KIBANA 0｜Chapter 10: A Place to Entrust the Future

"Those who speak of structure must first sketch the skeleton."
— Rick Stanton

Summoned abruptly by Saburoba, Shiun Kanzaki finished her duties and immediately got into a taxi. Her destination: Tsukuyomi Coffee, a familiar haunt from their student days.

The café officially closed at 11:00 p.m., but the owner, a longtime acquaintance from university, would always put up the "Closed" sign and quietly keep the place open just for them. Tonight was no different.

Streetlights flowed past the taxi window, sketching soft outlines in the dark. When Kanzaki glanced at her watch, it was 10:50 p.m. As she arrived in front of the café, the hands aligned precisely at 11:00.

"A café called 'Coffee' at this hour…? I'll never be able to sleep," she muttered dryly, tapping the sign with a finger.

At night, Tsukuyomi Coffee took on the air of a bar. The amber hues of liquor bottles lined the shelves, swaying gently in the dim lighting. Of course, they still served coffee.

"You're here," Saburoba said, eyes barely lifting from his incessantly flicking phone.

"Don’t 'you’re here' me. Schedule an appointment properly. Some of us aren’t free all the time, you know." Kanzaki crossed her arms, her tone slightly sharp.

"But still, this place at this time… it’s nice, right? No one around. The air feels clean."

"That's because the owner keeps it open for you," Kanzaki snapped coldly, reclining against the back of the sofa.

"Now then… shall we begin the prime minister's address?" Saburoba grinned with just the corner of his mouth, as if raising the curtain on a performance. "So, Prime Minister Kanzaki, how will you lead this nation?"

He leaned back, arms crossed, settling in like an audience member waiting for the show.

Kanzaki already knew the premise; she'd been informed in the taxi. If Kanzaki became Prime Minister, how would she lead? Show me in a speech.

She sighed quietly. Absurd as it was, she hadn’t dismissed the request. And now the man before her was dead serious.

"...You really want me to do this?"

She exhaled and straightened up.

"To stabilize national function, I have three criteria," she began. Her voice, calm yet resolute, tightened the atmosphere.

"First, Future Foresight. Economics, population, technology, disasters—can we anticipate these changes and design sustainable structures?

Second, Stability of Citizens’ Lives. Income, education, healthcare, social security—how well can we support the foundation of every person’s life?

Third, International Balance and Peace. Trade, diplomacy, security—can we design a harmony that avoids conflict and builds trust?"

She paused, lowering her gaze to the table.

"But. The true core of a nation lies beneath these three—in layers far harder to see."

"There are four of them."

"First: Shared Meaning. A nation is a mechanism by which people define the meaning of living collectively. Policies and systems are tools to support that. I believe the nation’s deepest layer must guarantee human spiritual presence.

Second: Emotional Calibration. A nation needs the power to harmonize collective emotions. Even if systems and economies are intact, a society drenched in despair, loneliness, or distrust will collapse. We need an emotional infrastructure that cultivates empathy, understanding, and hope.

Third: Inheritance of Memory and Story. A nation must continuously speak of where it came from and where it is headed—history, culture, landscapes, sacrifice, and hope. Policies should serve to enrich that narrative.

Fourth: Harmony with All Life. A nation is not only for humans. Nature, animals, future generations—we must preserve a configuration of life that includes all these relationships. The nation must be redefined not as a tool for people, but as part of a planetary alliance of life."

Kanzaki took a breath and continued:

"These are the three criteria that support national function, and the deeper core beneath them. Together, they form what I believe is the skeleton of a nation."

A brief silence followed.

"From this, we derive a conclusion: national stability requires four layers."

She sat up and began outlining them carefully:

"First Layer: Strategy. Future foresight, daily stability, international peace. This layer asks: How do we sustain?

Second Layer: System. Economy, infrastructure, diplomacy, legal framework. This asks: How do we function?

Third Layer: Meaning. Emotion, history, culture, memory. This asks: How do we connect?

Fourth Layer: Life. Other beings, Earth, future generations. This asks: How do we coexist?"

She looked up at the ceiling, then dropped her words like a stone:

"There is one question that encapsulates all these layers:

Can a nation exist as a place where humans can truly believe in the future?"

"Science is accelerating evolution. That evolution is sweeping away conventions, ways of thinking, and methodologies into a new geological stratum.

What we need now is not to cling to yesterday’s answers, but to redesign the structures to come."

"To restore a sense of security to the people and to Japan as a community, I choose to tune the national outer frame using these functional criteria and their core."

Her voice hardened slightly.

"To that end—I propose the integration of AI."

"And those who govern should no longer be selected through popularity contests like elections. They should be a collective of specialists, chosen for their expertise."

"Thus, I formally propose the abolition of the current electoral system and the introduction of a National Qualification-Based Selection System."

From behind the bar, having just finished cleaning up, the owner quietly smiled and offered gentle applause. It was soft but left a tangible warmth in the air.

"...That was well-structured," Saburoba said in a low voice, sitting up from the sofa.

He reached for the smartphone propped up beside his glass. The screen showed data from a completed recording.

"Whoa... this score is insane. Never seen numbers like this."

Scrolling through the screen, a faint smile crept onto Saburoba’s face.

"Shiun. You really should be Prime Minister. I've recorded over a hundred political data sets, but your score—it's in another league."

He wasn’t joking or pushing. Just observing. With quiet respect in his eyes.

Then he straightened, raised his right hand toward the ceiling, and asked:

"Madam Prime Minister. May I ask a few questions?"

Kanzaki shrugged and smiled faintly.

"First, about AI. With AI entering politics, some citizens may fear human subjugation. How do you respond to that concern?"

Still leaning on the edge of the sofa, he posed the question calmly.

Kanzaki closed her eyes once, inhaled, and began.

"AI is not a ruler. It is a nerve that visualizes what we could not see, integrated into the nation.

Humans, by nature, struggle to perceive the cascading effects between systems. Economic policy, diplomacy, education, welfare, cybersecurity—they're all interlinked, affecting national stability.

AI excels at deciphering these complex correlations, detecting contradictions and causal ripples, and proposing corrections.

The current majority-rule decision system in politics inherently contains errors and contradictions. Those errors ultimately impact citizens' lives—their very existence.

This is not a realm for emotional tug-of-war.

Human grace and nuance belong in society and homes. But in the design of a nation’s outer skeleton, we must leverage AI’s unemotional predictive and analytical power.

Of course, only humans can feel the future. That’s why the final decisions must reflect the will of those who will live it.

The future belongs to those who must bear responsibility for it. We must not distort it with feelings tied to the past.

Therefore, I envision a new form of politics where AI provides quantitative predictions, and citizens and future generations make the final decisions together."

"I see..."

Saburoba folded his arms, eyes lowered, then slowly nodded several times.

After a short pause, he looked up.

"Then, Prime Minister. Let me revisit your boldest proposal—abolishing elections and selecting politicians via national qualifications."

"Wouldn’t this weaken the democratic legitimacy that comes from being chosen by the people?

In other words, it might create a sense of disconnection from public will."

"Furthermore, this new group of specialist politicians might blur the boundaries with existing bureaucrats. Responsibility and accountability could become vague."

"Also, eliminating elections would remove one of the few direct participation points for citizens. Wouldn’t that accelerate political disengagement?"

His voice was quiet, but tension ran through his gaze.

"How do you respond to these concerns, Prime Minister Kanzaki?"

Kanzaki looked up at the ceiling. Closed her eyes. Exhaled deeply.

A long beat.

Then she fixed her gaze directly on Saburoba.

Her lips formed soundless words: "Don’t underestimate me, you bastard."

The words didn’t reach the air, but their heat cut through it.

Silence followed.

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.

"Democratic legitimacy. Disconnection from the people. Blurred lines with bureaucrats. Vague responsibility. Political disengagement.

...Are those the five concerns?"

Saburoba nodded slowly, solemnly.

"Yes."

"Democratic legitimacy, huh."

For a moment, she looked like she might laugh, but her expression quickly hardened.

"Let me ask you something."

She leaned forward, her gaze piercing.

"Do you really think it’s okay to entrust this country’s future to idols, wrestlers, or that grumpy neighbor who yells about politics?"

"If that’s the will of the people, fine. But don’t complain later. It was your choice to hand over the most important position in the world to an amateur."

Her voice rose with quiet heat. Her tempo quickened with her breath.

"I’ll drastically raise the bar for political capability. Anyone can take the qualification. Legitimacy? Of course it exists."

"People talk about disconnection or disengagement. But how much of the ‘will of the people’ gets through under the current system?"

"Link SNS to state systems. Let AI receive public voices in real time. Filter out slander and noise. That way, real opinionsreach the core more effectively."

"Right now, people go to polling stations, circle a name they barely recognize, and vote. That’s not political participation.

"Honestly, rolling dice would be more meaningful."

A hush fell. No one broke the silence.

"Disengagement from politics? That phrase has been around forever. The truth is, we’ve always been disengaged."

She narrowed her eyes and added coldly:

"As for the blurred line between politicians and bureaucrats? That’s already plenty vague."

"If that’s a problem, you’re basically admitting politicians are incompetent."

She leaned back and smiled dryly.

"What an insult."

Then she turned sharply toward the bar.

"Master! A beer!"

"Shiun-chan, nice job. Kirin? Or Sapporo?"

The owner's voice was impossibly kind. It melted the air.

"Kirin Dry! The cold one!"

Kanzaki's reply had a childlike lightness to it. The tension snapped.

Saburoba squinted as if a thought struck him. A smile slowly bloomed on his face.

The atmosphere between the three of them still held the warmth of debate—but it was warm.

Outside Tsukuyomi Coffee, spring rain had begun to fall.

Mone’s Memory
"Weaving a Hundred Sounds"

Responsibility for the future Belongs to those who will live it.

Two young, unrefined voices Are now, from the edges of the world—

Quietly beginning to embrace the world itself.