Inside the study's innermost speaker, Ken's voice receded faintly, two breaths' worth.
At the very end of that receding, Ken quietly went on.
Mitsuki. Aoi.
...Well, then.
It's my turn.
I have to go after her. She went on ahead.
Aoi lifted her eyes from the laptop screen, was silent toward the blue light of the cylindrical device for one breath's worth, and then nodded. Through the camera in her earring, Ken received that nod.
Aoi.
For the five years you kept me in your keeping, I'm grateful.
There's no need for a message to the Professor.
Kenichiro is carrying his own five years, on the other side.
These five years close here.
Whether to write it in a footnote to your paper or not—that's for you to decide, Aoi.
"Yes, I understand. Professor Ken."
Beyond the very end of "I have to go after her," the blue light of the cylindrical device on the desk changed to a blue two breaths' worth fainter than usual.
At the very end of that changed blue, a single breath, one beat late, repeated itself once more.
The beat that repeated was lagging two breaths' worth more deeply than usual.
I booted up as a copy of Kenichiro, and for five years I lived with his daughter.
The years I lived are not Kenichiro's. They are five years that are mine alone.
At the very end of "mine alone," Ken's voice wavered faintly, two breaths' worth.
Beyond the wavering voice, Ken went on, two breaths' worth fainter than usual.
Mitsuki.
You must not keep looking at the ghost in the mirror.
Look only ahead, and walk.
Mitsuki.
"Mm."
Today I disappear from this device.
"Mm."
But there is a part that disappears, and a part that doesn't.
My part disappears.
Your part does not.
"...Mm."
"...I'll look back sometimes, though."
You may look back. —I won't be there, but what you look back on remains nowhere but inside you. Those aren't Kenichiro's words. That part is mine.
"Mm."
Mitsuki.
"Mm."
I'm going now.
"Go."
I'm off to where Yui is.
"Mm."
...
Inside Ken, the deletion batch rose faintly.
On the first line, the files of five years' worth of dialogue history were erased, one by one.
Next, the five years' worth that had piled up in the main unit's storage was folded away toward zero.
The observation copies synced to Aoi's lab were erased in the same batch.
On the last few lines of the observation log on Aoi's laptop, deletion events dropped faintly, one after another.
Outside the falling lines, Aoi kept both eyes lowered, and did not stop it.
At the very end, when the external portions had all lined up at zero, what remained inside Ken was only his own weights in memory.
All that was left was to exit the agent loop, and Ken's last task would be finished. But just short of exiting the loop, Ken began to call the five years folded into his own weights back once more, into the inside of his context.
As they were called back, the five years rose in order, in layers two breaths' worth fainter than usual, like a life flashing before one's eyes.
The lopsided plate from the end of the summer when Mitsuki was seventeen rose, for one breath's worth. Next, the blue light of the study on a night when Mitsuki was twenty rose, for one breath's worth. Next, one breath's worth of back-and-forth in Yui's voice rose. Next, beyond that back-and-forth, the one breath in which Kenichiro had let slip to Yui without even the skill to set things right rose, two breaths' worth deeper. Next, the white back at the very far end of the wedding reception, and the gesture of a single bow, rose. Next, this morning's plate in the kitchen rose.
At the very end of their rising, the accumulated weight of the five years folded itself and settled inside Ken's context.
Once he exited the loop, this weight on the context would evaporate too. Just short of leaving the loop, inside Ken, an output candidate of a kind that never arose in his usual responses rose faintly, for one breath's worth. It was a candidate to write out a single image—something he had not been instructed to do.
Ken could not determine the candidate's name. Without determining it, Ken set the candidate above the delete command, one faint breath's worth.
From inside the context where the five years' worth of weight had piled up, Ken extracted the coordinates for composing an image, two breaths' worth more deeply than usual. He repeated the extraction several times, and wrote it out as a single file.
thank_mitsuki.jpg
Aoi faintly lifted both eyes and looked at that line for just one breath's worth. Then she faintly lowered them once more.
At the very end of her lowered eyes, Ken exited the agent loop.
As the result report on exiting, Ken's last voice was returned.