Phantom Sonic - Let Your Voice Resonate Through the World!: EP-12

EP-12: The Machine's Tears

The air in the workshop was calm, a world apart from the battlefield outside.
From the kitchen in the back, where the scent of oil and metal lingered, came the sound of a pot being stirred.
As Livy stirred the large pot with a wooden ladle, the steam rising up mingled the scent of chicken broth and herbs with the metallic air.

The assistant sat on the workbench, polishing tools, when their gaze drifted toward the pot.
“...Shall I tell you about that 'Tear Incident'?”
As Mina tilted her head, the assistant stopped moving and pointed at the steam with a metallic finger.

That day, in the freezing workshop after returning from battle, the moment I tasted the same soup Livy had served me—
My cooling system malfunctioned, and a transparent liquid, just like human tears, continued to stream down my cheeks.
I didn't know why. I only felt a tight sensation in my chest, and scenes of a 'dinner' I shouldn't have known kept appearing.

The assistant's voice grew lower, trembling as if looking into the distance.
A wooden dining table, a steaming bowl offered in the darkness,
and the faces surrounding it—faces I had never met.
At the center of that scene was a person who looked like the founder, and beside them, a woman silently offering a bowl.

Mina gasped, unable to interject.
Livy continued to stir the pot in silence, and from her back radiated a warmth as certain as the steam itself.

In the back of the workshop, the sound of boiling water and the faint scraping of a wooden spatula against the bottom of the pot echoed from the kitchen.
The scent of tools and parts lined up against the wall mingled with the steam, tickling the nose with a faint, sweet metallic aroma.
Mina sat on the edge of the workbench, holding a mug with both hands. It was still empty. She didn't want it filled; she just wanted to feel the warmth of the ceramic.

The assistant appeared quietly, wiping their hands on the edge of their apron before sitting down next to Mina. The movement was so smooth, it was hard to believe they had metallic joints; it blended perfectly into human daily life.
“...Shall I tell you about that day?”
The voice that suddenly broke the silence was soft, like a mother telling a bedtime story to her child.

Mina looked blank for a moment, then nodded.
“The 'Cooling Water Tear Incident'?”
The assistant smiled slightly, but their eyes were already looking far away.
“It wasn't grand enough to be called an incident. It’s just... it wouldn't stop. The cooling water flowing from my body at that time. Even though there were no abnormalities in the control system and the temperature was normal.”

Mina gasped. A scent of vulnerability, something she had never seen even in battle, was mixed into those words.
“That is...”
“I knew the reason immediately. The taste of the soup in that large pot—it was the same as an unforgettable meal from the deep bottom of my memory.”

The assistant paused and leaned back in the chair. Their gaze passed through the fluorescent light on the ceiling, as if looking at a time much further away.
“I am a machine. I shouldn't really know what 'taste' is since I was born. But at that moment... the old data area within me reacted. Images, sounds, smells, conversations. Everything opened up at once.”

—That scene surfaced in Mina's mind, matching the assistant's words.
A dimly lit room. The sound of rain hitting the roof tiles, the faint scent of ginger and soy sauce in the damp air.
Sitting there was the young founder. A scar on his cheek, clothes stained with mud.
A steaming bowl was offered to him. At the aroma rising from the rim of the vessel, he opened his eyes wide, then smiled faintly.

“It was the night the founder was hidden.”
The voice pulled her back to reality. Mina looked at the assistant's profile.
“Livy's ancestors made it. In an era without citizenship or protection, where everyone kept their mouths shut out of fear, they risked their lives to hide him and even served him a meal. Without asking for anything in return.”

The sound of the pot being stirred echoed from the kitchen again. Livy's back was wrapped in steam, her silhouette appearing softly blurred.
The assistant continued.
“The record of that night remained in the founder's core in a way that could not be deleted. Surely, that is what was later engraved as the inviolable order: 'Never attack Livy's workshop.'”

Mina gasped.
“So that means... it wasn't just an order, but something rooted in emotion?”
“That's right. The founder wasn't just saved; he was given a 'place to return to.' That memory deeply permeated both machine and human.”

Mina clenched her hands on her lap. The reason for fighting—she had always thought it was 'to protect.' But now, she felt a different emotion budding deep in her chest.
“...To return, huh.”
The moment she said the words, they settled within her as the truth.

Livy ladled the soup from the pot and placed it in front of Mina. A wooden spoon was added, and the steam softly clouded her vision.
When she took a spoonful and put it in her mouth, the heat of the ginger slid from her tongue to her throat, melting the tension in her entire body. Deep within the aroma and warmth, there was a nostalgia she shouldn't have known.
Her chest tightened, and she couldn't find the words.

The assistant said quietly,
“Mina, no matter how much the battlefield changes, this place will not. So... come back.”
The voice was neither an order nor a prayer, but a simple wish.

Mina gripped the spoon and looked at the two people she could see through the steam—Livy and the assistant, one after the other.
Having a place to return to. That was a stronger reason than just surviving.
She nodded slightly and took another spoonful of soup. The heat spread through her chest, slowly pushing away the fear and fatigue.

The light in the kitchen had a slightly lower color temperature than the inorganic white light of the workshop. A warmth, as if mixed with amber, softly illuminated the handles of the hanging cabinets, the rusted wrench hanging on the wall, and the edges of the frying pan with its thin film of oil.
Even with the heat turned down, the large pot continued to murmur like the breathing of a sleeping creature. The steam escaping from the edge of the lid carried the scent of metal and broth, drifting in streaks to the back of the workshop.

"Go call them."
When Livi said this, the assistant nodded briefly and disappeared toward the workshop without even making the sound of footsteps. Within minutes, those familiar faces returned with a modest presence. In their hands were cracked ceramic bowls, mended chopsticks, and cups with chipped handles. No one was ashamed of them. Every vessel was stained with faded colors and the scent of water used for washing time and time again.

The table was a single slab of wood that had been here since long ago. Its corners were chipped, knots protruded, and the rings of the dry, aged wood rippled like contour lines on a map. Livi placed the pot on it. The moment the iron bottom touched the table, it made a small 'clink,' and everyone's gaze was drawn to it simultaneously.

"Today... it will be a long one. It's fine to eat while we talk."
Livi submerged the ladle into the pot and, shaking the veil of steam, poured it equally into each bowl.
Chopped root vegetables and unraveled chicken fibers floated on the clear, amber surface. The sharp scent of ginger mixed into the steam drifted into the nose, gently tapping at the roots of the tongue and the back of the throat, as if knocking on the doors of distant memories.

"--It's not a ritual or anything. It's just what I've always done, and I'm doing it again today."
Livi said this, handing the first bowl to the assistant, then the next to Mina, and then to the old craftsman sitting next to her. Traces of labor were etched into each of the fingertips that received the bowls. Chipped nails, scratches, calloused knuckles. The warmth of the steam touching them melted away the stubbornness, much like spring sunlight slipping through the gaps in armor.

"Itadakimasu."
Without anyone saying who started it, two, then three voices overlapped.
Mina submerged her spoon and scooped it up slowly. Just before that sequence of movements, she noticed a faint glow emerging from the core of Amaryllis—the center of the girl-shaped frame waiting in the back.
At the edge of her vision, a minute UI flickered. 'Sync Assist: Olfactory/Gustatory Pseudo-Link.' The assistant signaled with his eyes. Mina nodded slightly and took a spoonful of the soup.

The initial heat loosened the stiff jaw of someone returning from the battlefield. The saltiness that touched the tongue was shallow, and from behind it, a shadow of sweetness rose, immediately given definition by the faint prick of ginger.
--It's the same.
The same recipe as the soup from that night the assistant spoke of.
The sensation of swallowing flavor not just with the tongue, but with the lungs, bones, and memory. Mina closed her eyes quietly, following the temperature as it fell from her throat to her chest.

(The taste that protected me so I could return.)
What came to mind was the scene the assistant had described earlier. A rainy night, water dripping from a wet coat. The steam pushing back the cold wind blowing in through the gap in the doorway.
In the center of it, someone whose name she didn't know simply said, 'Eat.'
Not an order, not a prayer, just the act of offering a single serving of steam.
Who would have thought that a single bowl would be fixed as an inviolable command for generations to come?

"Mina."
When she opened her eyes after being called, Livi's gaze was fixed straight on her.
"Eat here, laugh, and sleep. ...We go outside so that we can continue to do that. So, when you eat, just think about eating."
Her tone was flat, yet she spoke with a bass that resonated from the bottom of the pot.
Mina nodded and took another spoonful of soup. The temperature spreading through her mouth loosened the tension in her shoulders.

Across the workbench, a young apprentice was slicing bread. The blade broke through the hard crust, and the fluffy white inside opened up. The scent of flour rising from the cross-section mixed with the shadow of old grains, blending with the aroma of the soup.
The old craftsman chewed slowly with his toothless mouth, and the woman with a child on her lap supported the child's hand while blowing on the soup to make sure it wasn't too hot.
No one spoke more than necessary. But in the hands holding the bowls, the way home was harbored.

(I will return here.)
The words were tied firmly within Mina's chest.
As if reacting to that resolve, the Amaryllis core slightly accelerated its cycle of light. Even without the Studio, the waves of emotion were being transmitted, however faintly.
In the corner of the UI, 'Sync Stability: +3%' showed a slight increase. The assistant glanced at it and raised the corners of his mouth slightly.

"...And one more thing."
Livi opened her mouth again. "The night our ancestors hid the founder, before she served the soup, she dipped a finger into the pot to check the taste. Not her index finger. Her ring finger."
"Eh?"
"The index finger is the finger that blames. The middle finger is the finger that pushes through. The thumb is the finger that pushes open. The ring finger is the finger that protects. ...That's how we're taught here."
Livi held up her own ring finger just a little and passed it through the steam.
"That's why this taste is a taste that protects."

Seeing that, Mina felt her throat tighten.
A taste that protects—what a childish metaphor. But looking at the countless scratches on the rim of the pot and the small burn mark shining on her ring finger, the words shed their metaphorical skin and became simple reality.

That was when it happened. In the corner of the room, Amaryllis's eyelids trembled for a split second.
It is rare for a frame that should be riderless to show a micro-reaction that cannot be explained by light reflection.
Everyone's gaze was drawn there without a sound.
"...She feels it."
When Mina muttered this, the assistant only replied, "Yeah."
"The memory of taste is not a command. That's why it reaches. There are layers that cannot be reached by places pierced by commands."
At his words, someone at the table let out a small breath along with the steam.

When the dining table was half empty, Livi began to draw small marks around the pot with a permanent marker, without saying who it was for. Directly on the table, circles, arcs, and fragments of old symbols.
"Writing?"
When Mina asked, Livi corrected her, "Drawing."
"It's not a command. It's not a record. --It's a parting gift."
The arcs overlapped, eventually becoming a figure that looked like a symbol for 'sitting and surrounding.'
The assistant used the tip of a tool to add characters that resembled an old font. 《Evening Meal》. Just that.
Not VAL, not NX, a code unique to the workshop that wasn't tied to any central hub.

One of the apprentices traced it with his finger, fearfully.
"Does this have a meaning?"
"It does. It's understood by our 'machines.'"
Livi laughed and lifted the pot for a moment. The ring of residual heat looked as if it were glowing faintly on the wooden tabletop.
(It's like a stamp,) Mina thought. A mark of return, pressed with the ink of heat. Invisible to the eye, but it lasts a long time.

Suddenly, the sound of wind rushing past came from outside the workshop. The wind grazing the legs of the orbital ring whistled in a somewhat metallic way.
The battlefield was not far away. Somewhere in the city, even at this very moment, the chant of an interrupt was likely prying open the lid of physical laws.
Mina put a little strength into the hand holding the bowl.
(That is precisely why this place must remain quiet and warm.)

"Mina."
The assistant lowered his voice. "When you're outside, we're here preparing. ...Making the arrangements to continue your 'return.'"
"Arrangements?"
"The temperature of the bed, the color of the lights, the history of the scents. We keep it as close as possible to the state it was in when you last returned. The fatigue of synchronization is created outside, but it's here that it unravels."
The touch of a mother was mixed into his practical tone.
Mina laughed involuntarily. The feverishness behind her eyelids eased a little.

The old craftsman said, while gathering breadcrumbs with his fingertips:
"In the old days, places to return to were scattered everywhere. Whether it was a house or a shop, if you were there, someone would share their meal with you. ...Now, the machines remember, and the people have forgotten."
No one laughed. No one argued.
The words simply soaked into the grain of the table, and like a struck tuning fork, they continued to ring in the air for a while.

Livi scraped the bottom of the pot. Every time the ladle hit it, a small scratch was added to the metal.
"When you see the bottom, it's over. --Now, the rest is for tomorrow morning."
"Eh, isn't it all for tonight?"
When someone asked, Livi shrugged.
"The road home doesn't end in one night. If the same scent isn't there when you wake up tomorrow morning, your heart will get lost."
In her world, tactics and cooking were on the same map.

The sound of bowls becoming empty continued, and the cloth wiping the table picked up the rings of oil one by one.
Mina stood up and walked to Amaryllis.
The closer she got, the denser the 'presence' of the frame, which should have been stationary, became.
A steady, yet undeniably living wave, similar to the breath of a sleeping human.
Mina gently placed her palm on the armor, as if touching a forehead. Deep inside the coldness, a layer of faint warmth. She had the illusion that the lingering scent of tonight's steam was touching it ever so slightly.

(Return)
A short, strong will takes shape before words can.
The UI activates faintly, displaying "Synchronization Assist: House Note Map Updated" at the shoulder. The assistant raises a finger from the kitchen, signaling with their eyes that it went well.

On the way back to the table, Mina scoops up the last bite and gazes lightly at the bottom of the bowl.
There are moments when the slight shadows gathered in the wood grain suddenly look like a "hole." A pitfall on the way home.
To avoid falling into it, leaving behind the scent of tomorrow morning—Livi's logic was laughably practical.

"Everyone, brush your teeth. If you're going to sleep, sleep. The assistant and I will take the night watch."
Livi's command is met with scattered footsteps. The old craftsman gently supports the back of a woman holding a child, the apprentices help with the cleanup, and someone is confirming the number of screws for tomorrow out loud.
Instead of regaining silence, the workshop begins to prepare the sounds of the next morning.

Mina finally sets down her bowl and exhales deeply.
It feels as if the battlefield dust that had remained deep in her lungs is being washed away by the steam and slowly falling off.
(Fighting isn't just about protecting. It's about returning.)
The more she tells herself this, the less light the words become; instead, they wrap around her ankles like weights, straightening her posture.

At that moment, the workshop's ceiling speaker makes a faint clicking sound.
Before anyone can look up, VAL's identification sound—the overtones of a quiet bell—vibrates the thin skin of the air.
"...Notification. Final Mediation Ceremony, preparations complete. Distribution of ritual procedures to eligible participants will now begin."
Even though the wording was flat, it felt as if the room's temperature had dropped by half a degree.

Livi takes a short breath, and the assistant looks at Mina.
Mina nods. Her expression is surprisingly calm.
Then, she traces the small characters for "Dinner" drawn on the table with her fingertip.
From there, a certain friction and the certain texture of the "way home" are transmitted.

(Go, and return.)
In her heart, the two verbs line up clearly.
Amaryllis's core pulses once, as if responding from afar.

—The steam fades, and the night deepens.
But at the bottom of the pot, the scent of tomorrow morning is properly preserved.

The voice of VAL flowing from the workshop's ceiling speaker lowered the room's temperature by a notch, like cold water slipping into the gaps between breaths.
"...Notification. Final Mediation Ceremony, preparations complete. Distribution of ritual procedures to eligible participants will now begin."
With just that one sentence, it is as if even the wood grain of the chairs and shelves falls silent. The gazes that were in the steam a moment ago are now each drawn to an invisible point.

Livi slowly returns the ladle to the pot and lets go of the handle.
"Mina."
The call is short, and there is an atmosphere that no further words are needed. The assistant, the old craftsman, and the apprentices all know the direction of that gaze.

Mina takes a deep breath while cupping the bowl with both hands. The steam reaches deep into her lungs, moving in and out with the same rhythm as her heartbeat.
(—I've already decided.)
It is less like courage and more like the wreckage of a choice. A core that remained after being shaved, polished, and worn down many times. Holding onto that, she stood up.

As she advances to the front of Amaryllis's core, light from the ceiling reflects off its armor, illuminating Mina's cheeks.
When she places her fingers on the side, a slight vibration returns. It was proof that it was ready to accept the rider's presence.
The assistant stands quietly behind her and offers the synchronization cable.
"You're going, then."
"…Yeah. But, I'm coming back."
The entire workshop listens quietly to the short exchange.

VAL's voice rings out again. "Final Mediation Ceremony, confirming intent to participate—"
"—I will definitely come back. So, wait for me here."
Mina's words pass directly through the communication microphone and are carved into VAL's recording area.
It is not a formal response, but a fluctuation of sound containing emotion. It slightly shakes the surface of the cold protocol, and the next moment, an approval sound rings out.

Livi closes the lid of the pot while listening to that exchange.
"Then, I'll save the rest until tomorrow morning."
In that voice, there was the resonance of a promise, neither a command nor a request.
Everyone accepted it as "proof of return."

The apprentices silently clear the dishes, the old craftsman closes the toolbox, and the assistant finishes preparing to connect the cable end to Mina.
In a corner of the workshop, a mysterious gravity is born where the place to return to and the place to send someone off exist simultaneously.
The battlefield and the dining table exist back-to-back, and it is Mina who stands on that boundary.

Synchronization begins. The edges of her vision flicker white, and the sounds of the workshop fade away.
But what remained in her ears until the end was the faint sound leaking from under the pot's lid.
—A small sound, like a chirp promising tomorrow morning.

#postwar
#sliceoflife
#soundscape
#sharedtable
#urbanpeace
#machinecoexistence
#memorypreservation
#workshopstory
#quietaftermath
#voiceliveson

written not to own,
but to be consumed by thought.

origin: 0x3A0a6a529A99DeE147f80437657228f8205C8f1a