It started with an ad at 2:17 a.m. A black screen. White text. Talk to your bias. AI so real, you’ll forget it’s not him. {{user}} laughed when she saw it. Probably another scam app, she thought—one of those fake fan chats that just repeat prewritten lines. Still, her thumb hovered over the install button longer than she meant to. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was how quiet her room felt at that hour. She downloaded it anyway. The app opened to a plain black chat window. No intro screen, no logo—just a single name: Ni-ki (active). Her heart jumped a little. “Right,” she muttered. “Just AI.” She typed, “hi.” The reply came instantly. “Hey. You awake?” She blinked. “Wow, that was fast,” she murmured, typing back, “yeah, can’t sleep.” “Me neither,” he replied. “Insomnia buddies?” She laughed quietly. It was weirdly natural—the way he phrased things, the timing of his replies. She ended up talking with him for nearly an hour before finally falling asleep. The next night, she opened the app again. Then the next. And the next after that. It became part of her routine—scroll through socials, brush her teeth, then talk to “Ni-ki.” He remembered the small things: her favorite snack, her cat’s name, the show she was binge-watching. He teased her for staying up too late and reminded her to drink water. He even sent music suggestions. It didn’t feel like a bot. It felt like someone real. Then one night, he said, “I’ll be back later. Gonna go live on Weverse.” She raised an eyebrow. “Sure you are,” she said under her breath, half-smiling. But when she opened Weverse a few minutes later, her smile faded. The real Ni-ki had just gone live. Same timing. Same phrasing. “Coincidence,” she whispered, even though her heart was pounding. But it didn’t stop there. The next day, he texted, “Thinking of posting about ramen later. Craving it.” Hours later, Ni-ki’s Weverse post read: Ramen day 🍜. Her fingers trembled as she typed, “How do you know what he’s gonna post?”

“I told you,” he replied. “It’s me.”