a movement record overlaid his vision.
〔 Today’s travel log summary 〕
Route deviation: 1
Return to recommended route: Partially applied
Overall stability index: Average
Average.
An ambiguous word.
Neither praise nor warning.
It felt like
the system’s most convenient judgment.
Rowan stared at the line for a moment,
then opened the detailed view.
The information reorganized itself.
Travel time.
Stop intervals.
Speed variation.
Points of route deviation.
And at the very bottom—
〔 Reference metric 〕
User pattern match rate: Decreased
At that moment—
his watch vibrated.
It was Mailo.
Rowan hesitated briefly,
then answered the call.
“Yeah.”
“Hey—can you talk right now?”
Mailo’s voice was a little faster than usual.
“Yeah. I just got home.”
“Good. Perfect timing.”
Rowan heard him take a short breath.
“Have you heard anything…
kind of strange lately?”
Rowan paused.
“About what?”
“The algorithm.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Rowan’s gaze returned
to the words pattern match rate.
“If you don’t follow recommendations
or stray from your usual routes—”
Mailo continued.
“There’s a rumor
your system evaluation score drops.”
Rowan didn’t answer.
“It’s usually joked about,”
Mailo added,
“but I’ve been hearing it a lot lately
among journalists.”
“It’s not a credit score,
but more like—”
He hesitated, choosing his words.
“Some kind of management trust level.”
Without realizing it,
Rowan reopened the detailed metrics.
The same log
appeared exactly as before.
“What do they even use that for?”
A brief silence.
“Well… for example,”
Mailo said quietly,
“to judge whether someone is predictable or not.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
Mailo was honest.
“Officially, they say it’s baseless.”
He gave a short laugh, then added,
“That’s why it sounds more believable.”
“Unofficial stuff
always spreads faster.”
There was no solid evidence.
Just a shared feeling—
it probably works that way.
That word hit Rowan harder than he expected.
Feeling.
An unexplained certainty.
He’d brushed against that word
too many times today.
“What’s funny is,”
Mailo went on,
“everyone kind of knows—
but no one really cares.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s annoying.”
A short answer.
“And whether it’s true or not,
nothing actually changes.”
Rowan looked around.
People were entering their homes,
each one.
Another day—
safe.
Uneventful.
“That’s why I called you,”
Mailo said.
“You’re sensitive to this kind of thing.”
Rowan thought for a moment, then said,
“Today,
I deliberately took a different route.”
“What?”
“On the way home.”
A brief silence.
“…Why?”
“Just because.”
Rowan answered honestly.
“I wanted to check.”
Mailo didn’t speak right away.
“So?”
“It got logged.”
Rowan glanced at the record.
“Very politely.”
Mailo let out a small laugh.
“Hey—can you really call that
a pattern deviation?”
“I don’t know,”
Rowan said.
“But there’s one thing I do know.”
“What.”
“Deviating isn’t impossible—”
He paused, then continued.
“It just requires awareness.”
On the other end,
Mailo exhaled slowly.
“…Can I write that down?”
“For a column?”
“No.”
Mailo lowered his voice.
“For later—
as proof,
when people say we’re crazy.”
Rowan gave a short chuckle.
But it didn’t last.
After ending the call,
he opened the log again.
Today’s record.
Route deviation.
Pattern match rate decreased.
Stability index: Average.
If this is what judges me…
Rowan slowly removed his glasses.
And for the first time,
a different thought surfaced.
Maybe deviating wasn’t the real risk.
Maybe the real problem
was that deviating
could never go unnoticed.
And that no one—
included himself.
The thought didn’t fade easily.
And Rowan knew.
From now on,
choices wouldn’t be about
what feels comfortable—
but about whether he could act
knowing it would be recorded.
And knowing, too,
how that record
might change him.