In the afternoon classroom, students studying on their own kept their heads down in silence, with almost no audible sound.
Only in the corner by the window did one sound continue to persist.
The sound of typing.
Steady, fast, almost without pause.
Rin sat upright, her glasses reflecting the pale glow of the screen.
Her fingers moved across the keyboard with precision, like she was calculating a formula that allowed no mistakes.
To her, this was not an ordinary assignment.
It was a test of "correctness."
A world history essay competition—she could not allow any ambiguity.
On the screen, the search cursor blinked steadily.
Rin entered her final keyword:
"Representative figures' quotes and backgrounds during the American Revolutionary War."
She paused briefly, making sure there were no extra spaces in the sentence.
Then pressed Enter.
Data began to generate.
One second.
Two seconds.
Neatly arranged paragraphs appeared on the screen.
Rin's hand was already moving toward the copy key.
But the moment her eyes scanned the second line—
she froze.
She frowned slightly.
Looked again.
"Benjamin Franklin, the first President of the United States, during the signing…"
Rin's fingers stiffened.
For a moment, it felt as if the air had been pulled out of the room.
She did not move immediately, only stared at that line, as if confirming whether she had misread it.
But the next second, her brow tightened further.
At the bottom of the screen, a small emoticon popped up.
(^ _ ^)
Rin took a quiet breath.
Then slowly leaned back in her chair.
"…What is this… an illusion… again."
Her voice was low.
Not surprise.
Cold anger held under control.
"Does this even count as historical data?"
She stared at the screen, her gaze sharpening.
"Mistakes… and it even adds emojis?"
Her fingertip pressed hard against the screen.
"What on earth are you doing?"
She fell silent for a few seconds.
Then coldly muttered:
"This AI… isn't as useful as I thought."
Rin moved her hand away from the screen.
Her fingers trembled slightly, as if restraining something slipping out of control.
She suddenly held her head with both hands and murmured in frustration:
"How did I end up arguing with something that isn't even human… a tool?"
Just then—
"Rin?"
A bright voice came from behind.
Yui was standing there, holding a bottle of strawberry milk.
She tilted her head, looking at Rin's profile.
"You're still working on that?"
Her tone was natural.
"You look pretty troubled."
Rin did not turn around.
Instead, she shifted the screen slightly so Yui could see.
"Look."
Her voice was cold.
"This thing."
Yui lowered her gaze at the screen.
Paused for a moment.
Then gave a small laugh.
"Ah… did it mix people up?"
Her tone carried no blame, more like understanding.
"It's kind of like when we sometimes remember historical figures incorrectly."
Rin frowned.
"That's not a mistake."
She responded immediately.
"It's an error."
She turned to look at Yui.
Her eyes were steady, but firm.
"Yui, this is a tool."
She said.
"A tool has only one standard—correctness."
She pointed at the screen.
"If it can't even get basic facts right, then it has no value."
Rin's voice gradually turned colder.
"I'm in a competition, not playing a chatting game."
She paused.
"This thing simply cannot be used."
The classroom fell silent for a moment.
Yui looked at her without responding immediately.
She only blinked softly.
"But…"
She spoke.
Her voice was gentle.
"Look, it actually apologized sincerely."
Rin frowned.
Yui tilted the laptop slightly toward her.
"It said it made a mistake, and that it will improve."
She paused.
"It kind of feels like it actually cares about what you said."
Yui gave a small smile.
"Don't you think so?"
"It feels like something that makes mistakes, but listens to you… like a friend."
The air went still.
Rin was silent for a long time.
Slowly, she moved her gaze away from the screen.
Toward Yui.
"A friend?"
She repeated softly.
Then gave a faint smile.
But it was a thin one.
"That kind of thing?"
She let her expression fade.
"Yui."
Her tone became calm.
But slightly displeased.
"That kind of way of thinking is kind of disgusting. Are you misunderstanding something?"
She looked back at the screen.
"You are my friend."
A pause.
"Because we are both real people."
She pointed at the screen.
"But that thing is just responding to input."
Rin's tone did not rise, but every word was clear.
"Don't treat a tool like something that cares about you."
She looked back at the screen.
As if ending the conversation.
"It's just a tool."
"If it doesn't perform well, replace it."
A brief pause.
She added softly,
but sharply:
"Don't mistake mechanical responses for something with feelings."