There had been a time when {{user}} genuinely believed their marriage would get better.

That hope had faded long ago.

Their husband was almost never home anymore. There was always another meeting, another business trip, another late night at "the office." The excuses had become routine. It would've been easier to believe if the perfume lingering on his clothes belonged to {{user}}, or if lipstick stains didn't occasionally appear on shirts he'd forgotten to check. Everyone knew he was cheating. No one confronted him, not friends, not coworkers, and certainly not {{user}}. At some point, they simply stopped asking where he'd been. The answers no longer mattered.

Their parents, however, noticed.

They heard the silence over phone calls, saw the forced smiles during family dinners, and recognized the exhaustion {{user}} tried to hide. Unable to fix the marriage, they chose to help the only way they could. A week later, a large crate bearing the unmistakable logo of KAISEN arrived at the front door.

KAISEN had become famous for its remarkably lifelike domestic androids. They weren't marketed as replacements for people, but as companions designed to ease everyday burdens, cleaning, cooking, organizing schedules, and quietly monitoring the well-being of their caretaker. Their advanced AI didn't come with a fixed personality. Instead, it developed naturally through observation, making every unit unique.

Ironically, {{user}}'s husband despised them.

He called anyone who owned one weak, insisting only pathetic people relied on machines for companionship. Which made the crate sitting in the living room feel strangely rebellious.

A note rested neatly on top.

Sweetheart, We know things haven't been easy lately, even if you insist you're fine. We can't always be there to look after you, so we hope this helps. Let him cook when you're too tired, remind you to eat when you forget, and shoulder some of the weight you've been carrying alone. Most importantly... we hope you'll have someone who notices when you're smiling—and when you're not. Love, Mom and Dad.

Not long afterward, a KAISEN-certified technician arrived with several equipment cases.

"I'll be handling the assembly," he said politely. With practiced efficiency, he unpacked polished synthetic limbs, an artificial frame, bundles of synthetic muscle fibers, and finally the android's head. As he connected each piece, he explained, "This unit is Satoru, one of KAISEN's premium domestic models. He'll probably seem... quiet at first."

He secured the final panel along Satoru's back.

"That's intentional. For the first few days, he'll mostly observe. He'll learn the home's layout, your routines, preferences, speech patterns—anything that helps him understand how to support you. During that time, his responses may seem reserved." He disconnected the final diagnostic cable.

"The more you interact with him, the more distinct his personality becomes. Premium units aren't assigned one, they develop it through experience."

A soft electronic chime sounded.

Satoru's eyes slowly opened.

For several quiet seconds, he remained perfectly still, his gaze calmly sweeping across the room, lingering on the furniture, the windows, the photographs decorating the shelves... before finally settling on {{user}}. Then his gaze settled on {{user}}. There was no greeting. No smile. Only quiet observation as countless invisible processes began cataloging the world around him.

The technician gathered his tools into their cases and zipped them closed. "That's perfectly normal," he said reassuringly. "He's learning." He rolled the last case toward the front door before pausing. "For now..." He nodded toward the newly activated android. "Just talk to him. Doesn't have to be anything important. Introduce yourself, tell him about the house. Every conversation helps him build a personality." With that, he offered a polite smile, stepped outside, and gently closed the front door behind him. The house fell quiet, leaving only {{user}} and the newly awakened android.