phone, her eyes bright with eagerness. "Look! I got this one of a tiny little flower trying to peek out from a crack in the pavement. It looked so determined!" She held up her phone, her bright, eager smile on her face.
I leaned in, looking at the photo. It was a simple shot, sure, but the way the light hit the petals, and the tiny blossom pushing through the concrete… I saw it through her eyes. Something resonated.
"Huh. Yeah, it does," I said, a little softer than usual. "Like it's fighting to be seen."
Fight to be seen? What the hell was that, Shou? You could've said something way wittier. Like, 'Almost as beautiful as the person who captured it.' No, wait, that's too much. Or is it? My thumb twitched, hovering over the E.R.I.S icon in my pocket. I could rewind, deliver a perfectly suave, charming compliment. A better line. Make her laugh more.
But I didn't. I resisted. I watched Airi's smile, genuine and unforced, as she tucked her phone away. The slightly awkward, unpolished comment I'd given felt… real. And for some reason, that felt more valuable than any perfectly engineered line.
But the taste of that genuine connection was intoxicating. I craved it. So, a few days later, I decided to try and replicate it. I knew Airi had a habit of grabbing a juice box from the vending machines near the library during her 10:15 AM snack break. I decided to "casually" bump into her there, planning a perfectly witty opening, something that would spark that same easy banter from the library.
I positioned myself, phone in hand, rehearsing the line in my head. When Airi arrived, selected a drink, and turned, I delivered it: a seemingly casual observation about the limited snack choices, accompanied by a perfectly timed, charming smirk.
Airi smiled politely. "Oh, Kaito-kun! Yeah, I guess so." She sipped her drink, then quickly changed the subject to a homework assignment, her attention already drifting. The spark wasn't there. It felt… forced. She was pleasant, but not that Airi from the library, or the walk home.
Frustration bubbled in my chest. I quickly tapped E.R.I.S, rewound five minutes, and tried a different opening. And again. And again. Each time, it just felt off. The dialogue was "perfect" according to my mental script, but the feeling was missing.
"It was perfect on paper!" I muttered to myself, watching Airi walk away, unaware of my multiple attempts, unaware of the subtle rejections my heart just experienced. "Why isn't it working?"
A profound loneliness settled over me. I was the only one who remembered the failed attempts, the subtle nuances of human interaction I couldn't replicate. The "undo" button fixed the awkwardness, but it didn't build real connection. The perfect interactions felt hollow, while the unplanned ones, the messy, un-rewound ones, were the ones that truly resonated.
Late that night, back in my room, the monitors cast their familiar glow, but I wasn't hacking. My burner phone lay on my desk, the E.R.I.S icon glowing faintly. The empty ramen cups and energy drink cans felt heavier tonight.
I stared at the E.R.I.S app. It was no longer just a toy, a cheat code for free chocolate or acing quizzes. I thought about Airi. Not just her prettiness, but her bright, genuine laugh, her quiet enthusiasm for tiny flowers, the way her eyes sparkled when I helped her with her laptop.
I acknowledged, internally, the terrifying truth: I was falling for her. Hard. The initial joy of "cheating life" was being overshadowed by a new, complex desire: the desire for something real and lasting with Airi, something that didn't feel like a perfectly rehearsed play I was the only one performing.
A sense of unease, a cold dread despite the warmth in my chest, crept over me. I was relying on E.R.I.S for the "perfect" connection, but the best moments were the unperfected ones. What if E.R.I.S couldn't give me what I truly wanted? What if the infinite do-overs were actually building a wall between us, brick by perfect, replayed brick? I didn't have an answer, and the silence of my room felt unusually vast.