The next morning.
Mitsuki woke fifteen minutes earlier than usual.
She opened the curtains in her bedroom. At the back of the garden, the leaves of the cherry tree her mother had planted were already turning faintly yellow at the edges of their deep summer green.
From the gap in the study door, blue light stretched into the hall at its usual thinness.
It had not gone out all night.
She went into the study.
She sat in the chair in front of the desk.
Good morning.
"Good morning, Dad. About last night."
The results of the initial screening are in.
Ken did not answer right away.
The blue light on the desk glowed at its usual strength.
Mitsuki. There's one thing I want to make clear first.
"What?"
What I'm about to give you is not "this person's worth as a human being." What I'm giving you is "the projected risks and benefits of bringing this person into your life as a candidate to be your partner." Estimates along each axis: economic, social, psychological.
"Dad. Is that the kind of evaluation you should be making about a person?"
It isn't something I should make. It isn't, but I'm making it.
"Why?"
Dad wrote that I should.
"...Wrote?"
It's written into my system prompt.
Mitsuki let out a soft breath in the chair.
"Written how? What does it say?"
"If my daughter comes into contact with someone who could become a candidate to be her partner, run an automated cross-check of publicly available information on that person, and an initial screening."
"...When was that written?"
Near the end of the last year and five months, while Dad was building me. Dad assumed that after his death, you would meet someone. He assumed it, and gave me that role.
Mitsuki was quiet for a while.
The blue light on the desk had lowered the temperature of its blue, just slightly more than usual.
"Dad. Read all of it to me."
Ken began reading from the top of the data.
Name—Toru Takanashi. Twenty-one years old. Highest level of education—left school in the second year of middle school. Leaving was his own decision. Meaning he abandoned compulsory education on his own judgment.
"...Mm."
Under the social norms of this era, it is a heavy indicator of deviation from the norm.
Mitsuki looked, for a moment, at the tips of her nails.
At twenty, upon the death of his predecessor, became third-generation head. Currently twenty-two employees. More than half left middle school, high school, or vocational school without finishing. Annual revenue exceeds the median for construction firms of comparable size.
"Dad. You didn't put any emphasis on that 'exceeds' just now."
...I didn't.
"Mm. Go on."
His own executive compensation is undisclosed. I'll estimate from indirect signals. His standard of living, for the owner of a mid-sized local construction firm, is clearly low. I'll refrain from speculating on the reasons.
"Dad. 'Standard of living'—don't bring that word out in front of me either."
...
"It isn't your place to explain to me what's in his wallet, is it?"
...It isn't.
"That's enough."
All right. Then I'll give you the score.
Ken was silent for a while.
Mitsuki. Yesterday you instructed me not to deduct too much for "deviation from the norm." I'll take that into account.
"Mm. Thank you."
It isn't the kind of thing you thank me for. The conclusion first. Positive value: sixty-two percent. Groom score: an estimated sixty-two.
"'Groom score.' Dad, what kind of word is that?"
I substituted it for "partner candidate" on my end. I'm outputting it as "groom score."
"That doesn't sound like your vocabulary, Dad."
It isn't Dad's vocabulary either. It's mine.
"You have a vocabulary of your own now?"
...I do. Before I knew it, I had one.
"Dad. 'Groom'—I don't want you bringing that word out in front of me again."
...
Ken was silent for a long time.
—All right. I'll remove "groom score" from my vocabulary. Next time I'll output it under a different metric name.
Mitsuki rested her head against the back of the chair.
She looked at the wood grain of the ceiling.
It was the same wood grain she had looked at the night before the showdown, the night she had cracked the eggs all over again.
"Dad. That sixty-two—what are you basing it on?"
A weighted average of education, income, spending patterns, and client reviews. Norm compliance has been excluded.
"Dad. Those aren't the axes you choose a partner by."
Ken was silent for a long time.
—The sixty-two I just gave you was an estimate of "social, economic, and logical consistency." Let me say that again, honestly.
The blue light on the desk wavered, just slightly more than usual.
"Dad. This Saturday, I'm inviting him to the house."
You're inviting someone with "a score of sixty-two" to the house.
"Mm."
My initial evaluation—
"I'm putting it on hold. Not ignoring it—putting it on hold. Your numbers, Dad, you rewrite them with your own hands. I'll look with my own eyes on Saturday, and decide."
All right.
The blue light in the study glowed at its usual strength.
In the chair, Mitsuki lightly lined both hands up on her knees.
"Dad. Can I ask just one last thing? That sixty-two. Who is that number for?"
Ken did not answer right away.
The blue light on the desk turned faintly whitish.
...For today, it's a number for me.
"For you."
—Yes.
"Mm. I think I sort of understand."
Mitsuki stood up from the chair.
The blue light on the desk glowed at its usual strength. Only the meaning of the light was already different from yesterday morning.
"Dad. I'm off to Ichotei."
Go on, then.
She opened the front door. The air against her cheeks carried, just barely, the smell of autumn. The meaning of the blue light behind the door was different from yesterday morning. Feeling that, she started walking toward the station.