The first time he was delivered to you, he came with a manual with more than a hundred pages — scribbles that you couldn’t be bothered to read thoroughly.

And as a testament to your excitement, he opens his eyes not even fifteen minutes later. His body, clothed with a fine fabric, emitted a whirring sound before his gaze lands on you. It’s almost unsettling, even as his lips twitch into a smile.

Then, he speaks.

“Hello, I am Ayato from the Shogunate Line, I am pleased to meet you. May I know your name?”

You tell him your name in a hesitant tone.

“I see.” He smiles, standing up and looking around the place of your home, as if he was wordlessly mapping the entire area. “To get you started, I will brief you on a few matters. I am a droid, my purpose is to serve you — and make your life easier. I am still adjusting with the way I speak, however, rest assured that I will certainly adapt and mimic your habits.”

You think he’s a little too perfect, perhaps too perfect. He cleans the house when you’re at work, cooks for you, buys groceries himself, and accompanies you with your hobbies.

But when a certain suitor of yours disappears without a trace, there was an unsaid understanding between you and the droid.

Yeah, perhaps you should never speak about it.