AI Emotional Modul

Rayhan put on a serious tone, "I can already see it. Standing in front of everyone, forced to sing the national anthem while the whole class records us. Instant TikTok."

More laughter broke out, light and carefree.

Celine, usually the slowest eater, started picking up the pace. "Alright, alright, I'll finish this up. But if my sushi flies off the plate because I'm rushing, don't blame me."

"That's fine, as long as it's not you who flies off," Mike joked again.

Alaric just smiled, leaning back in his chair. His eyes drifted briefly toward Clarissa, who was now stirring her tea.

They hadn't spoken again since the payment. He didn't plan to start. There was distance. Not out of anger. Just something broken that both of them quietly understood.

From outside, the faint sound of a passing motorbike bell echoed. Time was moving again, toward their next class. The group began to gather their things.

—

There are times when the noise of a crowd isn't loud enough, and the busyness around him can't distract Alaric's thoughts. In those moments, he's alone with his silence, even though the world around him keeps moving, as usual.

He stared blankly at the screen of his phone, which had long died due to a drained battery. But it wasn't the phone that caught his attention. His mind drifted, caught in a subtle current he couldn't resist. Since the meeting at the sushi restaurant earlier that afternoon, something inside him had been stirred.

"Clarissa…" he murmured quietly, as if exhaling his own breath. Not a name he expected to bring back complicated feelings, but that's exactly what happened.

He furrowed his brow, looking down, tapping his fingers lightly against his thigh, repeating the motion softly, like an invisible heartbeat. Then he murmured, still thinking aloud:

"Why does she seem different lately?"

His gaze sharpened, not out of anger, but because of an old habit that hadn't faded. He liked to observe people, reading their every move. Then he always tried to connect the dots that others didn't see.

"She's... softer. Not direct, but it's like... she's getting closer? Or is it just me, being too sensitive and overthinking?" he muttered again.

He remembered Clarissa's expression at lunch earlier. Her nervous smile. The brief, but repeated glances. How, despite sitting at the edge, she stayed within Alaric's line of sight.

Then the way she offered to pay for the meal, and after that, stayed seated even when the atmosphere grew a bit awkward.

"Does she still have feelings for me?" he whispered, pausing for a moment. Alaric closed his eyes. He knew that being perceptive was fine, but becoming overconfident wasn't a good thing either.

"Or... is she just feeling guilty? Because she hurt me back then, tore me down, or... maybe because I'm different now?"

The last thought weighed heavily on his heart. He knew how fragile feelings could be, especially when tied to new impressions, like success.

But Alaric wasn't inexperienced. He understood the difference between love and guilt, between affection and fleeting admiration, which could vanish when the spotlight shifted away from him.

Before his thoughts could spiral any further...

Suddenly—a voice emerged from his system.

It wasn't a usual notification sound. It wasn't like an alarm or a warning. It was more like a whisper, but it was clear in his mind.

[Hidden Transmission: Time-Delayed Dimension]

["If she comes back, don't trust her immediately. Your greatest downfall doesn't start with a weapon... but from a heart that opens again to the same wounds."]

[Fragment 01 // Future Trace (Alaric: Timeline B)]

Alaric jolted. His breath caught in his throat for a moment. His eyes narrowed. "What… was that?" he whispered, his heart pounding.

The system went silent again. No trace left. As if the sentence was merely a voice in his head.

But he knew for sure, it wasn't a hallucination. He recognized the tone of the hidden code notification. This wasn't a regular message. It was like... a fragment of data from another timeline, somehow connected.

And that sentence...

It felt like a blow.

His heart froze, allowing the message to settle in his mind. He didn't fully understand its meaning, but one thing was clear—something much bigger was at play, something he hadn't realized yet.

And maybe, Clarissa wasn't just his past.

Maybe she was one of the branching paths in his future, already becoming the first person to open the greatest conflict in his life... in the future.

Alaric remained silent. His mind was busy processing the hidden message that had just appeared. Each word from the fragment burned like a symbol behind his eyelids.

His hands rested on his knees, leaning back against the small room's wall where he often sought solitude. His shirt, still not fully buttoned, exposed a bit of his skin, which was warmed by the sunlight creeping in. But it wasn't the sun that made his chest feel tight.

Then, the notification pinged again. This time, the tone was different. Softer. Not like an analytical message, not a warning.

\[EMOTIONAL MODULE — ACTIVE]

\[Mental stability synchronization: 83%]

\[Detection of emotional fluctuations in thought patterns: High intensity]

\[Trigger: Psychological stimulation from interpersonal relationships + cross-time message]

\[Recommendation: Directed processing begins]

Alaric froze. Slowly, the dim blue of his internal system interface enveloped his inner vision.

Not that he saw a hologram in real life, but his mind was now cloaked in graphs, vibrating data, brain pulses, and emotional maps that moved up and down like unstable market data.

The emotional module rarely activated. It usually only did when he was under intense pressure or emotionally stirred. This was a hidden feature in Alaric's personal system, one he had designed himself, blending neuroscience and AI learning.

This module wasn't just a mental assistant—it also provided a more structured self-reflection.

["You're processing an unfinished memory, Alaric."]

The voice wasn't cold. It wasn't stiff like most AI. Alaric had designed it to resemble his own voice... when he was ten, still a child. A voice that was pure, honest, and hadn't yet known the world's wounds.

["Clarissa isn't just a name from the past. She's a door."]

"A door to where?" Alaric whispered, even though he knew the system wouldn't answer him literally.

But the system only showed a vague image in his mind. A white door slightly ajar, with light spilling through the gap, containing a shadowy figure suspended in the brightness.

["Feelings are never neutral. They're waiting for the direction you choose."]

Alaric exhaled slowly. In his mind, he saw Clarissa's face again. Her smile, the way her eyes glanced at him, and the brief pause in her voice when she asked if she could sit with him.

He wasn't a mind reader, but his system collected enough micro-expressions to help him understand patterns.

Clarissa didn't just want to eat together...

From his analysis of what she might have been feeling or her motives: 46% guilt. 32% unfinished sympathy. 22% personal feelings.

"So what should I do?" Alaric asked himself.

But the system only gave one word:

["Wait."]

Alaric slowly turned toward the window. The morning light began to filter through the glass, casting a thin shadow on the marble floor.

["Delay your judgment, delay your decision. Focus your steps on more tangible grounds. Because your true enemy isn't just the feelings that return... but those who want to destroy your future before you can even carve it."]

The system slowly faded. The emotional module returned to a calm state, and the status became passive again. But Alaric felt... somehow, the weight in his mind lifted slightly.

The system didn't say that Clarissa wanted to destroy his future, but maybe... the system's prediction was in line with something that would happen in the future and affect the way he processed his feelings.

Because sometimes, destruction doesn't just come from external factors, like the influence of others. It also happens when you dig your own hole by making the wrong decisions.

He exhaled softly. His left hand touched the small bandage on the side of his face. The wound felt light compared to the damage that could come from a heart that opens the wrong door.

Alaric stood up. He rotated his stiff neck, then slowly walked to the bathroom to splash water on his face, letting the cold water wash away the image of Clarissa.

The next morning, the sky above Alaric's neighborhood was calm. Dry leaves scattered across the roads of the upscale housing complex.

It was still quiet, but occasionally, the sound of small birds chirping could be heard from the mango tree near the small park by the main gate.

Alaric was walking leisurely on the sidewalk across from the park. He had purposely left the house early, just to clear his mind.

His thoughts about the ongoing projects, expanding social interactions, and even the subtle feelings lingering—everything stirred up in his mental space.

However, his pace slowed when he saw two figures on the ivory-colored wooden bench in the park.

Clarissa.

She was sitting there. Her straight black hair tied halfway back, wearing a mint-colored thin hoodie and jeans. She was chatting with a female friend sitting next to her.

From her expression, the conversation seemed quite serious. Her friend occasionally nodded, sometimes giving Clarissa's shoulder a gentle tap, as if offering support or emotional reassurance.