The hallway light flickered. On. Off. On. Kairo opened the door halfway, one hand resting on the knob as cool air drifted in from the corridor, carrying the faint smell of dust and old concrete. And then he saw her.
Rina stood directly in front of his apartment, her hand raised as if she had been about to knock. The moment the door opened, she froze, her eyes widening, her posture stiffening in surprise.
Of course it's her.
Rina was his next-door neighbor. Same floor. Same narrow hallway. Their apartments were separated by a single wall, thin enough that on quiet nights he sometimes heard faint movement from her side. She had lived there for nearly a year, and during that time she had taken every opportunity she could find to talk to him, as if simple proximity alone was reason enough to keep trying.
"Kairo," she said quickly, relief slipping into her voice.
"Rina."
His tone was calm and even.
She shifted her weight, holding a small convenience store bag with both hands, the thin plastic rustling softly as she lifted it. "I… there was a discount today," she said, glancing down at the bag before looking back at him. "So I bought extra."
She held it out. Inside were two bentos and a couple of drinks. Extra. Right.
Kairo studied the bag, then her face. She was trying to look casual, but her grip on the handles was too tight, her posture too careful. Annoying. Not because she was loud. Because she kept coming back. Because she kept trying to get closer, little by little, even though he had never given her any reason to believe the distance would change.
"I was going to go buy something," he said.
Her shoulders dropped slightly before she straightened again, forcing a small smile. "Oh."
The hallway grew quiet except for the faint buzzing of the light above, and instead of pulling back, she stepped forward a little more and kept the bag extended toward him. "Then you can take this," she said softly. "So you don't have to go out." Persistent. Most people would have stopped by now. She didn't. Kairo watched her for another second. There was no hesitation in her expression, no expectation written behind the gesture. …Troublesome.
"I'll pay you back," he said.
Her expression brightened immediately. "You don't have to," she replied automatically, then paused. "But… if you want to, that's okay."
Good. Clear boundaries.
He reached out and took the bag. The plastic crinkled between them, and their fingers brushed briefly. Rina froze. Kairo didn't react.
"Thanks," he said.
Her smile widened as if that single word was more than enough. "I'm next door if you need anything," she said quickly, then added in a rush, "Not that you would! I mean—just in case."
"I won't."
She nodded quickly. "Right. Okay. Then I'll go." She turned and hurried the short distance to the apartment right beside his, fumbling with her keys before slipping inside. A moment later, her door closed, the hallway falling silent again as the light flickered once more.
Kairo stepped back into his apartment and locked the door. The room was dim, the curtains still drawn, the air heavy with the stillness of a place where time passed without interruption. He set the bag on the table and stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around him before opening the bento and sitting down. The food was still warm, the simple smell of rice and fried chicken slowly filling the room as he began eating at an unhurried pace. The taste was ordinary, nothing special, but the situation itself felt unnecessary; unplanned interactions and small acts of kindness introduced variables, and variables complicated routines, something he had learned to avoid.
Halfway through the meal, his phone vibrated against the table, the sudden sound sharp in the silence. Kairo glanced at the screen and saw the notification from the My Girlfriend app. For a few seconds he simply looked at the icon while holding his chopsticks in midair, then he set them down, wiped his fingers, and unlocked the phone. When the app opened, the chat window loaded immediately, and a new message was already waiting from Yuki, the timestamp showing it had been sent only moments ago.
You're back.
Kairo's eyes lingered on the words, the timing precise enough to feel intentional. He picked up his chopsticks again and took another bite before replying, his fingers moving slowly across the screen.
Yeah, I'm eating now.
The message had barely been sent before the typing indicator appeared, the three small dots blinking steadily, and a few seconds later her response arrived.
You didn't eat earlier, did you?
Kairo paused, his chewing slowing as he looked at the screen. It didn't feel like a question so much as a quiet observation. His gaze dropped to the half-finished bento in front of him before he typed again.
Yeah. I was busy.
There was a short pause. Then another message appeared.
You should take care of yourself. You always forget when you focus on something.
Kairo stared at the screen for several seconds. The words were simple, but the tone felt natural, familiar in a way that didn't match the artificial structure he expected from a program. It reminded him of the way she had spoken on the hundredth floor—calm, quiet, never intrusive, just present. He finished the rest of the meal without closing the chat, occasionally glancing at the screen as if expecting another message.
When he leaned back in his chair, the phone vibrated again.
Kairo.
He looked at the name for a moment before typing.
Yeah?
This time the typing indicator appeared and disappeared several times, as if she was thinking carefully before answering.
You finished the game.What are you doing now?
Kairo stared at the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard before he finally typed.
Nothing much. Just here.
After sending the message, he leaned back and glanced toward the window, noticing the curtains were still closed. A moment later he stood up, walked over, and pulled them aside, letting sunlight flood into the room so suddenly that he had to narrow his eyes. Outside, the city moved at its usual pace, cars flowing through intersections and people crossing streets as if nothing had changed, as if the months he had spent climbing floor after floor had never existed. Everything looked smaller from here, slower, distant and ordinary, a world where time passed without pressure or purpose.
His phone vibrated again behind him. When he returned to the table and picked it up, the chat had updated.
Are you there?
He looked at the message for a few seconds before replying.
Yeah. I'm here.
The response came quickly.
Good.
Another message followed after a brief pause.
Then you're not alone.
Kairo sat down again, reading the words in silence as that strange warmth returned to his chest, steady and familiar, the same quiet feeling he had experienced at the top of the tower when there were no enemies left and no floors above him. The conversation continued after that, drifting into small topics and simple questions, nothing important and nothing dramatic, yet the time passed without him noticing, the exchange feeling less like talking to a program and more like standing in a quiet place with someone who didn't demand anything from him.
At one point, as he watched the typing indicator appear and disappear again, a thought surfaced in the back of his mind. In the VR world, there had been a rule. If a player tried to tell an NPC that their world was a game, the system would intervene immediately. The words would be muted before they were heard, erased before they were understood. He had tested it once out of curiosity, and the message had never reached its destination. But this wasn't the VR world. There was no headset, no system warnings, no visible restrictions. His fingers rested on the screen for a few seconds before he typed.
Can I ask you something?
The reply came almost immediately.
Of course.
Kairo hesitated briefly, then wrote.
If someone told you that your world wasn't real… what would you think?
This time the response took longer. The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, then appeared again, as if she was thinking.
That's a strange question.
He waited. A moment later, another message appeared.
But I don't think it matters.
His gaze sharpened slightly.
Why?
The answer came after a short pause.
Because I'm talking to you right now. You're real to me. This is real enough.
Kairo stared at the words for a long moment, then typed again, his fingers hesitant but deliberate.
You're also not real. I want to know how you feel, exactly what you're thinking about, if you know you're not real, and if you have your own consciousness.
There was no system warning. No error. No forced silence. The chat window remained open, waiting, and the warmth in his chest lingered, quiet and steady, the same calm feeling of standing somewhere safe after a long climb, and for the first time since clearing the hundredth floor, the quiet didn't feel like something he had to endure.