"The plan is perfect," Rio Futaba said, her calm and precise voice echoing in the small science lab, although Kaito was listening to her instructions through a discreet communicator built into his earbud. The sound of bubbling liquid on the counter was the only ambient noise besides his own breathing. "It is logically flawless, low-impact, and capitalizes on the world's existing infrastructure."
Kaito was sitting on the floor, his laptop open in his lap. He was at home, in his apartment. Mai was sitting on his beanbag chair, a ghostly but solid figure, watching him anxiously. The plan didn't involve Kaito going to the school at night; it involved a remote digital infiltration.
"What you call 'perfect'," Kaito muttered, his fingers typing at a frantic, silent pace, "I call 'tedious.' Accessing the school server is like hacking a water heater system. But, if it's what gets me my beanbag chair back, whatever."
"It's not tedium, it's efficiency," Futaba corrected with a tone of academic superiority. "The elegance lies in the simplicity of the information manipulation. The festival pamphlet is an official document. Hundreds of copies. Every student, every teacher, every potential guest will receive it. The name 'Sakurajima Mai' associated with 'The Sea at Dusk,' a popular and acclaimed film. It will be a massive, passive recognition."
"What if they just forget?" Mai asked, her voice an anxious whisper. "What if their brains just ignore it? Like my mother did?"
"That's the 'quantum' part," Futaba explained. "It's not a single observation that can be denied. It's a cascade. A superposition. Every time someone sees the name and the film, it creates a small echo of recognition. Hundreds of echoes add up. It's like a collective whisper that becomes a choir. Your mother's denial was an isolated scream. This is a persistent murmur that eventually overloads the static."
Kaito grimaced. "Stop talking like you're explaining a sci-fi novel to a ten-year-old."
"I'm explaining how your world works, Tanaka-kun," Futaba retorted. "A language you seem to prefer."
Accessing the school's internal network was surprisingly easy. The firewall was very simple. The event management system, responsible for compiling and distributing the festival schedule, was even more rudimentary. Kaito moved through the digital directories with the dexterity of a surgeon, finding the festival schedule file.
"Okay, I'm in," he announced, his voice low and focused. "File 'Festival_Schedule_Final_v3.pdf'. Next step?"
"Open the file," Futaba instructed. "Locate the Film Club section. Should be around page four. They've listed the movie screenings for Saturday afternoon."
Kaito scrolled through the document. There it was: Film Club - Saturday Screenings. List of films. He knew the easy part was finding it; the hard part was editing. And Fia? She was silently watching, her contributions limited to spectral gasps of admiration or despair.
"Found it," he said. "Film list: 'A Tale of Paris,' 'The Broken Mirror,' 'The Sea at Dusk'."
"Perfect," Futaba said. "Now, the delicate part. We need to edit the pamphlet in a way that looks like it was always like this. We can't just insert it; the school would issue an immediate correction if an official file was drastically altered. We need a small glitch in reality for the change to seem organic."
She hesitated for a moment. "I suggest 'minimal hardware interference.' You remember that time the school network went down for five minutes last week? It was a small power surge that the system 'logged' as a temporary error. We can use that as cover."
"You want me to cause another power surge?" Kaito asked. That sounded... loud. And would potentially require leaving his apartment.
"No," Futaba said. "That's brute force. I have a code. A small script that will temporarily 'corrupt' the schedule file on the network. It will generate an automatic refresh request from the master file for the most recent version. If you're fast, you can replace the corrupted file with the edited version I prepared. It's precise timing, but it doesn't require leaving the house."
Kaito nodded. This he could do. Hacking was a different kind of logic, but it was logic nonetheless.
"Got the script?"
"Sent," Futaba replied. "Check your email."
Kaito opened his email app, a remnant of his previous life, rarely used for meaningful communication. An encrypted attachment appeared. He opened it, ran the script, and a small window popped up on his screen: "Simulated File Corruption - Complete."
"Okay, 'corrupted.' Now, what's the edited file?"
"Sending it," Futaba said. "Remember, Tanaka-kun, you have exactly 30 seconds before the system reverts to the original. You need to upload the edited file to the festival's master directory. The password is 'Festiv@l2024'."
Kaito grunted. Passwords were so... dramatic. He opened another terminal, navigated to the master directory, and waited. Futaba's mission timer began to count down in his vision.
"30 seconds," Futaba's voice was tense. "Now, Tanaka-kun! Upload the file!"
Kaito executed the command. The progress bar filled rapidly.
"60%..."
"80%..."
An alert flashed on his screen. "UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED. ATTEMPTING FILE REVERSION."
"What?" Kaito hissed, his fingers flying.
"The System is reacting!" Fia screamed in his head. "It doesn't like being tricked!"
"It's not the System, it's the school server!" Kaito corrected, his voice tight. "It has a primitive security protocol. It's a standard reaction. Just ignore it and complete the upload!"
"100%!"
The edited file was uploaded. In place of the original pamphlet, there was now Futaba's version, with "The Sea at Dusk" and Mai Sakurajima's name in bold.
"Upload complete!" Kaito declared, snapping the files closed.
"Excellent!" Futaba exclaimed, a sigh of relief escaping her. "They won't be able to erase that. The edit was made before the reversion protocol had time to complete. The main file is now ours. The pamphlets will be printed with the correct information."
Kaito leaned back in his chair, feeling a rare pang of satisfaction. It was good to have a plan work. It was good to have a logical solution.
"And what happens now?" Mai asked, her voice full of hope, but also a palpable uncertainty. She was hanging on to their plan like a leaf in a breeze.
"Now," Kaito said, looking at the darkening sky out the window, "we wait. And we hope the universe agrees with our logic."
They closed the communication with Futaba. The lab returned to its state of silence. Kaito felt the familiar sense of having done the minimum necessary effort.
"Well," he said, getting up from his spot. "If that's it, I'm going back to sleep."
Mai watched him, her eyes fixed on him, the uncertainty still there. "What if it doesn't work, Kaito?" she asked quietly. "What if they don't remember me even with this?"
Kaito stopped halfway to his beanbag. He looked at her, at the desperation in her eyes. He knew he could give a comforting, emotional answer. He could say something like, "I won't let that happen." But that would be a lie. And it would be too much effort.
He opted for his standard response, tinged with a cold, cruel logic that, he hoped, would be enough.
"They'll remember," Kaito said, his voice flat, but firm. "The movie is 'The Sea at Dusk.' You're the star." He paused, his gaze fixed on hers. "When they watch the movie, it will be impossible for them not to remember who the lead actress is. It's your job. It's your art. It's who you are. The pamphlet is just an initial reminder."
He paused, weighing his next sentence. It was an apathetic consolation, but it was all he had to offer. "If your talent can't make them remember you, nothing else will. But I think your talent is strong enough."
It was the most encouragement he could muster. It was a bet on Mai's ability, a recognition of her artistic existence, and a way to push her toward action. He wasn't solving the problem for her; he was giving her the tool to solve it, under the guise of a logical inevitability.
He didn't bother to see her reaction. He just turned and threw himself onto the beanbag chair.
Silence returned to the apartment. The only thing different was the weight of expectation. The plan was in motion. Now, all they could do was wait. And Kaito, as always, hoped it would be as quick and as untroublesome as possible.
________________________________________
Get rewarded for helping with our community goals!
🎯 Reward for all: +1 bonus chapter at 10 Powerstones.
🚀 Tier Reward: Help us reach 10 members for +5 chapters on all stories!
👻 Join the crew by searching patreon.com/c/ThePriceofaBond10 on (P). You know the spot! 😉