Fleeting Desires

SSD, also known as the Soul Synchronisation Dive.

It originated from VIRM Tech, the most extensive brain-computer interface in Japan, which has many different branches to serve a specific function in society. Some other models of this technology can aid in the health industry by performing miracles on some incurable diseases.

It also served to entertain teenagers in this innovative generation through virtual reality gaming, a highly compacted digital world where individuals can be who they want to be without any restrictions—in other words, to be free.

The SSD device provided everything an addicted gamer needs to fulfil their fantasy; the basic structure of this machine is different from the older ones. The SSD simply has one interface, a simplified interface that covers the entire body within, as opposed to older machine-interface devices like flat-screen displays or controllers that you operated with your hands.

The equipment can contact the user's brain directly by utilising the multiple electrical impulses that the various signal components put out. Instead of using their eyes or hearing to see or hear, the user's brain received the impulses instead. In addition, the machine had access to all five senses, including sight, hearing, and smell, with the addition of touch and taste.

Once all the sound has disappeared and the darkness envelopes you, your body will be submerged in the SSD. The device will begin to engulf your body with a non-liquefiable substance that assists in transferring the mind into the system. All the clamour fades away as you enter a universe composed solely of data. As soon as you pass the green pixelated circle in the centre, you have entered the game world.

I hover over the schoolyard, unaffected by the early-morning mood. As I watched them all engulf the upper realm, millions of drones overran the morning sky. As the wind came up and delivered the enticing scent of the morning dew, I could also hear the rustling sound of grass and tree branches, as well as the buzzing sound of mechanical insects.

Tang-Ji was pacing restlessly on a school bench as I peered straight down through my sunken body. I sighed and thought to myself, "Why did she have to stay up late before the tournament?"

"Are you sure you don't want to join our club?" said Kazami.

"No, thanks. I'm really not interested in joining a club." Emiko's tone was cool, dismissive. "All I want is to play in the game." She leant back slightly on the wooden bench, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a casual flick of her fingers.

"Getting to dive fully into a virtual world? That's what I've been waiting for." Her eyes sparkled with the faintest hint of excitement, though her expression remained carefully composed.

"Well, it's fine then, I guess. Thanks again for accompanying us; otherwise, we wouldn't have been able to participate at all."

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted when Ji-Soon arrived at the school gate. "So, are we ready to go?" Ji-Soon yelled out across the empty courtyard.

"Alright, it looks like everyone is here; let's go to Sanga Stadium." Kazami and the others excitedly rush to the bus.

I rode alongside the bus by grabbing onto the wind current as I skated on the vehicle's rooftops.

"These bastards are so racist!"

"They always complain about stupid stuff on the forum that isn't even related to the game. If someone is ticked off, straight away racial slurs are thrown. This is why I hate gamers these days." Ji-Soon scoffed, glaring at his phone screen as he scrolled.

"They're all probably 20-year-old unemployed dudes with no life. I mean, who cares about letting foreigners play the game?"

The bus jolted slightly as it pulled up to a stop, the dim overhead lights flickering for a second. He barely acknowledged it, too caught up in his frustration. "Like, what does race even have to do with it? The game was planning to go global after a year anyway."

Ji-Soon muttered the words to himself, rocking back onto his seat before slamming his feet onto the empty front seat with a dull thud. A few passengers glanced his way, but he didn't care.

His grip on his phone tightened, thumb hovering over the reply button, before he exhaled sharply and locked the screen instead.

"Hey bro, don't try to spoil yourself." Kazami nudged at Ji-Soon's elbow.

"Don't lecture me about spoilers, Mr. Beta Tester. Not everyone had the same luck as you, bro. Being able to be chosen as a beta tester out of a handful of other experienced players. You basically won the lottery with that one."

"Hehe. You're right. I'm one lucky duck. Might even be luckier than you." Kazami stretched both his arms into the air before yawning dramatically.

"Don't worry about it; I'll lead our team to victory. The World Seed is as good as ours." He gave a hideous laugh while patting Ji-Soon's back.

Ji-Soon rolled his eyes, looking unamused by his friend's obnoxious behaviour. "I can't wait to see you be the first one to die, Mr. Beta Tester."

As the bus sped down the highway, the girls at the front had already fallen fast asleep, except for the boys in the back who were still coming up with strategies to beat the other school. The virtual tournament ahead felt more real to Kazami than anything happening in the real world.

"You know, it's weird," he began, glancing at Ji-Soon. "I read somewhere that most kids our age barely hang out in person anymore. Even now, we're on our way to a tournament that exists in another dimension, and we're not even physically attending."

Ji-Soon, still fuming from his earlier rant, glanced up from the black screen. "Yeah, I know what you mean, but that's just how it is now. Why bother going out when everything can be done from home? The holographic projectors feel real enough anyway."

Kazami nodded. "True, but sometimes I miss the days when people actually hung out. You know, like... outside."

His friend scoffed.

"Outside? You mean like in the real world? Don't get too sentimental on me man. The only reason anyone ever leaves their house anymore is for when the drones in their area malfunction or for students like us who still have to attend physical classes."

The bus rattled over a bump, the faint hum of advertisements playing through the speakers blending with the quiet chatter of passengers. Ji-Soon glanced out the smudged window, neon signs flickering against the streets.

"But I heard that in a few years, they're planning to make all schools in Kyoto completely online to save land for more important corporations." He leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "Who knows if the generation after us will even experience actual human interaction anymore."

He paused, his expression darkening. "Those 'Voidrian Dolls' encourage that, though. They want people isolated, plugged in. Hell, they cut ties with half the country just to push this agenda."

Kazami's smirk faded as he considered Ji-Soon's words. "You must be referring to the Kuroi Order, right? So that's what the people call them nowadays.

"I heard about that. Everything is absolute under the council's order. They've pretty much sealed themselves off from everyone else, right? All that about the world's best supercomputer stuff, collecting data, preserving culture... feels like they're trying to freeze the city in time."

Ji-Soon rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers against his knee. "It's not just that. Minerva controls everything. It's their brainchild and also the lifeblood of their authoritarian vision, enabling them to monitor and regulate every aspect of public and private life."

His gaze flicked to the front of the bus, where the girls dozed against the window, her earbuds tangled in her lap. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing contrasted with the cold, artificial glow of the city outside.

"It processes data from those noisy flies that track every inch of the city," he continued, adjusting his collar as if shaking off an invisible weight.

"Architecture, culture, nature—everything about Kyoto is archived and stored in Minerva's quantum system." His lips pressed into a thin line.

"They say it has 'infinite capacity,' but for what? People don't even see the value of what's being preserved; they're too busy plugged into virtual reality."

Ji-Soon let out a quiet ridicule, shifting uncomfortably as the bus jerked to a stop, its brakes hissing like a sigh.

Kazami stretched his arms back onto the chair, his tone light but his words cutting. "Sounds like a dystopia if you ask me."

"It's more than that. It's control." Ji-Soon paused. "Complete isolation and reliance on tech that we barely even understand. They feed us the idea that we're evolving, but it feels like they're locking us into this virtual cage."

The bus rattled again as it passed an overgrown temple, now watched by drones collecting every detail and every texture for Minerva's archives. The real world was still out there, but it felt distant, almost forgotten.

Kazami tapped idly on his phone, scrolling through the endless stream of comments and posts. 

Feeling a slight headache from staring at his phone for too long, he leant back to observe the scenery blur past outside the bus window, there he watched a holographic projector buzzing faintly on a dashboard.

"Hey, have you ever heard of that old puppet play?" he asked suddenly, tilting his head over at Ji-Soon.

His friend raised an eyebrow. "The one that's like an urban myth, right? The play was crafted by a powerful sorcerer. People say it's cursed or something."

"Yeah, exactly. An old friend of mine used to have a fixation on the story," Kazami continued, his tone shifting as if recalling something distant.

"He said the play was about a young girl who lost all her emotions because of her own wish. Every act was supposed to symbolise a different feeling she'd try to reclaim. But no matter what she did, she was still trapped in an endless loop of agony."

Ji-Soon nodded, intrigued. "It's supposed to be a cultural thing, right? They say it reflects how society's changing. Like, how people become disconnected from themselves."

"Yeah, kind of like what's happening now," Kazami muttered.

"It's funny how the digital world's supposed to give us freedom, but it's like we're all just puppets, hooked onto electronic wire. We act like we're in control, but how much are we really?"

Ji-Soon thoughts wandered out the window again, his fingers tapping absently against his arm. "Makes you wonder..."

His eyes flickered away, back to the glass, watching his own distorted reflection. "If that play wasn't just a myth... it really did predict our future."

Feeling frustrated, perhaps nervous for the tournament, Kazami was back on his doom strolling streaks despite his headaches.

He stared at his phone, the screen's glow painting shadows across his face. "You know," he said quietly, "it's like everyone's... dissolving, almost. Like they're slipping away behind these screens and profiles. Trying to connect feels like..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening, as if grasping at a word that kept slipping out of reach.

Ji-Soon glanced at him, listening, but Kazami's gaze drifted, unfocused, like he was seeing something beyond the dim light of the bus. He thought back to his mother, the way she'd used technology carefully, sparingly, always with a measured touch, like it was a tool, not a place to lose herself.

She'd worked for a tech company back in the day but never let it invade their lives. It was a rule of hers: use it when necessary, never more. He could still picture her in their small living room, unplugging every night at dinner, laughing over stories she swore only made sense in person.

Kazami could still see the fragments of her lessons, scattered like fallen blossoms across the years, half-buried in the shifting sands of time. He had been too eager, too stubborn, rushing to shake the tree of life before its branches were ready to release their fruit.

And now, in the hollow quiet of his mind, he found himself wading through an ocean of falling petals, each one soft but weighty, clinging to his skin like unspoken truths.

The water was dark, its surface rippled with reflections of a life once vibrant. Blossoms drifted downward, their pink hues wilting to muted shades as they sank, a silent reminder of seasons left behind too soon.

Above him, the branches stretched endlessly, blooming and shedding in an eternal cycle, their beauty indifferent to the one who once stood beneath them, too impatient to wait.

"Maybe she was right," Kazami murmured, almost to himself, his thumb unconsciously running along the edge of his phone.

"She used to say... not to let it swallow you up. That technology was fine until it started feeding on parts of you that weren't meant for it." He gave a slight, almost wistful shake of his head. "Back then, things felt... real. She never needed all this to feel alive."

"It's funny," Kazami said finally, a faint, bitter smile tugging at his lips. "All this progress, all these connections... but it feels like trying to catch cherry blossom petals in the wind. You think you can hold onto one, but it just dances away, slipping through your fingers."

He felt the weight of that memory settle over him like a fog he couldn't shake, like he was holding onto something that had already slipped away, just as his mother had once warned him it would. He clenched the phone a little tighter, as if that might somehow anchor him.

He noticed the screen flickered in his hand, and for a moment it made him wonder if the real danger wasn't the monsters outside—but the ones inside. The ones no one could see.

"Let's drop the topic and focus on the tournament." His friend suggested as the bus raced down the highway, inching closer to their reality.