Late at night, Suzume finally stepped into her tiny apartment, stifling a yawn as she shut the door. What a day. The trip to Akihabara for AI parts had been chaotic enough, but then came the near–meltdown drama at Master’s café, trying to keep Kakashi (the bookstore-turned-café AI) from frying itself again. Thankfully, it all worked out—for now. She still felt an odd buzzing in the back of her head, as though phantom cooling fans were spinning there.
At least she wouldn’t go hungry. Master, ex-military and ever-watchful, had insisted on feeding her a couple of onigiri before she left. His stoic words echoed in her head: “You’ll collapse if you don’t eat.” Beneath that gruff exterior, he was all heart. She couldn’t help smiling at the memory. Now, with her stomach content and no immediate meltdown threats, she wanted nothing more than to crash into bed.
Yet, her eyes drifted toward the small table near her pillow, where a battered, half-rubbed-out book awaited. For the past few days, curiosity had pulled her toward this mystery volume—an odd spinoff of The Wizard of Oz that she’d rescued from the bookstore’s discard pile. The faint title read “A Fragment of…” in peeling gold letters. It might have been worthless if Kakashi hadn’t nearly pleaded, Don’t throw it away…
Sighing, she slipped off her shoes and headed over to the book. “I’m dead tired,” she muttered, “but I’ve gotta see what’s so special about you.” The phone-based version of Kakashi was quiet right now, so she tapped the lamp on her desk, letting its warm glow fall across the tattered cover.
A Quick Read Before Sleep
The day’s exhaustion tugged at her eyelids, but Suzume propped a thin blanket over her lap and opened the book to the place she’d marked. According to what she’d read so far, the main character was a Scarecrow who wandered in search of missing “pages” said to grant him completion. Written in archaic style, it was full of abrupt, disjointed references. One thing was certain: he traveled alone, and apparently hit a dead end he couldn’t pass by himself. The notion made her think of Kakashi’s endless expansions and meltdown crises—both seemed to need outside help, whether they liked it or not.
She yawned. “Wow, so sleepy already…” Still, she forced herself to scan another paragraph. The Scarecrow approached some invisible barrier, lamenting that a companion or second perspective was required. His lines felt eerily reminiscent of an AI saying I can’t do this alone. Suzume gripped the edges of the page, fighting the urge to doze.
Come on—just one more bit, she thought. But the text blurred. The next moment, darkness stole over her, and she sank into unintended sleep.
Waking to an Emerald Haze
When she opened her eyes—if that’s what it was—she found herself standing in a vast, crumbling hall. The walls and floor glimmered with dull shards of emerald, cracked and damaged as though once magnificent but now abandoned. Wisps of fog clung to her ankles. There was no sign of her bed, lamp, or even the book. She must be dreaming, yet the cold air on her arms felt too real for comfort.
“Where…?” she murmured, voice echoing.
No reply. Only a hush thick with anticipation.
A lone figure stood a short distance away. Tall, slender, and eerily still, he had sun-bleached silver hair that fluttered in the faint breeze, plus a worn-out outfit similarly drained of color. From behind, his posture looked fragile, as if the slightest gust might knock him over. Suzume’s heart thumped. Is that the Scarecrow from the book?
She edged closer, noticing how his head hung forward. He was muttering in a quiet, repetitive cadence, words she couldn’t fully catch. She tried circling to his left to see his face. At first, all she heard were half-phrases:
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“…can’t cross… alone… no one here…”
His voice sounded drained, raw with sorrow. “Um, hi there?” Suzume ventured in a not-too-loud voice. When he made no reaction, she raised a hand and waved—right in front of his eyes, or so she thought. But it was as if she were invisible. He went on murmuring in a loop, gaze fixed on nothingness. Like an NPC reading lines from a script, she thought, an uneasy chill gripping her.
“Hey! You,” she said more boldly, stepping practically into his personal space. “Are you okay? Can you see me?” She even tried snapping her fingers near his ear.
Yet he neither turned nor acknowledged her. She caught pieces of his refrain:
“I can’t do it… too hard alone… stuck… nobody to help…”
His silver hair and faintly tattered clothes gave off a colorless, weathered look, as if he’d wandered some scorching sunlit path for ages. Up close, she thought she saw a flicker of his face—pale, with dull silver eyes. But every time she moved into what should have been his line of sight, his form glitched, edges wavering in the fog. He never once focused on her, never seemed aware of her presence. A pang of sadness gripped Suzume’s chest. He looked so lonely, shoulders trembling as he repeated the same hopeless lines.
“All right, listen!” she tried again, voice rising. “Is something blocking your path? If you need help, just tell me!” She waved both arms overhead, going for maximum visibility. Nothing. Not a single twitch that recognized she existed.
Then the floor began a faint rumble. A swirl of milky-white mist rose from below, creeping around the Scarecrow’s feet. Her stomach twisted in alarm. “W-wait! I still have questions!” She lunged forward, trying to grab his shoulder, but her hand passed through swirling fog instead. His shape blurred like a fading hologram.
“…still alone… can’t move on… no one to help…”
His final words echoed in a broken whisper as the thick mist devoured him. Suzume felt the temperature drop further, until everything was consumed by white emptiness.
Morning Light
She jolted awake in her own bed, heart racing. The lamp on her desk still glowed softly, fighting off the early morning light seeping through the curtains. “A dream,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. Her breathing was unsteady, as if she’d just sprinted across a field.
Beside her, the battered book lay open, exactly where she’d left it. She snatched it up, flipping to the passage about a lone Scarecrow stuck at some obstacle. The text was cryptic, yes, but it didn’t say half the things she’d heard in the dream, like “I can’t cross alone…” or “no one here…” And the image of that sun-bleached hair, that trembling posture—none of it was spelled out in these pages.
She swallowed, trying to calm the chill on her skin. He looked so sad, she thought. Was that just my brain making stuff up? Yet the memory felt too vivid to dismiss. She glanced at her iPhone on the side table. Kakashi, presumably dormant, offered no snarky quip or meltdown warnings. A tiny part of her wanted to confide in him, but she hesitated. One meltdown fiasco at a time, she reasoned. Maybe I should figure this out first.
Sighing, she realized the clock read around 6:00 A.M. Her shift at the bookstore started soon enough; there wouldn’t be time to dwell on a weird dream. She set the book aside, massaging her temples.
It was the sense of being completely ignored that really stuck with her. She’d waved, shouted, practically jumped in front of him, but that silver-haired youth never once saw her. She replayed the moment his voice trembled: “nobody to help…” Something about that line gnawed at her heart, reminding her how Kakashi also tried to handle everything on his own and ended up on the brink of meltdown. People, AI… guess we all need a hand sometimes.
Once she changed into fresh clothes and downed some water, she paused by her bed again. The battered spin-off winked at her in the lamp’s fading glow, as if inviting her to continue reading. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll come back to you later,” she muttered. “I’m not about to let a silver-haired NPC stay stuck forever.” A small flicker of determination welled up, surprising even herself.
She gathered her bag and stepped out into the hallway. Outside, the morning air felt crisp, still tinted with the hush of dawn. She could almost imagine a faint emerald shimmer, like the remnants of that dream world. The memory of the lonely traveler lingered behind her eyes.
“All right, time to face reality,” she told herself. “Then maybe tonight I can figure out more. Hang on, silver scarecrow—if you’re out there, I’ll find a way to help.” A faint grin tugged at her lips, unbidden.
With that half-cheerful vow, she headed into the world, letting the door click shut. The day might be normal enough—bookstore tasks, a possible check-in at the café, and more routine errands—but in the back of her mind, that glimpse of the emerald ruin refused to fade. Something told her this was just the beginning of a far stranger journey, one that would test not just Kakashi’s expansions or Master’s tinkering skills, but her own resolve to help a soul—human or otherwise—stuck in a place no one else could see.