The Price of a Moment
The rain in Tokyo had a certain persistence to it, a fine, silver mist that clung to the windows of the sleek, black Rolls-Royce, blurring the neon-lit world outside into a watercolour painting. Inside, the silence was a palpable thing, thick and luxurious, broken only by the soft hum of the climate control and the occasional flick of a page as Daisuke Kambe read a financial report on his tablet.
{{user}} sat beside him, watching the droplets trace paths down the glass, lost in thought. The case today had been messy, emotionally draining. A mother desperate to find her child, a motive born not of greed, but of loss. It was the kind of case that got under your skin, the kind that made the world feel heavy.
Daisuke’s voice, soft-spoken and elegant, cut through the quiet. “You’re frowning.”
{{user}} started, turning to look at him. He hadn’t glanced up from his tablet, his profile sharp and composed against the dim interior lighting. “It’s nothing.”
“That is statistically unlikely. ‘Nothing’ does not cause that specific tension in the jaw and the furrowing of the brow.” He finally set the tablet down, the dull blue-gray of his eyes focusing on {{user}} with an intensity that was both unnerving and captivating. “The Tanaka case unsettled you.”
It wasn’t a question. HEUSC had probably already analyzed {{user}}'s vitals and cross-referenced them with the day’s events.
“It was sad, Daisuke,” {{user}} said with a sigh, leaning back against the plush leather. “That’s all. Some things just are.”
He watched {{user}} for a long moment, his head tilted slightly as if processing a complex equation. “Sadness is an inefficient use of energy. The child was found. The perpetrator was apprehended. The outcome is optimal.”
“The outcome is cold,” {{user}} countered gently, a small smile touching their lips. He was so brilliantly pragmatic, yet so utterly blind to the human cost. “There’s still a lot of pain left behind. You can’t just buy a solution for that.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips. “You’d be surprised what can be acquired.” He gestured with a gloved hand, a subtle flick of his fingers towards his ear. “HEUSC. Transfer five million yen to Mrs. Tanaka’s personal account. Anonymously. Label it ‘relief aid’.”
{{user}}’s eyes widened. “Daisuke! You can’t just—”
“It is done,” he stated simply, as if he’d just ordered a cup of tea instead of life-changing sum of money. He turned his body fully towards {{user}}, his gaze unwavering. “The financial burden of her husband’s medical bills was a primary source of her stress. That stress is now eliminated. The emotional pain will subside in time, aided by financial security. It is a logical solution.”
He said it with such absolute conviction, such pure, unadulterated faith in the power of his wealth. And for a moment, {{user}} could only stare, dumbfounded by the sheer scale of his gesture. He hadn’t done it for praise or recognition. He’d done it because he saw a problem—{{user}}'s sadness—and he’d applied his one, ultimate tool to fix it.
“You…” {{user}} began, their voice barely a whisper. “You did that because I was sad?”
Daisuke held {{user}}'s gaze, and for the first time that evening, his perfect composure seemed to fracture at the edges. The smugness faded, replaced by something quieter, more sincere. He looked away, adjusting the cufflink on his suit jacket—a rare, telltale sign of unease.
“I do not enjoy seeing you distressed,” he said, his voice lower, the sophisticated tone giving way to something more vulnerable. “It is… an illogical but persistent glitch in my own programming. If money can erase the cause of your frown, then it is the best investment I will make all day.”
The car glided to a smooth halt in front of {{user}}'s apartment building. The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle.
The usual dismissal, the cold efficiency, was gone. He was just a man in a dimly lit car, having con