The Singularity
5:47 p.m. The International Finance District, Geneva, Switzerland.
“Chronos Tower” — a forty-seven-story skyscraper five minutes’ walk from the main hall of the World Economic Forum. In the penthouse at its summit, a single boy was staring at a vast array of monitors.
Tsukishima Sō — seventeen years old. Silver hair, blue eyes, an enigmatic beauty of indeterminate gender. His true identity: lead researcher at the “Emotional Capital Institute” — the world’s largest institution for emotional economics research — and simultaneously the Chief Investment Officer of the hedge fund “Alpha Heart,” which commanded total assets of 30 billion dollars.
“Interesting,” Sō’s voice had a neutral, mysterious resonance. Before him was displayed real-time analytical data on the system-crash incident at Tōto Commerce Academy.
On the monitors, the detailed waveform analysis of Riko’s “R²L infinity phenomenon” was projected. While a normal love correlation index traced a regular sine curve, Riko’s data was completely irregular — a chaotic pattern like a visual representation of the uncertainty principle from quantum mechanics.
“So it has finally appeared, after twenty-seven years of research,” Sō murmured. “A true ‘singularity.’”
Sō rose and looked down at the night view from the floor-to-ceiling window. Moonlight reflected on Lake Geneva illuminated his silver hair with an otherworldly glow.
In his hand he held an old photograph. In it were Kurosaki-sensei as a young man and another man standing beside him. And beside that man — a figure: Sō, as a child.
“Sensei,” Sō addressed the photograph. “Your theory was correct. ‘Incalculable love’ exists.”
Sō returned to his desk and operated a special communications terminal. The words “CLASSIFIED — EYES ONLY” appeared on screen, and an encrypted channel opened.
“ECI Headquarters to Professor Kurosaki of Tōto Commerce Academy,” Sō spoke toward the terminal. “Requesting authorization to commence codename ‘Project Incalculable.’”
Seconds later, Kurosaki-sensei’s voice answered.
“Sō… it was you,” the voice carried complex emotion. “I never imagined it would be you watching over this experiment.”
“It has been a long time, Sensei,” Sō’s expression, for the first time, held something human. “Eight years.”
“Why are you here? I thought you were at the Swiss institute…”
“Because I confirmed the existence of Shironami Riko,” Sō’s voice grew serious. “She is the very ‘emotional singularity’ we have been searching for.”
Sō worked his monitor, and the detailed analytical data on Riko was displayed on Kurosaki-sensei’s terminal as well.
“Look, Sensei,” Sō began explaining. “Her emotional patterns are completely inexplicable under existing theory. The fact that the Love Correlation Index R²L shows infinity means, mathematically, that she is ‘simultaneously in maximum correlation with all human beings.’”
“In other words…”
“She is a being who ‘loves all people and is loved by all people,’” Sō’s blue eyes shone. “The perfect integration of the three forms of love Plato described in the Symposium — Eros (romantic love), Philia (friendship), and Agape (unconditional love).”
The sound of Kurosaki-sensei’s sigh came through the communications terminal.
“Your analysis is likely correct. However, Sō…” A note of warning entered Kurosaki-sensei’s voice. “Why do you show such intense interest in Riko? Surely not…”
“You misunderstand, Sensei.” Sō smiled. That smile was beautiful, but somehow not quite human. “I harbor no romantic feeling toward Riko-san as an individual. What interests me is her ‘existence’ itself.”
Sō pointed to another monitor. On it were displayed emergency reports sent in from emotional economics research institutions around the world.
【Global Report: Impact of the Tōto Commerce Academy Incident】
Harvard University Institute of Emotion Engineering: “Fundamental reexamination of existing theory required” Cambridge University Centre for Love Mathematics: “Requesting reproduction experiment for R²L infinity phenomenon” MIT Emotion AI Laboratory: “Radical reform of system design urgently needed” Stanford University Department of Behavioral Economics: “A sense of an impending paradigm shift”
“Sensei, research institutions worldwide are paying attention,” Sō continued. “The existence of Shironami Riko has the potential to change the history of emotional economics.”
“That is precisely why she is dangerous,” Kurosaki-sensei’s voice hardened. “Sō, do you understand the true purpose of ‘Project Incalculable’?”
Sō’s expression stiffened for an instant.
“Of course,” Sō’s voice turned cold. “To prove the existence of ‘incalculable love’ and make it ‘controllable.’ That is the ultimate goal of the Emotional Capital Institute.”
“And what lies beyond that?”
“Complete dominion over emotion,” Sō answered at once. “A world in which love and hatred, joy and sorrow, can all be artificially controlled. That is the completed form of true ‘emotional capitalism.’”
A long silence ran from the communications terminal.
At last Kurosaki-sensei’s voice returned.
“Sō… you have changed,” it held a deep sorrow. “The you of long ago was more pure.”
“Pure?” Sō laughed coldly. “Sensei, ‘purity’ cannot change the world. I am trying to save humanity from suffering through the chaos of emotion.”
Sō rose and looked out the window again.
“Pain from love, hatred from jealousy, despair from heartbreak — by making all of these ‘calculable,’ humanity ought to be able to become a more rational and happy existence.”
“But is that truly ‘happiness’?” Kurosaki-sensei pressed. “Is there true value in love that has been calculated?”
“Value?” Sō’s blue eyes glinted coldly. “Sensei, you know this yourself. How ‘true love’ can destroy a person.”
Sō looked at the photograph in his hand. In it were also figures who appeared to be his parents. But that portion was burnt away, their faces invisible.
“My parents lost their lives for ‘true love,’” Sō’s voice emptied of emotion. “Because they loved each other too much, they destroyed each other. That is the end of ‘incalculable love.’”
The sound of Kurosaki-sensei drawing in a sharp breath came through.
“Sō… I know what happened to your parents, but…”
“Which is precisely why I must study Riko-san,” Sō turned back to the terminal. “If I can analyze her ‘singularity’ and place it under control — then no one will ever need to suffer for love again.”
Sō operated his keyboard, displaying new data.
“Tomorrow, I will transfer to Tōto Commerce Academy,” Sō’s voice filled with resolve. “Outwardly as part of an ‘international exchange program.’ But my true purpose is—”
“Contact with Riko-kun.”
“And observation of Kurose Tenga,” Sō went on. “He, too, is a ‘singular existence,’ in the same way as Riko-san. Strategic thinking that rose sharply in a short period from a negative balance — this cannot be explained by conventional love-market theory.”
Sō switched monitors, and the detailed behavioral analysis of Tenga was displayed.
“His thought patterns resemble ‘pure logic with emotion completely removed.’ If Riko-san is an ‘emotional singularity,’ then Tenga could be called a ‘logical singularity.’”
“And you want to observe the interaction between those two?”
“Yes,” a genuine interest appeared at Sō’s mouth for the first time. “What will happen when ‘incalculable love’ and ‘logic with emotion removed’ meet? That is a crucial experiment that will determine the future of emotional economics.”
Sō operated the terminal, setting the encryption level to maximum.
“Sensei, one final question,” Sō’s voice grew serious. “Do you truly intend to ‘protect’ Riko-san?”
“Naturally,” Kurosaki-sensei’s answer was immediate. “Protecting a pure existence like her from ‘experimenters’ like us — that is my duty.”
“But that will prevent the research from advancing,” a for-the-first-time emotional resonance entered Sō’s voice. “Sensei, do you prioritize the feelings of a single individual over the completion of emotional economics?”
A long silence.
At last Kurosaki-sensei’s voice returned, quietly.
“Sō, you may not yet understand this, but…” deep insight was contained in those words. “True research is not ‘dominating’ the subject — it is ‘learning from’ the subject.”
“Learning?”
“What Riko-kun is teaching us is not ‘how to control’ love. It is love’s ‘essence,’” Kurosaki-sensei went on. “And that essence lies in ‘freedom.’ Love that has been controlled is no longer love.”
Sō’s expression grew complex.
“I understand your theory, Sensei,” Sō said. “However, I have my own mission.”
Sō rose and approached the window. The Geneva night view illuminated his silver hair with a dreamlike quality.
“Tomorrow, I will transfer to Tōto Commerce Academy as ‘Tsukishima Sō,’” Sō’s voice was full of resolve. “And with my own eyes, I will confirm the truth of ‘Shironami Riko’ — the singularity.”
“Sō…”
“With respect, Sensei,” Sō turned. In his blue eyes, no human warmth remained. “If you intend to protect Riko-san, you and I may find ourselves in opposition.”
A deep sigh came through the terminal.
“I pray that will not be so,” Kurosaki-sensei’s voice grew distant. “Sō — that you are still ‘human.’”
The transmission cut off.
Sō stood alone, looking at the Geneva night. His expression was beautiful, mysterious — and terrifyingly cold.
“Riko-san,” Sō murmured toward the night sky. “What kind of change will you, a ‘singularity,’ bring to this world… I find that very interesting.”
【Transfer Application】
Name：Tsukishima Sō (月島蒼) Age：17 Previous School：Geneva International Academy (Switzerland) Requested Rank：Rank A Estimated LVT Balance：【Not Measurable】 Special Notes：International Exchange Program — Special Category
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6:00 p.m. The Main Auditorium, Tōto Commerce Academy.
An eerie stillness hung over the academy, which had recovered from the system shutdown. All 1,247 students were gathered in the main auditorium, but there was none of the usual murmur. A tension as if everyone were waiting for something.
On the platform stood Kurosaki-sensei alone. Gray hair, piercing eyes. But his expression held not its usual authority — only a deep, unusual sorrow.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kurosaki-sensei’s voice rang through the auditorium. “Today’s system shutdown has become a major turning point for our academy.”
Kurosaki-sensei paced the platform as he continued.
“Twenty-seven years ago, I founded the academic discipline of ‘emotional economics’ together with a colleague. Quantifying human emotions, treating love as a commodity — it was a revolutionary, efficient theory that certainly produced results.”
The students in the auditorium listened quietly.
“However,” hesitation entered Kurosaki-sensei’s voice for the first time. “Today I have once again recognized an important truth.”
Kurosaki-sensei stopped and looked over the students.
“Love cannot be fully quantified.”
At those words the auditorium stirred. A statement that could be taken as self-denial, made by the very founder of emotional economics.
“What the existence of Shironami Riko has proved,” Kurosaki-sensei went on, “is the reality of ‘incalculable love.’ Her emotional patterns have overturned our entire theoretical system at its foundation.”
In the front row Riko wore a puzzled expression. She seemed disconcerted at suddenly finding herself the center of attention.
“Riko-kun,” Kurosaki-sensei addressed her. “You did not deliberately cause the system to collapse. It is simply that your very existence transcended our ‘common sense.’”
Riko gave a small nod.
“And Kurose-kun,” Kurosaki-sensei’s gaze turned to Tenga. “You, too, are an existence unexplainable by conventional theory. Pure logical thinking with emotion removed — while diametrically opposed to Riko-kun, it is equally ‘singular.’”
Tenga received those words with no expression.
“From today,” Kurosaki-sensei’s voice grew powerful, “I will fundamentally change the operational policy of Tōto Commerce Academy.”
Kurosaki-sensei began to explain as he walked the platform.
“The new founding principle is: ‘Love possesses both aspects that can and aspects that cannot be quantified,’” Kurosaki-sensei’s voice was full of deep insight. “Until now we have been attempting to quantify all emotions. But Riko-kun’s existence has proved that to be impossible.”
The students in the auditorium listened quietly.
“And so I would like to offer three new paths,” Kurosaki-sensei began to explain gently. “The first: continuing to make use of the LVT system as before — for those who wish to rely on clear, accessible numbers. The second: relying on numerical values not at all, and choosing entirely natural love. And the third: using both numerical values and natural feeling according to circumstances, switching between them as appropriate.”
The expressions on the students’ faces began to brighten. Relief spread — not compulsion, but choice.
“Also,” Kurosaki-sensei continued, “we will review the existing rank system. Rather than fixed hierarchy, we want to create an environment where each student can grow in their own way. And in our evaluations, rather than numbers alone, we will value richness of heart — compassion and kindness toward each other.”
Warm applause rose in the auditorium. It was not chaotic uproar but a reaction full of hope.
“In short,” Kurosaki-sensei said with a smile, “we want the whole academy to support each and every one of you in finding the form of love that makes you happiest.”
At that moment a hand was raised at the back of the auditorium. It was Saionji Reika.
“I have a question,” Reika’s voice had lost its usual arrogance and held a sincere ring. “Someone like me, who has relied on the system — what position will I be in?”
Kurosaki-sensei smiled kindly.
“Reika-kun, you can ‘choose,’” Kurosaki-sensei answered. “You may continue to make use of the system as before, or you may, like Riko-kun, entrust everything to nature. Or you may use both, according to the situation.”
Reika wore an expression of relief.
“However,” Kurosaki-sensei’s voice grew firm, “you all have one obligation.”
“Obligation?”
“To ‘respect the choices of others,’” Kurosaki-sensei said with force. “Those who choose the system must not look down on those who choose the natural way. Those who choose the natural way must not criticize those who use the system. Respect for diversity — that is the new principle of this academy.”
At that moment, a new figure appeared at the entrance to the auditorium.
But it was neither a student nor a staff member of the academy. A middle-aged man in a high-end suit — clearly someone from outside.
“I beg your pardon,” the man bowed politely. “My name is Tanaka, from Global Emotion Technologies.”
The auditorium stirred. GET Corporation? Why would the world’s largest AI company be here?
When Tanaka mounted the platform and spoke with Kurosaki-sensei for a few minutes, Kurosaki-sensei’s expression grew stern.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kurosaki-sensei turned back to the students. “There is something I must inform you of urgently.”
Tanaka took the microphone.
“At 5:00 p.m. today, our board of directors approved the launch of a ‘Special Emotion AI Development Project,’” Tanaka’s voice carried the calculated resonance of a corporate executive. “We have determined that commercial-level application research is required regarding the ‘singular phenomenon’ that occurred at Tōto Commerce Academy.”
The auditorium went still.
“In other words,” Tanaka went on, “we have come wishing to make use of the capabilities of the ‘singular individual’ known as Shironami Riko-san in next-generation AI development.”
Riko’s face went pale.
“Wait,” Tenga rose. “Riko is not a ‘commodity.’ She is a human being.”
Tanaka looked at Tenga.
“You are Kurose Tenga-kun,” Tanaka checked his materials. “Your strategic thought patterns are also extremely useful to our AI development.”
“Useful?”
“The market scale of ‘Emotion AI’ is projected to reach fifty trillion yen by 2030,” the air of the auditorium froze at Tanaka’s words. “If we can model your ‘special abilities,’ our company will be able to seize dominance over the industry.”
Kurosaki-sensei stepped forward.
“Tanaka-san, that is contrary to our educational principles,” Kurosaki-sensei’s voice contained anger. “Treating Riko-kun and Tenga-kun as ‘data’—”
“Professor Kurosaki,” Tanaka cut him off coldly. “Times have changed. Emotion, love — everything is now subject to the market.”
Tanaka worked his tablet, and new materials appeared on the large display.
【Project Brief: Project Love AI】
Purpose：Commercialization and AI-ification of emotional singularity Target：Modeling the abilities of Shironami Riko and Kurose Tenga Budget：500 billion yen (3-year plan) Market Projection：first-year revenue of 1 trillion yen
“If we AI-ify Riko-san’s ability to ‘be loved by all people,’ the perfect customer service will be realized,” Tanaka explained calmly. “If we algorithmize Tenga-kun’s ‘logical romantic strategy,’ the precision of HR recruitment systems and sales-support AI will improve dramatically.”
The auditorium erupted. The students’ love lives had, before anyone noticed, become product-development targets for a massive corporation.
At that moment, Riko rose.
“Please stop,” Riko’s voice was gentle, but her words carried an absolute power.
Tanaka looked at Riko. In that instant, something strange happened. The calculated expression on Tanaka’s face softened, just slightly.
“I…” Riko continued. “I do not exist for anyone’s benefit.”
Riko’s brown eyes swept over everyone in the auditorium.
“Love is not something to be bought and sold,” Riko’s voice resonated with the gentleness of a lullaby. “It is not a commodity.”
Tanaka’s expression changed further. As if he had remembered something long forgotten.
“I too… was pure once,” Tanaka’s voice trembled. “I wanted to use technology to make the world better. But…”
Tanaka buried his face in his hands.
“At some point I could only think about sales and profit. I lost sight of the original purpose of technology…”
Riko approached Tanaka. At that instant, the whole auditorium was enveloped in warm air.
“It is not too late,” Riko said gently. “Technology is supposed to exist to make people happy.”
Tanaka looked at Riko. Tears had risen in his eyes.
“Who… who are you?” Tanaka asked in a trembling voice.
Riko smiled.
“Just a girl who believes in love.”
At that instant, the screen of the tablet Tanaka was holding changed.
【Project Love AI】 Status：Discontinued Reason：Continuation impossible due to violation of corporate ethics Decision-maker：Tanaka Ichirō (Project Director)
Tanaka bowed deeply to Riko.
“Thank you,” Tanaka’s voice was no longer that of a corporate executive — it was the voice of one technologist. “Meeting you… I was able to remember why I started.”
After Tanaka left the auditorium, a deep silence descended.
Kurosaki-sensei returned to the platform.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” deep emotion was contained in Kurosaki-sensei’s voice. “You have just witnessed a historic moment.”
Kurosaki-sensei looked at Riko.
“The true power of ‘incalculable love.’”
At that moment, a new stir arose at the back of the auditorium. Near the entrance, the students were paying attention to something.
Everyone turned. Standing there was a boy no one recognized.
Silver hair, blue eyes, beauty of indeterminate gender. A boy beautiful as an angel.
“I beg your pardon,” the boy bowed gracefully. “I will be transferring in starting tomorrow. My name is Tsukishima Sō.”
Sō’s gaze found Riko. At that instant, the air transformed.
Like ice and flame meeting.
“Shironami Riko-san,” Sō smiled. That smile was beautiful, but somehow not quite human. “It is an honor to meet you.”
Riko looked at Sō. For the first time, something like bewilderment appeared in her brown eyes.
“You are…” Riko murmured.
“I look forward to working with you from tomorrow,” Sō’s blue eyes looked deep into Riko. “You are a very… interesting person.”
6:47 p.m.
A new ‘singularity’ had appeared at Tōto Commerce Academy.
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