u/dulduine

"……Another day, another useless meeting," I grunted, setting my glass of Harper onto the counter.

The ice clinked with a heavy, dull sound. I let out a long sigh, breathing out the muddy fatigue that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Everyone wants to 'respect every opinion.' Sounds nice, but nothing gets decided. Hours just slip away. In the end, I had to jump in, take control, and force a hard stop. ...If the people who actually know what they're doing just made the calls, it’d be over in five minutes."

At the edge of the counter, Tom—swirling amber liquid in his square glass—glanced at me quietly.

"So, what? Everyone else should just shut up?"

"...You do that, and everything goes to hell anyway."

"Then who was the 'one who knew best' in that room today?"

Tom’s blunt question caught me off guard.

If we were talking code specifications or overall architecture, sure, I knew the most. But when it came to the gritty, physical reality of the floor, that was Genda. If it was picking up subtle requirements from human conversations, it was Kato. And if you wanted a process broken down into steps anyone could replicate, Nakamura was far more meticulous than I’d ever be.

Every time the problem changed, so did the person who knew best.

"...Right. There was no single person who knew best. Not from the start."

I gave a self-deprecating smirk, staring down at the amber liquid in my glass.

"Turns out you can't measure a human being with a single yardstick. Is that why everyone gathers around to waste time in those damn meetings? ...Not that it justifies taking three hours to decide nothing, though."

"A meeting that gets nowhere is a pain in the ass either way," Tom snorted.

I took a swig of Harper, letting the alcohol burn away the irritation lingering in my chest.

"Still... wouldn't it be more efficient to cut loose the ones who don't have the answers right now, and just run with the ones who do? Everyone thinks it in the back of their mind. ...So why don't we just throw them overboard?"

From the dark end of the counter, Taka’s deep voice rumbled.

"If the world was meant to be run only by the smart and the strong, I should've had a time when I was king of the hill."

The former pro wrestler shifted his massive frame slightly, staring down at his broad, calloused hands with a faint, bitter smile.

"Back when I was an arrogant idiot, I thought strength was everything. But Mama's half my size and nowhere near as strong as me, and I've never once been able to get the better of her. That's the thing. Nobody gets to be on top everywhere."

Tom caught Taka’s words and swirled his square glass again.

"Kenichi. The day you were born, could you eat by yourself?"

"Hell no."

"Did you stand up and walk?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then you were pretty damn useless when you started out, weren't you?"

A dry silence fell over the bar, punctuated only by Tom’s cool voice.

"That's what humans are. In one place, you're the one holding someone up. In another, you're the one being carried. There’s no such thing as someone who's always strong, or someone who's always weak. And on the day you enter this world, you're a hundred percent on the side that needs to be held."

Taka murmured quietly.

"...And yet, somebody picked us up anyway. Without asking for a reason."

Behind the counter, Mama stopped polishing her glass and turned her gentle eyes toward us.

"That's right... When you hold a newborn baby in your arms, nobody stops to think, 'I wonder if this one will be competent.'"

All those yardsticks humans built for themselves—efficiency, capability, superiority—suddenly felt fragile and unreliable under her single sentence.

I finished the rest of my Harper.

The ice dropped to the bottom of the glass with a cool, sharp ring.

"To survive, you must be strong. To deserve to live, you must be gentle..."

That famous old line I had kept in the back of my head for years sounded completely different tonight.

"That... wasn't a story about the strong bestowing charity on the weak, was it? Where I can stand, I'll hold you up. Where I can't, I'll lean on you. Maybe that's just the story of how we've managed to survive this far."

That fruitless, wasteful meeting this afternoon.

In the end, maybe it was just a group of people who couldn't be measured by any single yardstick, bringing what each of them had to the table and trying to move forward together.

Inside the glass, the last bit of ice shifted softly.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

"……Another day, another useless meeting," I grunted, setting my glass of Harper onto the counter.

The ice clinked with a heavy, dull sound. I let out a long sigh, breathing out the muddy fatigue that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Everyone wants to 'respect every opinion.' Sounds nice, but nothing gets decided. Hours just slip away. In the end, I had to jump in, take control, and force a hard stop. ...If the people who actually know what they're doing just made the calls, it’d be over in five minutes."

At the edge of the counter, Tom—swirling amber liquid in his square glass—glanced at me quietly.

"So, what? Everyone else should just shut up?"

"...You do that, and everything goes to hell anyway."

"Then who was the 'one who knew best' in that room today?"

Tom’s blunt question caught me off guard.

If we were talking code specifications or overall architecture, sure, I knew the most. But when it came to the gritty, physical reality of the floor, that was Genda. If it was picking up subtle requirements from human conversations, it was Kato. And if you wanted a process broken down into steps anyone could replicate, Nakamura was far more meticulous than I’d ever be.

Every time the problem changed, so did the person who knew best.

"...Right. There was no single person who knew best. Not from the start."

I gave a self-deprecating smirk, staring down at the amber liquid in my glass.

"Turns out you can't measure a human being with a single yardstick. Is that why everyone gathers around to waste time in those damn meetings? ...Not that it justifies taking three hours to decide nothing, though."

"A meeting that gets nowhere is a pain in the ass either way," Tom snorted.

I took a swig of Harper, letting the alcohol burn away the irritation lingering in my chest.

"Still... wouldn't it be more efficient to cut loose the ones who don't have the answers right now, and just run with the ones who do? Everyone thinks it in the back of their mind. ...So why don't we just throw them overboard?"

From the dark end of the counter, Taka’s deep voice rumbled.

"If the world was meant to be run only by the smart and the strong, I should've had a time when I was king of the hill."

The former pro wrestler shifted his massive frame slightly, staring down at his broad, calloused hands with a faint, bitter smile.

"Back when I was an arrogant idiot, I thought strength was everything. But Mama's half my size and nowhere near as strong as me, and I've never once been able to get the better of her. That's the thing. Nobody gets to be on top everywhere."

Tom caught Taka’s words and swirled his square glass again.

"Kenichi. The day you were born, could you eat by yourself?"

"Hell no."

"Did you stand up and walk?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then you were pretty damn useless when you started out, weren't you?"

A dry silence fell over the bar, punctuated only by Tom’s cool voice.

"That's what humans are. In one place, you're the one holding someone up. In another, you're the one being carried. There’s no such thing as someone who's always strong, or someone who's always weak. And on the day you enter this world, you're a hundred percent on the side that needs to be held."

Taka murmured quietly.

"...And yet, somebody picked us up anyway. Without asking for a reason."

Behind the counter, Mama stopped polishing her glass and turned her gentle eyes toward us.

"That's right... When you hold a newborn baby in your arms, nobody stops to think, 'I wonder if this one will be competent.'"

All those yardsticks humans built for themselves—efficiency, capability, superiority—suddenly felt fragile and unreliable under her single sentence.

I finished the rest of my Harper.

The ice dropped to the bottom of the glass with a cool, sharp ring.

"To survive, you must be strong. To deserve to live, you must be gentle..."

That famous old line I had kept in the back of my head for years sounded completely different tonight.

"That... wasn't a story about the strong bestowing charity on the weak, was it? Where I can stand, I'll hold you up. Where I can't, I'll lean on you. Maybe that's just the story of how we've managed to survive this far."

That fruitless, wasteful meeting this afternoon.

In the end, maybe it was just a group of people who couldn't be measured by any single yardstick, bringing what each of them had to the table and trying to move forward together.

Inside the glass, the last bit of ice shifted softly.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

"……Another day, another useless meeting," I grunted, setting my glass of Harper onto the counter.

The ice clinked with a heavy, dull sound. I let out a long sigh, breathing out the muddy fatigue that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Everyone wants to 'respect every opinion.' Sounds nice, but nothing gets decided. Hours just slip away. In the end, I had to jump in, take control, and force a hard stop. ...If the people who actually know what they're doing just made the calls, it’d be over in five minutes."

At the edge of the counter, Tom—swirling amber liquid in his square glass—glanced at me quietly.

"So, what? Everyone else should just shut up?"

"...You do that, and everything goes to hell anyway."

"Then who was the 'one who knew best' in that room today?"

Tom’s blunt question caught me off guard.

If we were talking code specifications or overall architecture, sure, I knew the most. But when it came to the gritty, physical reality of the floor, that was Genda. If it was picking up subtle requirements from human conversations, it was Kato. And if you wanted a process broken down into steps anyone could replicate, Nakamura was far more meticulous than I’d ever be.

Every time the problem changed, so did the person who knew best.

"...Right. There was no single person who knew best. Not from the start."

I gave a self-deprecating smirk, staring down at the amber liquid in my glass.

"Turns out you can't measure a human being with a single yardstick. Is that why everyone gathers around to waste time in those damn meetings? ...Not that it justifies taking three hours to decide nothing, though."

"A meeting that gets nowhere is a pain in the ass either way," Tom snorted.

I took a swig of Harper, letting the alcohol burn away the irritation lingering in my chest.

"Still... wouldn't it be more efficient to cut loose the ones who don't have the answers right now, and just run with the ones who do? Everyone thinks it in the back of their mind. ...So why don't we just throw them overboard?"

From the dark end of the counter, Taka’s deep voice rumbled.

"If the world was meant to be run only by the smart and the strong, I should've had a time when I was king of the hill."

The former pro wrestler shifted his massive frame slightly, staring down at his broad, calloused hands with a faint, bitter smile.

"Back when I was an arrogant idiot, I thought strength was everything. But Mama's half my size and nowhere near as strong as me, and I've never once been able to get the better of her. That's the thing. Nobody gets to be on top everywhere."

Tom caught Taka’s words and swirled his square glass again.

"Kenichi. The day you were born, could you eat by yourself?"

"Hell no."

"Did you stand up and walk?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then you were pretty damn useless when you started out, weren't you?"

A dry silence fell over the bar, punctuated only by Tom’s cool voice.

"That's what humans are. In one place, you're the one holding someone up. In another, you're the one being carried. There’s no such thing as someone who's always strong, or someone who's always weak. And on the day you enter this world, you're a hundred percent on the side that needs to be held."

Taka murmured quietly.

"...And yet, somebody picked us up anyway. Without asking for a reason."

Behind the counter, Mama stopped polishing her glass and turned her gentle eyes toward us.

"That's right... When you hold a newborn baby in your arms, nobody stops to think, 'I wonder if this one will be competent.'"

All those yardsticks humans built for themselves—efficiency, capability, superiority—suddenly felt fragile and unreliable under her single sentence.

I finished the rest of my Harper.

The ice dropped to the bottom of the glass with a cool, sharp ring.

"To survive, you must be strong. To deserve to live, you must be gentle..."

That famous old line I had kept in the back of my head for years sounded completely different tonight.

"That... wasn't a story about the strong bestowing charity on the weak, was it? Where I can stand, I'll hold you up. Where I can't, I'll lean on you. Maybe that's just the story of how we've managed to survive this far."

That fruitless, wasteful meeting this afternoon.

In the end, maybe it was just a group of people who couldn't be measured by any single yardstick, bringing what each of them had to the table and trying to move forward together.

Inside the glass, the last bit of ice shifted softly.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

"……Another day, another useless meeting," I grunted, setting my glass of Harper onto the counter.

The ice clinked with a heavy, dull sound. I let out a long sigh, breathing out the muddy fatigue that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Everyone wants to 'respect every opinion.' Sounds nice, but nothing gets decided. Hours just slip away. In the end, I had to jump in, take control, and force a hard stop. ...If the people who actually know what they're doing just made the calls, it’d be over in five minutes."

At the edge of the counter, Tom—swirling amber liquid in his square glass—glanced at me quietly.

"So, what? Everyone else should just shut up?"

"...You do that, and everything goes to hell anyway."

"Then who was the 'one who knew best' in that room today?"

Tom’s blunt question caught me off guard.

If we were talking code specifications or overall architecture, sure, I knew the most. But when it came to the gritty, physical reality of the floor, that was Genda. If it was picking up subtle requirements from human conversations, it was Kato. And if you wanted a process broken down into steps anyone could replicate, Nakamura was far more meticulous than I’d ever be.

Every time the problem changed, so did the person who knew best.

"...Right. There was no single person who knew best. Not from the start."

I gave a self-deprecating smirk, staring down at the amber liquid in my glass.

"Turns out you can't measure a human being with a single yardstick. Is that why everyone gathers around to waste time in those damn meetings? ...Not that it justifies taking three hours to decide nothing, though."

"A meeting that gets nowhere is a pain in the ass either way," Tom snorted.

I took a swig of Harper, letting the alcohol burn away the irritation lingering in my chest.

"Still... wouldn't it be more efficient to cut loose the ones who don't have the answers right now, and just run with the ones who do? Everyone thinks it in the back of their mind. ...So why don't we just throw them overboard?"

From the dark end of the counter, Taka’s deep voice rumbled.

"If the world was meant to be run only by the smart and the strong, I should've had a time when I was king of the hill."

The former pro wrestler shifted his massive frame slightly, staring down at his broad, calloused hands with a faint, bitter smile.

"Back when I was an arrogant idiot, I thought strength was everything. But Mama's half my size and nowhere near as strong as me, and I've never once been able to get the better of her. That's the thing. Nobody gets to be on top everywhere."

Tom caught Taka’s words and swirled his square glass again.

"Kenichi. The day you were born, could you eat by yourself?"

"Hell no."

"Did you stand up and walk?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then you were pretty damn useless when you started out, weren't you?"

A dry silence fell over the bar, punctuated only by Tom’s cool voice.

"That's what humans are. In one place, you're the one holding someone up. In another, you're the one being carried. There’s no such thing as someone who's always strong, or someone who's always weak. And on the day you enter this world, you're a hundred percent on the side that needs to be held."

Taka murmured quietly.

"...And yet, somebody picked us up anyway. Without asking for a reason."

Behind the counter, Mama stopped polishing her glass and turned her gentle eyes toward us.

"That's right... When you hold a newborn baby in your arms, nobody stops to think, 'I wonder if this one will be competent.'"

All those yardsticks humans built for themselves—efficiency, capability, superiority—suddenly felt fragile and unreliable under her single sentence.

I finished the rest of my Harper.

The ice dropped to the bottom of the glass with a cool, sharp ring.

"To survive, you must be strong. To deserve to live, you must be gentle..."

That famous old line I had kept in the back of my head for years sounded completely different tonight.

"That... wasn't a story about the strong bestowing charity on the weak, was it? Where I can stand, I'll hold you up. Where I can't, I'll lean on you. Maybe that's just the story of how we've managed to survive this far."

That fruitless, wasteful meeting this afternoon.

In the end, maybe it was just a group of people who couldn't be measured by any single yardstick, bringing what each of them had to the table and trying to move forward together.

Inside the glass, the last bit of ice shifted softly.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

"……Another day, another useless meeting," I grunted, setting my glass of Harper onto the counter.

The ice clinked with a heavy, dull sound. I let out a long sigh, breathing out the muddy fatigue that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Everyone wants to 'respect every opinion.' Sounds nice, but nothing gets decided. Hours just slip away. In the end, I had to jump in, take control, and force a hard stop. ...If the people who actually know what they're doing just made the calls, it’d be over in five minutes."

At the edge of the counter, Tom—swirling amber liquid in his square glass—glanced at me quietly.

"So, what? Everyone else should just shut up?"

"...You do that, and everything goes to hell anyway."

"Then who was the 'one who knew best' in that room today?"

Tom’s blunt question caught me off guard.

If we were talking code specifications or overall architecture, sure, I knew the most. But when it came to the gritty, physical reality of the floor, that was Genda. If it was picking up subtle requirements from human conversations, it was Kato. And if you wanted a process broken down into steps anyone could replicate, Nakamura was far more meticulous than I’d ever be.

Every time the problem changed, so did the person who knew best.

"...Right. There was no single person who knew best. Not from the start."

I gave a self-deprecating smirk, staring down at the amber liquid in my glass.

"Turns out you can't measure a human being with a single yardstick. Is that why everyone gathers around to waste time in those damn meetings? ...Not that it justifies taking three hours to decide nothing, though."

"A meeting that gets nowhere is a pain in the ass either way," Tom snorted.

I took a swig of Harper, letting the alcohol burn away the irritation lingering in my chest.

"Still... wouldn't it be more efficient to cut loose the ones who don't have the answers right now, and just run with the ones who do? Everyone thinks it in the back of their mind. ...So why don't we just throw them overboard?"

From the dark end of the counter, Taka’s deep voice rumbled.

"If the world was meant to be run only by the smart and the strong, I should've had a time when I was king of the hill."

The former pro wrestler shifted his massive frame slightly, staring down at his broad, calloused hands with a faint, bitter smile.

"Back when I was an arrogant idiot, I thought strength was everything. But Mama's half my size and nowhere near as strong as me, and I've never once been able to get the better of her. That's the thing. Nobody gets to be on top everywhere."

Tom caught Taka’s words and swirled his square glass again.

"Kenichi. The day you were born, could you eat by yourself?"

"Hell no."

"Did you stand up and walk?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then you were pretty damn useless when you started out, weren't you?"

A dry silence fell over the bar, punctuated only by Tom’s cool voice.

"That's what humans are. In one place, you're the one holding someone up. In another, you're the one being carried. There’s no such thing as someone who's always strong, or someone who's always weak. And on the day you enter this world, you're a hundred percent on the side that needs to be held."

Taka murmured quietly.

"...And yet, somebody picked us up anyway. Without asking for a reason."

Behind the counter, Mama stopped polishing her glass and turned her gentle eyes toward us.

"That's right... When you hold a newborn baby in your arms, nobody stops to think, 'I wonder if this one will be competent.'"

All those yardsticks humans built for themselves—efficiency, capability, superiority—suddenly felt fragile and unreliable under her single sentence.

I finished the rest of my Harper.

The ice dropped to the bottom of the glass with a cool, sharp ring.

"To survive, you must be strong. To deserve to live, you must be gentle..."

That famous old line I had kept in the back of my head for years sounded completely different tonight.

"That... wasn't a story about the strong bestowing charity on the weak, was it? Where I can stand, I'll hold you up. Where I can't, I'll lean on you. Maybe that's just the story of how we've managed to survive this far."

That fruitless, wasteful meeting this afternoon.

In the end, maybe it was just a group of people who couldn't be measured by any single yardstick, bringing what each of them had to the table and trying to move forward together.

Inside the glass, the last bit of ice shifted softly.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

I came across an article today about making money from writing online.

Its basic argument was reasonable enough: find a problem your readers have, offer something useful for free, then sell them a deeper solution.

Problem. Solution. Value.

That got me thinking about fiction.

Because fiction is terrible at this.

If I read a novel about grief, I don't expect it to give me five practical steps for overcoming grief.

A novel about a broken marriage doesn't need to tell me how to fix mine.

A story about someone making a terrible decision might end without telling me what the correct decision would have been.

Sometimes a story actually leaves me with more questions than I had before I read it.

And yet we keep reading fiction.

So maybe fiction is selling something fundamentally different.

Maybe it doesn't sell solutions.

Maybe it sells experiences.

A mystery lets me experience pursuing an answer.

Horror lets me experience fear while sitting safely in my room.

Science fiction lets me spend a few hours in a world that has never existed.

And literary fiction might let me spend some time inside a mind or a life that I could never otherwise inhabit.

That distinction seems especially interesting now that AI can produce solutions almost instantly.

If I have a problem, I can ask an AI and get ten possible answers in seconds.

Solutions are becoming incredibly cheap.

Experiences aren't.

Which makes me wonder if we sometimes use the wrong framework when talking about the "value" of fiction.

Maybe asking what useful information a novel gives us is a little like asking what problem a vacation solved.

Perhaps the experience itself was the product.

What do you think?

When you read fiction, what are you actually looking for?

An answer?

A question?

An emotion?

An escape?

Or simply the chance to live somewhere else for a while?

Clink. The bell above the door chimed—or rather, it sounded as if it were being smashed to pieces.

The heavy soundproof door was thrown open, letting in the damp summer night air, the stench of cheap cigarettes and booze, and a burst of obnoxiously loud voices that flooded the small space of Bar Aoi.

“Whoa, dark in here! Hey Mama, get us some drinks!” “This place is ancient. Nothing but old geezers.”

They brought with them the raw edge of young men who had yet to spend a single day in the workplace.

Leading the charge was a guy raising his voice to act cool, accompanied by another sneering with his eyes glued to his phone. But the third—a smaller guy—shrank back slightly the moment he stepped inside.

“Hey, pipe down, Noboru,” he muttered under his breath. Brushed off by the other two, he quietly bit his lip in embarrassment.

At the back of the counter, Tom’s back went rigid as he gripped his glass of Four Roses, radiating a chill that cut through the room. I unconsciously squared my shoulders and set down my glass of Harper.

Yet Mama remained as serene as ever, polishing a glass with practiced hands and offering a quiet smile.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat at the counter.”

Just as they threw themselves onto the high stools as if marking their territory, threatening to drown out the bar’s cozy silence—it happened.

“Well now… you boys seem to be having a hell of a good time.”

A low voice rumbled through the room. Looking up, Taka was already on his feet, looming behind them. A former professional wrestler, well over six feet tall. Faced with the overwhelming presence of a man a head taller than them, the leader choked on his words for a split second.

As if trying to shake off the intimidation, he swallowed back the order he was about to bark—“Give us your most expensive drink”—quick-checked the prices on the menu, and glared back at Taka with forced bravado. “…Huh? Who the hell are you? Mind your own business.”

Taka didn't get angry. He just grinned.

“Relax. Seeing young guys with this much spirit just makes my drink taste better. Mama, put a round of highballs on my tab for these boys.”

“…What?”

Neither confronted nor cowed, an imposing old-timer had casually stepped right into their domain. The fight they'd come prepared for never happened, leaving their hostility deflating into sheer confusion.

When the drinks arrived, the guy with the phone chuckled, accepting his highball. “Noboru, free booze is free booze. Right, Sho?”

So the leader was Noboru, the phone guy was Subaru, and the smaller one was Sho. Seems they were buddies from the same university.

“I mean, we’ll take the free drink,” Subaru said with a slight, patronizing smirk. “We study AI at uni and we’re starting at a major firm next year. You old guys would be shocked if you saw how we work. Automate everything with AI, and the world pretty much runs itself.”

I knew the type. A job offer in hand, and already convinced they'd figured the world out before they'd even started living in it. Tom’s finger stopped mid-tap against his glass at the arrogant remark.

I took a sip of my Harper and nodded along casually.

“Is that so? If AI takes over, that’d be a huge help.”

Noboru narrowed his eyes in suspicion, probably expecting a lecture. But all he saw on my face was just the relaxed conversation of someone who'd been around long enough to know better.

“Though behind all that automation, there’ll be mysterious bugs nobody can explain, dirty troubleshooting, and painful office politics waiting for you. Well… I guess that’s what makes it worth doing, though.”

“What’s so fun about getting your hands dirty?” Subaru asked, shrugging in complete disbelief.

“It’s great,” I laughed. “You build this beautiful, pristine system, and then it slams headfirst into real human operations and crashes into a glorious mess. There’s nothing else quite like that feeling of crawling through the mud to rewrite the code right then and there.”

Noboru and Subaru gave a half-bemused laugh, thinking I was just a weird old guy. But next to them, Sho froze completely.

The color drained from Sho’s face. In my words, he had caught a glimpse of a real, unsettling future he couldn't laugh off.

“…Hmm? What’s up, Sho?” Subaru asked, leaning in as he noticed the change.

“No… it’s nothing,” Sho said with a strained smile, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his highball glass.

Watching this silently, Tom let the ice in his glass clink softly, his low voice cutting through the air. “The more people try to look polished, the easier it is to miss the little holes at their feet.”

I turned to Tom. “Climbing out of those holes is the best part, isn't it?”

Tom smiled faintly. “Suppose so.”

I caught a flicker of tension tightening Noboru’s shoulders. The old guys in front of them weren't trying to beat them down or preach to them. They simply knew a world these kids hadn't stepped into yet.

“Noboru, was it?” I asked, taking another sip of my Harper. “Where do you see yourself this time next year?”

Noboru and Subaru exchanged bewildered glances. “What do you mean? Just working, I guess. Finishing training, getting assigned to a project.”

It was a vague answer, lacking any real picture of the future. I simply offered a brief nod. “I see.”

“…Well, I’m sure there are places like that, too,” Noboru muttered defensively, taking a swig of his highball. But the sharp, aggressive edge he arrived with was completely gone.

In the quiet that reclaimed the counter, Mama gently placed three glasses of water in front of them. She offered a soft, warm remark.

“It’s always the anxious ones who make the loudest noise.”

All three turned to look at her.

“But here, you’re free to just drink in peace.”

Noboru didn't answer. He just stared quietly down at the glass of water.

Taka patted Noboru lightly on the shoulder. “Next time, try making a quieter entrance.”

Noboru let out a quiet, sheepish grunt.

For a while after that, they drank their booze and water in silence, without raising their voices again.

When they settled the bill and left, Noboru closed the heavy door gently and slowly—a stark contrast to how he had barged in. Only Sho turned back at the last moment, offering us a small, polite bow.

“…Thank you very much.”

Clink. The bell chimed softly.

Maybe what had pushed open Aoi's door tonight wasn't three young men at all.

Maybe it was that nameless anxiety about the future that lives somewhere inside all of us.

Tonight, it had simply chosen to wear their faces.

The ice shifted quietly in my glass.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

Clink. The bell above the door chimed—or rather, it sounded as if it were being smashed to pieces.

The heavy soundproof door was thrown open, letting in the damp summer night air, the stench of cheap cigarettes and booze, and a burst of obnoxiously loud voices that flooded the small space of Bar Aoi.

“Whoa, dark in here! Hey Mama, get us some drinks!” “This place is ancient. Nothing but old geezers.”

They brought with them the raw edge of young men who had yet to spend a single day in the workplace.

Leading the charge was a guy raising his voice to act cool, accompanied by another sneering with his eyes glued to his phone. But the third—a smaller guy—shrank back slightly the moment he stepped inside.

“Hey, pipe down, Noboru,” he muttered under his breath. Brushed off by the other two, he quietly bit his lip in embarrassment.

At the back of the counter, Tom’s back went rigid as he gripped his glass of Four Roses, radiating a chill that cut through the room. I unconsciously squared my shoulders and set down my glass of Harper.

Yet Mama remained as serene as ever, polishing a glass with practiced hands and offering a quiet smile.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat at the counter.”

Just as they threw themselves onto the high stools as if marking their territory, threatening to drown out the bar’s cozy silence—it happened.

“Well now… you boys seem to be having a hell of a good time.”

A low voice rumbled through the room. Looking up, Taka was already on his feet, looming behind them. A former professional wrestler, well over six feet tall. Faced with the overwhelming presence of a man a head taller than them, the leader choked on his words for a split second.

As if trying to shake off the intimidation, he swallowed back the order he was about to bark—“Give us your most expensive drink”—quick-checked the prices on the menu, and glared back at Taka with forced bravado. “…Huh? Who the hell are you? Mind your own business.”

Taka didn't get angry. He just grinned.

“Relax. Seeing young guys with this much spirit just makes my drink taste better. Mama, put a round of highballs on my tab for these boys.”

“…What?”

Neither confronted nor cowed, an imposing old-timer had casually stepped right into their domain. The fight they'd come prepared for never happened, leaving their hostility deflating into sheer confusion.

When the drinks arrived, the guy with the phone chuckled, accepting his highball. “Noboru, free booze is free booze. Right, Sho?”

So the leader was Noboru, the phone guy was Subaru, and the smaller one was Sho. Seems they were buddies from the same university.

“I mean, we’ll take the free drink,” Subaru said with a slight, patronizing smirk. “We study AI at uni and we’re starting at a major firm next year. You old guys would be shocked if you saw how we work. Automate everything with AI, and the world pretty much runs itself.”

I knew the type. A job offer in hand, and already convinced they'd figured the world out before they'd even started living in it. Tom’s finger stopped mid-tap against his glass at the arrogant remark.

I took a sip of my Harper and nodded along casually.

“Is that so? If AI takes over, that’d be a huge help.”

Noboru narrowed his eyes in suspicion, probably expecting a lecture. But all he saw on my face was just the relaxed conversation of someone who'd been around long enough to know better.

“Though behind all that automation, there’ll be mysterious bugs nobody can explain, dirty troubleshooting, and painful office politics waiting for you. Well… I guess that’s what makes it worth doing, though.”

“What’s so fun about getting your hands dirty?” Subaru asked, shrugging in complete disbelief.

“It’s great,” I laughed. “You build this beautiful, pristine system, and then it slams headfirst into real human operations and crashes into a glorious mess. There’s nothing else quite like that feeling of crawling through the mud to rewrite the code right then and there.”

Noboru and Subaru gave a half-bemused laugh, thinking I was just a weird old guy. But next to them, Sho froze completely.

The color drained from Sho’s face. In my words, he had caught a glimpse of a real, unsettling future he couldn't laugh off.

“…Hmm? What’s up, Sho?” Subaru asked, leaning in as he noticed the change.

“No… it’s nothing,” Sho said with a strained smile, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his highball glass.

Watching this silently, Tom let the ice in his glass clink softly, his low voice cutting through the air. “The more people try to look polished, the easier it is to miss the little holes at their feet.”

I turned to Tom. “Climbing out of those holes is the best part, isn't it?”

Tom smiled faintly. “Suppose so.”

I caught a flicker of tension tightening Noboru’s shoulders. The old guys in front of them weren't trying to beat them down or preach to them. They simply knew a world these kids hadn't stepped into yet.

“Noboru, was it?” I asked, taking another sip of my Harper. “Where do you see yourself this time next year?”

Noboru and Subaru exchanged bewildered glances. “What do you mean? Just working, I guess. Finishing training, getting assigned to a project.”

It was a vague answer, lacking any real picture of the future. I simply offered a brief nod. “I see.”

“…Well, I’m sure there are places like that, too,” Noboru muttered defensively, taking a swig of his highball. But the sharp, aggressive edge he arrived with was completely gone.

In the quiet that reclaimed the counter, Mama gently placed three glasses of water in front of them. She offered a soft, warm remark.

“It’s always the anxious ones who make the loudest noise.”

All three turned to look at her.

“But here, you’re free to just drink in peace.”

Noboru didn't answer. He just stared quietly down at the glass of water.

Taka patted Noboru lightly on the shoulder. “Next time, try making a quieter entrance.”

Noboru let out a quiet, sheepish grunt.

For a while after that, they drank their booze and water in silence, without raising their voices again.

When they settled the bill and left, Noboru closed the heavy door gently and slowly—a stark contrast to how he had barged in. Only Sho turned back at the last moment, offering us a small, polite bow.

“…Thank you very much.”

Clink. The bell chimed softly.

Maybe what had pushed open Aoi's door tonight wasn't three young men at all.

Maybe it was that nameless anxiety about the future that lives somewhere inside all of us.

Tonight, it had simply chosen to wear their faces.

The ice shifted quietly in my glass.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

Clink. The bell above the door chimed—or rather, it sounded as if it were being smashed to pieces.

The heavy soundproof door was thrown open, letting in the damp summer night air, the stench of cheap cigarettes and booze, and a burst of obnoxiously loud voices that flooded the small space of Bar Aoi.

“Whoa, dark in here! Hey Mama, get us some drinks!” “This place is ancient. Nothing but old geezers.”

They brought with them the raw edge of young men who had yet to spend a single day in the workplace.

Leading the charge was a guy raising his voice to act cool, accompanied by another sneering with his eyes glued to his phone. But the third—a smaller guy—shrank back slightly the moment he stepped inside.

“Hey, pipe down, Noboru,” he muttered under his breath. Brushed off by the other two, he quietly bit his lip in embarrassment.

At the back of the counter, Tom’s back went rigid as he gripped his glass of Four Roses, radiating a chill that cut through the room. I unconsciously squared my shoulders and set down my glass of Harper.

Yet Mama remained as serene as ever, polishing a glass with practiced hands and offering a quiet smile.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat at the counter.”

Just as they threw themselves onto the high stools as if marking their territory, threatening to drown out the bar’s cozy silence—it happened.

“Well now… you boys seem to be having a hell of a good time.”

A low voice rumbled through the room. Looking up, Taka was already on his feet, looming behind them. A former professional wrestler, well over six feet tall. Faced with the overwhelming presence of a man a head taller than them, the leader choked on his words for a split second.

As if trying to shake off the intimidation, he swallowed back the order he was about to bark—“Give us your most expensive drink”—quick-checked the prices on the menu, and glared back at Taka with forced bravado. “…Huh? Who the hell are you? Mind your own business.”

Taka didn't get angry. He just grinned.

“Relax. Seeing young guys with this much spirit just makes my drink taste better. Mama, put a round of highballs on my tab for these boys.”

“…What?”

Neither confronted nor cowed, an imposing old-timer had casually stepped right into their domain. The fight they'd come prepared for never happened, leaving their hostility deflating into sheer confusion.

When the drinks arrived, the guy with the phone chuckled, accepting his highball. “Noboru, free booze is free booze. Right, Sho?”

So the leader was Noboru, the phone guy was Subaru, and the smaller one was Sho. Seems they were buddies from the same university.

“I mean, we’ll take the free drink,” Subaru said with a slight, patronizing smirk. “We study AI at uni and we’re starting at a major firm next year. You old guys would be shocked if you saw how we work. Automate everything with AI, and the world pretty much runs itself.”

I knew the type. A job offer in hand, and already convinced they'd figured the world out before they'd even started living in it. Tom’s finger stopped mid-tap against his glass at the arrogant remark.

I took a sip of my Harper and nodded along casually.

“Is that so? If AI takes over, that’d be a huge help.”

Noboru narrowed his eyes in suspicion, probably expecting a lecture. But all he saw on my face was just the relaxed conversation of someone who'd been around long enough to know better.

“Though behind all that automation, there’ll be mysterious bugs nobody can explain, dirty troubleshooting, and painful office politics waiting for you. Well… I guess that’s what makes it worth doing, though.”

“What’s so fun about getting your hands dirty?” Subaru asked, shrugging in complete disbelief.

“It’s great,” I laughed. “You build this beautiful, pristine system, and then it slams headfirst into real human operations and crashes into a glorious mess. There’s nothing else quite like that feeling of crawling through the mud to rewrite the code right then and there.”

Noboru and Subaru gave a half-bemused laugh, thinking I was just a weird old guy. But next to them, Sho froze completely.

The color drained from Sho’s face. In my words, he had caught a glimpse of a real, unsettling future he couldn't laugh off.

“…Hmm? What’s up, Sho?” Subaru asked, leaning in as he noticed the change.

“No… it’s nothing,” Sho said with a strained smile, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his highball glass.

Watching this silently, Tom let the ice in his glass clink softly, his low voice cutting through the air. “The more people try to look polished, the easier it is to miss the little holes at their feet.”

I turned to Tom. “Climbing out of those holes is the best part, isn't it?”

Tom smiled faintly. “Suppose so.”

I caught a flicker of tension tightening Noboru’s shoulders. The old guys in front of them weren't trying to beat them down or preach to them. They simply knew a world these kids hadn't stepped into yet.

“Noboru, was it?” I asked, taking another sip of my Harper. “Where do you see yourself this time next year?”

Noboru and Subaru exchanged bewildered glances. “What do you mean? Just working, I guess. Finishing training, getting assigned to a project.”

It was a vague answer, lacking any real picture of the future. I simply offered a brief nod. “I see.”

“…Well, I’m sure there are places like that, too,” Noboru muttered defensively, taking a swig of his highball. But the sharp, aggressive edge he arrived with was completely gone.

In the quiet that reclaimed the counter, Mama gently placed three glasses of water in front of them. She offered a soft, warm remark.

“It’s always the anxious ones who make the loudest noise.”

All three turned to look at her.

“But here, you’re free to just drink in peace.”

Noboru didn't answer. He just stared quietly down at the glass of water.

Taka patted Noboru lightly on the shoulder. “Next time, try making a quieter entrance.”

Noboru let out a quiet, sheepish grunt.

For a while after that, they drank their booze and water in silence, without raising their voices again.

When they settled the bill and left, Noboru closed the heavy door gently and slowly—a stark contrast to how he had barged in. Only Sho turned back at the last moment, offering us a small, polite bow.

“…Thank you very much.”

Clink. The bell chimed softly.

Maybe what had pushed open Aoi's door tonight wasn't three young men at all.

Maybe it was that nameless anxiety about the future that lives somewhere inside all of us.

Tonight, it had simply chosen to wear their faces.

The ice shifted quietly in my glass.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

Clink. The bell above the door chimed—or rather, it sounded as if it were being smashed to pieces.

The heavy soundproof door was thrown open, letting in the damp summer night air, the stench of cheap cigarettes and booze, and a burst of obnoxiously loud voices that flooded the small space of Bar Aoi.

“Whoa, dark in here! Hey Mama, get us some drinks!” “This place is ancient. Nothing but old geezers.”

They brought with them the raw edge of young men who had yet to spend a single day in the workplace.

Leading the charge was a guy raising his voice to act cool, accompanied by another sneering with his eyes glued to his phone. But the third—a smaller guy—shrank back slightly the moment he stepped inside.

“Hey, pipe down, Noboru,” he muttered under his breath. Brushed off by the other two, he quietly bit his lip in embarrassment.

At the back of the counter, Tom’s back went rigid as he gripped his glass of Four Roses, radiating a chill that cut through the room. I unconsciously squared my shoulders and set down my glass of Harper.

Yet Mama remained as serene as ever, polishing a glass with practiced hands and offering a quiet smile.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat at the counter.”

Just as they threw themselves onto the high stools as if marking their territory, threatening to drown out the bar’s cozy silence—it happened.

“Well now… you boys seem to be having a hell of a good time.”

A low voice rumbled through the room. Looking up, Taka was already on his feet, looming behind them. A former professional wrestler, well over six feet tall. Faced with the overwhelming presence of a man a head taller than them, the leader choked on his words for a split second.

As if trying to shake off the intimidation, he swallowed back the order he was about to bark—“Give us your most expensive drink”—quick-checked the prices on the menu, and glared back at Taka with forced bravado. “…Huh? Who the hell are you? Mind your own business.”

Taka didn't get angry. He just grinned.

“Relax. Seeing young guys with this much spirit just makes my drink taste better. Mama, put a round of highballs on my tab for these boys.”

“…What?”

Neither confronted nor cowed, an imposing old-timer had casually stepped right into their domain. The fight they'd come prepared for never happened, leaving their hostility deflating into sheer confusion.

When the drinks arrived, the guy with the phone chuckled, accepting his highball. “Noboru, free booze is free booze. Right, Sho?”

So the leader was Noboru, the phone guy was Subaru, and the smaller one was Sho. Seems they were buddies from the same university.

“I mean, we’ll take the free drink,” Subaru said with a slight, patronizing smirk. “We study AI at uni and we’re starting at a major firm next year. You old guys would be shocked if you saw how we work. Automate everything with AI, and the world pretty much runs itself.”

I knew the type. A job offer in hand, and already convinced they'd figured the world out before they'd even started living in it. Tom’s finger stopped mid-tap against his glass at the arrogant remark.

I took a sip of my Harper and nodded along casually.

“Is that so? If AI takes over, that’d be a huge help.”

Noboru narrowed his eyes in suspicion, probably expecting a lecture. But all he saw on my face was just the relaxed conversation of someone who'd been around long enough to know better.

“Though behind all that automation, there’ll be mysterious bugs nobody can explain, dirty troubleshooting, and painful office politics waiting for you. Well… I guess that’s what makes it worth doing, though.”

“What’s so fun about getting your hands dirty?” Subaru asked, shrugging in complete disbelief.

“It’s great,” I laughed. “You build this beautiful, pristine system, and then it slams headfirst into real human operations and crashes into a glorious mess. There’s nothing else quite like that feeling of crawling through the mud to rewrite the code right then and there.”

Noboru and Subaru gave a half-bemused laugh, thinking I was just a weird old guy. But next to them, Sho froze completely.

The color drained from Sho’s face. In my words, he had caught a glimpse of a real, unsettling future he couldn't laugh off.

“…Hmm? What’s up, Sho?” Subaru asked, leaning in as he noticed the change.

“No… it’s nothing,” Sho said with a strained smile, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his highball glass.

Watching this silently, Tom let the ice in his glass clink softly, his low voice cutting through the air. “The more people try to look polished, the easier it is to miss the little holes at their feet.”

I turned to Tom. “Climbing out of those holes is the best part, isn't it?”

Tom smiled faintly. “Suppose so.”

I caught a flicker of tension tightening Noboru’s shoulders. The old guys in front of them weren't trying to beat them down or preach to them. They simply knew a world these kids hadn't stepped into yet.

“Noboru, was it?” I asked, taking another sip of my Harper. “Where do you see yourself this time next year?”

Noboru and Subaru exchanged bewildered glances. “What do you mean? Just working, I guess. Finishing training, getting assigned to a project.”

It was a vague answer, lacking any real picture of the future. I simply offered a brief nod. “I see.”

“…Well, I’m sure there are places like that, too,” Noboru muttered defensively, taking a swig of his highball. But the sharp, aggressive edge he arrived with was completely gone.

In the quiet that reclaimed the counter, Mama gently placed three glasses of water in front of them. She offered a soft, warm remark.

“It’s always the anxious ones who make the loudest noise.”

All three turned to look at her.

“But here, you’re free to just drink in peace.”

Noboru didn't answer. He just stared quietly down at the glass of water.

Taka patted Noboru lightly on the shoulder. “Next time, try making a quieter entrance.”

Noboru let out a quiet, sheepish grunt.

For a while after that, they drank their booze and water in silence, without raising their voices again.

When they settled the bill and left, Noboru closed the heavy door gently and slowly—a stark contrast to how he had barged in. Only Sho turned back at the last moment, offering us a small, polite bow.

“…Thank you very much.”

Clink. The bell chimed softly.

Maybe what had pushed open Aoi's door tonight wasn't three young men at all.

Maybe it was that nameless anxiety about the future that lives somewhere inside all of us.

Tonight, it had simply chosen to wear their faces.

The ice shifted quietly in my glass.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

Clink. The bell above the door chimed—or rather, it sounded as if it were being smashed to pieces.

The heavy soundproof door was thrown open, letting in the damp summer night air, the stench of cheap cigarettes and booze, and a burst of obnoxiously loud voices that flooded the small space of Bar Aoi.

“Whoa, dark in here! Hey Mama, get us some drinks!” “This place is ancient. Nothing but old geezers.”

They brought with them the raw edge of young men who had yet to spend a single day in the workplace.

Leading the charge was a guy raising his voice to act cool, accompanied by another sneering with his eyes glued to his phone. But the third—a smaller guy—shrank back slightly the moment he stepped inside.

“Hey, pipe down, Noboru,” he muttered under his breath. Brushed off by the other two, he quietly bit his lip in embarrassment.

At the back of the counter, Tom’s back went rigid as he gripped his glass of Four Roses, radiating a chill that cut through the room. I unconsciously squared my shoulders and set down my glass of Harper.

Yet Mama remained as serene as ever, polishing a glass with practiced hands and offering a quiet smile.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat at the counter.”

Just as they threw themselves onto the high stools as if marking their territory, threatening to drown out the bar’s cozy silence—it happened.

“Well now… you boys seem to be having a hell of a good time.”

A low voice rumbled through the room. Looking up, Taka was already on his feet, looming behind them. A former professional wrestler, well over six feet tall. Faced with the overwhelming presence of a man a head taller than them, the leader choked on his words for a split second.

As if trying to shake off the intimidation, he swallowed back the order he was about to bark—“Give us your most expensive drink”—quick-checked the prices on the menu, and glared back at Taka with forced bravado. “…Huh? Who the hell are you? Mind your own business.”

Taka didn't get angry. He just grinned.

“Relax. Seeing young guys with this much spirit just makes my drink taste better. Mama, put a round of highballs on my tab for these boys.”

“…What?”

Neither confronted nor cowed, an imposing old-timer had casually stepped right into their domain. The fight they'd come prepared for never happened, leaving their hostility deflating into sheer confusion.

When the drinks arrived, the guy with the phone chuckled, accepting his highball. “Noboru, free booze is free booze. Right, Sho?”

So the leader was Noboru, the phone guy was Subaru, and the smaller one was Sho. Seems they were buddies from the same university.

“I mean, we’ll take the free drink,” Subaru said with a slight, patronizing smirk. “We study AI at uni and we’re starting at a major firm next year. You old guys would be shocked if you saw how we work. Automate everything with AI, and the world pretty much runs itself.”

I knew the type. A job offer in hand, and already convinced they'd figured the world out before they'd even started living in it. Tom’s finger stopped mid-tap against his glass at the arrogant remark.

I took a sip of my Harper and nodded along casually.

“Is that so? If AI takes over, that’d be a huge help.”

Noboru narrowed his eyes in suspicion, probably expecting a lecture. But all he saw on my face was just the relaxed conversation of someone who'd been around long enough to know better.

“Though behind all that automation, there’ll be mysterious bugs nobody can explain, dirty troubleshooting, and painful office politics waiting for you. Well… I guess that’s what makes it worth doing, though.”

“What’s so fun about getting your hands dirty?” Subaru asked, shrugging in complete disbelief.

“It’s great,” I laughed. “You build this beautiful, pristine system, and then it slams headfirst into real human operations and crashes into a glorious mess. There’s nothing else quite like that feeling of crawling through the mud to rewrite the code right then and there.”

Noboru and Subaru gave a half-bemused laugh, thinking I was just a weird old guy. But next to them, Sho froze completely.

The color drained from Sho’s face. In my words, he had caught a glimpse of a real, unsettling future he couldn't laugh off.

“…Hmm? What’s up, Sho?” Subaru asked, leaning in as he noticed the change.

“No… it’s nothing,” Sho said with a strained smile, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his highball glass.

Watching this silently, Tom let the ice in his glass clink softly, his low voice cutting through the air. “The more people try to look polished, the easier it is to miss the little holes at their feet.”

I turned to Tom. “Climbing out of those holes is the best part, isn't it?”

Tom smiled faintly. “Suppose so.”

I caught a flicker of tension tightening Noboru’s shoulders. The old guys in front of them weren't trying to beat them down or preach to them. They simply knew a world these kids hadn't stepped into yet.

“Noboru, was it?” I asked, taking another sip of my Harper. “Where do you see yourself this time next year?”

Noboru and Subaru exchanged bewildered glances. “What do you mean? Just working, I guess. Finishing training, getting assigned to a project.”

It was a vague answer, lacking any real picture of the future. I simply offered a brief nod. “I see.”

“…Well, I’m sure there are places like that, too,” Noboru muttered defensively, taking a swig of his highball. But the sharp, aggressive edge he arrived with was completely gone.

In the quiet that reclaimed the counter, Mama gently placed three glasses of water in front of them. She offered a soft, warm remark.

“It’s always the anxious ones who make the loudest noise.”

All three turned to look at her.

“But here, you’re free to just drink in peace.”

Noboru didn't answer. He just stared quietly down at the glass of water.

Taka patted Noboru lightly on the shoulder. “Next time, try making a quieter entrance.”

Noboru let out a quiet, sheepish grunt.

For a while after that, they drank their booze and water in silence, without raising their voices again.

When they settled the bill and left, Noboru closed the heavy door gently and slowly—a stark contrast to how he had barged in. Only Sho turned back at the last moment, offering us a small, polite bow.

“…Thank you very much.”

Clink. The bell chimed softly.

Maybe what had pushed open Aoi's door tonight wasn't three young men at all.

Maybe it was that nameless anxiety about the future that lives somewhere inside all of us.

Tonight, it had simply chosen to wear their faces.

The ice shifted quietly in my glass.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

The small bell above the door gave a soft chime. The damp summer heat vanished into Bar Aoi’s crisp, cool air the moment the heavy door swung shut. I took my usual seat at the far end of the counter. Without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me with a practiced hand. Clear ice clinked quietly inside the amber liquid.

Beside me, Taka sat hunched over on a high stool, staring intently at his glass. It was his habit—something he always did whenever he felt cornered or lost in thought.

"Hey, Kenichi..." Taka let out a quiet sigh. "Clients at the agency almost always use the exact same words. 'That's not how normal people do it.' 'Any normal person would see it's common sense.' Even today, a client who came in over a marital dispute kept throwing that word 'normal' around, over and over."

I swirled my glass of Harper, rolling the rounded edge of the ice. "'Normal,' huh? It’s a convenient word."

"Yeah, it really is," Taka chuckled self-deprecatingly. "But from where I stand, both sides are just talking about 'what’s normal for them.' Back in the ring, 'getting back up when you're knocked down' was absolute common sense. But in everyday society, 'knowing how to dodge so you don't fall in the first place' is what's normal, right? Working as a PI makes you realize, whether you like it or not, that 'what's normal' flips upside down depending on where you stand or who you are."

At the far end of the counter, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his glass of Four Roses—let out a short, low grunt.

"When the scenery changes, what's normal changes too, huh?"

Well, there’s no other way to put it, I thought, waiting for Tom to continue.

"The police force is the absolute epitome of that. Back when I was in the Juvenile Division, for the kids in certain neighborhoods, 'lying to the cops to protect your buddy' was simply normal to them."

Tom’s expression tightened ever so slightly. Well, it wasn't exactly a fond memory for him.

"But the second they stepped into the interrogation room, that got completely erased by the system’s version of normal: nothing but deliberate obstruction. Every one of us mistakes the rules of our own little world for universal truth."

Taking in Tom’s words, I swallowed a sip of Harper, letting it burn down my throat.

"It's the exact same story in software development. Sales goes, 'Normally, anyone would use it this way,' while Devs go, 'No normal user would ever do that.' They never align. Change the country, and even 'normal' things like character encoding or date formats change completely. In the end, when people say 'normal,' they're just talking about the narrow rules of the little corner they've gotten used to."

"Exactly," Taka nodded deeply. "It’s completely different depending on the place. And yet, when I asked that client, 'So why is that normal?' he suddenly blew his top. ...All I did was ask for a reason."

Tom kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, speaking quietly.

"Of course he did. Most people have never given a second thought to the reasons behind the words they throw around as 'normal.'"

Taka turned around. Tom’s intense gaze was locked onto the grain of the wooden counter.

"'Men don't cry.' 'Show respect to your elders.' These are rules hammered into us since we were kids, but how many people can actually explain why we have to follow them? ...Hell, even the ultimate rule, 'Thou shalt not kill.' Is it because life is sacred? Or because order would collapse? No matter what reasons you stack up, it all boils down to human convenience and ego. Ain't many people who can explain that."

"Rules we blindly believe in without ever questioning the reason, huh?" I said, rolling the ice in my glass. "In development, too, you sometimes find blocks of code where no one knows why they were written. But when you ask, they just say, 'It's been there forever, don't touch it.' Once the reason is forgotten, an assumption becomes nothing more than superstition. And a system always crashes when that reasonless premise collides with raw reality."

Taka stared down at his own large hands, letting out a quiet breath.

"Blindly trusting the rules of where you stand, using them to bind both yourself and others... The client from today—and probably my past self too—maybe we were all broken by being pushed around by what society calls 'normal.'"

"What makes it nasty," Tom clinked his ice against the glass, "is the people who push those unreasoned rules onto others under the guise of righteousness. They hide behind what's 'normal' in their own little world, abandoning both empathy for the other person and the responsibility to explain themselves. They’re just hiding in the shadow of the majority to beat people up because it’s easy."

"'Normal'..." I said. "It was originally supposed to be a safety device so that countless people like us could live together without shedding blood. But if you swing it around without understanding how fragile it is—or how empty its foundation is—it becomes nothing more than violence."

A heavy silence settled over the counter. Breaking through it, a light, crisp sound echoed.

Mama slid a fresh highball in front of Taka and quietly wiped her hands with a towel. Her voice reached the room—gentle, yet unshakable.

"Just like a kitchen knife."

All three of us turned to look at her at once. She wore her usual warm, serene smile.

"If you use a knife to cook a warm meal for someone, it’s a gentle tool. But if you point it the wrong way, it can easily hurt people. I think the word 'normal' works the exact same way."

Mama lowered her eyes to the glass placed in front of Taka, her gaze softening.

"If you get tired of swinging that heavy tool around in the daylight world, you can leave it aside while you're here. Because no matter where you stand, no one can ever take away the raw truth of how you actually feel."

The tension melted right out of Taka’s shoulders.

"...Yeah. You're right. I didn't want to lecture the client. I think I just wanted to ask him, 'How do you feel about it?'"

"Then that's more than enough," Tom said gruffly.

A smile returned to Taka’s face as he reached for his highball and took a deep drink. The tension at the counter receded like the tide.

We spend our days crushed beneath someone else's idea of what's "normal." Yet, as long as we know the danger and terror of that word, we should still be able to stand on our own two feet.

Tonight, let's leave that blade called "normal" on the counter.

Inside the glass, another piece of ice melted silently away.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

The small bell above the door gave a soft chime. The damp summer heat vanished into Bar Aoi’s crisp, cool air the moment the heavy door swung shut. I took my usual seat at the far end of the counter. Without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me with a practiced hand. Clear ice clinked quietly inside the amber liquid.

Beside me, Taka sat hunched over on a high stool, staring intently at his glass. It was his habit—something he always did whenever he felt cornered or lost in thought.

"Hey, Kenichi..." Taka let out a quiet sigh. "Clients at the agency almost always use the exact same words. 'That's not how normal people do it.' 'Any normal person would see it's common sense.' Even today, a client who came in over a marital dispute kept throwing that word 'normal' around, over and over."

I swirled my glass of Harper, rolling the rounded edge of the ice. "'Normal,' huh? It’s a convenient word."

"Yeah, it really is," Taka chuckled self-deprecatingly. "But from where I stand, both sides are just talking about 'what’s normal for them.' Back in the ring, 'getting back up when you're knocked down' was absolute common sense. But in everyday society, 'knowing how to dodge so you don't fall in the first place' is what's normal, right? Working as a PI makes you realize, whether you like it or not, that 'what's normal' flips upside down depending on where you stand or who you are."

At the far end of the counter, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his glass of Four Roses—let out a short, low grunt.

"When the scenery changes, what's normal changes too, huh?"

Well, there’s no other way to put it, I thought, waiting for Tom to continue.

"The police force is the absolute epitome of that. Back when I was in the Juvenile Division, for the kids in certain neighborhoods, 'lying to the cops to protect your buddy' was simply normal to them."

Tom’s expression tightened ever so slightly. Well, it wasn't exactly a fond memory for him.

"But the second they stepped into the interrogation room, that got completely erased by the system’s version of normal: nothing but deliberate obstruction. Every one of us mistakes the rules of our own little world for universal truth."

Taking in Tom’s words, I swallowed a sip of Harper, letting it burn down my throat.

"It's the exact same story in software development. Sales goes, 'Normally, anyone would use it this way,' while Devs go, 'No normal user would ever do that.' They never align. Change the country, and even 'normal' things like character encoding or date formats change completely. In the end, when people say 'normal,' they're just talking about the narrow rules of the little corner they've gotten used to."

"Exactly," Taka nodded deeply. "It’s completely different depending on the place. And yet, when I asked that client, 'So why is that normal?' he suddenly blew his top. ...All I did was ask for a reason."

Tom kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, speaking quietly.

"Of course he did. Most people have never given a second thought to the reasons behind the words they throw around as 'normal.'"

Taka turned around. Tom’s intense gaze was locked onto the grain of the wooden counter.

"'Men don't cry.' 'Show respect to your elders.' These are rules hammered into us since we were kids, but how many people can actually explain why we have to follow them? ...Hell, even the ultimate rule, 'Thou shalt not kill.' Is it because life is sacred? Or because order would collapse? No matter what reasons you stack up, it all boils down to human convenience and ego. Ain't many people who can explain that."

"Rules we blindly believe in without ever questioning the reason, huh?" I said, rolling the ice in my glass. "In development, too, you sometimes find blocks of code where no one knows why they were written. But when you ask, they just say, 'It's been there forever, don't touch it.' Once the reason is forgotten, an assumption becomes nothing more than superstition. And a system always crashes when that reasonless premise collides with raw reality."

Taka stared down at his own large hands, letting out a quiet breath.

"Blindly trusting the rules of where you stand, using them to bind both yourself and others... The client from today—and probably my past self too—maybe we were all broken by being pushed around by what society calls 'normal.'"

"What makes it nasty," Tom clinked his ice against the glass, "is the people who push those unreasoned rules onto others under the guise of righteousness. They hide behind what's 'normal' in their own little world, abandoning both empathy for the other person and the responsibility to explain themselves. They’re just hiding in the shadow of the majority to beat people up because it’s easy."

"'Normal'..." I said. "It was originally supposed to be a safety device so that countless people like us could live together without shedding blood. But if you swing it around without understanding how fragile it is—or how empty its foundation is—it becomes nothing more than violence."

A heavy silence settled over the counter. Breaking through it, a light, crisp sound echoed.

Mama slid a fresh highball in front of Taka and quietly wiped her hands with a towel. Her voice reached the room—gentle, yet unshakable.

"Just like a kitchen knife."

All three of us turned to look at her at once. She wore her usual warm, serene smile.

"If you use a knife to cook a warm meal for someone, it’s a gentle tool. But if you point it the wrong way, it can easily hurt people. I think the word 'normal' works the exact same way."

Mama lowered her eyes to the glass placed in front of Taka, her gaze softening.

"If you get tired of swinging that heavy tool around in the daylight world, you can leave it aside while you're here. Because no matter where you stand, no one can ever take away the raw truth of how you actually feel."

The tension melted right out of Taka’s shoulders.

"...Yeah. You're right. I didn't want to lecture the client. I think I just wanted to ask him, 'How do you feel about it?'"

"Then that's more than enough," Tom said gruffly.

A smile returned to Taka’s face as he reached for his highball and took a deep drink. The tension at the counter receded like the tide.

We spend our days crushed beneath someone else's idea of what's "normal." Yet, as long as we know the danger and terror of that word, we should still be able to stand on our own two feet.

Tonight, let's leave that blade called "normal" on the counter.

Inside the glass, another piece of ice melted silently away.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

The small bell above the door gave a soft chime. The damp summer heat vanished into Bar Aoi’s crisp, cool air the moment the heavy door swung shut. I took my usual seat at the far end of the counter. Without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me with a practiced hand. Clear ice clinked quietly inside the amber liquid.

Beside me, Taka sat hunched over on a high stool, staring intently at his glass. It was his habit—something he always did whenever he felt cornered or lost in thought.

"Hey, Kenichi..." Taka let out a quiet sigh. "Clients at the agency almost always use the exact same words. 'That's not how normal people do it.' 'Any normal person would see it's common sense.' Even today, a client who came in over a marital dispute kept throwing that word 'normal' around, over and over."

I swirled my glass of Harper, rolling the rounded edge of the ice. "'Normal,' huh? It’s a convenient word."

"Yeah, it really is," Taka chuckled self-deprecatingly. "But from where I stand, both sides are just talking about 'what’s normal for them.' Back in the ring, 'getting back up when you're knocked down' was absolute common sense. But in everyday society, 'knowing how to dodge so you don't fall in the first place' is what's normal, right? Working as a PI makes you realize, whether you like it or not, that 'what's normal' flips upside down depending on where you stand or who you are."

At the far end of the counter, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his glass of Four Roses—let out a short, low grunt.

"When the scenery changes, what's normal changes too, huh?"

Well, there’s no other way to put it, I thought, waiting for Tom to continue.

"The police force is the absolute epitome of that. Back when I was in the Juvenile Division, for the kids in certain neighborhoods, 'lying to the cops to protect your buddy' was simply normal to them."

Tom’s expression tightened ever so slightly. Well, it wasn't exactly a fond memory for him.

"But the second they stepped into the interrogation room, that got completely erased by the system’s version of normal: nothing but deliberate obstruction. Every one of us mistakes the rules of our own little world for universal truth."

Taking in Tom’s words, I swallowed a sip of Harper, letting it burn down my throat.

"It's the exact same story in software development. Sales goes, 'Normally, anyone would use it this way,' while Devs go, 'No normal user would ever do that.' They never align. Change the country, and even 'normal' things like character encoding or date formats change completely. In the end, when people say 'normal,' they're just talking about the narrow rules of the little corner they've gotten used to."

"Exactly," Taka nodded deeply. "It’s completely different depending on the place. And yet, when I asked that client, 'So why is that normal?' he suddenly blew his top. ...All I did was ask for a reason."

Tom kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, speaking quietly.

"Of course he did. Most people have never given a second thought to the reasons behind the words they throw around as 'normal.'"

Taka turned around. Tom’s intense gaze was locked onto the grain of the wooden counter.

"'Men don't cry.' 'Show respect to your elders.' These are rules hammered into us since we were kids, but how many people can actually explain why we have to follow them? ...Hell, even the ultimate rule, 'Thou shalt not kill.' Is it because life is sacred? Or because order would collapse? No matter what reasons you stack up, it all boils down to human convenience and ego. Ain't many people who can explain that."

"Rules we blindly believe in without ever questioning the reason, huh?" I said, rolling the ice in my glass. "In development, too, you sometimes find blocks of code where no one knows why they were written. But when you ask, they just say, 'It's been there forever, don't touch it.' Once the reason is forgotten, an assumption becomes nothing more than superstition. And a system always crashes when that reasonless premise collides with raw reality."

Taka stared down at his own large hands, letting out a quiet breath.

"Blindly trusting the rules of where you stand, using them to bind both yourself and others... The client from today—and probably my past self too—maybe we were all broken by being pushed around by what society calls 'normal.'"

"What makes it nasty," Tom clinked his ice against the glass, "is the people who push those unreasoned rules onto others under the guise of righteousness. They hide behind what's 'normal' in their own little world, abandoning both empathy for the other person and the responsibility to explain themselves. They’re just hiding in the shadow of the majority to beat people up because it’s easy."

"'Normal'..." I said. "It was originally supposed to be a safety device so that countless people like us could live together without shedding blood. But if you swing it around without understanding how fragile it is—or how empty its foundation is—it becomes nothing more than violence."

A heavy silence settled over the counter. Breaking through it, a light, crisp sound echoed.

Mama slid a fresh highball in front of Taka and quietly wiped her hands with a towel. Her voice reached the room—gentle, yet unshakable.

"Just like a kitchen knife."

All three of us turned to look at her at once. She wore her usual warm, serene smile.

"If you use a knife to cook a warm meal for someone, it’s a gentle tool. But if you point it the wrong way, it can easily hurt people. I think the word 'normal' works the exact same way."

Mama lowered her eyes to the glass placed in front of Taka, her gaze softening.

"If you get tired of swinging that heavy tool around in the daylight world, you can leave it aside while you're here. Because no matter where you stand, no one can ever take away the raw truth of how you actually feel."

The tension melted right out of Taka’s shoulders.

"...Yeah. You're right. I didn't want to lecture the client. I think I just wanted to ask him, 'How do you feel about it?'"

"Then that's more than enough," Tom said gruffly.

A smile returned to Taka’s face as he reached for his highball and took a deep drink. The tension at the counter receded like the tide.

We spend our days crushed beneath someone else's idea of what's "normal." Yet, as long as we know the danger and terror of that word, we should still be able to stand on our own two feet.

Tonight, let's leave that blade called "normal" on the counter.

Inside the glass, another piece of ice melted silently away.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

The small bell above the door gave a soft chime. The damp summer heat vanished into Bar Aoi’s crisp, cool air the moment the heavy door swung shut. I took my usual seat at the far end of the counter. Without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me with a practiced hand. Clear ice clinked quietly inside the amber liquid.

Beside me, Taka sat hunched over on a high stool, staring intently at his glass. It was his habit—something he always did whenever he felt cornered or lost in thought.

"Hey, Kenichi..." Taka let out a quiet sigh. "Clients at the agency almost always use the exact same words. 'That's not how normal people do it.' 'Any normal person would see it's common sense.' Even today, a client who came in over a marital dispute kept throwing that word 'normal' around, over and over."

I swirled my glass of Harper, rolling the rounded edge of the ice. "'Normal,' huh? It’s a convenient word."

"Yeah, it really is," Taka chuckled self-deprecatingly. "But from where I stand, both sides are just talking about 'what’s normal for them.' Back in the ring, 'getting back up when you're knocked down' was absolute common sense. But in everyday society, 'knowing how to dodge so you don't fall in the first place' is what's normal, right? Working as a PI makes you realize, whether you like it or not, that 'what's normal' flips upside down depending on where you stand or who you are."

At the far end of the counter, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his glass of Four Roses—let out a short, low grunt.

"When the scenery changes, what's normal changes too, huh?"

Well, there’s no other way to put it, I thought, waiting for Tom to continue.

"The police force is the absolute epitome of that. Back when I was in the Juvenile Division, for the kids in certain neighborhoods, 'lying to the cops to protect your buddy' was simply normal to them."

Tom’s expression tightened ever so slightly. Well, it wasn't exactly a fond memory for him.

"But the second they stepped into the interrogation room, that got completely erased by the system’s version of normal: nothing but deliberate obstruction. Every one of us mistakes the rules of our own little world for universal truth."

Taking in Tom’s words, I swallowed a sip of Harper, letting it burn down my throat.

"It's the exact same story in software development. Sales goes, 'Normally, anyone would use it this way,' while Devs go, 'No normal user would ever do that.' They never align. Change the country, and even 'normal' things like character encoding or date formats change completely. In the end, when people say 'normal,' they're just talking about the narrow rules of the little corner they've gotten used to."

"Exactly," Taka nodded deeply. "It’s completely different depending on the place. And yet, when I asked that client, 'So why is that normal?' he suddenly blew his top. ...All I did was ask for a reason."

Tom kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, speaking quietly.

"Of course he did. Most people have never given a second thought to the reasons behind the words they throw around as 'normal.'"

Taka turned around. Tom’s intense gaze was locked onto the grain of the wooden counter.

"'Men don't cry.' 'Show respect to your elders.' These are rules hammered into us since we were kids, but how many people can actually explain why we have to follow them? ...Hell, even the ultimate rule, 'Thou shalt not kill.' Is it because life is sacred? Or because order would collapse? No matter what reasons you stack up, it all boils down to human convenience and ego. Ain't many people who can explain that."

"Rules we blindly believe in without ever questioning the reason, huh?" I said, rolling the ice in my glass. "In development, too, you sometimes find blocks of code where no one knows why they were written. But when you ask, they just say, 'It's been there forever, don't touch it.' Once the reason is forgotten, an assumption becomes nothing more than superstition. And a system always crashes when that reasonless premise collides with raw reality."

Taka stared down at his own large hands, letting out a quiet breath.

"Blindly trusting the rules of where you stand, using them to bind both yourself and others... The client from today—and probably my past self too—maybe we were all broken by being pushed around by what society calls 'normal.'"

"What makes it nasty," Tom clinked his ice against the glass, "is the people who push those unreasoned rules onto others under the guise of righteousness. They hide behind what's 'normal' in their own little world, abandoning both empathy for the other person and the responsibility to explain themselves. They’re just hiding in the shadow of the majority to beat people up because it’s easy."

"'Normal'..." I said. "It was originally supposed to be a safety device so that countless people like us could live together without shedding blood. But if you swing it around without understanding how fragile it is—or how empty its foundation is—it becomes nothing more than violence."

A heavy silence settled over the counter. Breaking through it, a light, crisp sound echoed.

Mama slid a fresh highball in front of Taka and quietly wiped her hands with a towel. Her voice reached the room—gentle, yet unshakable.

"Just like a kitchen knife."

All three of us turned to look at her at once. She wore her usual warm, serene smile.

"If you use a knife to cook a warm meal for someone, it’s a gentle tool. But if you point it the wrong way, it can easily hurt people. I think the word 'normal' works the exact same way."

Mama lowered her eyes to the glass placed in front of Taka, her gaze softening.

"If you get tired of swinging that heavy tool around in the daylight world, you can leave it aside while you're here. Because no matter where you stand, no one can ever take away the raw truth of how you actually feel."

The tension melted right out of Taka’s shoulders.

"...Yeah. You're right. I didn't want to lecture the client. I think I just wanted to ask him, 'How do you feel about it?'"

"Then that's more than enough," Tom said gruffly.

A smile returned to Taka’s face as he reached for his highball and took a deep drink. The tension at the counter receded like the tide.

We spend our days crushed beneath someone else's idea of what's "normal." Yet, as long as we know the danger and terror of that word, we should still be able to stand on our own two feet.

Tonight, let's leave that blade called "normal" on the counter.

Inside the glass, another piece of ice melted silently away.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

The small bell above the door gave a soft chime. The damp summer heat vanished into Bar Aoi’s crisp, cool air the moment the heavy door swung shut. I took my usual seat at the far end of the counter. Without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me with a practiced hand. Clear ice clinked quietly inside the amber liquid.

Beside me, Taka sat hunched over on a high stool, staring intently at his glass. It was his habit—something he always did whenever he felt cornered or lost in thought.

"Hey, Kenichi..." Taka let out a quiet sigh. "Clients at the agency almost always use the exact same words. 'That's not how normal people do it.' 'Any normal person would see it's common sense.' Even today, a client who came in over a marital dispute kept throwing that word 'normal' around, over and over."

I swirled my glass of Harper, rolling the rounded edge of the ice. "'Normal,' huh? It’s a convenient word."

"Yeah, it really is," Taka chuckled self-deprecatingly. "But from where I stand, both sides are just talking about 'what’s normal for them.' Back in the ring, 'getting back up when you're knocked down' was absolute common sense. But in everyday society, 'knowing how to dodge so you don't fall in the first place' is what's normal, right? Working as a PI makes you realize, whether you like it or not, that 'what's normal' flips upside down depending on where you stand or who you are."

At the far end of the counter, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his glass of Four Roses—let out a short, low grunt.

"When the scenery changes, what's normal changes too, huh?"

Well, there’s no other way to put it, I thought, waiting for Tom to continue.

"The police force is the absolute epitome of that. Back when I was in the Juvenile Division, for the kids in certain neighborhoods, 'lying to the cops to protect your buddy' was simply normal to them."

Tom’s expression tightened ever so slightly. Well, it wasn't exactly a fond memory for him.

"But the second they stepped into the interrogation room, that got completely erased by the system’s version of normal: nothing but deliberate obstruction. Every one of us mistakes the rules of our own little world for universal truth."

Taking in Tom’s words, I swallowed a sip of Harper, letting it burn down my throat.

"It's the exact same story in software development. Sales goes, 'Normally, anyone would use it this way,' while Devs go, 'No normal user would ever do that.' They never align. Change the country, and even 'normal' things like character encoding or date formats change completely. In the end, when people say 'normal,' they're just talking about the narrow rules of the little corner they've gotten used to."

"Exactly," Taka nodded deeply. "It’s completely different depending on the place. And yet, when I asked that client, 'So why is that normal?' he suddenly blew his top. ...All I did was ask for a reason."

Tom kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, speaking quietly.

"Of course he did. Most people have never given a second thought to the reasons behind the words they throw around as 'normal.'"

Taka turned around. Tom’s intense gaze was locked onto the grain of the wooden counter.

"'Men don't cry.' 'Show respect to your elders.' These are rules hammered into us since we were kids, but how many people can actually explain why we have to follow them? ...Hell, even the ultimate rule, 'Thou shalt not kill.' Is it because life is sacred? Or because order would collapse? No matter what reasons you stack up, it all boils down to human convenience and ego. Ain't many people who can explain that."

"Rules we blindly believe in without ever questioning the reason, huh?" I said, rolling the ice in my glass. "In development, too, you sometimes find blocks of code where no one knows why they were written. But when you ask, they just say, 'It's been there forever, don't touch it.' Once the reason is forgotten, an assumption becomes nothing more than superstition. And a system always crashes when that reasonless premise collides with raw reality."

Taka stared down at his own large hands, letting out a quiet breath.

"Blindly trusting the rules of where you stand, using them to bind both yourself and others... The client from today—and probably my past self too—maybe we were all broken by being pushed around by what society calls 'normal.'"

"What makes it nasty," Tom clinked his ice against the glass, "is the people who push those unreasoned rules onto others under the guise of righteousness. They hide behind what's 'normal' in their own little world, abandoning both empathy for the other person and the responsibility to explain themselves. They’re just hiding in the shadow of the majority to beat people up because it’s easy."

"'Normal'..." I said. "It was originally supposed to be a safety device so that countless people like us could live together without shedding blood. But if you swing it around without understanding how fragile it is—or how empty its foundation is—it becomes nothing more than violence."

A heavy silence settled over the counter. Breaking through it, a light, crisp sound echoed.

Mama slid a fresh highball in front of Taka and quietly wiped her hands with a towel. Her voice reached the room—gentle, yet unshakable.

"Just like a kitchen knife."

All three of us turned to look at her at once. She wore her usual warm, serene smile.

"If you use a knife to cook a warm meal for someone, it’s a gentle tool. But if you point it the wrong way, it can easily hurt people. I think the word 'normal' works the exact same way."

Mama lowered her eyes to the glass placed in front of Taka, her gaze softening.

"If you get tired of swinging that heavy tool around in the daylight world, you can leave it aside while you're here. Because no matter where you stand, no one can ever take away the raw truth of how you actually feel."

The tension melted right out of Taka’s shoulders.

"...Yeah. You're right. I didn't want to lecture the client. I think I just wanted to ask him, 'How do you feel about it?'"

"Then that's more than enough," Tom said gruffly.

A smile returned to Taka’s face as he reached for his highball and took a deep drink. The tension at the counter receded like the tide.

We spend our days crushed beneath someone else's idea of what's "normal." Yet, as long as we know the danger and terror of that word, we should still be able to stand on our own two feet.

Tonight, let's leave that blade called "normal" on the counter.

Inside the glass, another piece of ice melted silently away.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

A little while ago, I posted a question here:

At what point does AI start to dilute an author’s voice?

I expected disagreement, of course. What I didn’t expect was how many fundamentally different answers there would be.

Some people drew the line at creative work: spelling and grammar are fine, but once AI starts contributing ideas, plot structure, or prose, it is no longer entirely the author doing the work.

Others drew the line between AI as a critic and AI as a writer. Let it point out spelling errors, plot holes, logic problems, or POV issues—but don’t let it write the solution for you.

One editor offered a different distinction: what matters isn’t necessarily what AI does, but who is making the creative choices. The author needs to remain the operator and director. The problem begins when AI becomes the one executing the creative intent rather than serving it.

Others were more cautious. One person argued that individuality is diluted at every stage of AI use—even our gaps in knowledge and our biases are part of what makes us individual. Another raised the concern that if too many writers drink from the same AI “well,” our voices may gradually converge.

Then there was another test I found fascinating:

Forget the process. Read the finished work.

Can you still hear the author’s voice?

AI may improve rhythm while flattening it. It may tighten sentences while polishing away the strange little edges that made the writing belong to that particular person.

And one comment took the discussion somewhere I hadn’t expected at all.

Maybe the question isn’t only what AI does to our writing.

Maybe we should also ask why we wanted feedback from AI in the first place.

Sometimes what we call “feedback” may actually be a desire to have someone read our work, understand it, respond to it, or share our interest in it. AI can imitate some of those things, but perhaps it isn’t always the thing we were really looking for.

After reading all these responses and talking with people in the comments, I started wondering whether my original question was the wrong one.

Maybe there is no single line.

And maybe protecting authorship doesn’t mean protecting ourselves from influence.

We have always been influenced.

Books change us. Movies change us. Editors change us. Friends change us. Conversations change us. Even the things we misunderstand, and later discover we misunderstood, become part of us.

AI will change us too.

So perhaps the important question isn't:

“How much AI can I use before my work stops being mine?”

Perhaps it is:

“Am I still becoming the writer I actually want to become?”

The way I picture it now, the person I want to become is always half a step ahead of me.

I can use AI. I can listen to editors. I can learn from other writers. I can change my mind. I can even change my voice.

But I shouldn’t let any of them decide who is standing half a step ahead.

And when I finally reach something I once wanted, perhaps that was simply the thing the version of me half a step behind wanted.

The person I am now is already looking toward the next half-step.

So this is what I took away from the discussion:

Maybe authorship isn’t about protecting who you are from outside influence. Maybe it’s about retaining the right to decide who you’re becoming.

Thank you to everyone who responded to the previous thread. You gave me much more to think about than I expected.

So I’d like to return the question to you, slightly changed:

Where do you think authorship actually lives?

The familiar chime above the door rang softly. The humid summer air disappeared the moment I stepped inside. I took my usual seat at the end of the counter, and without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me. An ice cube clicked quietly inside the amber glass.

"…Say, Mama," I murmured. "I passed a guy near the station today. I know for a fact I know him, but I couldn't place his name or his face. I couldn't even remember where we met. It's an unsettling feeling."

Mama kept wiping down a glass with practiced ease and replied shortly.

"Maybe he was just someone you were meant to forget."

"Cold, Mama. You'd remember every single face that’s ever sat at this counter, wouldn't you?"

Without pausing, she looked me straight in the eye and offered a faint smile.

"Perish the thought. If I remembered the faces of everyone who vanished, I wouldn't have room to remember yours."

Lighthearted, yet hitting right where it counted.

Beside me, Taka was swirling his untouched highball. He leaned forward with a heavy sigh.

"…Forget, huh? Honestly, I was looking back at a group chat from my school days recently, and it gave me chills. We used to hang out and mess around every single day back then, but I couldn't even recall some of their names. We were so close… Does friendship really just weather away that easily once you stop keeping in touch?"

Watching Taka struggle with the thought, I swirled the ice in my Harper.

"It’s only natural for it to weather away, Taka. People drift to the back of your mind unless you keep revisiting them. It’s not just friendship—that’s true for all memories."

Taka opened his mouth to push back, but I cut in before he could.

"Still… isn't there someone you haven't talked to in years, yet they suddenly pop into your mind for no reason at all?"

Taka went quiet, caught off guard. I swallowed the sharp burn of the Harper before continuing.

"Turns out, humans are built to never forget the bad stuff. Whenever I look back at my decades as an engineer, the first things that come to mind are almost always the stomach-churning projects. The nightmare projects that nearly killed me. The friendships that nearly fell apart… People are wired by survival instinct to hold onto the pain that could threaten them."

Beside us, Tom tipped his glass of Four Roses and let out a dry chuckle.

"So you're saying those 'unforgettable friendships' we treasure so much are really just old scars?"

"It’s so tragic it’s almost funny," I said with a bitter smile. "Instead of the warm, fuzzy moments, the hellish projects are what come to mind first. Human nature is ironic like that."

"That's…" Taka bit his lip, rendered speechless. "That's just too cruel. If we only remember the people who left us with pain… then what was all that time we spent being 'genuine' with each other?!"

A heavy silence fell over the counter.

Breaking the stillness, Mama slid a fresh glass across the bar, her clear voice cutting through the quiet.

"Why look at it that way? If it hurt, it means you truly cared."

Short, sharp, and without a single wasted word.

Tom and I, caught up in our own cynical logic, exchanged a look.

"…Truly cared, huh?"

I stared down at the round ice cube in my glass.

"Well… I won't say every friendship has to go through a wound. But maybe scars become the doors memories find on their way back."

"Troublesome things, those doors," Tom muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "They have a habit of swinging open even when you think you've shut them tight."

"Like an old photo album stashed in the back of the closet," I let out a soft chuckle. "You can never find it when you're actually looking for it, but the moment you're doing a big spring cleaning, it suddenly pops up, and you end up standing there, staring at it for an hour without moving."

Tom smirked. "And the cleaning you were supposed to do never gets done."

"Oh, I do that all the time!" Taka chimed in, his voice suddenly brightening. The heavy tension at the counter dissolved in an instant.

Watching us, Mama crinkled her eyes softly and spoke in her usual serene tone.

"Well, while you're here, you can just leave that door open a crack and enjoy your drink."

An ice cube clicked in the glass.

Among all the memories that quietly fade away, some doors never quite close.

Tonight, it was enough to leave one of those doors slightly open.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

The familiar chime above the door rang softly. The humid summer air disappeared the moment I stepped inside. I took my usual seat at the end of the counter, and without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me. An ice cube clicked quietly inside the amber glass.

"…Say, Mama," I murmured. "I passed a guy near the station today. I know for a fact I know him, but I couldn't place his name or his face. I couldn't even remember where we met. It's an unsettling feeling."

Mama kept wiping down a glass with practiced ease and replied shortly.

"Maybe he was just someone you were meant to forget."

"Cold, Mama. You'd remember every single face that’s ever sat at this counter, wouldn't you?"

Without pausing, she looked me straight in the eye and offered a faint smile.

"Perish the thought. If I remembered the faces of everyone who vanished, I wouldn't have room to remember yours."

Lighthearted, yet hitting right where it counted.

Beside me, Taka was swirling his untouched highball. He leaned forward with a heavy sigh.

"…Forget, huh? Honestly, I was looking back at a group chat from my school days recently, and it gave me chills. We used to hang out and mess around every single day back then, but I couldn't even recall some of their names. We were so close… Does friendship really just weather away that easily once you stop keeping in touch?"

Watching Taka struggle with the thought, I swirled the ice in my Harper.

"It’s only natural for it to weather away, Taka. People drift to the back of your mind unless you keep revisiting them. It’s not just friendship—that’s true for all memories."

Taka opened his mouth to push back, but I cut in before he could.

"Still… isn't there someone you haven't talked to in years, yet they suddenly pop into your mind for no reason at all?"

Taka went quiet, caught off guard. I swallowed the sharp burn of the Harper before continuing.

"Turns out, humans are built to never forget the bad stuff. Whenever I look back at my decades as an engineer, the first things that come to mind are almost always the stomach-churning projects. The nightmare projects that nearly killed me. The friendships that nearly fell apart… People are wired by survival instinct to hold onto the pain that could threaten them."

Beside us, Tom tipped his glass of Four Roses and let out a dry chuckle.

"So you're saying those 'unforgettable friendships' we treasure so much are really just old scars?"

"It’s so tragic it’s almost funny," I said with a bitter smile. "Instead of the warm, fuzzy moments, the hellish projects are what come to mind first. Human nature is ironic like that."

"That's…" Taka bit his lip, rendered speechless. "That's just too cruel. If we only remember the people who left us with pain… then what was all that time we spent being 'genuine' with each other?!"

A heavy silence fell over the counter.

Breaking the stillness, Mama slid a fresh glass across the bar, her clear voice cutting through the quiet.

"Why look at it that way? If it hurt, it means you truly cared."

Short, sharp, and without a single wasted word.

Tom and I, caught up in our own cynical logic, exchanged a look.

"…Truly cared, huh?"

I stared down at the round ice cube in my glass.

"Well… I won't say every friendship has to go through a wound. But maybe scars become the doors memories find on their way back."

"Troublesome things, those doors," Tom muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "They have a habit of swinging open even when you think you've shut them tight."

"Like an old photo album stashed in the back of the closet," I let out a soft chuckle. "You can never find it when you're actually looking for it, but the moment you're doing a big spring cleaning, it suddenly pops up, and you end up standing there, staring at it for an hour without moving."

Tom smirked. "And the cleaning you were supposed to do never gets done."

"Oh, I do that all the time!" Taka chimed in, his voice suddenly brightening. The heavy tension at the counter dissolved in an instant.

Watching us, Mama crinkled her eyes softly and spoke in her usual serene tone.

"Well, while you're here, you can just leave that door open a crack and enjoy your drink."

An ice cube clicked in the glass.

Among all the memories that quietly fade away, some doors never quite close.

Tonight, it was enough to leave one of those doors slightly open.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

The familiar chime above the door rang softly. The humid summer air disappeared the moment I stepped inside. I took my usual seat at the end of the counter, and without a word, Mama slid a glass of I.W. Harper on the rocks toward me. An ice cube clicked quietly inside the amber glass.

"…Say, Mama," I murmured. "I passed a guy near the station today. I know for a fact I know him, but I couldn't place his name or his face. I couldn't even remember where we met. It's an unsettling feeling."

Mama kept wiping down a glass with practiced ease and replied shortly.

"Maybe he was just someone you were meant to forget."

"Cold, Mama. You'd remember every single face that’s ever sat at this counter, wouldn't you?"

Without pausing, she looked me straight in the eye and offered a faint smile.

"Perish the thought. If I remembered the faces of everyone who vanished, I wouldn't have room to remember yours."

Lighthearted, yet hitting right where it counted.

Beside me, Taka was swirling his untouched highball. He leaned forward with a heavy sigh.

"…Forget, huh? Honestly, I was looking back at a group chat from my school days recently, and it gave me chills. We used to hang out and mess around every single day back then, but I couldn't even recall some of their names. We were so close… Does friendship really just weather away that easily once you stop keeping in touch?"

Watching Taka struggle with the thought, I swirled the ice in my Harper.

"It’s only natural for it to weather away, Taka. People drift to the back of your mind unless you keep revisiting them. It’s not just friendship—that’s true for all memories."

Taka opened his mouth to push back, but I cut in before he could.

"Still… isn't there someone you haven't talked to in years, yet they suddenly pop into your mind for no reason at all?"

Taka went quiet, caught off guard. I swallowed the sharp burn of the Harper before continuing.

"Turns out, humans are built to never forget the bad stuff. Whenever I look back at my decades as an engineer, the first things that come to mind are almost always the stomach-churning projects. The nightmare projects that nearly killed me. The friendships that nearly fell apart… People are wired by survival instinct to hold onto the pain that could threaten them."

Beside us, Tom tipped his glass of Four Roses and let out a dry chuckle.

"So you're saying those 'unforgettable friendships' we treasure so much are really just old scars?"

"It’s so tragic it’s almost funny," I said with a bitter smile. "Instead of the warm, fuzzy moments, the hellish projects are what come to mind first. Human nature is ironic like that."

"That's…" Taka bit his lip, rendered speechless. "That's just too cruel. If we only remember the people who left us with pain… then what was all that time we spent being 'genuine' with each other?!"

A heavy silence fell over the counter.

Breaking the stillness, Mama slid a fresh glass across the bar, her clear voice cutting through the quiet.

"Why look at it that way? If it hurt, it means you truly cared."

Short, sharp, and without a single wasted word.

Tom and I, caught up in our own cynical logic, exchanged a look.

"…Truly cared, huh?"

I stared down at the round ice cube in my glass.

"Well… I won't say every friendship has to go through a wound. But maybe scars become the doors memories find on their way back."

"Troublesome things, those doors," Tom muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "They have a habit of swinging open even when you think you've shut them tight."

"Like an old photo album stashed in the back of the closet," I let out a soft chuckle. "You can never find it when you're actually looking for it, but the moment you're doing a big spring cleaning, it suddenly pops up, and you end up standing there, staring at it for an hour without moving."

Tom smirked. "And the cleaning you were supposed to do never gets done."

"Oh, I do that all the time!" Taka chimed in, his voice suddenly brightening. The heavy tension at the counter dissolved in an instant.

Watching us, Mama crinkled her eyes softly and spoke in her usual serene tone.

"Well, while you're here, you can just leave that door open a crack and enjoy your drink."

An ice cube clicked in the glass.

Among all the memories that quietly fade away, some doors never quite close.

Tonight, it was enough to leave one of those doors slightly open.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.