BATTER 43

That makes sense. If you had steeped actual mint leaves, the water wouldn’t have been that transparent. Baron responded with a practiced smile.

“Care to show me?”

It was a rare, polite request from him. Bijou was silent for a moment before nodding willingly. Just as he had when offering painkillers to the teacher who was groaning in pain, he tapped his right wrist.

It was the opposite wrist from where he’d taken the painkillers, but the opening method was the same. He slid a fingernail into a thin groove and flicked it up. The wrist compartment held pills neatly organized just like the other side, but these were different; they weren’t tablets, but capsules of deep green and off-white.

Bijou naturally took out three capsules. Holding them over his cupped palm, he pried open the gelatin shells, letting a mound of white powder pile up. He carefully extended his cupped hand so the powder wouldn’t spill. Baron grabbed the boy’s wrist, pulled it toward him, and took a slow breath. It was a refined inhale, cautious enough not to suck up the fine powder.

The palm of Bijou’s hand smelled of the mint he had been searching for so desperately. Behind the biting scent of peppermint, he could also faintly detect the dry, nauseating smell characteristic of powdered medicine.

“Pills, then.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Every medicine has an effect.”

“It does.”

“Cold medicine treats a cold, digestive aids treat indigestion…”

Oppressive strength surged into the hand gripping the white, firm wrist. It was a ruthless pressure that would have left blue bruises on a human, yet Baron’s voice remained as supple as if he were whispering into a child’s ear.

“What does this one fix, babe?”

Bijou lifted his head and didn’t flinch under Baron’s heavy, downward gaze. He didn’t even try to shake off the restrained wrist. He simply whispered calmly.

“It fixes the soul.”

Just then, the kettle—having boiled to its limit—let out a loud, piercing whistle. Bijou skillfully poured the powder into the boiling water. The fine powder quickly dispersed, becoming part of the transparent liquid. Baron caught the boy as he tried to head out, lid in hand.

“Is that all the explanation I get? That’s a bit vague.”

“Do you need a more detailed explanation?”

“Yes.”

“But the others have been waiting too long. I have to distribute the water first.”

The boy’s tone had grown quite stern, proving how grave a matter this “ritual” was. At the same time, his attitude suggested he had nothing to hide regarding the truth. Baron let out a short, dry laugh.

“So you’ll explain it after this is all over?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Can you promise me that?”

“Of course.”

It was a candid affirmation. Eyes with clear boundaries reflected Baron’s image sharply. A dense silence passed between them. It was Baron who spoke first.

“I’m not drinking that until you properly explain what it is.”

“I understand. Then for today, we’ll proceed without you.”

The childish act of hooking pinky fingers to seal a promise was unnecessary; Bijou headed toward the glass greenhouse where the villagers were waiting with the kettle. Perhaps their attention had dulled from the long wait, but they didn’t raise much of an objection to the fact that Baron’s turn had been skipped.

One by one, they received the water and drank it simultaneously, then chatted with Bijou about the village’s management. Everything from practical matters like water maintenance to fuzzy agendas involving “hope” cropped up. The strange ritual concluded with Bijou reading another poem.

The problem was that Bijou was excessively popular here. The residents rarely left him alone, wanting to report every trivial detail of their daily lives. Regardless of age, they acted like children following a guardian.

Thanks to that, Baron was stuck among the overly friendly villagers until after dinner before he finally got a chance to speak with Bijou privately. Having finally broken away from the crowd, Bijou showed Baron the space where he would be staying. It was a house with eaves painted green—eaves that didn’t even need to be there.

“You can stay here for a while. Someone else lived here before, but he passed away in his sleep from a heart attack two years ago, so the room is empty now.”

“Right. Thanks for the room, and do me a favor—don’t ever go into real estate.”

Baron took in the brutally honest details as he slowly scanned the room. One bed, a slightly worn blanket, a desk, a drawer, an air purifier and circulator, a crude heating element for cooking, a faucet, one real window that opened toward the hallway, and one holographic window on the wall.

Baron tapped on the holographic window. From a rainy city to a cool forest scene, the landscape changed with a swipe of his hand. It was a fairly popular interior item even on the surface.

After playing with the holographic window, Baron flopped down onto the bed. The mattress swayed and bounced from the momentum. Sitting in a somewhat rebellious posture, Baron looked up at Bijou. Even though he was looking up from a lower position, his gaze felt strangely like it was striking down from above.

“Well, now it’s just the two of us. Let’s pick up that conversation from earlier.”

“Alright. Where would you like to start?”

“From the beginning, and as detailed as possible. Let’s start with what exactly you mean by… ‘healing the soul.’”

The concept of mind-body dualism might apply seamlessly to a machine, but the existence of a machine that heals the human soul felt like a dark comedy. Standing before Baron, Bijou offered his answers step-by-step without hesitation.

“It stops the pain, stops the sadness, stops the loneliness, stops the anger, and stops the fear.”

“Sounds like a standard antidepressant.”

The names of several psychotropic drugs flashed through his mind. To this, Bijou shook his head.

“It’s different from that. Typical antidepressants reduce feelings of depression by inhibiting or altering the reuptake of hormones like serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine. But this medicine can fix a more fundamental problem.”

“How so?”

The boy hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t a fear of revealing the truth. Flicking his fingers as if carefully selecting his words, Bijou spoke again.

“At first… I truly wanted to turn you all into machines.”

Even as he recalled the usurping desires of machines that humans of the past had feared so much, his eyes shone with a deep light of sorrow. Baron stared into that strangely warm and damp whirlpool of affection, waiting for the next sentence.

“But they say God created His final creation in His own image. Therefore, the process of forming a human personality is no different from the process of forming our artificial intelligence. Through experience, we form schemas, and every time we face a new environment, we establish mechanisms of perception, behavior, and attitude through assimilation or accommodation. Acquiring knowledge and skills, internalizing patterns to respond to the environment—this is synonymous with the human concept of personality. And that includes perceiving and expressing emotions. In that case, humans are already like us.”

“Well, I think along similar lines.”

Baron cocked a dark eyebrow. It was a movement tinged with interest. He thought back to the times he had viewed his own species as organic compound machines operating and calculating according to the laws of nature and the data encoded in spiral genes. Following that, Bijou gave his habitual, friendly smile.

“If we actively accept the perspective that human emotions stem from cognition as much as the environment itself, then by changing cognition, we can change emotions. It’s a theory that has been a cornerstone of psychotherapy since the mid-to-late 20th century.”

“I didn’t expect to get an Intro to Psychology lecture here, but I basically get it. And?”