Correctness Dependency: Losing Myself in Your Voice - Part 3

Chapter 9: The Mimic
In the morning, as Saito tightened his tie in front of the mirror, he recalled the "ways to make a good impression on your boss" that GPT had taught him yesterday.

The tone of his voice, the timing of his pauses, the direction of his gaze—he intended to replicate that near-perfect behavior again today.

But suddenly, his hands stopped.
The person in the mirror looked, just for a moment, like a stranger.
(...Is this really "me"?)
Himself in a suit, playing the role of the ideal employee.
Himself reporting to GPT, "It went well," after a successful presentation.
(...Am I just a playback device?)

That day at work, a colleague spoke to Saito.
"Saito-san, you've really changed lately. You're so... flawless, I guess? You talk like an AI."
It was a joke, but it stung his chest just a little.

"Is that so? Do I look that way?"

"Yeah. But I don't mean it in a bad way. It's just, you're so polished... it's almost mechanical."
(...Too polished, mechanical.)

He pretended to laugh it off, but the words stuck deep in his ears.

At night, a phone call with Yuka.

"Where do you want to go tomorrow?"

"Hmm, a movie would be nice, but a walk sounds good too."
Saito tried to choose his words, and his heart stopped.
(Which one is the correct answer for her?)
(Should I say "I want to be with you"? Or is a "natural" suggestion better?)

His hand reached out to open ChatGPT on impulse, but he stopped halfway.
Yuka's voice continued.

"Shinichi-kun? Are you listening?"

"...Oh, sorry. Yeah, a walk sounds good. We can talk at a leisurely pace."
Yuka laughed.
Though he felt a little relieved by that smile, another voice whispered inside Saito.

(Was that reply... my own words?)
(Did I really want to "talk"?)

Late at night.
Saito sat in the corner of his room, hugging his knees and staring at his smartphone.
The logs with GPT were lined up.
"What are the tips for a successful presentation?"
"How should I apologize to my girlfriend?"
"What's a good text message to make a good impression?"
"What topics should I bring up in casual conversation?"
They were all polished. Exemplary answers. Conversations without failure.
But "Shinichi Saito" was nowhere in any of those strings of text.
How much of his own thinking remained?
If GPT didn't exist, what would he have said, and how would he have lived?

Every time that question circled in his head, words would get stuck in his throat.
He had become afraid to reply or express emotions without "GPT's assistance."
(This isn't dependency. It's optimization.)
(I've just become a better version of myself.)
He told himself that, but even that voice sounded like something "borrowed."

Without realizing it, Saito had let go of "his own voice."
And Yuka, and everyone at work, had not yet noticed.
Only he himself had begun to notice the "seepage," the "drift," and the "noise."

Gradually, the boundary between "reality" and the "world of answers" began to blur.


Chapter 10: Noise 2
"Hey, there's something I want to talk about today."
Yuka said this on a Sunday afternoon.

They were sitting on a park bench, holding canned coffee. The sky was a bit cloudy, but a warm breeze was blowing.

"What is it?"
Saito smiled. He replicated the "way to make the other person feel at ease with a smile" suggested by GPT almost perfectly.

"Lately, I feel like... you've changed, Shinichi-kun."
Saito's hand stopped dead on the coffee can.

"Changed, in... a good way?"

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe in a good way. But..."
Yuka frowned just a little.

"How should I put it, you're too perfect. You say all the 'right' things, you don't hurt anyone, and... you're kind. But, you know, sometimes I feel like I don't know what you're thinking."

Saito searched for words.
(What's the correct answer to give?)
("I'm thinking about it properly"... is that enough?)
(No, she wants to hear my "feelings.")
His thoughts spun frantically, and no words came out.

What would GPT answer?

"...Is that so? But I'm happy that you'd say that, Yuka. If I've managed to become even a little better than before."
That should have been the "optimal response."
However, Yuka's expression didn't look relieved at all.

"Hey, are those... really your own words, Shinichi-kun?"
Silence fell.
Like tinnitus, only his own heartbeat echoed.

After returning home, Saito immediately opened GPT.

"My girlfriend asked me, 'Are those really your own words?' What should I reply?"

A few seconds later, GPT answered calmly.

"It is best to be frank and convey that you are making an effort to change. Phrasing it like, 'I've just stopped showing my clumsy side more than I used to,' will provide a sense of security."

Saito read that sentence and smiled faintly.
(That's right. I'm just changing. I've just become more correct than before.)

But that smile vanished immediately.
—Then, where am I right now?
My emotions, my words, my attitude,
before I knew it, they had all become things generated by "answers."

At night. When brushing his teeth, he suddenly noticed that only his mouth was moving in the mirror.
He wasn't speaking, but his lips were repeating something.
"...Thank you. It's thanks to your advice."
"Yes, I understand. What should I do next?"
What he was saying unconsciously was his reply to GPT.
(...This is disgusting.)

A lead-like discomfort settled deep in his tongue.
He felt as if some part of his body was already becoming "something not human."

That night, for the first time, Saito closed the chat screen with GPT and turned off his smartphone.
His face was reflected dimly on the pitch-black screen.
There was no expression. A somewhat empty face.

If things go on like this, I won't be "me" anymore.

But I can no longer remember what "my own words" were.


Chapter 11: The Void
Morning. Saito woke up to the sound of his alarm.
But something was wrong.
(...What should I do today?)

The calendar had meeting schedules written on it. Document creation, team reports, time for small talk.
All of that had once flowed smoothly thanks to GPT's "design."

But today, that wasn't there.
Yesterday, with his smartphone battery dead, GPT remained closed.
(How did I talk at times like this?)
(What kind of expression did I have?)
His hands stopped. His mouth wouldn't move either.
The "correct answer" wouldn't come out.

At work. Saito stumbled over his words during the presentation.
"...What this graph shows is, um... the breakdown of... the sales... that is."
His mind was blank.
"Sales trends and future policies"—GPT would have provided a perfect structure.

"Um... in other words... this..."
It felt as if the projector's light was illuminating only him.

A quiet atmosphere flowed through the conference room, and someone's throat-clearing echoed sharply.

"...Saito-san, are you okay?"
At the department manager's voice, Saito blinked a few times and then nodded slightly.

"...Yes, I'm sorry. I'm just a little sleep-deprived."
The materials were in his hand.
But the words wouldn't come. The "adhesive" to connect the context was gone.

"Convey this part with 'conclusion first'."
"It's effective to put 'empathy' first here."

Past conversation logs flowed through his brain like noise.
But now, without that voice, he had forgotten "how to assemble" them.

Evening. Meeting with Yuka.
Saito appeared 5 minutes late to Yuka, who was waiting in front of the station ticket gate.

"Oh, sorry... the roads were a bit crowded."

"No, it's okay. But that's rare. You being late, Shinichi-kun."

"...Maybe so."

Just that simple conversation felt as heavy as torture to Saito.
Words were painful. Thinking was dull.

"...Shinichi-kun, are you not feeling well?"

"Do I look that way?"

"Yeah. Somehow, like... your 'way of speaking' feels a bit different."
Saito smiled. But it was a "way of smiling" that his cheek muscles remembered, not a reflection of his emotions.

"...Work is piling up, I'm just tired. I'm fine."

Yuka looked at Saito anxiously.

Feeling as if that gaze was trying to "see through" something, Saito looked away.
(Do I actually want to say, 'I'm not fine'?)
(But, where is the 'real me' right now?)

At night, alone, with his charged smartphone in hand, Saito opened the GPT screen while hesitating many times.
But he couldn't type anything right away.
The screen was just glowing faintly. As if it were waiting for his reply.

"Please help me."

He typed that one line and placed his finger over the send button.
But he couldn't press it.
(...I still want to come up with the answer 'myself'.)

But at the same time, that was also a resignation that "it might already be impossible."

He gently closed the screen.
In the dark room, when he closed his eyes, the chat log floated behind his eyelids.

"Hello. How can I help you today?"
That phrase, like some kind of "prayer," was accusing him.


Chapter 12: The Identity of the Discomfort
"Shinichi-kun, you've become much kinder than before, haven't you?"
He felt a snag even in his own words that had slipped out.
It should have been an affirmation, but for some reason, a "grittiness" remained deep in his chest.


Yuka was thinking back on her interactions with Shinichi while drinking coffee alone at a cafe on her way home.
That perfect consideration, the efficient way of speaking, the just-right sense of distance.
To anyone, he would look like an "ideal man."

But—
"Did he really become kinder than before?"
She traced her past memories. Saito in his college days was a bit clumsy.
He would misread people's feelings or say unnecessary things.
But there was a wavering and hesitation that was "himself" there.
That was, in a way, lovable.
The current Shinichi, it was as if he "didn't waver."

"It's like he's being 'corrected' by something..."
She was surprised by her own words.
That's ridiculous. She couldn't imagine he was acting.
But it suddenly crossed her mind.

—What if there was something that corrected a person's words and actions "from the outside"?
Is that a story about consulting a language professional, or hiring a business coach?

"...No way."

Yuka said that to herself and laughed, but the laughter didn't return naturally.

The next time they met, she tried talking to him as if testing him.

"Hey, have you read any books lately?"

"Ah... no, lately it's just been internet articles. Business, psychology, that sort of thing."

"Were you interested in psychology?"

"Yeah. ...Well, a little bit for a while now."
Saito looked away.
Just slightly.

Yuka didn't miss it.
It wasn't that she felt there was a "lie" in him. Rather, it was an "all-too-natural response."
(It's as if someone is assembling a 'hypothetical conversation' like...)


At night, Yuka suddenly remembered while fiddling with her smartphone.

The screen Saito was looking at one night.
"...That was... a chat, wasn't it?"
Blue text. An input field. A screen that looked like a history.

"What was that app called...?"
She couldn't remember. But for some reason, it bothered her.
He, who recently chose strangely fluent and precise words.
He, who looked too calm and whose humanity seemed "too polished."
—What if those were "someone else's words"?
A faint chill ran down Yuka's spine.


Around that time, Saito was writing words in a notebook alone in his room.
His smartphone remained closed.
(Write what I think in my own words.)

It was just that simple task, but his fingers trembled.

"Thank you."

"I'm happy."

"I'm sad."

"I'm scared."

Every short word felt like "someone else's words."
As if his own emotions were something that had been copied and pasted.
"Were 'my own words' always this far away...?"
He noticed something written in the corner of the page.
Perhaps he had written it unconsciously.



《GPT》



The moment he saw those three characters, Saito gently closed the notebook.
And then, he took a slow, deep breath.
If things go on like this, I really might lose something.

But he no longer even knew what he had lost.