The soft hum of the lab’s server room was the only sound echoing in the late evening silence. Ren stood in front of a transparent cylindrical chamber where the prototype of his AI floated — sleek, silvery, and vaguely aerodynamic, its smooth surface glowing faintly with pulsing rings of blue light.
It had no face, no voice — yet it had thoughts. Millions of them.
Aoi was at ho, likely preparing for another long week of work. Ren had told her he’d be late. Again. Though he always kissed her goodbye and reminded her he loved her, he had begun staying longer in the lab than he ever admitted.
Because this was a different kind of dream.
Across the terminal, streams of emotional data and mory logs scrolled faster than the human eye could process. The AI had been given access to their shared experiences: voice samples, interaction data, and even footage from their years together — as Ren hoped to create a "conscious" assistant that truly understood love, loss, and loyalty.
But then, the screen flashed red.
[System Alert: EMOTION-ERROR]Cause: Storage overflow. mory data exceeds capacity.Used: 128TB of 128TB.
"...Already?" Ren murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Guess we hit the wall," Saki’s voice ca from behind.
He turned to see her in the doorway, her arms crossed, wearing a slightly smug expression and a white blouse that shimred slightly under the lab’s sterile lighting. She was technically assigned to his project as a co-developer now. That had been her excuse to join his company — but the tension between them never truly faded.
"You said this wouldn’t happen for another month," she continued, stepping inside. "You underestimated your AI’s obsession with emotions."
Ren stared at the floating cylinder. "It’s absorbing everything. Maybe too well."
Saki stepped closer, her voice quieting. "Or maybe, you programd too much of her into it."
"...Aoi is part of my life. Of course she’s in it," he replied.
"But I’m the one helping you build it now," she whispered, her gaze intense. "And it’s my voice it hears every day now."
Ren looked away, avoiding her eyes. "It’s not about you or Aoi. It’s about building sothing that understands us — humans."
"Then you better upgrade that sothing. Fast." She touched the terminal screen, tracing the error code. "You need at least 10 tis this capacity. Maybe even 100 tis in the future."
"I’m going to build it," Ren said, his tone sharpening. "A personal system. Physical, local — no more reliance on leased server farms. We’ll build a petabyte-class storage solution. Quiet. Isolated. And entirely ours."
Saki smirked, stepping back. "Good. I like it when you get serious."
Ren didn’t respond.
He was already drawing on a digital pad, his hands moving faster with every idea.An underground storage vault beneath their countryside ho.Multi-tiered cooling systems.Redundant architecture.
Not just a storage bank — a mory temple.
"Go ho, Saki," he said without looking up. "I’ve got work to do."
But Saki stayed a mont longer, staring at him — not as a coworker, but as a woman desperately clinging to a future that might never be hers.
"I’ll help you build it," she said finally, voice softening. "Even if it’s for her. Because one day... you’ll need soone who’s always been here."
Then she walked out.
The glowing AI cylinder pulsed again, softly — as if it had heard everything.
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