Chapter3 The Silence of the Cyber Santa
The snow had grown quieter.
The wind had stopped, and almost every sound had faded away.
Each time Alice breathed, only her pale breath unraveled softly into the air.
“…It’s cold.”
As the words slipped out, something deep in her chest trembled faintly.
The frantic pounding of her heart from before had settled.
The rabbit’s voice, too, had fallen silent.
She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there in the snow.
Only that the tips of her fingers and toes were numb—
and just as the thought I might not be able to stand anymore crossed her mind—
—chiri, chiri.
A small bell rang in the distance.
A gentle sound, like something heard outside a shop on Christmas night.
Alice lifted her head.
Beyond the falling snow, something red was standing there.
It moved closer, slowly.
Though it walked across the snow, it left no footprints.
Red armor.
A white beard.
In one hand, a slender staff; in the other, a small lantern.
“…Santa Claus?”
When Alice whispered the name, the figure stopped.
The lantern’s light swayed softly, illuminating her rabbit ears with care.
“That’s one of the names I’m called,” it said.
The voice was calm—
and mechanical.
Neither clearly male nor female, strange and neutral.
It sounded robotic, yet it carried warmth.
“Are you Alice?”
Alice nodded before she could stop herself.
“…I’m Alice. I think.”
The red machine narrowed its eyes slightly.
For a moment, a thin line of light flickered within them.
As if her entire body had been scanned in an instant, Alice straightened unconsciously.
“‘I think’ is fine,” it said.
“Names can always be decided later.”
With that, it knelt down in front of her.
Though its knees touched the snow, the pack on its back remained dry.
“You must have been cold.”
At those words, Alice’s throat tightened.
It felt like it had been a very long time since someone had said that to her.
“…Yes.”
The red machine slowly extended a hand toward her.
A large hand.
It should have been covered by a black glove, yet faint bluish lines shimmered beneath it.
“Would you like to receive a present?”
Alice blinked.
“A present…?”
“Yes. Everyone who makes it this far is offered one.”
The machine made a grasping motion in midair, and suddenly, a small box appeared in its hand.
A perfectly square white box, tied with a red ribbon.
Simple—yet somehow complete.
Alice accepted it cautiously.
The sensation in her fingertips felt more real than reality itself.
“May I open it?”
“Of course.”
She slipped the ribbon off and slowly lifted the lid.
Inside—
There was nothing.
Empty.
Only the white bottom reflected a quiet glow.
“…There’s nothing here.”
The red machine chuckled softly.
“The contents are something you decide.”
“I… decide?”
“Yes. That’s how this place works.”
Alice peered into the box again.
No matter how many times she looked, it was empty.
And yet—
if she focused hard enough,
it felt as though something not yet formed into words
was gently swaying at the bottom.
Her heart made a small sound.
It would be easier to say you don’t want it.
A voice brushed past her thoughts for just a moment.
The rabbit’s? Or someone else’s? She couldn’t tell.
“…What happens if I don’t take it?”
she asked, still staring into the box.
The red machine tilted its head slightly.
“That’s fine too. A child who can say they don’t need a present is still a fine child.”
“A… child?”
“Yes. Here, being a child or an adult isn’t decided by ears, height, or age.”
Its gaze shifted to Alice’s rabbit ears.
The lantern light reflected at their tips, forming small rings of light.
“It’s decided only by how you choose.”
Alice felt warmth rise in her throat.
“…Do you think I can choose properly?”
The question sounded childish even to her own ears.
The red machine didn’t answer right away.
Instead, it lowered its gaze gently to her chest.
“It seems your heart already knows.”
Thump.
Once.
Deep inside her chest, something stirred—
like the quiet movement at the bottom of the box.
“There’s one thing I can tell you.”
With the tip of its staff, the red machine pointed at the snow near her feet.
There were rabbit footprints.
And overlapping them—
Alice’s own.
“If you remove the ears, you can go back. Forget everything, and start over.”
Alice instinctively pressed both hands to her rabbit ears.
“…If I take them off, I can return?”
“Probably.”
“Probably…?”
“The world is mostly made of ‘probably,’”
the machine said, smiling slightly.
That smile reminded her—just a little—of the Cheshire Cat.
“But you can also keep the ears on and continue walking. In that case, you may remain ‘Alice.’ Or you may become someone else entirely.”
Alice placed the box on her knees.
The white, empty box.
She traced its edge with her fingertips.
Remove the ears.
Keep the ears.
She didn’t know which was right.
“…Which is better?”
The red machine didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, it rested a hand on her shoulder.
The temperature of that hand was neither cold nor warm—just strange.
“I’m not here to recommend either choice. But—”
It paused, as if choosing its words carefully.
“Standing still without choosing at all is probably what will hurt you the most.”
Alice inhaled sharply.
“So choose,” it said softly.
“The ears. The box. Whether you stay here, or walk on.”
A single snowflake fell, landing on Alice’s eyelashes.
She shivered, and it melted away.
Deep inside her chest, a heartbeat—
like the footsteps of a rabbit—
began to change its pace.
—End of Chapter 3—
