About

"Humans can grow because they get bored and feel ashamed." That's what Takuji, a close friend from middle school, used to say. When we first met, I was feeling ashamed. I had started talking to the wrong person by mistake, and Takuji witnessed it. I thought he would laugh, but he didn't. Instead, he wondered, "Why do people feel ashamed?" After thinking for a while, he spoke again. "Ah! I get it. It's because they think, 'I won't make this mistake again!'" I replied, "But I also feel ashamed when my name is called in front of a large group." We talked about things like that. Eventually, Takuji said, "If I were to build a humanoid, I'd make it so it could understand human shame!" Takuji and I weren't exceptionally close. We never spoke outside of school. But I liked our trivial conversations. "If I were to build a humanoid..." That was his catchphrase. Even when I made a mistake during a presentation and the whole class laughed at me, Takuji was different. He immediately raised his hand to present. "It's a chain reaction," he said. He made a mistake too, and the class laughed again. At some point, I began to feel a sense of respect for Takuji. But that's exactly why I said what I did that day. It was during art class. By the time I noticed, Takuji had stepped on someone's paint that had fallen on the floor and tripped. The paint splattered everywhere. It even reached my clothes a short distance away, leaving yellow spots. Takuji tried to stand up then. *Splat.* But he slipped again on the paint on the floor. Takuji tried to stand up once more. Seconds later, he apologized, looking ashamed. The lesson changed from art to cleaning with rags. I heard someone click their tongue, and others blamed Takuji. That day, Takuji came to talk to me. "If I were to build a humanoid robot, I'd make sure it doesn't fall," he said. Then he told me that today, June 10th, was Robot Day—a pun on the date. He asked if I wanted to go to an event at the station for Robot Day. I was irritated that Takuji could act so nonchalant after what happened in art class. "I'm not going." The words came out of my mouth. My voice was colder than I intended. Takuji said, "Then let's meet on June 10th when we're 20!" I didn't understand what he meant. "Don't say such nonsensical things." I walked out into the hallway. Then Takuji shouted, "Fine, then 30! Let's meet on June 10th when we're 30!" I walked down the hallway in silence. After the weekend, I learned that Takuji had transferred schools. The teacher said sadly that they couldn't mention it earlier at his request. And now. I am in a meeting room. A small thing reminds me of what day it is. Today is June 10th. And I am now 30 years old. Yes, the day he said we should meet. As soon as the meeting ends, I rush out, get on a train, and head to the event location. Near the venue, there was wallpaper that looked like splattered paint. I arrived at the event venue, but I don't see Takuji. That day, I didn't make a promise; I just ignored him and avoided him. So there's no guarantee I'll see him today. But I came here betting on the chance that I could. In the distance, a developer—likely the one who built the humanoid—is passionately telling the audience, "This humanoid can stand up even if it falls!" I can't find him, so I sit down on a bench. Maybe I should head home. I stand up to leave. Just then, the man talking about the humanoid on stage looks this way. "Ah!" "It looks like my friend has come!" he shouts loudly. Takuji screams my name from afar and waves. The humanoid Takuji built also waves toward me. I wanted to respond. I wanted to scream back "Takuji!" with all my might. But I'm so ashamed I can't move. "Takuji, this isn't what you told me before."