After school, she walked home with slow, tired steps, her bag hanging loosely from one shoulder. The city lights were just beginning to glow, reflecting softly on the pavement. In her ears, her favorite virtual AI singer played—Yachiyo, her clear voice flowing gently through the night. White hair, blue eyes, millions of fans… and somehow, her songs always made exhaustion feel lighter.

She sighed quietly, staring ahead.

If only I could get a lot of money and credits, she thought. Enough to stop worrying about everything.

Just then, something streaked across the sky.

A pink shooting star.

She stopped walking.

“…Figures,” she murmured under her breath, watching it fall. Another impossible thing in a world already full of them.

But the star didn’t vanish.

It crashed—right into a street post ahead of her.

The metal post began to glow.

Her music cut off as she pulled out an earbud, eyes widening. Light spread across the post like liquid moonlight, symbols forming and shifting until the solid metal bent inward, reshaping itself.

A door appeared.

She froze.

The door slowly opened.

Her breath caught. Instinctively, she stepped forward and slammed it shut.

Silence.

Her heart pounded.

Then— click.

The door began to open again.

She gasped.

Inside, wrapped in soft pink light, was a baby.

Small. Crying. Real.

The baby whimpered louder, tiny hands reaching out as if it already knew she was there.

Her mind went blank.

“W–What…?” she whispered.

Leaving it there was impossible. Dangerous. Unthinkable.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she carefully lifted the crying baby into her arms. The light faded, the door vanished, and the street post returned to normal—silent, ordinary, as if nothing had happened.

She stood there shaking.

“…You’re coming with me,” she said softly.

⸻

That night, in her apartment, she sat on the bed holding the baby close. The crying slowly eased as she hummed—low, gentle, almost instinctive. A melody from the Moon, one she hadn’t sung in years.

The baby calmed.

Fell asleep.

So did she.

⸻

The next morning, sunlight hit her face.

She opened her eyes—and froze.

The baby was gone.

In its place sat a small child, looking about three years old, staring at her with wide, curious eyes.

She screamed.

The child blinked.

Days passed in a blur.

Each morning, the child was older. Taller. Smarter. Learning faster than any human should. By the fifth day, she looked like a young woman, almost the same height, the same build—uncannily similar.

That night, she collapsed onto her bed, exhausted beyond words.

Sleep took her instantly.

“…Hey.”

Her eyes snapped open.

“…Wake up.”

She turned her head.

The girl—who had been a baby days ago—stood beside the bed, arms crossed, expression completely serious.

“I’m hungry.”

Her soul nearly left her body.

She shot upright, heart racing, staring up and down at the girl in disbelief.

“…You—WHAT are you?” she demanded, voice shaking.

The girl tilted her head slightly, calm and curious.

“I don’t know,” she said simply. “But you brought me here.”