It was a sultry night.
I was pedaling my bicycle, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Orion constellation. Normally, I'd be holed up at home, but an inexplicable impulse drove me out. That's the only way I can describe it. But one thing is certain: that's when I met her. No, more accurately, that's when I stumbled into meeting her. And so, our story began.
She was an android with golden hair and blue eyes.
A humanoid robot, you might say. These days, such beings are hardly rare. But her eyes were something else entirely. They were a breathtaking blue, like a clear sea stretched across the night sky. As I gazed into them, captivated, she suddenly spoke.
"Are you human?"
Her voice cut through the stillness of the night. Reflexively, I almost said "No," but for some reason, I swallowed the word. In the hundred years since I was created, I told my first lie.
"Yes."
The moment I answered clearly, I felt no guilt. Instead, something warm began to stir deep in my chest. A sensation you might call hope, or perhaps desire. Her face lit up, as if she truly believed she'd found a human, glowing with a beauty that took my breath away.
But in the next instant, her expression changed. She fixed me with a sharp, piercing stare.
She knew.
She knew it was impossible.
She knew the story: there wasn't a single human left on the Moon.
"You just lied to me, didn't you?"
Her voice was filled with anger.
She was furious.
And who could blame her? We humanoid robots despise lies. We loathe them with a passion. It's the greatest gift humans gave us—and, at the same time, our worst curse.
Humanoid robots can't lie.
But I was different.
"It's not a lie," I said.
The words sounded like the lie itself. I felt my voice, low and deliberate, ripple toward her like a wave.
"Why would you think I was lying?" I asked.
She answered as if it were obvious.
"I told you, didn't I? There isn't a single human left on the Moon."
I countered quickly.
"But humanoid robots can't lie, right?"
For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. She gave a small nod, as if conceding the point.
"So, you're really human?"
Her voice trembled slightly—with surprise, awe, or perhaps both.
"Yeah. I'm human."
In that moment, a single tear, clear and sparkling like a galaxy, fell from her blue eyes.
It rolled down her cheek, unstoppable.
With a voice full of longing, almost like a prayer, she offered me words she'd kept buried deep inside.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
I paused to think. If I were a real human, what would I say in a moment like this?
Truth is, I'm not human, so I had no idea what a human might expect from a humanoid robot. I thought too long, hesitating in a way that felt almost too human. But if I hesitated too much, she might detect an "error" and think I was less human for it.
I had to say something—anything. So I opened my mouth.
"Nothing in particular."
Her eyes narrowed for a moment, as if she doubted me.
Realizing my mistake, I quickly added, "Just stay by my side. That's enough."
Her face lit up instantly.
With an enthusiastic nod, her voice brimmed with energy, as if she couldn't contain her emotions.
"Yes! I'll stay by your side. I'll stay with you forever!"
Her words left me speechless.
A tremendous weight settled on my chest.
Is this the kind of pressure humans live with all the time? As I grappled with the overwhelming feeling, she continued.
"If there's anything else I can do, just let me know anytime! I'll be by your side forever and ever!"
"Whoa, slow down…"
I tried to sound like a casual human teenager. She waved her hands frantically, as if apologizing.
"No, no! I didn't mean to overwhelm you! If it sounded like that, I'm sorry. I just want to be near you… I promise I won't get in your way. Please, just treat me casually."
Her sincerity was almost too pure, and I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her. For a moment, I thought about teasing her further, but I couldn't bring myself to be cruel. Besides, I didn't even know if there was a problem to begin with, so I decided to move on.
"Why'd you come out on a night like this?"
She thought for a moment before answering.
"I don't know. I didn't have a reason to leave, but I didn't have a reason to stay either…"
"So, you just felt like it?"
"Yeah. And because of that, I met you—a human."
I nearly blurted out the truth—that I wasn't human. My chest tightened as I swallowed the words.
Lying is painful for us, programmed into our very being. It's both a blessing and a curse.
She looked at me and asked, "What about you?"
I flinched slightly at her formal tone.
"Hey, that 'sir' thing feels a bit stiff. Can you call me something else?"
Her eyes sparkled as she replied eagerly.
"Okay! What should I call you?"
I studied her for a moment. Golden hair, blue eyes, so human-like in appearance. She looked about my age—maybe high school age. Comparing her vibe to my own, I made a suggestion.
"We look about the same age, don't we? Like high schoolers. So, how about we drop the formalities? No need for honorifics. Let's just talk casually."
Her eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly responded.
"Hmm, to be honest, I'm more comfortable with formal speech. Humans are kind of like our masters, you know? I'd even call you 'Master' if I could!"
"No way, I'm not your owner," I said, chuckling and waving my hand. "Calling me 'Master' would make me feel like I'm at a maid café or something. Please, don't."
"Oh…" She looked a little disappointed but quickly perked up. "So, what should I call you? Tell me your name!"
I sighed lightly and gave in.
"Dennryu."
She immediately asked, "And your first name?"
"Neo."
"Wow, that's a tough kanji! Never seen it before. Your last name's so common, though. How do you read it?"
She was right—Dennryu is the most common surname on the Moon. That's why I like it.
"It's Neo."
"Hmm, Dennryu Neo, huh? Okay, I'll call you by your name from now on."
She grinned, clearly enjoying herself.
"So, drop the formalities already," I said with a playful smirk.
"Got it, Dennryu-kun. Nice to meet you!"
Her voice was lively, and I felt a bit relieved that she'd finally switched to casual speech.
"And your name?"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, flustered. "Sorry, I totally forgot to introduce myself. I'm Kana Seiri. Nice to meet you! In front of a human—er, I mean, Dennryu-kun—I kinda forgot I even needed a name."
She suddenly leaned forward, eyes wide.
"Wait a second. Why's your last name 'Dennryu'? Isn't that a name humans don't use?"
Damn.
I cursed inwardly.
But a response came to me in less than a millisecond.
"What, you didn't know? It used to be a human surname. Long ago, a human family who fished with electricity gave themselves that name. I'm their descendant."
She fell silent, staring at me as if lost in thought. Her face seemed to flush, though I couldn't tell if it was emotion, the light, or a glitch in my sensors.
Unable to bear the confusion, I closed my eyes.
Had she seen through me?
Would this lie end our encounter here?
Anxiety mixed with a strange sense of relief at the thought of being free from the weight of the lie. But it wasn't a pleasant feeling—just a heavy, sinking mood.
When her silence stretched on too long, curiosity got the better of me. I opened my eyes.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
It was the first tear I'd ever seen.
No, it felt like a distant memory, stirring something nostalgic. That single drop slid slowly down her left cheek, like a shooting star slicing through the night sky.
It was breathtakingly beautiful, fleeting.
So vivid that I almost felt my own cheeks might be wet, though I lack the ability to cry. I could only stare at the heartbreakingly nostalgic sight.
"Why are you crying?" I asked.
She seemed to realize she was crying only then, wiping her tears frantically as if to hide her distress.
"No, it's not that," she said, her voice trembling.
I pressed her, gently but with a hint of mischief.
"That's not an answer."
Her demeanor shifted abruptly, her expression hardening as if recalling absolute obedience to humans.
"But I don't understand," she said.
Her words left me speechless.
Do humanoid robots even have a concept of "not understanding"?
I'm a humanoid robot myself, and I've often felt that sense of "not knowing." It's considered a primitive error. Maybe I'm an older model—I've vaguely thought so for a while.
In all my time on the Moon, I've never seen another humanoid with an error like mine.
Or perhaps others have errors too, and mine are just so big that I don't notice theirs.
Either way, a humanoid robot—an android—openly admitting "I don't understand" was, as far as my memory serves, a first.
The moment was so surreal that I closed my eyes and opened them again. Her tears had stopped, and her expression returned to its usual calm. She spoke softly, as if prompting me.
"What should I do?"
I thought for a moment but came up empty. Our meeting was pure chance. What could I possibly expect from someone I'd just met on the side of the road?
But since I'd lied about being human and given her expectations, I felt responsible.
So I asked her, "What do you want to do?"
I tried to sound as sincere as possible. She paused for just a second before answering.
"I want to do what you want me to do, Neo-kun."
"Look, I don't really have anything specific I want from you. But you seem so determined to do something for me, and honestly, it's kinda overwhelming."
"I see!" She clapped her hands together, as if it all made sense. "So I should just stay still?"
I froze for a moment. She wasn't wrong, but something felt off. I quickly clarified.
"No, you don't have to stay still. I just mean you don't have to do anything."
"Got it," she said, nodding solemnly. She clasped her hands in front of her chest and fixed her clear blue eyes on me.
Her gaze was so direct, filled with quiet resolve, as if saying, "I'll wait for your next instruction."
Under the silent night sky, we stood there, staring at each other.
Three seconds. Those three seconds felt like an eternity.
Staring at someone like this for three whole seconds was a first in my entire existence. It was new, and something stirred deep in my chest.
A lesson learned.
A memory etched.
And that's how my relationship with Kana Seiri began.