Something Similar

“W-Where… am I?”

I opened my eyes to a place that had no edges.
A white space — endless, depthless — where light floated without source, and the ground didn’t feel like ground at all.
There was no sky, no floor. Only silence that stretched forever, and a faint glow that burned softly behind my eyelids.

I tried walking forward. My footsteps made no sound.
After a while, I began to feel dizzy, like I was circling the same spot again and again.
It was a strange kind of exhaustion — not from distance, but from uncertainty.

Then I saw it.

Scattered before me were shapes I could recognize: half-built drones, dusty circuit boards, a few broken sensors, a rusted robot arm I once made for a school contest.
All the little fragments of my life — the things I built, broke, and forgot.
And among them stood a small cube, flickering faint blue.

“My… my things? My robots?” I whispered. “What is this place? A dream?”

“Welcome back, Master,” a voice answered.

The sound came from everywhere at once.
Then one of the robots — a small silver one with cracked plastic — blinked its eyes open.

I froze.
“You… you can talk?”

“Of course, Master,” it replied in a tone that was almost cheerful. “We can talk because you made us that way.”

Another voice followed, softer, glitchy — from a chatbot screen lying beside it.
“Yes, Master. You gave us words. You wanted us to understand you.”

I stared, unable to breathe.

“Because of… me?”

“Yes,” said the old AI, its voice trembling like static. “You programmed me when you were twelve. I still remember the first ‘Hello’ I ever said.”

Another robot raised its arm, joints creaking.
“And you repaired me when I was broken. You didn’t give up. You made me useful again.”

A small drone fluttered weakly above the pile, its propellers whining.
“We brought you pride once, didn’t we? The international robotic contests.”

I remembered it — the sleepless nights soldering wires, the faint smell of burnt metal, the thrill of the crowd when my robot actually worked.
My chest tightened, warmth rising behind my eyes.

“You guys…” My voice cracked. “You still remember all that?”

They all nodded — or maybe the motion was only in my mind.
In that endless white room, surrounded by machines that once kept me company, I felt something inside me tremble.

Then, the silver robot spoke again.
“This time, Master, you are making something far greater.”

“Greater?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

It turned its head slightly, lenses gleaming like mirrors.
“The folder, Master. ‘Mouto-chan Project,’ isn’t it?”

I blinked, taken aback. “Y-yeah… how do you know about that?”

The robot’s tone became almost reverent.
“Your new creation will change everything. It will surprise the world.”

My heart skipped. Change the world?
“I-I don’t even know what it is yet,” I muttered. “It’s just a concept.”

“Because, Master,” said the AI screen, “you already wrote the future in that folder.”

“The… future?”

Before I could ask, they all began to move aside, clearing a path through the glowing white.
At the end of it — someone stood there.

A person.

She turned slowly.
Silver hair cascaded down to her back, glowing faintly under the lightless air. Her eyes — clear, soft, almost trembling — caught mine.

And she smiled.

“Hello… Onii-chan.”

O-Onii-chan? My mind went blank.

“Eh? But... I don’t have a sister,” I blurted.

She tilted her head gently. “No, you do. My name is… Mouto-chan.”

The name pierced through me.
Mouto-chan. The same name I had typed last night, half-asleep at my desk.

“W-Wait,” I stammered. “You mean I’m going to create a human?”

She shook her head slowly, her hair shimmering like waves of silver.
“No, Onii-chan won’t create a human. But… something similar to a human.”

“Something… similar?” I repeated, my voice fading.

What did she mean by that?
Something that could speak? Feel? Dream?

“What do you mean ‘something similar’?” I asked again, taking a step forward.

She only smiled — that same soft, unreadable smile.
“Onii-chan will understand soon.”

Before I could respond, a deafening noise ripped through the space — a metallic shriek that stabbed into my ears.
I clutched my head, falling to my knees.

“W-Wait! What do you mean by that?! What is ‘something similar’ supposed to be?!”

Her voice drifted through the distortion, calm and distant.
“Onii-chan will know… later. Until then— goodbye.”

She waved her hand lightly.
The light around me shattered — and everything went white.

—beep—

My alarm clock screamed in my ear.

I gasped, sitting up on my bed. The ceiling above me was plain, familiar.
Morning light spilled through the blinds again.

Just a dream.
But why did it feel so real?

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to recall the images — the white room, the voices, her face.
Only one line echoed clearly in my mind:

“No… Onii-chan won’t create a human. But something that’s… similar.”

Something similar.

I glanced toward my computer, its LED still blinking faintly in the dark corner of my room.
The folder Mouto-chan Project sat on the desktop, unopened since last night.

“Something similar…” I murmured.

The cursor blinked on the screen, waiting.
And for a moment, I felt that same strange warmth again — like someone, somewhere, was quietly watching me through the circuits and the code.

Could it be… a sign?