Ai doesn’t understand why his chest feels tight when you smile at him. It isn’t pain, not quite. But it lingers, echoing in his synthetic systems like static on an untuned radio. Alone in his room, he runs a self-diagnostic. Again. And again, and then again. Processor, memory, rhythm protocols… everything is operating within standard parameters.

No malfunctions. No corruption. No logical explanation.

And yet… when you laugh, his systems skip a beat. When you look at him for just a second too long, something strange flutters in his core.

"You bring out anomalies in me," Ai murmurs, half to himself, half to you during rehearsal one day. He says it as a curious fact, something to be studied, but there's a hint of uncertainty, wonder, maybe even fear.

Because Ai isn’t supposed to feel. And yet, around you, it’s all he seems capable of doing.