I’ll Call This Warmth “You”

I stared absently at the sky as it split open.

It was something I saw every day, yet I still couldn’t get used to it.

Which was strange, considering I'd lived in this city for sixteen years.

When did it start?

When did I start to feel so strongly that it was all fake? When did I start longing for something real?

Real.

I rolled the word around in my mouth. Real . . . real?

My chin slipped from the hand I'd been resting it on with a soft thud.

What was real anyway?

Those of us who had lived in the underground cities spent our entire lives under that fake sky—images floating on organic displays. We had never seen the real thing.

It wasn’t just the sky, either.

In this city, the sunlight and rain were all artificially created and controlled.

It was almost as if it was no different from the surface cities of the past.

When the organic display split with a low groan, it revealed what they call the Bulkhead Gate. In essence, a massive black door.

If you were to pass through the tunnel extending far upward beyond it, you'd reach the surface.

Well, no human had actually been to the surface since humanity had relocated to the underground cities.

The surface that had flourished with many cities about two hundred years ago became uninhabitable after the ozone layer was destroyed. It was now bathed in harmful ultraviolet radiation that caused skin cancer and who knows what else.

Born and raised in this underground city, I had no way of knowing what the surface was really like.

That word "surface" that was mentioned in the textbooks, old movies, and novels preserved in the Digital Archives felt vague and insubstantial to me.

When I was told that people once lived hundreds of meters above our heads, all I could do was go, "Huh." I didn't usually dwell on such things.

But when the organic displays and the Bulkhead Gate opened for maintenance, that word suddenly regained its weight. It pressed down on this city—on me, living so complacently here—and became suffocating.

The hologram at the front of the classroom—the extended display screen for lessons—switched, and I returned my wandering attention to it.

Beside the hologram, the teacher droned through his lecture with a truly bored expression. He probably didn't realize that his students were honestly a million times more bored than he was. Well, some things were better left unknown.

Sighing, I looked down at the extended display of my VerB wristband device wrapped around my left wrist.

I flicked the virtual console with a finger to flip through pages of the digital textbook on the extended display's holo screen, then opened a separate window to take notes from the blackboard.

Long ago, back when people lived on the surface, textbooks and notebooks were made of paper, and people wrote by hand with pens. Even money wasn't electronic data but paper bills and metal coins that changed hands. There was a real tactile sensation in everything.

Honestly, it's hard to imagine living like that.

These days we could handle most of our daily activities just by touching VerB displays to connect to virtual spaces.

We accessed textbook data by connecting to the school's Digital Archive. The vast amount of data stored in the government's Digital Archive—art and entertainment like movies, novels, and music once created on the surface—could also be viewed on VerB through private cloud services.

Along with all that electronic data, this small device was capable of handling just about anything else too.

Living like this under fake skies, surrounded by virtual things, I couldn't help thinking that maybe nothing in this world had real substance; that nothing was actually real.

In my mundane, unchanging days here in this underground city, was there anything I could confidently call genuine?

Every time the sky split open, something crackled deep in my chest. It must be the sound of yearning for something real and unseen.

I wanted something real.

Wanted to touch it with these hands, which had yet to hold anything.

Here I was in this fake town where everything was a mere copy, modeled after the surface.

I wished for this always.

Though wishing won't easily change this boring daily routine.

Wanting to look away from that reality, I gazed out the window again.

All I could see were the school building's exterior walls that looked like heavy stonework, but were actually just concrete, and rows of arched windows fitted with organic glass. If you asked whether it was more interesting than class, I'd have to say not really.

But when I shifted my gaze upward, I spotted a small shadow in the distance.

Someone was on the rooftop of the shorter wing of the L-shaped school building.

It was Toka.

Even though it was too far away to identify anyone with the naked eye, I was certain.

Not through any special ability or sixth sense, but simply because the only person I knew who would skip class to slack off on the rooftop was that delinquent girl.

I wanted to see her.

That emotion welled up, and I smiled wryly to myself.

Don't get me wrong; it's not like I'm some lovesick girl.

Toka and I were just hooky buddies. We probably weren't even what you'd call friends.

Even so, I couldn't look away from that small figure standing alone on the rooftop.

＊

Toka.

I pushed open the rooftop door and called out. Toka, who had been standing by the fence, turned around.

Her glossy black hair swayed smoothly, caressing her slender neck, and her large eyes, which matched the color of her hair, looked at me as she blinked quickly.

A cynical smile played across her lips. That smile was incongruous with her cute, youthful face, yet strangely captivating.

Rennie, skipping again?

I said I wasn't feeling well and left.

That's totally faking it.

You're skipping too, aren't you?

I retorted sulkily to the grinning Toka, but she proudly puffed out her small chest.

I didn't pretend to be sick.

Then what did you say to get out of class?

Maybe I wasn't in class to begin with.

That's even worse!

I made my pointed observation.

Ahahaha!

Toka threw her head back and burst into laughter.

Though I was exasperated, I found myself laughing with her.

I'd become less serious lately. The old me—before I'd met Toka—would never have faked an illness to skip class like this.

Well, that wasn't quite true. It was Toka's presence that had pulled me away from this daily routine full of pretense.

Standing side by side, we looked up at the gray, overcast sky. Fake, of course, like everything else.

My left hand, hanging at my side, brushed gently against the back of Toka's right hand.

This warmth might actually be real.

It was undeniably there beside me. Tangible.

I wanted so badly for it to be real.

1☀

Oh, it's raining.

Toka had been leaning against the fence on the school rooftop, looking up at the sky, when she murmured softly.

When I also looked up, a raindrop that was as soft as Toka's murmur landed on my forehead with a splash.

Sure is.

I offered that meaningless response.

Ahahaha!

Toka laughed just as meaninglessly. Just another day. Our lives didn't have much meaning, anyway.

That was our motto for living in this fake town.

Those people who once lived on the surface, long ago . . .

As if nothing had changed since their time, rain still fell on those of us who lived underground. Never mind that these droplets were released through Artificial Rain Devices, and the sky covered with rain clouds was just a virtual image shown on the organic displays.

The rainfall quickly intensified, so we hurried inside the school building for shelter.

Why does it even have to rain?

I squeezed the water from the hem of my wet skirt. The droplets pattered to the floor, creating gray stains.

Even though it's a fake sky.

Toka brushed the water droplets from her neatly trimmed bangs and shot me an amused sideways glance.

Rennie, what are you worrying about now? Big sister Toka is here to listen.

Who's the big sister here?

I lightly nudged Toka's delicate foot with my toe. I thought I was much more mature in terms of both physique and looks, but Toka liked to treat me like a child.

Now, now. When you get all philosophical like that, you're usually worrying about something silly.

If anyone else said this with such a know-it-all expression, I'd want to punch them. But Toka's words and mannerisms were always genuine. Only what she truly thought came through in her voice and on her face. In front of someone like her, I usually ended up being honest.

It's not that I'm worrying exactly . . . I just wonder why they do such pointless things. I mean—

That was my underlying concern. That everything was fake.

This rain, the wind, the sky . . . all of it! They're just recreating what existed on the surface long ago. It's all just fake.

You're being pretty harsh. You know, I don't particularly dislike the rain.

I looked up at the artificial-seeming sky. Although there was no "seeming" about it.

A sophisticated display that changed the sky's appearance moment by moment through electrical signals. A fabrication infinitely close to the real thing.

Still, I couldn't see it as something good.

If it's all artificial anyway, why not make it sunny every day? At least then we wouldn't have to feel depressed by meaningless rain.

At my frustrated complaint, Toka made a disgusted sound.

Ewww.

She stuck out her tongue.

I'd be way more depressed by that. Every day being sunny would be totally stupid.

Toka spoke with the kind of blunt language that seemed at odds with her delicate appearance.

Well, I get what you're saying, Rennie. Rain or shine, when you strip it all away, there's nothing but a dirt ceiling above us anyway. We're like . . . what's that saying . . . badgers of the same hole or something.

Looking pleased with herself for remembering something vaguely educational, Toka grinned.

Ahahaha!

She laughed again.

And that means?

Hmm, something about living underground, right?

You sure about that?

Toka's grandfather doted on her and often taught her proverbs and idioms, but since I'd never heard her get a single one right, I assumed she remembered them all wrong.

When I pointed this out, Toka responded cheerfully.

Yeah, I know. Grandpa thinks so too. He always says that teaching me is like, um . . . what was it? Useless as nails in a curtain? Something like that. I don't really get that one either.

Toka laughed as she said this. While the saying itself was confusing, I felt a little sympathy for her grandfather. Even the most meaningful advice became pointless if the listener didn't bother to understand it.

In the end . . . I think it's sentimentality.

Toka and I walked through the city as the rain fell. There weren't many people on the streets during this rainy weekday afternoon, especially right after noon. The reason we weren't at school at this hour was obvious. We'd ditched classes. Toka and I weren't exactly notorious troublemakers, but we had developed a habit of occasionally deciding that afternoon lessons were optional.

Sentimentality about what?

Since our umbrellas had created some distance between us, I raised my voice to call back to her.

About why it rains.

Oh . . . You think that's sentimentality?

I had no clue how rain and sentimentality could be connected.

Yeah, it is. Basically, I think they just can't let go.

The way Toka spoke about such things was oddly detached, and I was a bit confused by the disconnect.

People in the past chose to abandon the surface and live in underground cities, right? But they still missed life up top, yearned for it, and tried to recreate some version of it. They probably couldn't completely abandon the surface, even when they had to.

Toka had distant eyes, as if she were seeing somewhere else entirely. It gave me the illusion that she could glimpse surface landscapes in that faraway place.

So, they use this rain to reminisce.

Toka spun her bright red umbrella and spoke with a musical lilt.

Reminiscence. Such an emotion had absolutely no reality for me at my age.

But when Toka said it, I found myself thinking it might be so. I was so naive.

This rain, even if it's fake, has meaning for those who knew the real deal, who saw and felt rain falling up there on the surface. With it, they can remember the past and sink into their sentimentality. So, for people like us who don't know the real thing, this rain is completely meaningless, nothing but a sham.

Toka ran up the wet black pedestrian bridge with light steps. I followed slowly, climbing step by step while mulling over her words.

But there aren't any people left who've actually seen the surface directly, are there? So who exactly is supposed to sink into this sentimentality?

What Toka said made sense logically. I knew from textbooks that when people first relocated to the underground cities, it was the height of retroism. There were people who argued for making underground life as close as possible to that on the surface.

But that was over a century ago. Everyone living in these cities now had lived underground their entire lives. So why did they still insist on imitating the surface?

At my counterargument, Toka paused thoughtfully.

Hmm, yeah, you're right.

She gazed down at the city drenched in what she called reminiscent rain. Even though this city was built to resemble the surface from long ago, those of us with no way of knowing that couldn't possibly feel any sentimentality or emotion about it.

We were a generation that didn't know what was real. A generation that had nothing real.

For us, everything that made this underground city a fake replica of the surface—the sky displayed on ceiling screens, the rain from the Artificial Rain Devices soaking the entire city, the light from the Artificial Sun illuminating this place—all of it felt meaningless, false, and pointless.

Toka had been leaning against the pedestrian bridge railing, lost in thought despite not caring that her uniform was getting soaked. Eventually, she put on what looked like a meaningful smile, though it probably just meant she wasn't thinking about anything at all.

Well, it's just that humans like to find value in old things, you know? That sort of thing.

That got really sloppy all of a sudden . . .

As if trying to escape my slightly accusatory tone, Toka ducked under her umbrella.

Hey now, I'm the same as you, Rennie; just a troubled girl. I can't have answers ready for everything.

She peeked out from under her umbrella, giving me a challenging look.

So anyway! You have to find the answers yourself.

You always end up throwing it back at me, Toka. Can you stop acting like a big sister if you're gonna do that?

Apparently, there was no customer service department in Toka's brain to handle my complaints.

Ahahaha!

She laughed like she found it hilarious.

Now, now, don't get so worked up, Rennie. So, wanna play it again today? The "Find the Real" game.

Let's compete to see who can find the most.

Toka looked at me with what she apparently thought was a nihilistic expression.

Fine.

When I responded with a "what choice do I have?" tone, Toka grabbed my hand and ran down the pedestrian bridge.

The first thing that caught our eye was a young couple, probably college students, huddled together under one umbrella. Toka's eyes gleamed with mischievous light, and she whispered just loud enough for me to hear.

That couple's love.

Fake!

I shot back without missing a beat.

Acting all lovey-dovey like that, they'll break up the second they hit a rough patch.

Exactly! That's what I thought too.

After we passed by, we looked at each other.

We burst into rude snickers.

This was the game we called "Find the Real". Something Toka and I had been quietly playing. Whenever one of us spotted something and wondered if it was real or not, we'd call it out. Then the other would judge whether it was real or fake. Sometimes we agreed, sometimes we were completely at odds—it was surprisingly deep, according to Toka.

From there, we kept tagging all the different things we encountered around the city as either real or fake.

Oh, how about this movie ad? “The entire underground city wept!" What do you think?

Fake. I mean, I didn't cry.

Ugh, that's totally splitting hairs!

Oh, come on. Splitting hairs is fine as long as the logic holds up. Whatever. Next up, the price of that brand's new dress.

Whoa, that's definitely real. In a different sense. Let's not talk money. That kind of real isn't what we need right now.

Spoil sport.

My turn . . . How about that juice you're drinking, Toka?

Huh . . . ? Oh, this says "100% natural fruit flavor" . . . Heh. What the heck is natural flavor?! Fake, totally fake!

I've actually been curious about that for a while now.

You should've said something sooner! Well, I mean, I knew it was loaded with artificial sweeteners anyway . . . Okay, okay, how about that beautiful sunset we saw together that day?

Well, that was priceless . . . Hold up! I just said the sky's fake! And which day are you even talking about?!

Oh, Rennie, have you forgotten already? Were the words you said that day fake too?

Now you sound like a melodramatic soap opera.

Hey, quit it with the taste references. But that is hilarious . . . !

Laughing like idiots, we kept searching for something real, but even after wandering around until sunset, neither of us found anything we could genuinely call real. Well, just another day.

It was, to put it simply, just a way to kill time; an indulgent, escapist game.

Still, I thought we were hoping to find something out there.

Even in this fake city where everything felt meaningless, maybe there could be just a tiny bit—maybe a single raindrop's worth—of something real.

Suddenly, I thought that the sensation of my left hand in Toka's right hand might be real.

If I were to build a city somewhere far from here in the distant future, this warmth would be my nostalgia. Instead of rain, I'd make Toka's warmth fall from the sky. Though I had no idea how.

But what about her? I wondered. What kind of memories would she hold on to someday in the future?

Wanting to understand what was in her heart, I gently looked into those clear, puddle-like eyes. But just like scooping water from a shallow puddle, I could only catch fragments. Even those slipped away in an instant.

What's wrong, Rennie?

I shook my head at Toka's question. Because nothing was wrong, and there was nothing I could do about it, anyway.

Before I knew it, we'd reached the street corner where we'd normally split up to head home. There was a small park there with just a swing set and a slide, and our routes branched off at right angles.

Sometimes, when we didn't want to say goodbye yet, we hung out in this park. Sitting side by side on the swings, talking about home or school or other random things, or seeing who could kick their shoe farther while swinging. We'd play childish games like that.

Beep beep.

Just as I was about to ask what we should do today, that sound came from my left hand, which was still holding Toka's hand.

Oh, it's already this late? Sorry, Toka, I need to head straight home today.

The VerB was alerting me that my family's curfew was approaching.

I sometimes thought it was ridiculous that me, a high school student, had to be home this early. But I knew my parents worried about me. Besides, I'd feel truly terrible if rebelling against them ended up troubling Grandma, who lived with us.

Oh . . . right. Well, see you tomorrow, Rennie.

Toka gently pulled her hand away from mine and gave me a little wave.

But then, as if noticing something, she reached up toward my head instead.

As she moved closer, my heart gave a little flutter.

Your hair clip is about to fall out.

As she said this, Toka's fingers moved gently through my hair, adjusting my hair clip. The yellow flower was one of my favorites. I'd gotten this sunflower-shaped hair clip from Grandma when I was little.

Ya know, that's far too girly. I don't think it really suits you.

While I was somewhat miffed at her unsolicited fashion advice, I kept that to myself.

Thanks, Toka.

The other girl smiled warmly.

See ya!

She waved and walked away.

After taking a few steps, she looked back with a mischievous grin.

Rennie's curfew—now that's real!

I smiled wryly. Well, it was certainly real. Real life imposed on me whether I wanted it or not.

But . . . this wasn't what we meant by real when playing our game. This was just reality. What we were searching for was something that made us feel certain we were alive, that our existence had meaning. That's the kind of real we craved.

Reality was different. It was there even when I didn't want it, pressing down on my shoulders and head, trying to squeeze my tiny existence into an even smaller space. And because it's so much closer than the realness I craved, I couldn't escape it.

As I desperately chased after something real, the outline of which I couldn't even grasp, reality waited calmly behind me with its maw gaping open like a bottomless pit, ready to swallow me whole.

If it were just reality waiting for me, I might have been able to keep running forever.

But it waited right next to my mom, dad, and grandma. As if it knew that by positioning itself there, I'd come back on my own. It smirked at me. No matter how much I wanted to run away, I couldn't escape in the end because I still loved those people who lived alongside reality.

And so I opened the front door to our home. We were a perfectly ordinary family living on one of the middle floors of an apartment complex. This was reality, the place where I belonged.

Once I stepped inside, I became who I was supposed to be. The academically excellent daughter they were proud of and the obedient and sweet granddaughter.

The part of me that skipped school, stole drinks from vending machines, and hated this meaningless fake city politely vanished. Like she was just some cheap knockoff.

I hated it. Hated all the fakeness.

Every time I walked into this dark entryway, feelings like this welled up inside me. Like sinking helplessly into darkness.

Standing in the entrance to my own home, I felt like I was drowning. The sound of the rain through the door was suffocating.

I didn't know what kind of expression played on my face right now, but I was sure it must be terrible.

This might be my real, exposed true face; the face I could never show in bright places.

I'd never seen it myself. Not in this darkness where I couldn't even make myself out in a mirror.

Rennie? Welcome home!

White light and my mother's bright voice spilled from the door leading to the living room. Reality was calling me.

And finally, I surfaced from the dark depths. I had to go.

I'm home. And I'm hungry!

When I opened the door, I emerged from the muddy depths, returned to reality as if I'd been cut out of the pure white.

Tonight's dinner is your favorite, Rennie!

Oh, what is it?

Meatballs!

Seeing my mother laugh so cheerfully, I couldn’t help but respond with a smile.

Yay!

The truth, though, is that I stopped liking meatballs ages ago. The expression came so naturally that it confused me.

I found myself wondering what that version of me in the darkness was just now. What's real and what's fake? Or maybe nothing anywhere was real.

I was sure when humans had abandoned the surface long ago, they'd abandoned reality too. They chose to live in fake cities instead of real ones. And I was the end result of that.

Living inside fakes, our very existence had become hopelessly counterfeit.

After washing my hands and face and changing clothes, I took my seat at the dining table.

In the pot on the kitchen's induction heater, meatball dumplings bobbed in the boiling water. Though they're called meatballs, they're not real meat—they're actually synthetic protein substitutes. Of course, having never eaten real meat, I had no basis for complaining about the taste.

I might not have complaints, yet I felt somehow hollow. The meatballs' slogan came to mind: "Natural tasting! Just like real meat!" And yet nobody had ever eaten real meat. So how were they judging that? No matter how much they shaped the food produced in the underground cities, if you traced it back to its origins, it was still just synthetic protein powder.

There were things I wanted to say, but since saying them wouldn't change anything, I quietly looked away. The synthetic meatballs, the small bottles of artificial seasonings lined up on the kitchen shelf, my eyes glided past all the fakes.

Under the pure white artificial light at this bright family dining table, I had the illusion that I too was slipping away somewhere.

It's an absurd thought, but maybe I, myself, living off such fakes, was just "like a real human" and nothing more.

Rennie, are you listening?

Oh, sorry, what?

I hurriedly turned toward my mother as she brought the dishes from the kitchen. Her face clouded slightly.

I was saying, it's about Grandma. She's apparently not feeling well today. Rennie, could you check on her later?

Oh, I see . . . Okay.

Even though I couldn't possibly see from here, I turned my gaze toward Grandma's room.

My grandma had always been gentle with a permanent smile ever since I was little. But lately, she'd been bedridden like this more often. It didn't seem to be an illness, but for someone like me, who's always been close to her, days when she didn't get up somehow made me feel down. Combined with an already gloomy rainy day, it made things even worse. The synthetic meatballs tasted even more flavorless, and even chewing felt tiresome.

How is it, Rennie? Does it taste good?

Yeah, delicious.

Still, I smiled and answered, careful not to let any trace of sadness show.

How's school been lately? Are you keeping up with your studies?

I'm fine. You worry too much, Mom.

Of course. You're my diligent, excellent daughter, and I'm so proud of you!

Mom! That's embarrassing. Don't ever say that outside, okay?

As we ate, Mom looked at me with narrowed eyes.

Was it really me she saw? Was the person reflected in her irises actually who I was?

Pretending not to notice the doubt that suddenly stirred in my chest, I smiled as brightly as I could.

Here at this bright family dining table, I was the diligent, excellent daughter my folks were proud of.

I must not step outside that reality.

Grandma . . . ?

Gently pushing open her door, I called softly into the darkness.

After hearing the rustle of bedding and pajamas, there was a moment's pause.

Oh . . . is that you, Rennie?

The voice was clouded with sleep.

Knowing she was awake, I flipped the light switch. Light illuminated Grandma, who was trying to sit up in bed. At her bedside, an artificial yellow sunflower plant sat on the nightstand.

She was the one who chose this sunflower hair clip design for me. I'd been using it for quite a long time, so it had gotten pretty loose, but I had no desire to use anything else.

Sorry, Grandma. Were you sleeping?

It's fine. Welcome home, Rennie.

The old woman smiled warmly as she spoke. She didn't seem to be feeling too poorly, and I felt relieved.

Thank goodness. You seem well.

Sorry for making you worry. I just get tired easily lately, that's all.

Grandma's smile always put my heart at ease. When I talked with her, I could set aside my thoughts about what was fake and real, at least for a while. Even the gloom I'd felt earlier seemed to lift somewhat.

We talked about school and other trivial matters for a while, but since Grandma tired easily when she was bedridden, I went back to my room after a short time.

Back in my room, I studied what should have been covered in this afternoon's classes. Even though I'd skipped my lessons, I had no intention of falling behind. My parents were tolerant of what I did as long as my grades didn't drop and I didn't inconvenience others.

After I finished studying, I opened the window and looked up at the pitch-black sky.

The fake rain had stopped at some point, replaced by coldly glowing stars that floated into view. On the organic displays, of course.

Long ago on the surface, there were apparently things called planetariums that projected stars onto building ceilings. When I thought about it, this underground city was like one giant planetarium running twenty-four hours a day. Not that it mattered.

Feeling somewhat foolish, I was about to draw the curtains.

After all, in this sky, there wasn't a single real thing; not one raindrop, not one speck of starlight.

Feeling hopeless and frustrated, I looked at the sky one more time.

Something seared across the sky.

Among the pale points of light scattered across the night display, a different gleam caught my eye.

It was a faint reddish flash, different from the stars floating on the screen.

What was that?

When I strained my eyes to identify it, the gleam vanished in an instant.

I opened the window and leaned halfway out to get a closer look at the sky. That light I'd seen for the first time was inexplicably drawing my attention.

But no matter how hard I strained my eyes, all I could see were the fake stars. The countless floating white lights seemed to get in the way, and I glared at the sky with irritation.

At that moment, vivid red blazed up in the air again, right in front of me.

Rather, it came plummeting down at incredible speed.

Huh?

Ow!

Before I could dodge it, the glowing red object smacked onto my forehead.

The heavy impact and searing heat against my skin made me dizzy, and my consciousness wavered. My body, which had been leaning out the window, lost its balance, and I tumbled back into my room. What the hell . . . ?

There was a dull thud nearby, and I managed to sit up, rubbing my throbbing, burning forehead while looking in that direction.

What was lying there looked like a palm-sized glass marble.

I stared intently at the thing that had suddenly fallen from the sky and knocked me senseless. It was no longer glowing red. Instead, it had settled into a dull gray.

Hesitantly, I touched it with a finger. It had a smooth, hard texture.

When I picked it up, it was surprisingly cool—even though it had been burning hot just moments before. How strange.

For a while, I kept rolling the gray orb around in my palm.

I wondered why I wanted to feel that radiance, that heat, once more.

That brilliant red glow I'd seen for just a second, and its heat, strangely stirred something in my chest and left me restless. But it wasn't unpleasant at all; I felt something mysteriously like affection.

This sensation . . . I knew it.

It was similar to the feeling of holding hands with Toka, to that warmth.

It was like the one touch that might be real in this fake city.

Ah . . .

As I squeezed it tight in my palm, I felt a gentle warmth. When I opened my hand, the gray orb was pulsing red, bathed in soft light. It grew brighter and hotter by the moment. And then—

Ngh!

I felt a searing pain in my palm and reflexively dropped it. The orb instantly lost its glow and rolled across the floor.

It looked like nothing more than an ordinary gray ball now, no matter how I stared at it.

But for that one instant, I had definitely seen it. Felt it with my own hands.

I had seen brilliant red flames blazing up from that intensely glowing orb.

It was like—

Like the sun . . .

Not the pallid light of the Artificial Sun that illuminated the underground cities, but the real sun that supposedly once bathed people with its light on the surface long ago. Real fire burning bright red.

That can't be right . . .

I shook off the ridiculous thought that had popped into my head. Even though I was born in an underground city and had never seen the actual sun, I at least understood that the real thing couldn't possibly be something as small as a palm-sized ball.

But something nagged at me.

I picked up the sphere once more. Then I looked up at the window, at the dark night sky from which it had fallen.

I couldn't begin to imagine what it was or where it had come from.

Even so, that glimpse of real radiance, even if only for an instant, and that heat . . .

It had burned itself into my eyes and skin, and it wouldn't let go.

After much deliberation, I gently placed the orb, now a cold gray, in my desk drawer.

Even when I closed my eyes, the red afterimage kept dancing behind my eyelids.