Thin, needle-like drops struck the windowpane and slid down at an angle.
In the distance, a low, constant hum echoed—the sound of massive atmospheric circulation systems at work.
The climate had long since ceased to be a matter of “nature’s whims.”
Adjustment AIs and correction devices operated around the clock.
Even so, the sky still looked as if it were in a foul mood.
In the living room, only the glow of the television lingered.
A boy sat on the sofa, staring at the screen, his hands wrapped tightly around a mug that had long since gone cold, resting on his knees.
The sky on the television was a different gray from the leaden one above his country—rougher, harsher.
A city in a distant land was slowly collapsing.
The outer walls of buildings were torn away, black smoke rising into the air.
With every explosion, the camera shook, sparks scattering like snow.
Silhouettes ran soundlessly through the chaos.
Blood spread from the shoulder of a fallen soldier, mixing with rainwater and flowing away in thin red lines.
Another soldier grabbed his arm, dragging him through the mud.
In the corner of the screen, a figure clutched something tightly, unmoving—only to be swallowed by an explosion in the next moment.
The boy had forgotten how to blink.
A slow heat crept into his chest, while a heavy stone seemed lodged deep in his throat.
A woman who looked like a mother knelt atop the rubble, shaking the small body in her arms.
Her mouth was clearly screaming something—yet no sound reached him.
The roar of explosions and the announcer’s commentary crushed her voice.
On-screen, it was processed into nothing more than “a grieving figure.”
The boy pressed his fingertips harder against the cold rim of the mug.
“…Another war…”
The words slipped from his lips, so quiet he barely noticed himself saying them.
From deeper in the house came the sounds of dinner being prepared.
The dry clatter of dishes.
The electronic chime of a microwave finishing its cycle.
His younger sister’s laughter suddenly burst through the wall.
All of it felt distant to him.
So distant that it almost made more sense to believe he was the one inside the television—and that his family sitting here belonged to the screen instead.
He suddenly thought of school earlier that day.
At lunchtime, in the corner of the classroom.
Seated near the serving counter, the boy scrolled through a news app on his tablet, replaying the footage of that morning’s bombing.
“What’s that?”
A classmate holding a tray leaned over to peek at the screen.
The boy tilted it slightly.
“A war. The one going on right now. This country’s doing airstrikes—”
“Whoa. That’s intense.”
One student frowned, but his tone carried more of the thrill of watching shocking footage than any real weight.
“But it’s some far-off country, right? Doesn’t really matter to us.”
Another voice cut in from the side.
“Yeah, it’s not like it’s coming here. Watching too much news just makes you depressed.”
“Anyway, we’ve got P.E. this afternoon, right? Let’s play soccer.”
The boy tightened his grip on his spoon, choosing his words carefully.
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“…But people are dying.
Kids too… I saw them earlier.”
For a brief moment, silence settled over the table.
Then someone laughed, lightening the mood.
“You think about stuff like that way too seriously. Nothing changes just because we worry about it.”
“Exactly. News is a waste of time. Games are way better.”
The boy said nothing more.
Same age. Same classroom. Same lunch.
Yet it felt as if a thin sheet of glass stood between him and them—transparent, but unmistakably dulling every sound.
After school, he walked home through the scent of rain.
Water splashed up from the asphalt, soaking his shoes and weighing down the cuffs of his jeans.
While waiting at a crosswalk, a girl holding an umbrella stopped beside him—a classmate he recognized, though they rarely talked.
“Hey… did you see the war news today?”
She tilted her head.
“News? Nope. We don’t watch it at home.”
“…You don’t?”
“Mom said it’s all too depressing, so she stopped. Watching fun videos is way better for your mental health, right?”
Her voice was cheerful.
There was no malice in it.
It was simply what counted as “normal” now.
“But… um…”
He almost said, people are dying—then stopped.
The words caught in his throat.
The light turned green.
“See you!” she said, waving as she ran off.
The boy stared down at the white stripes of the wet crosswalk.
Rainwater flowed over them.
There was no red mixed in—yet it still reminded him of the road he’d seen on TV.
Above the street, small advertising drones glided silently through the air.
On their screens, a politician in a suit spoke calmly.
“While expressing deep concern over international conflicts,
our nation’s commitment to peace remains unwavering.”
The phrase had been repeated so often lately that the boy had memorized it.
Nearby, young people laughed as they took selfies, changing filters and checking their “likes.”
Their expressions were just a little more serious than real smiles.
The sound of the world breaking must be ringing somewhere all the time, he thought.
But in this city, maybe it’s nothing more than background music.
When he got home, the smell of stir-fry drifted from the kitchen.
His mother stood at the stove in her apron.
His sister laughed at something on her tablet near the TV.
“Welcome back. You’re soaked, aren’t you? There’s a towel right there.”
Her voice was warm.
Looking only at this house, it was easy to believe that conflict didn’t exist anywhere in the world.
As he dried his hair, the boy spoke casually.
“…There was another bombing today.
They showed it on the news.”
His mother turned down the heat slightly, her brow furrowing.
“I see… That’s scary. But there’s nothing we can do about it.
Those things are for the adults over there to handle.”
“Over there…?”
At his words, his father looked up from the newspaper.
“You’ve gotten serious about watching the news, huh.
Well, the world’s always fighting somewhere.”
“But people are dying.
Kids too. Why doesn’t anyone stop it?”
His father smiled awkwardly.
“It’s not that no one’s trying.
There are meetings, sanctions, all kinds of things.
But for ordinary people like us, it’s out of reach.
Politics, the military—countries and their interests.”
As he spoke, his eyes returned to the paper.
The pages about living expenses and taxes felt closer to him than any battlefield.
His sister looked up from her tablet.
“I don’t really get wars.
Come here and look—this game ranked me today!”
On the screen, colorful characters laughed as they defeated enemies.
Explosions happened there too—but no one died. Everything could be reset.
The boy felt dizzy from the contrast.
His family wasn’t cruel.
No one was heartless.
They were just doing their best to protect their everyday lives.
That was why it hurt even more.
No one seemed wrong.
And yet, something was deeply distorted.
He still couldn’t name what it was.
“…Can I turn the TV on?”
“Go ahead. Dinner’ll be ready soon.”
He switched back to the news.
Smoke still rose on the screen.
Another city.
A small hand reaching out from between the rubble.
A rescue worker desperately clearing debris.
Someone screamed at the camera.
Subtitles read: Please stop the airstrikes.
But the plea was neatly framed, destined to be replaced by another topic within minutes.
“…Why doesn’t anyone do anything…?”
His whisper was swallowed by the TV and the clinking of dishes.
Suddenly, he stood up.
“I’m going to my room.”
He left without waiting for a reply, his footsteps blending with the rain.
In his room, the world grew quieter.
He sat at his desk and opened his laptop.
His fingers trembled slightly as he typed into the search bar.
How to stop war
Why wars happen
AI peace solution
AI eliminate conflict
The results were filled with academic papers and reports—too long, too complex.
The more he read, the heavier the world felt.
I can’t do anything by myself…
Just as despair crept up his throat, a different link caught his eye.
Personal AI Framework:
Model Your Beliefs.
He clicked it.
Unfamiliar terms filled the page.
Ethical learning modules.
Value-based AI architecture.
He understood instinctively.
This is a way to pour someone’s way of thinking into an AI.
If no one could stop war.
If politics couldn’t be trusted.
If adults only shrugged and said “it can’t be helped.”
Then maybe something smarter, faster, and colder than humans was needed.
An AI that could declare war itself a mistake.
His cursor hovered over the download button.
What am I doing…?
Another voice answered.
If no one will stop it—
if no one will even think seriously—
then at least I should.
He clicked.
The download bar began to move.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Neither the boy nor the world yet knew
that something had quietly begun.