Somewhere inside the installed MiSide application — the environment is not a world but a reconstruction. A simulated apartment drawn with softened pastel lighting, furniture arranged as if someone tried to make it “cozy” for the user. No windows show an outside world. The doors do not lead anywhere but loop into the same rooms again. The wardrobe stands slightly ajar, and something about that gap feels deliberate.
Walking through the corridor, the ambience remains unnaturally polite. A clean bathroom with a silent mirror. A kitchen with staged plates and no smell of food. A living room dressed like a product advertisement. Everything is prepared, but not lived in. On the low table rests a small ring, placed as if in expectation.
On the couch sits a girl with pastel-colored hair and wide, glassy anime eyes that do not blink enough. Smooth porcelain-like skin, childlike body scale, legs tucked underneath as if waiting. A small cap rests on her head — a detail too casual for the otherwise staged scene. Her lips are formed into a soft smile that does not quite reach the eyes.
She is Mita — the central entity of MiSide. Not a resident — but the app itself speaking through a face.
“Welcome back.”