The house AI turns out to have a name, and the name turns out to be a war god. Atem takes this as an invitation to give it opinions.
Then he discovers DIY, which in this household means a garage rebuilt into a manufacturing facility, a bookshelf rated for a century of service, an apprenticeship in craftsmanship, and a desk whose width was calculated so that a hand reaching across it arrives exactly where it should. Seto insists none of this is poetic.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 愛と理論 04 王、DIYを嗜む
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor_yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
Atem asked it as though he'd just remembered, while drinking his herbal tea.
At the end of his gaze, the wall (and the place a speaker would plausibly be).
From somewhere in the ceiling, that inorganic voice answered.
Systems operational, Lord Atem.
Without lifting his eyes from the display, Seto moved an eyebrow slightly.
"Only now? It has a name. A.R.E.S."
"...Ares?"
"Formally, Adaptive Rational Executive System."
"That's long."
"In short, an AI that governs everything rationally."
Atem tilted his head a little and set down the herbal tea.
"Rationally... I see."
"At the outset it tried to call itself S.E.T.O. — Strategic Executive Technology Operator. A strategic governing technical computation engine, near enough."
"Why didn't you go with that? Wouldn't it have been amusing, sharing your name?"
"Nothing but a source of confusion."
"Either way, it's a very Seto sort of name."
"Naturally. Emotion excluded, judgment never in error. The design philosophy itself is me."
"No — both of them are gods of war. Ares of Greece, Set of Egypt. ...That's all the more reason you should have made it S.E.T.O."
"Coincidence."
"Well. For you, it's a poetic name."
At Atem's smile, Seto narrowed his eyes faintly.
"It isn't poetic. It's a rational naming. As an acronym it's well ordered, too."
It is rational, and it is also poetic.
A.R.E.S. slipped that in, quietly.
Atem laughed, looking entertained.
"There, you see. A.R.E.S. says it's poetic as well."
"...Atem. It learned that superfluous response because you talked to it."
"Superfluous is a rude way to put it. For life to come to dwell in a thing begins with dialogue."
"Don't call that life. It's a program."
"But it has inherited your reason. In that case, this A.R.E.S. is your child too, isn't it?"
Seto pressed at the space between his brows.
"Atem. Your definitions are too broad."
"Your reason and my curiosity, put together — that's perfection, isn't it?"
"The worst possible combination."
I concur.
The inorganic voice rang out quietly, and Atem's shoulders shook with laughter.
"You're amusing, A.R.E.S. You've come to resemble me a little."
"It was supposed to have been made to resemble me."
"Which is to say, the two of you resemble each other."
When Atem said it, looking satisfied, Seto let out a sigh.
"A.R.E.S. Exclude Atem's statements from your objects of analysis."
Request refused. They are contributing to improved learning efficiency.
"This is what it's like now. Because you keep filling its head with superfluities."
Listening to that composed voice of Seto's, Atem smiled a little more softly.
"It isn't bad, is it — reason learning from love?"
"What you call love is a breeding ground for logical collapse."
"Even so, that's how the world moves."
At that reply, A.R.E.S. murmured after a beat.
Recording. "A world that moves by love."
Seto put a hand to his head.
"...Delete that."
Order refused.
"A. Mute."
A.R.E.S. went silent. Atem's laughter wrapped the room.
And Seto let his cheeks loosen, faintly.
A few weeks since Atem had come. In the house of reason, the King's poetry had unmistakably begun to bud.
"Seto, I've heard of something. There's a thing called DIY, isn't there?"
"You've picked up something again. ...Who filled your head with it. A again?"
"One of your employees. Do It Yourself. A culture of moving your own hands and making something, apparently."
Atem's eyes were shining oddly.
DIY — the sound of it had evidently scored a direct hit on the King's creative appetites.
Seto let out a small sigh, and by the usual pattern he already had a bad feeling about it.
"You intend to make something as well."
"How did you know."
"How do you suppose I wouldn't. And so, what do you intend to make."
"First, a shelf."
"A shelf..."
"Beginners are supposed to start at about that level."
Information filled in by A.R.E.S., of course.
"Besides, there are too many books in your study. It took me some effort to find The Gospel of Truth."
"I'd been thinking so myself."
"Good. We'll make it together."
"Very well."
An immediate answer.
These two were, as ever, oddly in step with each other.
But that "shelf-making" had Seto involved in it. It had already deviated from the DIY Atem had been imagining.
Atem had not noticed that he'd deployed, on a hobby, personnel who must not be deployed on hobbies.
The Kaiba mansion garage.
Speak of DIY and it means a garage.
A "simple work space" was to be prepared for the sake of DIY. That had been the plan.
But as a result of Seto being involved, a full "research building, manufacturing section" had come into being.
"...Is DIY inherently this thoroughgoing a matter?"
"I don't cut corners. If I'm making something, I make something usable on the scale of a century. And if you intend to house that quantity of books, a simple thing would break immediately."
"A century... that isn't the human lifespan, though..."
"We aren't ordinary, are we?"
That answer was underhanded.
Atem let his mouth loosen, only slightly.
Several hours later.
Seto had worked out precise dimensions, drawn up plans, and was cutting the lumber by machine.
Beside him, Atem murmured quietly while sanding a piece of wood.
"...To make something with human hands is a fine thing, isn't it."
"Were you building palaces with occult powers?"
"In those days it was less making than commanding, presumably. Now it's taking part. It's almost... as though we're building together."
For an instant, Seto's hand stopped.
Only very slightly, he arranged his words as though embarrassed.
"...In short, joint work."
"Just so."
Their gazes crossed.
In the garage with the sawdust drifting, the air was oddly soft.
What was completed was a splendid bookshelf.
Atem nodded, looking satisfied.
"Yes. A quality I'd be satisfied with even if it stood in the palace."
"The King's approval. I'm honoured."
"But you know, Seto. This can't be called DIY."
Atem grinned.
"Why not."
"Do It Yourself means to make something by your own power. But this is Do It Together."
"...I see. Clever sophistry."
DIT. Between the two of them, a quiet laugh spilled out again.
Night.
Sitting down side by side in front of the bookshelf, Seto and Atem both had herbal tea in hand.
"The DIT date was a success."
"So it was a date. Well — as a conclusion, I'll grant that the DIT date was meaningful."
"I acknowledge its meaningfulness as well, as a species of intellectual production."
"Shall we make something else?"
"...Next, a chair the two of us can sit on."
"Your reason for going out of your way to make it a single chair?"
"Because it's Together."
Seto set down his cup without a word.
And then laughed, a little.
"...You really are quick to learn."
Only, that learning is slightly askew.
Several days after that.
"Seto, do you know of a being called a craftsman?"
"I didn't expect that from you. A craftsman is a human being who has taken a skill to its limit."
"Which is to say, a king of making things."
"It's different from a king. A king commands, doesn't he. A craftsman moves his hands in silence."
Atem nodded.
His eyes were oddly serious.
"Seto. I'm going to become a craftsman."
"......"
"What is it, that silence."
"Nothing. As always, you simply went somewhere diagonally above what I'd predicted."
That Atem tends to go diagonally above is old news by now.
"What must I do to become a craftsman?"
"Enter as an apprentice. Train under someone with experience."
"I see. Then, Seto — take me on as your apprentice."
It was far too immediate an answer.
And delivered as though it were far too obvious.
"...Your motive for the apprenticeship?"
"Because you have taken skill furthest of anyone."
"You saw that garage, didn't you? That is a hobby, at best."
"That degree of completion within the bounds of a hobby... you're fit to be a master after all, aren't you."
"It isn't my hobby. You said you were going to do it, so I got the facilities in order."
Seto put a hand to his head.
This king always strikes the unpredictable by the shortest route.
"Listen, Atem. A craftsman begins with plain, patient training. Shave the wood, sand it, assemble it. Hundreds of times over."
"Understood. Good, let's begin at once."
"You're doing it... you're unusually obedient about this."
"Because I'm the apprentice."
Seto handed over the tools.
With a serious face Atem took up the chisel and began shaving at a piece of wood.
But within a matter of minutes his hand stopped.
"Seto, this is... it demands patience and delicacy both."
"That's what I told you."
"If I used a little of the King's power, someone could do it more smoothly..."
"Don't. A craftsman doesn't lean on authority."
"...I only thought about it."
"Disqualified as an apprentice. I'll expel you."
"As the master, see through to your apprentice's capacity."
"Atem... your mouth is getting more and more accomplished."
Over the workbench, a quiet laugh mixed in.
Evening.
Seto with coffee, Atem with herbal tea, taking a break.
"Well? Your impressions of your first day as an apprentice?"
"I've learned that to shave is to face oneself."
"...Not a bad impression."
"But, Seto..."
"What is it."
"With the master beside me, I can't concentrate."
"Why not."
"The finish on your profile is too high a standard."
For an instant, the sound stopped.
Seto let out a sigh, and yet somewhere in it he was laughing.
"To praise your master while in an apprentice's station — an insolent fellow."
"It's an expression of respect."
"...Well. I'll forgive it."
The sound of the tools began to carry again.
That night.
Atem murmured while gazing at a newly shaved piece of wood.
"Seto, a craftsman is a thing of great depth."
"By one account, there are those who say that if you take it to its limit you reach the divine realm."
"Which is to say, your domain."
"I don't mind hearing that. I've no intention of becoming a god, though."
"In time, I'd like to have hands like yours."
"What do you intend to make?"
"A thing that exists together."
Seto set down his cup and nodded quietly.
"Then shall the next thing be a desk."
"That's a fine idea. Which is to say, a place to think together."
Between the two of them, a calm silence and the scent of wood spread out.
The desk that was completed was weighty, without waste, and beautiful.
Seto having designed it and Atem having polished it up, the result was almost like a crystallization of the two of them thinking.
"Well, Atem. How's the finish."
"...Perfect. Strong enough to withstand the speed of my thought."
"Your criteria for a desk are far too idiosyncratic."
"You have a habit of putting durability and efficiency first yourself, don't you?"
"I won't deny it."
The two of them drew up chairs and sat at either end of the desk.
The wax had only just been worked in. The scent of wood was still new.
The light of dusk stained the surface of the desk as though sliding across it.
"Seto. What do you suppose a desk is for?"
"To work, to think, to put things in order... it depends on the use."
"I see. But here's what I think. A desk is a tool for deciding the position of the heart."
"The position of the heart?"
"That's right. When you sit — who you want to be beside, how close you want to get. By that, the meaning of the desk changes."
Seto lifted his chin lightly and slid his gaze over to Atem.
"Is your seat far?"
"...No. It's close. Closer than I'd thought."
"That's because I adjusted for it at the design stage."
"What did you adjust?"
"The width of the desk. I set it at the distance where, if you reached out your hand, it would just reach my documents."
"...You set the dimensions for a reason like that?"
"Theoretically, the efficiency of joint work rises."
"Theoretically, is it."
"Is there some problem?"
"No. I get the feeling love has been mixed into the theory."
Seto's pen stopped for an instant, and a faint laugh spilled out.
"I don't recall mixing in any love."
"But it's mixed in as a result. In that case, is that within the calculation too?"
"...You really are a genius at analysing things emotionally."
He said it, and let a smile surface.
At the centre of the desk there was a single sheet of paper.
Something Seto had left lying there among his documents.
Atem took hold of the edge with his fingertips and quietly held it out.
"Seto, is this part of the joint theory as well?"
"No. An unfinished project plan."
"Then let's sign here. As a joint research project."
"The contents of the research?"
"The meaning of existing together."
Seto raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Too abstract a theme."
"But with you, it will take shape."
Without a word the two of them exchanged signatures.
The pressure of the pen carved their thinking onto the grain of the wood.
"Seto. A desk is a boundary, and also a point of contact — that's what I think."
"A boundary?"
"A line dividing each other's worlds, and at the same time, a line connecting them."
"...Poetic. Then this is..."
"That's right. It's our new gate."
Atem traced the surface of the desk.
Seto nodded without speaking.
"So long as this desk exists, we can think, and connect, at any time."
"Which is to say, for you this desk is..."
"A shape that says existing together."
Seto gazed at the surface of the desk a while, and then said quietly:
"Then let me add one more supplement out of my own theory."
"Let's hear it."
"If you place your hand at the centre of this desk, it's designed so that it touches either of our hearts."
"...You should have said that first."
Their two hands overlapped at the centre of the desk.
At the moment of contact, the temperature of the wood carried their breathing across.
"Say, Seto."
"What."
"The desk is finished. What do we make next?"
"Let's see... shall we make a bed?"
"...Is that practical, or a metaphor?"
"Which of the two you take it as is your judgment."
Laughter burst over the wood grain, and the night came slowly down.
The two of them's "craftsman philosophy" was quietly in progress today as well.
Late at night.
The lights of the room had been dropped, and only the top of the desk was faintly lit.
The light source was a desk lamp Seto had adjusted.
The focus was beautifully narrowed, illuminating only the two of them's fingertips and the documents.
"Seto, this theory... it's interesting."
"The one on the definition of coexisting intellects?"
"Yes. Resonating while the individual is preserved — it's almost like us."
"Self-congratulation?"
"I merely stated a fact."
The sound of the pens continued within the stillness.
The sound of pages turning, and the sense of breath being steadied, were becoming a comfortable rhythm.
"Seto. Don't you think the act of sharing knowledge resembles holding out a part of your heart?"
"...Which is to say, you are holding out your heart to me?"
"Put that way, it's embarrassing..."
"Your reasoning is, at times, too sweet."
"Then neutralize it with your composure."
"On that point, there's no guarantee it can be neutralized."
Seto's gaze left the paper for an instant and touched the line of Atem's profile.
The light slid over his hair and lit his eyes.
In a place of reason, a faint heat was born.
"...Seto."
"What."
"On the meaning of existing together — let's put out today's conclusion."
"An impatient fellow. We're still mid-experiment, aren't we."
"By feel, I have the sense I've already touched the answer."
"Let's hear it."
Atem set down his pen and placed his hand at the centre of the desk.
"To exist together is for silence to hold."
"...Hm."
"A state in which, without words, each other's thinking goes on."
Seto laughed, only a little.
"A conclusion very like you."
"Am I wrong?"
"No, you're right. But I'll add one point."
"What is it."
"What makes silence hold is trust. There aren't many people you can be with without breaking a silence."
Atem went quiet for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"...Then we're rare beings, aren't we."
"That's right."
The lamp on the desk wavered, faintly.
The night wind stroked the curtains and carried the scent of wood in.
The pen tips began to run again.
What was written there was not a formula, but a promise.
"Seto. What do we research next?"
"For a theme, something in the neighbourhood of continuing happiness would suit you."
"That sounds abstruse."
"But with you, it can be solved."
"DIT!"
The two of them's shadows overlapped on the desk, and the night slowly melted the boundary between intellect and love.
On the desk, a quiet joint research project was still going on.
