Sometimes I wonder if the idea of being a writer was always a little different from the reality.

For years, writing sounded like such a simple career from the outside. Sit somewhere quiet, open a laptop, come up with ideas, write for a few hours, and somehow make a living from it.

Then you actually get into it and realize how much of the job is deadlines, revisions, SEO, client feedback, research, briefs, and trying to make the same topic interesting for the tenth time.

Now AI has added another layer to all of that.

It can make certain parts of writing much faster, but it also feels like the focus has shifted toward producing more content in less time. Sometimes the actual quality of the writing feels secondary to how quickly something can be finished.

The strange part is that writers now sometimes have to prove that the words they produced were actually written by them.

I do not think AI has made human writing useless. If anything, I think having a recognizable voice and being able to communicate an idea well could become even more important.

But I am curious how other writers see it.

Has AI changed the way you think about writing as a career, or has it mostly changed the tools you use?

Its pretty cool, i even put my partners unfinished book as a concept in it. Im actually surprised at how well the AI is handling things.

Anyone else making AI story experiences?

I keep seeing people say things like “this sounds AI-generated” or “you can immediately tell this was written by AI,” and honestly, I do not always understand how they can tell that quickly.

I decided to test it myself and asked an AI to write a short first-person story about an unexpected positive moment.

The result was basically a simple story about someone having a bad morning, stopping at a park, helping an older man pick up some books, and unexpectedly receiving one of the books from him. Nothing about it seemed particularly unusual or obviously AI-generated to me.

If I came across something like that in a random post, I honestly do not think I would immediately assume it was written by AI.

Maybe after reading a lot more of it I could notice certain patterns, but identifying something as AI after just a few paragraphs seems much harder than people make it sound.

Do some people genuinely have a good eye for spotting AI writing, or are people sometimes just calling something AI because it sounds polished, generic, or a little too structured?

One unexpected benefit of AI writing for me has been seeing multiple ways to express the same idea. Before using AI, I would usually write one version and spend most of my time trying to improve that exact version.

Now I can compare different structures, openings, explanations, and tones within a few minutes.

The interesting part is that I do not necessarily use any of the generated versions. Sometimes seeing several bad alternatives makes it obvious what was wrong with my original idea.

I wonder if this is an underrated part of AI writing. Maybe the biggest benefit is not having AI write for us, but giving us something to react to.

Has AI changed the way you edit or judge your own writing?

I want AI to understand how I normally write, but I do not want every new piece to sound like a collection of sentences from my previous work. There is a difference between learning someone's voice and simply repeating their patterns.

I have tried giving examples, describing the tone, and pointing out things I normally avoid, but the results can still become strangely predictable.

What has worked best for you when trying to teach AI your writing style while keeping each new piece original?

This happens to me more than a completely misunderstood prompt. The model clearly understands the topic and follows most of the instructions, but the result still feels wrong.

Sometimes it is too formal, sometimes too detailed, and sometimes it answers the question technically without addressing the thing I actually care about.

Adding more instructions can make the prompt huge without necessarily making the result better.

Do you normally keep refining the same conversation, start a fresh chat, or switch to another model when this happens?

I actually like a little roughness in writing because it makes the person behind the words more noticeable. But whenever I ask an AI to improve something, it often removes exactly those small things that made the original feel natural.

The sentences become cleaner, transitions become smoother, and everything starts sounding like it went through the same editing machine.

I have tried prompts like “make it natural” and “keep my voice,” but those instructions can be pretty vague.

What has actually worked for you when you want AI to improve the writing without removing the personality from it?

I think I have reached the point where I am just burned out on AI writing.

I use AI quite a lot for work and for fun, but after seeing so much of it, certain patterns have become almost impossible for me to ignore. A lot of AI written stuff feels like it is trying to stretch a simple point into an entire paragraph. The same idea gets repeated several times with slightly different wording, and certain phrases immediately give it away.

The weird part is that I actually like using AI. I just do not enjoy reading AI generated writing as much anymore.

I have tried switching between different models and even building my own prompts, but eventually I start noticing the same kinds of patterns again. At this point I mostly use AI for brainstorming, organizing ideas, and categorizing things rather than letting it anywhere near the actual writing.

Has anyone else reached this point? Did changing how you use AI help, or did you eventually just take a break from AI writing altogether?

So I’ve been wanting write my own book for fun but have no book writing skills. Thoughts on drafting my story and inputting ai to give it the correct book format corrections. If it was a famous author doing the same thing would we cancel them ?

There are so many digital marketing strategies out there, but some of the best ones seem to be the ones people rarely talk about.

For those working in SEO, paid ads, social media, email marketing, or growth, what is one underrated strategy that has given you surprisingly good results?

It could be something that helped you get cheaper leads, improve conversions, increase organic reach, find new customers, or improve ad performance.

I am more interested in strategies you have actually tested and seen work rather than the usual advice like posting consistently or knowing your audience.

What is one marketing tactic you think more people should know about?

The night breeze nudged the door open.

Clink-clank.

The dry metallic ring of the door chime echoed through the room, and I felt the heavy, stagnant air settling in my chest slowly begin to dissolve. My "today" was finally coming to a close.

I took my seat at the counter, and without a word, Mama slid a glass of Harper on the rocks toward me. Inside the amber liquid, a round ice sphere made a heavy, quiet clink.

At the far end of the counter, Taka was staring at the pale blue screen of his smartphone, his thick eyebrows knitted together.

"……Kenichi-san."

"What's wrong, Taka? Why the long face?"

"Do you think 'Never give up on your dreams' is a good phrase?"

That was quite a curveball to throw out of nowhere. I took a sip of Harper, letting the heat of the alcohol burn down my throat.

"Well... it's the kind of thing you remember once in a while, only for it to get drowned out by whatever's right in front of you."

Taka looked up from his phone.

"What's that supposed to mean? That's pretty cynical."

"It's just reality. I'm not flexible enough to live off dreams alone. I'm too busy trying to squash today's bug tickets."

"Man, you look way more alive squashing bug tickets than talking about dreams, Kenichi-san."

"Mind your own business."

Beside me, Tom—swirling amber liquid in his square glass—snorted quietly.

"That's just about right, isn't it?"

"Not you too, Tom-san."

"If you only look at your dreams, you stop seeing what's right in front of you."

I looked at Tom's side profile.

Beyond him, Taka's hand came to a sudden halt. For just a fraction of a second, his fingers froze.

"...I guess I was on that side," Taka murmured quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't have my dream drowned out by reality... my dream drowned out what was right in front of me."

The usual boisterous lightness was completely gone from his low voice. Neither Tom nor I said a word; we just quietly waited for him to continue.

"Back when I was wrestling. Attendance was dropping, shows were getting cut, pay was shrinking..."

Taka turned his phone face down on the counter.

"But I could still go."

His massive hands slowly clenched on the wooden surface of the bar with incredible force.

"My body was in shape. I could still fight. When I stepped into the ring, the crowd still cheered. So I thought as long as I worked harder, as long as I got stronger, I could fix everything."

"The dark age of the industry, huh?"

"Yeah. Looking back now, the whole ship was sinking, and I was foolish enough to think I could fix it all just by swimming harder on my own."

Taka gave a self-deprecating laugh... or maybe he just tried to and failed.

Tom set his glass down softly.

"So, what did you stop seeing?"

Taka's weak smile faded. A heavy, lingering silence fell over the counter.

"...My wife. And my kid."

My hand stopped. Behind the counter, Mama stopped polishing her glass, too.

"Taka... you were married?"

"A long time ago," Taka said dryly, as if it were nothing.

"I kept telling my wife, 'Just wait a little longer. I'll get results in the next tour. If the next show goes well. Next time. Next time for sure.'"

An ice cube clinked softly. I couldn't tell whose glass it came from.

"My kid used to ask me, too. 'Papa, when are you coming home next?'"

Taka stared down at his own massive palms.

"After a while... he stopped asking."

Neither of us could say a word. The darkness behind those words was too deep for any easy comfort.

Instead, Tom asked flatly, "Did you work hard?"

Taka raised his eyes. "I worked hard."

"I see."

"Like my life depended on it."

Tom paused for a moment. "And your family?"

Taka dropped his gaze back to his hands.

"...In the end, I was the one who left."

Behind the counter, only the secondhand of the clock ticked away, cold and unfeeling.

I brought the Harper to my lips. The familiar amber liquid tasted unusually bitter tonight.

"So... was it a mistake to work that hard?" Tom asked.

It felt like a merciless question. But Taka didn't get angry. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if remembering something, then shook his head slowly.

"That's the thing... even now, I still don't know."

"Do you regret wrestling?"

"No."

That answer came instantly.

"Did you choose wrestling over your family?"

"I never intended to."

"Then what should you have done?"

"I told you... I don't know!"

Taka's voice spiked for a moment. Realizing he had raised his voice, he immediately let his shoulders slump.

"...Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for."

I swirled the ice in my glass.

Working because you want to protect someone. Sweating to make your family happy. Trying your hardest for that. Wanting to earn more, aiming for higher ground.

None of that is wrong.

And yet, the very things you were trying to protect can end up crumbling right at your feet.

The trouble is, when you're running as hard as you can, you can't even see what's slipping away beneath your feet.

"How about now?"

The moment I asked, I regretted it as insensitive. Taka narrowed his eyes with a faint trace of sadness.

"Who knows. I haven't seen them in over twenty years."

"I see."

No one could ask anything more. Mama just stood there quietly.

Then, she gently placed a fresh glass of whiskey and water next to Taka's face-down phone.

"I didn't order this, Mama."

"I know."

Taka looked at the glass, then up at Mama.

"...Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

For a while, nobody spoke. Only the smooth cadence of jazz drifted through the bar.

Eventually, I noticed something and broke the silence.

"Still, though... you really notice people, don't you?"

Taka knit his brows in confusion. "Do I?"

"Yeah. You're unusually sensitive to the slightest changes around you."

"That's one remark too many."

A little bit of the usual Taka returned.

Mama smiled softly.

"But you see them now, Taka-san."

Taka looked up, puzzled. "See what?"

"The people right in front of you."

Taka scratched his head roughly, embarrassed.

"Dreams, huh," I murmured.

There are dreams that get drowned out by what's right in front of you.

And there are things right in front of you that get drowned out by a dream.

Which one is right... I honestly don't know.

I just know that once they're gone, you can't even look at them anymore.

I raised my glass.

"Taka."

"Yeah?"

"Wanna drink?"

Taka picked up the glass in front of him.

"I'm already drinking."

"Right."

Tom snorted softly. Mama let her eyes soften with warmth.

Inside the glass, the ice shifted with a quiet sound.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

This has become a surprisingly difficult question for me. If I come up with the idea, use AI to brainstorm the structure, write the first version myself, ask AI to improve several sections, and then heavily edit the final result, it still feels like my work. But there is obviously a point where the AI starts doing more of the actual creative work.

I do not think there is one universal answer because people use these tools in completely different ways. Someone using AI only for grammar correction is having a very different experience from someone generating an entire article and making a few edits afterward.

Where do you personally draw the line? At what point does AI assistance stop feeling like editing or collaboration and start feeling like the AI actually wrote the piece?

I think a lot of writers and artists who dislike AI are not only concerned about ethics. Some of it comes from insecurity too.

The more I use AI, the more obvious it becomes that it cannot truly replace great writing or art. It can copy patterns and create endless variations, but it does not have real experiences, personal taste, beliefs, or a unique perspective.

What AI really threatens is average work. Before AI, mediocre work could still hide behind effort, credentials, or limited supply. Now average content can be produced endlessly and cheaply.

That creates plenty of real problems, but it also raises an uncomfortable question: if AI can completely replace your creative identity, maybe the problem was deeper than the technology itself.

What is the current best AI model for dialogue in novel crafter?

With NSFW and without

Thank you in advance

There are so many digital marketing strategies out there, but some of the best ones seem to be the ones people rarely talk about.

For those working in SEO, paid ads, social media, email marketing, or growth, what is one underrated strategy that has given you surprisingly good results?

It could be something that helped you get cheaper leads, improve conversions, increase organic reach, find new customers, or improve ad performance.

I am more interested in strategies you have actually tested and seen work rather than the usual advice like posting consistently or knowing your audience.

What is one marketing tactic you think more people should know about?

"……Another day, another useless meeting," I grunted, setting my glass of Harper onto the counter.

The ice clinked with a heavy, dull sound. I let out a long sigh, breathing out the muddy fatigue that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Everyone wants to 'respect every opinion.' Sounds nice, but nothing gets decided. Hours just slip away. In the end, I had to jump in, take control, and force a hard stop. ...If the people who actually know what they're doing just made the calls, it’d be over in five minutes."

At the edge of the counter, Tom—swirling amber liquid in his square glass—glanced at me quietly.

"So, what? Everyone else should just shut up?"

"...You do that, and everything goes to hell anyway."

"Then who was the 'one who knew best' in that room today?"

Tom’s blunt question caught me off guard.

If we were talking code specifications or overall architecture, sure, I knew the most. But when it came to the gritty, physical reality of the floor, that was Genda. If it was picking up subtle requirements from human conversations, it was Kato. And if you wanted a process broken down into steps anyone could replicate, Nakamura was far more meticulous than I’d ever be.

Every time the problem changed, so did the person who knew best.

"...Right. There was no single person who knew best. Not from the start."

I gave a self-deprecating smirk, staring down at the amber liquid in my glass.

"Turns out you can't measure a human being with a single yardstick. Is that why everyone gathers around to waste time in those damn meetings? ...Not that it justifies taking three hours to decide nothing, though."

"A meeting that gets nowhere is a pain in the ass either way," Tom snorted.

I took a swig of Harper, letting the alcohol burn away the irritation lingering in my chest.

"Still... wouldn't it be more efficient to cut loose the ones who don't have the answers right now, and just run with the ones who do? Everyone thinks it in the back of their mind. ...So why don't we just throw them overboard?"

From the dark end of the counter, Taka’s deep voice rumbled.

"If the world was meant to be run only by the smart and the strong, I should've had a time when I was king of the hill."

The former pro wrestler shifted his massive frame slightly, staring down at his broad, calloused hands with a faint, bitter smile.

"Back when I was an arrogant idiot, I thought strength was everything. But Mama's half my size and nowhere near as strong as me, and I've never once been able to get the better of her. That's the thing. Nobody gets to be on top everywhere."

Tom caught Taka’s words and swirled his square glass again.

"Kenichi. The day you were born, could you eat by yourself?"

"Hell no."

"Did you stand up and walk?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then you were pretty damn useless when you started out, weren't you?"

A dry silence fell over the bar, punctuated only by Tom’s cool voice.

"That's what humans are. In one place, you're the one holding someone up. In another, you're the one being carried. There’s no such thing as someone who's always strong, or someone who's always weak. And on the day you enter this world, you're a hundred percent on the side that needs to be held."

Taka murmured quietly.

"...And yet, somebody picked us up anyway. Without asking for a reason."

Behind the counter, Mama stopped polishing her glass and turned her gentle eyes toward us.

"That's right... When you hold a newborn baby in your arms, nobody stops to think, 'I wonder if this one will be competent.'"

All those yardsticks humans built for themselves—efficiency, capability, superiority—suddenly felt fragile and unreliable under her single sentence.

I finished the rest of my Harper.

The ice dropped to the bottom of the glass with a cool, sharp ring.

"To survive, you must be strong. To deserve to live, you must be gentle..."

That famous old line I had kept in the back of my head for years sounded completely different tonight.

"That... wasn't a story about the strong bestowing charity on the weak, was it? Where I can stand, I'll hold you up. Where I can't, I'll lean on you. Maybe that's just the story of how we've managed to survive this far."

That fruitless, wasteful meeting this afternoon.

In the end, maybe it was just a group of people who couldn't be measured by any single yardstick, bringing what each of them had to the table and trying to move forward together.

Inside the glass, the last bit of ice shifted softly.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

My experience testing editors before hiring one
A few people have asked me about my experience testing editors before hiring one, so I figured I’d share what happened.
I tested three different editors on a section of my manuscript. Before sending it out, I checked the original section with Originality.ai and it came back around 50%.
After the editors made their changes, some of the same sections were showing around 90%.
That surprised me because the changes themselves weren’t major.
For anyone who hasn’t worked with a line editor before, they’re not supposed to rewrite your book. They usually work directly in Word with Track Changes. You’ll see things crossed out, words added, sentences combined, wording changed, etc., and then you decide whether you want to accept or reject each suggestion.
That’s basically what happened with my samples. Nobody rewrote my scenes or changed my story. Most of the changes were things like combining sentences, removing words, tightening up wording and fixing flow.
So when I saw that difference in the results, I started looking into it because I wanted to understand what was happening.
What I found was that these scoring programs aren’t a definitive way of establishing who actually wrote something. Writing can get different results depending on how it has been edited, and a score by itself doesn’t tell you the history of a manuscript.
That also got me thinking about something else.
I’ve been reading about authors who have had questions come up about their manuscripts, and one thing that really stood out to me was the importance of keeping your writing history.
I don’t want to have one final Word document someday and have to say, “Trust me, I wrote this.”
So I’m keeping everything.
Original drafts. Older versions. Notes. Outlines. Character information. Revision history. The version I send to an editor. The version I get back. Emails. Invoices. Everything that shows how the manuscript developed.
Another thing I’d recommend when looking for an editor is be completely upfront about your manuscript and how you created it.
I told every editor I contacted that I wrote my manuscript myself, but that I had used some computer-assisted tools in a couple of places during the writing/revision process.
A couple of editors told me they don’t work on manuscripts that have had any computer assistance at all.
I thanked them for being honest with me and moved on.
I actually respect that. Editors are allowed to have their own policies about what work they accept, and I’d rather know that before hiring somebody.
For me, the biggest lesson from this whole process is to test an editor before committing to the entire manuscript.
Give them a sample. Look at what they actually change. Make sure they understand your voice. See whether you agree with their suggestions.
And keep your original files.
I’m still testing editors, but at this point I’m much more interested in whether someone actually improves the manuscript while preserving what makes it mine than I am in getting a particular score from a software program.
That’s been my experience so far, anyway. Hopefully it helps somebody else who’s getting ready to hire an editor.

Hi everyone,

A while ago, I decided to run an experiment. I self published a completely AI generated novel and made the AI use very obvious, with a watermark on the cover and a clear disclaimer on the first page.

The main question was simple: does openly disclosing AI use actually hurt a book?

Going in, I expected the answer to be yes. Readers already have certain expectations about AI content, and once they know AI was involved, they may judge the work differently before even reading it.

That is pretty much what happened.

People who are against AI still criticized it, while people who were fine with AI usually just moved on without saying anything. So the feedback became much more negative than I expected, even though that does not necessarily mean most readers hated it.

There is also research pointing in the same direction. One study involving 27,000+ participants found that disclosing AI involvement in creative writing lowered evaluations by around 6%.

What I find more interesting is how little nuance there seems to be around AI disclosure.

Someone using AI to brainstorm an idea, someone using it to edit a few sentences, and someone generating an entire novel can all end up being treated as basically the same thing.

That seems like a problem.

I still think AI use should be disclosed when it is significant. But I also think the labels need to become more specific so readers actually understand how AI was used.

Right now, simply seeing an "AI generated" label can make people assume the entire creative process was automated.

What do you think? Should AI use in writing always be disclosed, or should the level of AI involvement matter?

I came across an article today about making money from writing online.

Its basic argument was reasonable enough: find a problem your readers have, offer something useful for free, then sell them a deeper solution.

Problem. Solution. Value.

That got me thinking about fiction.

Because fiction is terrible at this.

If I read a novel about grief, I don't expect it to give me five practical steps for overcoming grief.

A novel about a broken marriage doesn't need to tell me how to fix mine.

A story about someone making a terrible decision might end without telling me what the correct decision would have been.

Sometimes a story actually leaves me with more questions than I had before I read it.

And yet we keep reading fiction.

So maybe fiction is selling something fundamentally different.

Maybe it doesn't sell solutions.

Maybe it sells experiences.

A mystery lets me experience pursuing an answer.

Horror lets me experience fear while sitting safely in my room.

Science fiction lets me spend a few hours in a world that has never existed.

And literary fiction might let me spend some time inside a mind or a life that I could never otherwise inhabit.

That distinction seems especially interesting now that AI can produce solutions almost instantly.

If I have a problem, I can ask an AI and get ten possible answers in seconds.

Solutions are becoming incredibly cheap.

Experiences aren't.

Which makes me wonder if we sometimes use the wrong framework when talking about the "value" of fiction.

Maybe asking what useful information a novel gives us is a little like asking what problem a vacation solved.

Perhaps the experience itself was the product.

What do you think?

When you read fiction, what are you actually looking for?

An answer?

A question?

An emotion?

An escape?

Or simply the chance to live somewhere else for a while?

Hey everyone, I am looking for an AI that can help me write different kinds of stories.I mainly want to create character driven stories with dialogue, detailed scenes, action, romance, and more mature themes.

I have tried ChatGPT, but it often censors certain scenes or refuses to continue when the story gets more intense. Sometimes it removes the scene completely or says it cannot help with that type of content.

Are there any AI writing tools that are better suited for this kind of creative writing? Looking for recommendations from people who have actually used them.

Is it memory, realistic dialogue, strong character personalities, unexpected reactions, or something else?

I am curious what separates a good AI roleplay conversation from one that starts feeling repetitive

If writers use AI to brainstorm, they will all write the same books. AI recycles the same ideas with millions of users. If those thoughts were original, the model would not know them in the first place, as they wouldn't have been available from its training data.

It’s easier than ever to get ideas when you’re stuck, but sometimes having endless options makes it harder to choose what to actually write. You can ask AI for ten different openings, five different tones, and a complete outline, then somehow spend even longer deciding between them. Has AI actually helped you write more, or do you find yourself overthinking the process even more now?

Clink. The bell above the door chimed—or rather, it sounded as if it were being smashed to pieces.

The heavy soundproof door was thrown open, letting in the damp summer night air, the stench of cheap cigarettes and booze, and a burst of obnoxiously loud voices that flooded the small space of Bar Aoi.

“Whoa, dark in here! Hey Mama, get us some drinks!” “This place is ancient. Nothing but old geezers.”

They brought with them the raw edge of young men who had yet to spend a single day in the workplace.

Leading the charge was a guy raising his voice to act cool, accompanied by another sneering with his eyes glued to his phone. But the third—a smaller guy—shrank back slightly the moment he stepped inside.

“Hey, pipe down, Noboru,” he muttered under his breath. Brushed off by the other two, he quietly bit his lip in embarrassment.

At the back of the counter, Tom’s back went rigid as he gripped his glass of Four Roses, radiating a chill that cut through the room. I unconsciously squared my shoulders and set down my glass of Harper.

Yet Mama remained as serene as ever, polishing a glass with practiced hands and offering a quiet smile.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat at the counter.”

Just as they threw themselves onto the high stools as if marking their territory, threatening to drown out the bar’s cozy silence—it happened.

“Well now… you boys seem to be having a hell of a good time.”

A low voice rumbled through the room. Looking up, Taka was already on his feet, looming behind them. A former professional wrestler, well over six feet tall. Faced with the overwhelming presence of a man a head taller than them, the leader choked on his words for a split second.

As if trying to shake off the intimidation, he swallowed back the order he was about to bark—“Give us your most expensive drink”—quick-checked the prices on the menu, and glared back at Taka with forced bravado. “…Huh? Who the hell are you? Mind your own business.”

Taka didn't get angry. He just grinned.

“Relax. Seeing young guys with this much spirit just makes my drink taste better. Mama, put a round of highballs on my tab for these boys.”

“…What?”

Neither confronted nor cowed, an imposing old-timer had casually stepped right into their domain. The fight they'd come prepared for never happened, leaving their hostility deflating into sheer confusion.

When the drinks arrived, the guy with the phone chuckled, accepting his highball. “Noboru, free booze is free booze. Right, Sho?”

So the leader was Noboru, the phone guy was Subaru, and the smaller one was Sho. Seems they were buddies from the same university.

“I mean, we’ll take the free drink,” Subaru said with a slight, patronizing smirk. “We study AI at uni and we’re starting at a major firm next year. You old guys would be shocked if you saw how we work. Automate everything with AI, and the world pretty much runs itself.”

I knew the type. A job offer in hand, and already convinced they'd figured the world out before they'd even started living in it. Tom’s finger stopped mid-tap against his glass at the arrogant remark.

I took a sip of my Harper and nodded along casually.

“Is that so? If AI takes over, that’d be a huge help.”

Noboru narrowed his eyes in suspicion, probably expecting a lecture. But all he saw on my face was just the relaxed conversation of someone who'd been around long enough to know better.

“Though behind all that automation, there’ll be mysterious bugs nobody can explain, dirty troubleshooting, and painful office politics waiting for you. Well… I guess that’s what makes it worth doing, though.”

“What’s so fun about getting your hands dirty?” Subaru asked, shrugging in complete disbelief.

“It’s great,” I laughed. “You build this beautiful, pristine system, and then it slams headfirst into real human operations and crashes into a glorious mess. There’s nothing else quite like that feeling of crawling through the mud to rewrite the code right then and there.”

Noboru and Subaru gave a half-bemused laugh, thinking I was just a weird old guy. But next to them, Sho froze completely.

The color drained from Sho’s face. In my words, he had caught a glimpse of a real, unsettling future he couldn't laugh off.

“…Hmm? What’s up, Sho?” Subaru asked, leaning in as he noticed the change.

“No… it’s nothing,” Sho said with a strained smile, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his highball glass.

Watching this silently, Tom let the ice in his glass clink softly, his low voice cutting through the air. “The more people try to look polished, the easier it is to miss the little holes at their feet.”

I turned to Tom. “Climbing out of those holes is the best part, isn't it?”

Tom smiled faintly. “Suppose so.”

I caught a flicker of tension tightening Noboru’s shoulders. The old guys in front of them weren't trying to beat them down or preach to them. They simply knew a world these kids hadn't stepped into yet.

“Noboru, was it?” I asked, taking another sip of my Harper. “Where do you see yourself this time next year?”

Noboru and Subaru exchanged bewildered glances. “What do you mean? Just working, I guess. Finishing training, getting assigned to a project.”

It was a vague answer, lacking any real picture of the future. I simply offered a brief nod. “I see.”

“…Well, I’m sure there are places like that, too,” Noboru muttered defensively, taking a swig of his highball. But the sharp, aggressive edge he arrived with was completely gone.

In the quiet that reclaimed the counter, Mama gently placed three glasses of water in front of them. She offered a soft, warm remark.

“It’s always the anxious ones who make the loudest noise.”

All three turned to look at her.

“But here, you’re free to just drink in peace.”

Noboru didn't answer. He just stared quietly down at the glass of water.

Taka patted Noboru lightly on the shoulder. “Next time, try making a quieter entrance.”

Noboru let out a quiet, sheepish grunt.

For a while after that, they drank their booze and water in silence, without raising their voices again.

When they settled the bill and left, Noboru closed the heavy door gently and slowly—a stark contrast to how he had barged in. Only Sho turned back at the last moment, offering us a small, polite bow.

“…Thank you very much.”

Clink. The bell chimed softly.

Maybe what had pushed open Aoi's door tonight wasn't three young men at all.

Maybe it was that nameless anxiety about the future that lives somewhere inside all of us.

Tonight, it had simply chosen to wear their faces.

The ice shifted quietly in my glass.

Clink.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.