29. The Orchestra of Advertisements
We started walking.
Kana, who wasn't fond of walking, seemed to grow bored quickly. I could practically see the output of her lower-body actuators dropping in sync with her mood and pace.
I considered suggesting we run, like we did before, but as you could see, the road to the starport was like a refugee line after a war. The streets were packed with humanoid robots, so crowded that in some places there wasn't even room to step forward, let alone run.
Some humanoid robots rode drones zipping through the air, but the skies were so filled with drones at every altitude that the ground seemed faster by comparison. After considering every possible mode of transportation, we ultimately chose to walk.
But this was less walking and more crawling.
It was only slightly better than lying flat on our stomachs.
"We might get to the starport after the next Big Bang starts," Kana grumbled.
I couldn't help but let out a weak laugh.
But my feeble reaction seemed to weigh on Kana's mood even more, her eyes beginning to close downward like a waning crescent moon.
The snail-like pace of the crowd was so slow it was lulling even me to sleep just watching her.
So, I stepped in front of Kana, turned my back to her, and held out both hands behind me.
"Hop on. I'll carry you."
"Thank you!"
Without a moment's hesitation—0.001 seconds, to be exact—Kana jumped onto my back.
I was surprised when I carried her.
For such a high-performance humanoid robot, she was incredibly light.
Or maybe my model was just built with strong specs.
Even so, Kana's lightness was unexpected.
"You're light," I said bluntly.
Kana playfully tapped my back twice with her fist, feigning anger.
"That's rude to say to a girl!"
"Sorry, sorry," I laughed, correcting myself.
"You're super heavy. I thought you were a whale."
When I teased her with exaggerated praise, Kana's mood seemed to lift a little, and she planted a light kiss on the nape of my neck. The spot tingled faintly, as if charged with a high-voltage current, likely from my own embarrassment.
And so, with Kana on my back, I began walking toward the starport.
The surroundings were enveloped in a bustling clamor, the streets overflowing with humanoid robots. Above us, countless holographic advertisements shimmered in the air. The mingled lights formed a chaotic, prismatic rainbow of noise, like a kaleidoscope gone haywire.
To a humanoid robot like me, limited to visible light, it was nothing but visual noise. But Kana's advanced sensors could apparently distinguish each advertisement clearly.
According to her explanation, there were an unusual number of ads for musical instruments, followed by health supplements and exercise equipment for humanoids.
Looking closely, I also noticed ads for swimwear and clothing designed for aerial navigation. The flood of light seemed like a uniform glow at first glance, but as we passed by, new ads appeared one after another, like flipping through a magazine, overwhelming all my sensors.
I was quickly hit with hologram-induced dizziness, a slight lightheadedness, but the crowd's sluggish pace saved me from disappointing Kana.
The advertisements for humanoid products soothed the boredom of the slow-moving line heading toward the starport.
The entire Nocturne Street had transformed into a concert hall, playing an orchestra of advertisements.
The disparate ads somehow created a strange, harmonious melody. Perhaps the ad agencies and broadcasters were skillfully conducting this symphony.
As I listened to the classical music-like resonance of the advertisements, I suddenly felt a gentle electric buzz from my back. Checking my status, I realized that despite carrying Kana and walking for quite a while, my battery wasn't draining—it was nearly at 100% full charge.
Kana had been sharing her energy with me.
She'd turned herself into a charger, a backup battery, quietly supplying me with a warm voltage of electrons.
And she'd done it so discreetly that I wouldn't notice.
Her understated kindness was so endearing that I activated the rarely used camera on the back of my head to sneak a peek at her face.
To my surprise, Kana had slipped into sleep mode, dozing peacefully.
She mumbled softly in her sleep, her expression serene, as if dreaming of some unknown place.
Earth, Mars, or perhaps another planet in a distant solar system.
Even in sleep mode, she didn't stop supplying me with energy. Her selflessness made me smile involuntarily.
But she might wake up at any moment, and I didn't want to disturb her dream. So, as if tucking a blanket over her, I quietly cut off the energy supply.
When I did, Kana let out a small, startled "funya" in her sleep, but she didn't wake. Instead, she hugged my neck tighter and sank deeper into slumber.
And so, the orchestra of advertisements began playing a lullaby, like a starry night sky, crafted for this noisy night.