[Short Story] The Perfect Selection

9:00 PM on a Friday.

I cut my dinner with my subordinates short, claiming I had 'other plans,' and slipped into a back-alley bar. The official announcement of my appointment as an advisor is coming next week.

Fifty-five years old. Moving to an honorary position where I relinquish real power. You could call it an early retirement, but at least I can save face.

The bar, 'Time Capsule,' is a place that uses paper coasters, a rarity in the 2040s. In the corner of the counter, an old-fashioned Memory Jukebox sits covered in dust.

“Does that thing still work?”
“Yes, though it’s been throwing a lot of errors lately.”

The bartender gave a wry smile. As he held his hand over it, a pale light scanned his fingertips. Characters appeared on the screen.

『Your Best Day: October 17, 2025』

My breath hitched.

That was the day I broke my promise to her to go to the final interview for a foreign-owned company. That choice was the first step toward the position I hold now.
Why would that be my best day?

An unfamiliar song title appeared: 'Orbital Resonance.'
No artist name, no release year, nothing. Just the song title.

My finger pressed the selection button on its own.

The moment the intro began to play, my vision blurred. A melody I had never heard before, yet one that felt strangely nostalgic.

October 17, 2025.
Before me is the same bar counter. But the decor is different. It hasn't been renovated yet.
And there I was, at thirty-five years old. Sitting across from me was her.

“I walked out of the interview halfway through.”

My younger self said. Her eyes widened.

“Really? After all that preparation?”
“I finally realized that my promise to you is more important.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. They weren't tears of sadness, but of relief.

“I’ve decided, too. I’m quitting my job. Let’s start together. In that small town.”
“The cafe, right? Are you really going to do it?”
“I am. If it’s the two of us, I’m sure we can.”

My younger self and she stood up and headed toward the jukebox. They peered at the selection screen together. She pointed at it.
“Orbital Resonance, I want to hear this.”
“Yeah, that’s a good song.”
As if it were only natural, the song was there. In this world.

In the corner of the Memory Jukebox, small text was displayed.

『Result of this choice』
『As of 2045』
『Annual Income: 4.2 million yen (individual)』
『Assets: 40-year-old shop-residence』
『Family Structure: 1 spouse』
『Happiness Level: Measurement limit error』

As a transparent observer, I watched the version of myself from the world I didn't choose.

The two of them returned to the counter and toasted with cheap beer.

I wonder if we'll still be like this in 30 years.

She says. My younger self replies.

We'll surely be a stubborn old couple running a small shop.

I followed the two of them as they left the bar. No, I didn't even have the conscious thought to follow; I was just drawn to them. A run-down Chinese restaurant. Red vinyl seats. My younger self and her are sharing dumplings.

What will we do with the shop when we have kids? We can hire part-timers. Or, we'll work hard until the kids are old enough to help.

She laughs. For 20 years, I never once remembered that smile. No, I lived my life trying not to remember it.

The Memory Jukebox sends data directly into my brain. My actual life in 2045: Annual income of 42 million yen (including stock options), top floor of a city center tower apartment, two divorces, a son and a daughter, each with a different mother, seeing them maybe once a year.

And then, fragments of the 20 years I didn't choose flow by like a lantern slide.

2028: Opening a small cafe. Starting from zero regular customers. 2032: Featured in a local magazine article as a beloved shop. 2035: Commendation from the neighborhood association. 2040: Crystal wedding anniversary. A small party at the shop. 2043: She collapses. Hospitalization. 2044: Holding her hand on her sickbed. She says, Thank you. 2045: Me, continuing the shop alone.

At the Chinese restaurant, she suddenly says.

If you had chosen the job interview, I wonder what would have happened to us.

My younger self stops his chopsticks.

I don't think about such 'what ifs.' The present is everything.

She nods.

But I know. In the actual 2025, I chose the interview. She waited alone. And we never met again.

The smartphone on the table vibrates. It belongs to my younger self. On the screen, a notification from the company I interviewed with. Regarding your absence from the final interview. My younger self deletes the notification.

The song approaches its end. The final refrain of 'Orbital Resonance.' My vision begins to distort. The scenery of 2025 blurs like a watercolor painting washing away in water.

When I come to, I am sitting at a bar counter in 2045. The bartender is looking at me with concern.

Sir, you look pale. Are you alright? Yeah, I'm fine.

I look at the Memory Jukebox screen. It has returned to its normal display. Actual best day: None.

When I put my hand in my pocket, I found a crumpled piece of paper. It was the playlist that my younger self and she had written at a bar in that world.
A note that read, "Songs I want to play at a cafe."
At the very top, it said "Orbital Resonance."

I searched for it on my smartphone.
"No matching songs found."

Of course.
That song only plays in a world that doesn't exist.
It was a database of a parallel world that a Memory Jukebox error had caught a glimpse of.
In this world, such a song never existed in the first place.

My smartphone vibrates. A message from my secretary.
"Final confirmation for the advisor inauguration party."
"Monday, Imperial Hotel."
"300 attendees confirmed."

I replied.
"Understood."

I look at the Memory Jukebox once more.
"Next error occurrence prediction: Unknown."

I hoped that this error would happen for someone else. There must be others who need to know the weight of the life they didn't choose.

I left the bar.
The November wind brushed against my cheeks. In 2045 Tokyo, even the neon lights have become eco-friendly.

I open my smartphone.
The wallpaper is the default geometric pattern.
I have no reason to set a photo taken with someone, and no one to set it with.

Notifications line up.
Confirmation items from my secretary.
Asset management report from my lawyer.
Not a single personal message.

I open my contacts.
I start to type her name into the search bar.
But my finger stops. I can't remember her name.

No, that's not it.
Twenty years ago, on the way back from an interview, I deleted her contact information along with everything else. To cut off my lingering attachment.

I look up at the sky.
I can't see any stars.
Even with light pollution regulations, the stars won't return to the Tokyo sky.

The me in that world is probably washing dishes in a small shop right about now.
Alone.
For her sake, too.

When I looked back, new music was leaking from the Time Capsule window.
Someone is using the Memory Jukebox.
Is it that person's "best day ever"?
Or is it the "best life they didn't choose"?

Without stopping, I kept walking.
On Monday, I will give a speech in front of 300 people.
As an advisor.
To begin the next chapter of the life I chose.

[The End]

A word from the author

Through the setting of a Memory Jukebox system error that allows a glimpse into a world that doesn't exist, I turned the regret of "what if" that everyone carries somewhere in their heart into a story.

What the protagonist saw was a day in the 2025 he didn't choose. The "Orbital Resonance" that played there is a song that does not exist in this world. It is a phantom melody stored only in the jukebox of a parallel world.

The cruelty of realizing, only at age 55, the weight of the happiness I let go of in exchange for success. The past, from which I even erased her name, can never be reclaimed.

What kind of music is playing in the 'life you didn't choose'? And do you have the courage to listen to it?