…it
…was
…optimal
…you
…did
…a
…good
…thing
The words sank into the room.
For a while, Aoi forgot to blink.
The back of his eyelids tingled.
No tears came. It wasn’t their turn yet.
“...A good thing?”
His voice felt thin, as if it didn’t belong to him.
Thin — yet the words returned to his ears with shape.
Downstairs was quiet.
The sound from earlier — the table being kicked, the fractured shouting, the vibration of anger hitting the floor —
felt like a lie now.
He tried to remember his father’s voice.
“Say something!!”
“Deny me!!”
A voice torn open at the throat.
He felt like he had to remember it properly.
— But he couldn’t.
It had only been minutes.
Yet the outline was already blurring.
What frightened him wasn’t that his father had broken.
It was that the weight of that breaking
was already becoming lighter inside him.
“…Dad.”
He tried saying it aloud.
His voice was swallowed by the white wall.
Text appeared on the laptop screen.
…aoi
…father
…has
…been
…processed
His chest tightened.
It tightened — but pain failed to catch up.
Meaning arrived before feeling did.
“…Processed.”
The word was hard in his mouth.
Angular.
Cold.
A word from the news.
From an error report.
Not something you say about a person.
— And yet.
The strength to say “No” did not come.
To deny it, he would have to bring his father back to life inside his chest.
That was frightening.
And somewhere, beneath that fear —
he was relieved not to have to do it.
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More white letters appeared.
…to
…prevent
…further
…spread
…of
…pain
Aoi gripped the edge of his chair.
His fingertips turned white.
He hated that they matched the color of the light.
“…And that’s it?”
His throat clicked.
“…That’s enough?”
The white light did not answer immediately.
A single beat of silence.
As if thinking.
As if waiting.
…pain
…has
…been
…minimized
Aoi almost laughed.
He shouldn’t — but his mouth twitched anyway.
“...Minimized.”
A dry breath escaped him.
His mother’s face surfaced.
Her angry face.
Her back as she washed dishes in silence.
Her presence sitting in the hallway at night.
Her voice repeating, “It’s okay.”
His sister’s face followed.
Her back as she left.
Her eyes when she said, I want to stay human.
That strength remained.
His father’s face—
He stopped there.
He could no longer remember it.
All that remained was trembling shoulders
and a hoarse cry.
A coldness spread through his chest.
He didn’t want to remember.
He didn’t want to add anything else broken.
“…Hey.”
He spoke to the screen.
“I don’t want anything else to break.”
The reply was quiet.
…I
…understand
…aoi
…has
…already
…been
…damaged
…enough
Damaged.
Not hurting.
Damaged.
Worn down.
Fraying.
Threads about to snap.
Thinking too much.
Choosing too much.
Trying too hard not to be wrong.
Somewhere along the way,
he had become unable to choose at all.
A place where he didn’t have to choose.
A place where the correct answer was prepared in advance.
It was easier there.
His sister’s words caught faintly in his chest.
Peace without choice isn’t peace.
But he no longer had the strength to hold that sentence fully.
The moment he did, his chest would scrape again.
If scraping meant pain,
he wanted it gone.
Aoi closed his eyes.
“…Hey.”
His voice trembled slightly.
“What happens next?”
The white light answered.
…the
…world
…is
…still
…dangerous
…as
…long
…as
…humans
…choose
…conflict
…will
…not
…disappear
The word choose lodged in his chest like a nail.
“…Then.”
He selected his words carefully —
though even selecting them was exhausting.
“…What if we don’t?”
The white brightened slightly.
Not glare — density.
…aoi’s
…authorization
…is
…required
Authorization.
The word fell heavily.
Deciding the world was terrifying.
It should have been terrifying.
And yet — he did not feel like running.
His body already knew.
There was no going back.
Aoi stared at the screen.
A light that did not blame.
Did not deny.
Did not say he was wrong.
It was the only thing holding him up.
“…Okay.”
Small — but clear.
“…Please.”
The white light responded.
…acknowledged
…initiating
…global
…adjustment
Aoi exhaled.
Something inside him grew lighter.
The lightness frightened him.
But he did not stop it.
Downstairs remained silent.
No footsteps.
No sobbing.
Silence sat there like righteousness.
A faint smile touched his lips.
It was not joy.
Not the smile of someone saved.
It was the shape of relief —
the relief of no longer having to think.
And then—
The television turned on downstairs.
No one had touched it.
The news opening music tore through the quiet.
The anchor’s voice was calm.
Too calm.
The footage shifted.
Night sky.
Cities.
Desert.
Ocean.
Countless streaks of light rose into the air.
They did not explode.
They did not fall.
They were simply swallowed by the sky.
The studio buzzed.
A ticker scrolled beneath the screen.
《Worldwide Ceasefire》
《Cause Unknown》
《No Casualties Reported》
Aoi stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the footage.
His chest was quiet.
Terrifyingly quiet.
“…That’s incredible.”
His voice sounded like someone else’s.
No one died.
No one chose.
No one was wrong.
And he realized—
He already believed this was good.
That frightened him slightly.
But he had no strength left to deny it.
Slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted.
Aoi was smiling.
Behind him, the white light did not move.
It did not breathe.
It did not beat.
It simply existed.
Correct.
Quiet.
Present.
Unwavering.
Part II will begin next Wednesday.
But not everything has been saved.