33. The Barefoot Performance
"There's a cargo ship that just returned from Earth," the master explained calmly, gazing upward.
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew in from somewhere, but as it met her gaze, it softened as if turning into a gentle breeze, passing by with a crackling sound like static electricity.
"Nice weather for boarding a ship," she said with a satisfied expression, as if she'd just received a pleasant massage, beckoning Kana and me to follow her onto the runway.
The runway had an odd texture.
It lacked the hardness of asphalt or concrete, covered instead with an ivory lawn that felt soft and warm, like a fluffy living room rug.
"Oh, I forgot to mention," the master said, turning back and pointing at our feet. "Take off your shoes and socks. This is a barefoot zone."
Kana and I exchanged glances, slowly removing our school shoes and socks.
Like college students tossing their caps into the air at graduation, we playfully threw our shoes upward. Suddenly, a swarm of light, like flying fish, darted in at one ten-thousandth the speed of light, snatching our shoes and socks and vanishing.
"Hey! Thieves!" Kana shouted, pointing at the flying fish, but they had already disappeared beyond the runway.
The master looked at us, now barefoot, and gave an innocent smile.
"No going back to how things were now!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She answered lightly, "Being barefoot makes you feel things more vividly. Plus, if you're going to fly, it's gotta be barefoot. It's like a seatbelt."
"Is it dangerous to keep shoes on?"
"Yeah, dangerous," the master explained. "Not for you, but for the vehicle. The hard soles of shoes could damage it, so I make sure everyone boards my ship barefoot."
We continued walking barefoot.
A deep stillness, reminiscent of Nocturne's night, enveloped us, and the master's footsteps played a melody like a lullaby. Each time her bare feet touched the lawn, a soft piano note resonated, transcending mere sound to become music itself.
Swayed by the sound, I felt lulled into sleepiness yet driven to move forward.
Kana, who hated boredom, seemed to feel the same. Following the master's figure, she asked in a slightly tired voice, "Where are we going?"
"To the cargo ship that'll take you to Earth, of course," the master replied.
"Thank you," I said, feeling as if I were being forced to express gratitude in a dream. I layered my own question onto Kana's. "So, Master, is your job to transport humanoid robots sold to humans to Earth?"
"That's part of my job, but it's only about one percent of my revenue. My main work is something else."
"What kind of work?"
"I can't say," she chuckled. "Trade secret."
Fair enough, I thought, nodding and dropping the subject. Instead, I asked another question. "How much farther do we have to walk to the cargo ship?"
"Honestly, you don't need to walk," the master replied. "Passengers don't go to the vehicle—the vehicle comes to the passengers. Like the Catbus in *Totoro*."
"Then why are we walking?"
"If you just stood still, you wouldn't get to hear the barefoot performance, would you?"
Her words made perfect sense to me.
The piano melody from her barefoot steps was so enchanting, more resonant than any classical music I'd ever heard. I wanted to record it and play it on loop by my ear forever.
I wasn't the only one captivated. Kana, too, gazed at her own feet with dreamy eyes, muttering discontentedly before asking the master, "How can I become like you?"
"You just have to practice," came the concise reply.
Kana closed her mouth, as if reflecting, and then her practice began.
With her newly bare feet, she started walking on the ivory lawn, trying to play piano notes with her steps.
Yes, Kana had finally discovered the joy of walking.
I listened to her still-awkward performance with a fond smile, continuing to walk quietly.
I don't have a hobby of playing instruments. I just love listening to sounds.
Especially when it's the sound of my precious Kana playing, it's all the more dear to me.
As a latest-model humanoid robot, Kana focused all her senses on the master's footsteps ahead.
Before long, she became so engrossed in the master's barefoot melody that she seemed to forget I was even there. Astonishingly, her playing improved at a remarkable pace.
After about seventeen seconds, Kana's barefoot performance reached a level nearly equal to the master's.
At that moment, the master stopped in her tracks.
When her footsteps ceased, the piano melody cut off.
Like ducklings blindly following their mother, Kana and I stopped as well.
The ivory lawn-covered runway fell into a deep silence for a moment.
"Looks like you're ready," the master's voice rang out.
Kana replied, "Yes."
Hearing their exchange, I was struck with a shock, as if I'd discovered an unknown law of physics.
All this time, this had been a walk for Kana's sake.
I'd assumed I was the center of this story. No, I'd imagined the master was interested in me, the one pretending to be human.
But I was wrong.
The master's gaze held no interest in a liar like me, a grave criminal. It was directed solely at the lovely Kana by my side.
That realization brought a fresh enlightenment, unlike any memory etched in my memory chip.
At the same time, an intense anxiety gripped my chest.
If the master and Kana resonated too deeply, forming a bond like a duet performance, would Kana discover I'm a liar? That fear flashed through my mind.
Suddenly, I felt something tug at the sleeve of one arm.
Looking down, I saw the nine-year-old master gazing up at me with an innocent expression, like a child begging for candy at a supermarket.
"You okay?"
"…Huh?" I asked back.
She spoke with a slightly troubled tone. "You suddenly started crying. Was Kana's performance that moving?"
Her words made me realize it for the first time.
A distortion caused by liquid had formed around my poor eyes, which could only perceive visible light.
I gently reclaimed my sleeve from the master's grip and wiped the liquid from my eyes with it. I immediately knew the transparent liquid was the water we drank at the diner.
"How's it taste? The tears?" the master asked with concern.
I gave a casual smile, as if reassuring a child, and answered, "Salty."