Chapter 1: — "GOD! Why are Smiles Always Mandatory? It's Pissing me OFF!"

Mornings should be illegal.
And yeah, I know you might think I'm weird... but SHUT UP AND JUST LISTEN!

My alarm screamed like a dying droid, neon numbers pulsing 06:30 A.M. on the wall. I smacked it until it shut up. My room was half-dark, half-blue glow from the city bleeding through the blinds. Everything outside was awake, billboards, hover-traffic, holograms advertising “HAPPINESS PODS — START YOUR DAY WITH A SMILE!”

Yeah. Sure.

I dragged myself out of bed, hair sticking everywhere. Mirror scan blinked on and greeted me with a cheerful voice:

“Good morning, Naomi Matsumoto. Remember, smiles increase social trust by 27 percent!”

I flipped it off. The mirror censored the gesture with a blur and a polite ding!

I stare at my reflection. Same brown ponytail, same dark circles. Eyes that look way too old for eighteen.
“I wake up every morning pretending to be human,” I mutter to her, the other me behind the glass.
She doesn’t answer. She just stares back, pretending too.

“Morning, boss.”

The voice crackled through my earpiece, flat, synthetic, with that sarcastic lilt I programmed into it. My combat bot, R-0, the only thing that ever talks to me without judging.

“You’re early,” it said.

“Didn’t sleep good...”

“You should log rest cycles. Your vitals are irregular.”

“Just shut up will ya?” I answered annoyed and went off to my room.

I threw on my uniform, the blazer hanging loose over my shoulders, skirt crooked. The school patch glowed faintly when it synced with my ID chip. Everything in this city glows. It’s like the world’s allergic to darkness.

By the time I stepped outside, rain was misting down again, fine as dust. The street shimmered under layers of reflected light. Vendors were already out, drones hovering over ramen carts. A group of students passed me, laughing, uniform skirts flashing neon edges as the street ads bounced off them.

Everywhere I looked, people smiled.
I guess that’s the rule here.

The train was packed. Transparent screens floated above every seat, streaming news about the latest “Joy Initiative.” A new implant chip promising “emotional balance.” I wanted to laugh. People actually buy their happiness now.

I stared at my reflection in the train window. The city blurred past behind me like a heartbeat, bright, loud, fake.

Homeroom.

The classroom was a box of white light and AR overlays. Desks projected digital notes into the air, and the teacher’s voice buzzed through every comm implant simultaneously.

“Good morning, class! Let’s start the day with gratitude, smiles, everyone!”

The whole room lit up with holographic smile-scores above every head. Mine blinked red. Poor engagement.

I clenched my jaw.

“Naomi,” the teacher said, still smiling like a robot in love with their own programming, “remember, the Wellness Committee requires participation.”

I forced the corners of my mouth up. “Happy now?”

The class chuckled. My score turned yellow. Acceptable.

Perfect.

I felt someone tap my shoulder.
Yui.

Of course it’s Yui. The girl never learns.

She smiled nervously. “Hey, about yesterday… I just wanted to—”

“Don’t.”

“—say I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought maybe—”

“Yui.” I turned my head slowly. “Drop it.”

She hesitated, eyes wide behind the pink contacts everyone seemed to be wearing this month. “You don’t have to bite my head off, jeez.”

I sighed, lowering my voice. “I said shut up, didn’t I? Why do people think talking fixes anything?”

A few nearby students pretended not to listen but totally did. Yui’s mouth tightened. “You can’t keep acting like you’re better than everyone. You’re not the only one who’s had it rough.”

I felt the sting in that. I almost answered, you have no idea what rough is...
but I swallowed it. No point.

Instead, I smiled. The fake one. “You’re right,” I said. “I’ll work on it.”

She blinked, confused by the sudden politeness. I turned back to my screen before she could reply.

Behind my eyelids, the neon from the window pulsed against my brain. I imagined just walking out, disappearing into the rain.

Lunch.

The cafeteria was all chrome tables and AR menus hovering mid-air. Food printers hissed as they extruded perfect sandwiches with zero flavor. I wasn’t hungry.

“Naomi, come eat with us!” someone shouted from across the room.

I waved vaguely, pretending I didn’t hear.

I took my tray up to the rooftop instead. My sanctuary.

The wind hit first, cold, cutting through the school’s synthetic warmth. The city stretched out forever, all glass and neon arteries. From up here, the traffic lines looked like veins under the skin of some massive machine.

I sat down by the fence, unwrapping my sandwich just so it looked like I had a reason to be there.

My earpiece chimed softly. A notification flickered in my peripheral display.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Target-data update available.]

I ignored it. I wasn’t supposed to get work pings during school hours. The message stayed there anyway, pulsing faintly at the edge of my vision like it wanted to be heard.

“Not now,” I muttered.

It faded.

Silence again, just the hum of drones overhead and the faint buzz of electricity in the air.

I looked down at the streets far below. People moved like data streams, each one carrying their own little world of lies and smiles.

It’s funny, everyone keeps talking about connection.
But the higher you climb, the smaller they all look.

When the bell rang for afternoon classes, I didn’t move right away. I stayed until the roof was empty again. The rain started falling harder, tapping on the metal rails like impatient fingers.

I whispered to no one, “God, why are smiles always mandatory?”

My voice broke halfway through, and I laughed at myself, quiet, bitter.

From the corner of my vision, my comm implant blinked: Message: R-0 > Target-data update available.

I closed the notification. Not yet. Not while the daylight’s still pretending everything’s fine.

I stood, wiped my face, straightened my uniform. One deep breath. One more mask.

Time to go smile again.

That’s how it works in this city.
You don’t live, you perform.
And if the performance slips, the whole world stares until you fix your face.

So I fix it. Every. Single. Time.

But one of these days, I swear…
I’m going to stop pretending.