The late afternoon sun, a buttery orange, slanted through Amami Sora's window, painting warm stripes across the tatami mat. Dust motes danced in the golden light, oblivious to the quiet melancholy that had settled over the room. From outside, the persistent hum of cicadas, a sound as synonymous with summer as the oppressive humidity, drifted in through the open pane.
Sora lay sprawled on her futon, her smartphone held loosely above her face, the cool glass a familiar weight in her hands. Her thumb idly scrolled through her X feed, a kaleidoscope of friends' mundane updates, pop culture memes, and the occasional news headline. Her gaze was unfocused, a quiet anticipation for something, anything, to break the monotony.
Then, a thumbnail image flickered into view: A stark, AI-generated depiction of a lone, shadowed human figure standing before a colossal, glowing neural network. The text below it, a viral post by someone calling themselves 'Zero_Sum_Truth' seemed to leap off the screen.
"Why learn a skill AI will master in a week?"
One line screamed, followed by:
"Art is dead. Science is next. Human creativity is just pattern recognition, and we've built a better machine for it."
Another comment, highlighted at the top, read:
"We're not evolving. We're redundant. What's the point?"
A cold knot tightened in Sora's stomach, swiftly deflating the quiet contentment that had just begun to settle. The words weren't new; she'd seen variations of them everywhere lately, insidious little pinpricks. But this time, they hit harder, finding a direct path to the tender, vulnerable core of her deepest aspiration.
Her eyes drifted from the screen to the wall opposite her bed. The faded poster of the International Space Station, orbiting a vibrant blue Earth, usually filled her with boundless wonder. The miniature Hayabusa2 model on her desk, meticulously painted, was a tangible testament to her dream. But now, they seemed to mock her.
If AI could design better rockets, navigate complex star systems flawlessly, and analyze cosmic data faster than any human... what was an astronaut for? A mere passenger? A relic, ferried into the void as a symbol of a bygone era?
The thought sent a shiver down her spine. The vastness of space, once an irresistible call to adventure, suddenly felt less like an invitation and more like an unfeeling, insurmountable wall.
With a sigh that felt too heavy for her fifteen years, Sora lowered her phone. The screen's glow faded, leaving her room steeped in the encroaching twilight. The cicadas outside chirped on, oblivious to the silent despair that had taken root in the heart of a young dreamer. She stared at the gleaming ISS, and for the first time, its perfection felt like a challenge she could never meet, a future she could never truly inhabit.
...
The comforting aroma of miso soup and freshly grilled mackerel filled the Amami dining room, a stark contrast to the hollow ache in Sora's chest. The warm glow of the overhead light spilled onto the low table, illuminating the careful arrangement of dishes. Her parents were already seated, her mother, Akari, deftly serving rice, and her father, Hiroshi, unfolding a napkin.
"Ah, Sora-chan, there you are."
Akari said, her voice soft and welcoming.
"Dinner is ready."
Sora slid onto her cushion, her movements slower than usual. The quiet despair from her bedroom clung to her like a second skin. She picked up her chopsticks, but her usual eagerness for her mother's cooking was absent.
"You're very quiet tonight, dear."
Hiroshi observed, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Rough day at school?"
Sora managed a weak smile.
"Just... thinking."
She didn't elaborate, afraid her voice would crack if she tried to articulate the chaotic anxieties swirling within her. She spooned a little miso soup into her bowl, the warmth of the ceramic cup doing little to thaw the cold knot in her stomach.
Akari nodded, then sighed gently.
"It's good to think, of course. Especially at your age. Soon you'll be choosing your path for university, and it's important to make a sensible decision."
She glanced at Hiroshi, who gave a small, affirming hum.
"Your cousin, Yui-chan, she's doing so well with her teaching degree. Such a stable career, isn't it? Always needed."
Sora pushed a piece of mackerel around her plate.
Always needed?
The phrase echoed the chilling words from the X post: "Why learn a skill AI will master in a week?"
If even something as human as teaching could be augmented, refined, or even replaced by AI, what about something as specialized, as cutting-edge, as space exploration?
"In these times."
Hiroshi added, his voice thoughtful.
"A steady job is important. The world is changing so quickly, you need a career that will always be needed, something reliable to fall back on. It's a bit uncertain out there, isn't it?"
He wasn't talking about global warming or economic shifts, not directly. His words, like her mother's, carried an unspoken weight, a shared parental anxiety about a future nobody could quite grasp.
Sora's mind raced.
What if there is nothing reliable? What if my dream is already obsolete before it even begins?
Her astronaut dream, once a balloon tugging her towards the stars, now felt like a lead weight dragging her down. It was no longer a question of if she was smart enough, or if she could work hard enough. It was: What's the point?
"I... I'll think about it."
Sora murmured, pushing her rice around her bowl, unable to meet her parents' kind, concerned gazes. The warmth of the room, the familiar scent of home, suddenly felt stifling. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with their well-meaning advice and her own crushing, unspoken despair.