Reason for Existence: Error 404

The moment I opened my eyes, it was not oxygen that flowed into my lungs.

It was a gas mixture formulated for waking from cryosleep—the oxygen ratio was higher than the atmosphere of the old century, and carbon dioxide was kept extremely low. An awakening stimulant was added to it, causing my bloodstream and nerves to wake up rapidly.

My throat burned, and I choked. Fifty years of cryosleep had caused my body's functions to drop to a state close to that of a corpse.

What entered my field of vision were countless panels emitting light. The figures around me wore nanofiber suits that looked like lab coats and were observing me through augmented reality terminals.

Subject awakened. The body is obsolete, but vital signs are within the standard range.

An emotionless voice announced.

Where am I?

Fifty-two years and 105 days have passed since the day you fell asleep.

Those words gouged my heart. Memories returned; I was the me from fifty years later, I had truly come to the future. Leaving everything from back then behind.

However, the researcher added coldly, "There is no place for you anymore."

At that moment, a voice came from behind me.

Welcome to the future.

When I turned around, standing there was my younger self. It was the "ideal version of me" perfected through genetic modification and education.

The city was made of structures of light. Transparent buildings floated in the sky, and the climate was completely controlled. People had well-proportioned appearances, and diseases and defects had been removed through genetic engineering.

Most of them did not exchange words, sharing emotions and information through implant devices embedded in their brains. There was no one who was poor at verbalization. A system was in place where, as long as one had something to express, they could immediately connect with the world.

On the screen in the plaza, "I" was being shown. Giving speeches, talking about the future, and receiving applause. But that was a clone, and people believed without a doubt that he was the "real one." Had clones been active since fifty years ago? Without aging at all, the clone of me from fifty years ago stood before people as a figure overflowing with vitality, thanks to cutting-edge technology.

The real me, who had just awakened from sleep, simply stood still in the crowd. No one looked back at me.

When I turned to the voice behind me, I gasped. Standing there was my younger self.

The skin was smooth, the gaze was without a single cloud, and every movement was refined. It was as if the image of an "idealized me" had stepped right out.

Who are you?

As I barely managed to squeeze out a voice, he—no, "I"—smiled.

I am your clone. More precisely, I am a next-generation body improved upon you as a foundation. Society accepts me as the 'real you'.

The words were indifferent. Yet, I felt I saw a flicker in the depths of his eyes for just a moment.

The real one...? Then what am I?

You are an obsolete model. Humanity continues to evolve. You are merely a part of the past.

It was a cold-sounding statement.

The researchers watched from afar. They could see what was happening here. A device had been embedded. The technicians who had been observing since I was revived remotely nodded at the clone's words and typed information into their recording terminals one after another.

The clone averted his gaze slightly.
At night, when I was alone with him again, I learned the reason.

...I am always afraid, he muttered low, looking at the city lights through the window.

People say I am perfect. But I know. The real one is you, and I am an imitation. No matter how superior I am, as long as your existence remains, I am nothing but a shadow.

His voice was far removed from his dignified daytime demeanor.
Even while surrounded by the applause of the people, he was lonely.
No one is really looking at me. What they believe in is 'your phantom'.

A strange pain shot through my chest.
There is a theory that novels written by AI are boring, and that only novels written by humans after much agony have value, but is the clone on that side?

That the 50-year-old me, whom society discarded as unnecessary, is what guarantees his existence.
Is the result of human agony better after all? It was the moment I realized the paradox.

He turned around quietly and said in a trembling voice,

Please, do not deny me. If you accept me, for the first time, I can be 'myself'.

The loneliness dwelling in his eyes resembled what I had felt when I was young.

The future seemed to have made him strong and dignified, but it had not erased human weakness.

The city's night sky was shining with artificial stars.
In the space covered by the giant dome, the seasons and time were programmed to match people's emotions. The city was completely controlled, diseases and defects were eliminated, and ethics were optimized within the framework of rationality.
I did not need him.
He did not depend on me either.

I thought as I walked.
The value given by society or being needed by others is not the only proof of existence.
More than that,the meaning one gives to oneselfmight be something deeper and more unshakable.

The clone walked beside me and said quietly,

I am thought to be perfect. But being perfect is just being optimized; being perfect is not necessarily happiness.

Even if you are not perfect, there are moments when you can affirm yourself.
That is a value that neither society nor others can define.
Feeling that there is meaning just by being here—is that the reason for existence?

I shake my head.
"I don't know if it has any meaning. But I can confirm to myself that I am here. That is all."

We walked side by side, beyond words.
The city lights stretched our shadows long, flickering against the walls of transparent architecture.
No one looks at us.

An existence not needed by anyone. But that is fine.
The city of the future runs solely on the value of being needed.
But we go beyond that framework,living a value that is not needed.

The clone laughed softly.
"You, who live not as the 'me' demanded by society, but as yourself, are an unknown existence even to me." I take a deep breath, stop, and look out over the entire city.
Lines of light cross the sky, and the air is still and pure.

Within that, even if we are not needed, we can define the meaning of our existence ourselves.

"A value that is not needed"—that is a value that is not forced by anyone, not erased by anyone, and exists solely by one's own will.
A value that is ours alone, which cannot be measured by the logic of society.

We continued to walk in silence.
That silence was not filled with anxiety, but with conviction.

Living a value that is not needed is precisely what freedom is, and it is the new form of humanity that we can leave behind in this future.