A Diffirent Logic

The rhythmic squeak of Sora's cloth against laminate was the only sound for a long moment, a lonely metronome in the vast, quiet classroom. Each circular wipe on the desk felt pointless, an echo of the greater futility churning inside her. The silence grew heavier with every passing second, thick with all the things she hadn't said. She couldn't let it end like this, with a weak deflection. Haruki's strange, deep curiosity felt like the only lifeline she'd seen all day.

She stopped wiping, her hand frozen mid-motion. The damp cloth grew cold in her grip. Taking a breath that felt shaky and thin, she turned to face him. He was just placing the last chair onto a desk, his movements precise and economical.

"Kurosawa-san..."

Her voice came out as a near-whisper, laced with a vulnerability that surprised even her. He paused, turning his head, his full attention settling on her.

"With everything AI can do... the way it learns so fast..."

She swallowed, forcing the words out past the knot in her throat.

"Do you... do you really think there's any point in having dreams anymore? Or will AI just... kill them all?"

The question hung in the air between them, raw and desperately honest.

Haruki didn't look surprised. He simply turned his body to face her fully, his hands resting on the back of the stacked chair. His gaze was not one of pity, but of profound empathy, as if he were looking at a reflection of a question he had long ago wrestled with himself. He recognized the fear instantly.

"That's the question, isn't it? It's what everyone is afraid of, even if they don't say it out loud."

He said softly.

He let the shared fear settle for a moment before continuing, his voice thoughtful and measured.

"The problem, I think, is that we're trying to understand a completely new future using the logic and values of today. We're applying our current economic models, our ideas of 'work' and 'worth', to a world where those concepts might not even apply anymore."

He leaned slightly against the desk.

"It's like... it's like going back in time and asking a wealthy Roman patrician, a man who owns hundreds of slaves, if he'd ever consider paying them a living wage and giving them weekends off."

Sora blinked, the analogy so unexpected it momentarily cleared her mind.

"To him..."

Haruki continued, his eyes focused as he painted the picture.

"The idea would be utterly insane. Laughable. His entire worldview, his economy, his 'common sense' is built on the foundation of slave labor. He literally can't imagine a world that functions without it. It's not a failure of intelligence, but a failure of imagination. He's trapped by the logic of his own time."

He looked directly at Sora, letting the point land.

"We're in a similar position now. We're the Romans. Our 'common sense' tells us a person's value is tied to their job, their skills, their productivity. We can't imagine a future where that isn't the central pillar of society, so when a technology comes along that threatens that pillar, we panic. We think everything will collapse."

He pushed himself off the desk, a quiet intensity in his voice.

"So, no, Amami-san. I don't think AI will kill our dreams."

He gave a small, wry smile.

"They will just change. They'll evolve. We'll start dreaming about things we can't even conceive of right now, asking questions that are impossible to even formulate today. The goalposts won't just move, they'll transform into something else entirely."

Sora's mind grappled with the image of the Roman patrician, a man so trapped in his reality he couldn't see past it. The logic was sound, yet it felt too clean, too philosophical. It didn't account for the messy, complicated reality of human motivation that she saw every day. Her fear, a stubborn and deeply rooted weed, resisted being pulled out so easily.

She shook her head slowly, the damp cloth still clutched in her hand.

"But that's... different, isn't it?"

She countered, her voice regaining a bit of strength, laced with doubt.

"The Roman's system was built on forced labor. Our system is built on incentive. People study, work, and create because they need to earn a living, or because they want recognition, or to be the best at something."

She looked at him, her brow furrowed as she articulated the core of her anxiety.

"If AI can automate everything, even do the basic jobs people rely on, what's the incentive to do anything? Won't most people just... stop? It feels like it would just make everyone lazy and unmotivated."

Haruki listened intently, nodding as if he expected this very argument. He didn't dismiss it. He considered it.

"That's a fair point, but people who are lazy or unmotivated have always existed, with or without AI. Technology isn't the cause of apathy; it's just a new context for it. The real question is about the people who do try. What truly drives them?"

He conceded gently.

He paused, letting the question hang in the air.

"You're right, incentive is key. But we assume incentive is only about money or necessity. It's not."

He shifted his weight, his gaze becoming sharper, more focused.

"Look at the CEOs of the biggest tech companies in the world. They have more money than they could spend in ten lifetimes. They could retire tomorrow, buy an island, and live in absolute luxury forever without ever working again. So why do they still work 80-hour weeks? Why do they obsess over market shares and push their teams for the next big thing, the next innovation? It's not for the next paycheck."

Sora stared at him, caught by the undeniable truth of the example.

"It's for the drive."

Haruki stated, his voice now firm with conviction.

"It's the pure, raw passion to build something, to leave a mark. That kind of drive has nothing to do with necessity. It's a fundamental human fire. AI can't extinguish that fire. For people who have it, AI is just a better kind of fuel."

He then addressed her fear of mass laziness directly.

"Think about it this way: AI saving us, say, 80% of our time on a task doesn't mean we spend that 80% doing nothing. It means we can use that saved time to ask bigger questions. It means a scientist can test five hypotheses in the time it used to take for one. It means an artist can explore five different creative concepts instead of being bogged down by the technical execution of one. It's an amplification of human potential, not a replacement."

His calm, confident assertion settled in the quiet classroom, a powerful counter-narrative that didn't just dismiss her fear, but reframed the entire landscape it lived in. Haruki had left her standing on the edge of a new perspective.