The next month went fast for William. He tried his best to spend time with Chorong and teach her how to act more like a…normal person. They went on short trips, visiting rural and forestry areas inside the city. William taught her how to smile, and when to smile. Chorong first made a very weird, asymmetrical smile as if she didn’t know how to control her facial muscles well, but soon the smile became more natural. She smiled more often as the month passed. She laughed softly when they watched a comedy show on the television together. After that, they watched boxing matches. Though subtle, Chorong started showing excitement and discomfort depending on how the matches went.


    “Upper cut, right hook, left straight,” she murmured during one of the matches.


    One day, they went on a fishing trip. One demonstration on how to cast and reel in a fishing line was enough for Chorong; she caught a fish before William could even cast his fishing line. Then, before he could explain what to do afterwards, Chorong bit into the raw fish that was still alive. William quickly explained why she should properly kill the fish before eating. Chorong made a sad, apologetic face and constantly nodded as William lectured her. However, William knew that Chorong was still not perfectly like a person just by the fact that she just ate a raw fish like that.


    Another time, they were walking in the park, and a group of young kids approached her and asked her to temporarily play soccer with them because they had odd number of players. William warned her to not overdo it, which she agreed to. However, once the match started, Chorong absolutely destroyed the opponent. She alone scored six goals in ten minutes. Eventually, some of the kids in the other team started showing tears. William had to apologize to the kids and then escape the park with Chorong.


    “I told you to not overdo it!” he said to Chorong.


    “I did not. I didn’t hurt any of them,” she said, looking confused.


    William felt his forehead thumping as a bit of headache came to him. He shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Chorong’s lifeless eyes stared into them. An uncomfortable chill travelled down his spine.


    “Are you ok, Master?”


    “…Yes. I’m fine.”


    “Master, why was I born?” Chorong suddenly asked.


    William felt like invisible hands were choking him. A big mass of weight weighed him down inside his chest.


    “…I don’t know,” he answered. He wasn’t lying.


    Chorong is not Katherine, a voice in his head whispered.


    That night, William sat on his couch with his glass of brandy again. However, instead of staring blankly at the fireplace, he held a digital tablet. He navigated through the files and tapped on a video file, which started playing.


    A girl and a woman appeared on the screen. The video was taken inside this exact house, showing the dining area. The woman put a cake on the table; its icing read: Happy 7^th Birthday, Kath!


    “Oh, wow, this is so big, Bella!” William’s younger voice said behind the camera.


    Bella put her hands on her waist and puffed out her chest proudly. “I did put in some hard work, you know.”


    “Mom, I don’t like strawberries,” the girl complained, pointing at fruit decorations on the cake.


    “But Mom does. Shush,” Bella said jokingly. The girl grumbled audibly.


    William in present smirked.


    “Alright, shall we sing the song?” his younger self said.


    “Oh, I want to sing!” the girl shouted.


    “The birthday girl singing the birthday song for her own birthday…isn’t that a bit weird?” young William said.


    Bella shrugged. “It’s her birthday. She can do whatever she wants for today.”


    “Alright, alright.”


    The woman turned off the light switch. Only the candles lit the dining area and the two people’s faces.


    “Three, two, one,” Bella counted.


    Katherine started singing the birthday song. Even though she was young, she controlled her beautiful, silklike voice masterfully, controlling the speed and tone of each tone.


    William could give it all if he could hear that voice just one more time.


    Chorong lied on her bed with her eyes closed. However, she was wide awake. She did have a function that closely mimics human sleeping, but she refused to use it as she thought about her purpose: the reason why she was built.


    Master had said her purpose was to live. However, as she experienced quite a few things with him, the concept of living became more abstract. There wasn’t a clear goal. She didn’t know how she should live. Her master, who built her, didn’t seem to know, either.


    She could hear Master’s soft breathing coming from the living room. She also detected a speaker, presumably attached to a tablet, playing voices of a young girl, a woman, and younger Master.


    She recalled the time she was with Master. What was his purpose? He didn’t seem to have one. He just…lived, spending time with her, sometimes watching videos of his family.


    She wanted to ask someone. Master was not the right person, since she had already asked him. That meant there were only three people she knew and could ask.


    She got out of bed and opened the window, which made an opening just big enough for someone to come through. Without hesitation, she ran to the window, leapt through the opening, and gracefully landed on the asphalt.


    “What the —”This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    She turned her head. A man was standing there, staring at her.


    “Do you know where a man named Patrick lives?”


    Patrick was having the best sleep of his life when his doorbell pulled him out of his sweetest dreams. He grumbled as he got out of the sweet bed. He marched downstairs and swung open the front door.


    Chorong stood there.


    “…Hi,” Patrick said calmly, hiding his surprise.


    “Could I ask you a question?” Chorong asked.


    Patrick stood aside, opening the door so she could come in. However, she stood still, staring at him curiously.


    “This usually means the person is inviting you inside,” Patrick explained.


    Chorong came inside the house. Together, they sat down at the table. Patrick brought two cups of tea and put one in front of Chorong, even though he didn’t know if she could drink or not.


    “What’s your question?” Patrick asked, sipping on his tea.


    “What does it mean to live?” Chorong asked


    Patrick coughed, nearly choking on the tea. He slowly put down the cup and wiped his mouth with a tissue. He hadn’t expected such a philosophical question. However, he thought for a moment, trying to think of a good answer.


    “…Well, I think I should first tell you that there are many different answers, and there’s no right or wrong answer. It’s a bit different from mathematical formulas.”


    “I’d like a perspective of a human being; any human being.”


    “No, you don’t want a perspective of a human being. You want a perspective of a person.”


    “…?” Chorong tilted her head, confused.


    “My perspective is that to live is to attempt to become happy.”


    For some reason, Chorong remembered Master watching videos of his family on the couch in the living room, alone in the night.


    “…How do you become happy?” she asked.


    Patrick turned his head toward the dark living room and called out, “Jiji?”


    A light meow sounded in the room. A black cat emerged from the shadows and leapt onto Patrick’s laps.


    “For me, I tried making others happy,” Patrick said as he stroked his hand on the cat.


    The tips of his mouth rose upward, creating a smile: Chorong had never seen such a smile. It was calm, and yet, it was the brightest, and the warmest smile she had ever seen. It was as if Patrick, at least during that moment, was living in a different world.


    She would never forget that smile.


    Chorong came back to her house. Her knee motors were powerful enough for her to jump back through the window back into her room in one simple jump. Instead of going back to bed, she listened: the video was still playing, and Master was still asleep. She stealthily walked downstairs to the living room.


    William sat on the couch. The tablet in front of him played a video taken with a handheld camera. It showed Katherine standing on the stage. A sign above her indicated this was a singing competition organized by an elementary school. Katherine stood tall on the stage. Chorong detected both excitedness and nervousness in her face.


    The background music consisting of a moderately-paced acoustic guitar melody played out from the speakers. Katherine opened her mouth and began to sing with her silk-like voice:


    “I opened my eyes and saw


    the glow-in-the-dark stars.


    I took them off and threw them in the garbage bin.


    I used to enjoy looking at them,


    I used to see the light of hope.


    But not anymore.


    Life comes and goes around,


    I guess I grew up in the end.”


    Quietly, Chorong picked up a blanket and covered William with it.


    William’s eyes opened slowly. His eyes saw Chorong, and he suddenly reacted wildly, leaning away from her. He breathed fast as adrenaline rushed through him.


    Chorong tilted her head. She was sure she was careful to not scare him even him he woke up. Still, she apologized. “Sorry, Master.”


    William’s breathing slowed down. He shook his head, as if to shake something off from his head. “No, no…I…Shoot, I fell asleep, didn’t I?” he muttered.


    “I’m sorry, master. I had no intention of waking you up,” Chorong said. She turned to go back to bed.


    “Chorong,” the master called. Chorong stopped and faced him.


    “…What’s your thought on people who can’t let go?” he asked.


    Chorong blinked a few times. She didn’t answer. Silence filled in the room.


    “…I’m sorry for asking a sentimental question. Good night, Chorong,” William said as he shifted around on the couch and adjusted his posture. He closed his eyes.


    “Good night, master,” Chorong replied.


    Chorong went to her room and lied in her bed. Thoughts and memories lingered in her mind, especially Patrick’s smile and Master’s question. She did not understand what pain or what negative emotions really are, but she could tell that Master was not happy.


    Then, she decided what her definition of to live was.


    For me, to live is to make Master happy.


    In order to do that, she had to become Katherine. She had an idea how she could do that.


    William put on his jacket over his work shirt. He grabbed his suitcase and walked into his work shoes. Chorong opened the door and stepped aside.


    “Thank you, Chorong,” he said, making a forced smile. “Stay in the house. As I said, you can read the books in my room and watch the television if you are ever bored.”


    “Yes, Master.”


    William gave her a worried look. After a moment of hesitancy, he walked out the house, heading back to the workplace for the first time in such a long time. Chorong softly closed the door behind him.


    Then, she ran up to her room and changed from her pajamas to outside clothes. She looked out the window and watched her master walk away. When he turned around a corner and exited her line of sight, she opened the window and leapt outside. She didn’t have the keys for the door, so she had to go through the window.


    She jogged the way Master had gone. She tailed him stealthily, hiding from cover to cover, until they reached the skyscraper she was born in. She watched him go into the building.


    However, instead of following him inside, she ran to the park across the street and headed to the main stage. Just as she hoped, the same busker was there, singing and playing his guitar.


    She waited until he finished his performance, and then approached him. This time, his eyes were open, so he saw her.


    “Hello, again,” the busker said. He slightly pulled his guitar away from her.


    “Teach me how to sing,” she said.


    The busker frowned. “Huh?”


    “I will pay for lesson fees. Teach me how to sing.” She reached inside her pocket and produced a stack of bills. Master had given her some money when they were walking around just in case they got separated and something happened.


    The busker had never seen such amount of money in cash before. He straightened his posture and then made a formal bow. “Where and when would you like your lessons to be, ma’am?”


    “Chorong,” she said. “My name is Chorong.”


    “Mine is James. James Gwak.”


    Every day from then on, once Master leaves the house, Chorong would head to the park and have the busker teach her how to sing. Her singing was initially not so great. Her pitch was off and would sometimes create very high-pitched, ear-piercing notes. The busker was quick to realize her vocal system was completely different from a human vocal system, so he couldn’t give any specific instructions on how to control the sounds by controlling the muscles. However, he could guide her what kind of sounds, notes, and rhythm she wanted to create. Being a machine, she could produce the sounds the busker tasked her to produce within the first few practices.


    Then, one day, her autotune-like voice sung:


    “I opened my eyes and saw


    the glow-in-the-dark stars.


    I took them off and threw them in the garbage bin.


    I used to enjoy looking at them,


    I used to see the light of hope.


    But not anymore.


    Life comes and goes around,


    I guess I grew up in the end.”


    Chorong turned to James. His eyes were closed. He did not say anything and stayed still.


    “James?” she called.


    The busker opened his eyes. “That was good. Notes were stable and on point.”


    Chorong smiled. The busker looked at her in awe. He remembered first meeting her: she had no facial expression whatsoever.


    Then, the smile disappeared as if it had been never there, and her signature neutral face returned. “I will head back before Master is home.”


    “Bye, Chorong.”


    James watched the robot jog back to her house. He could hear her humming the song she had just sung, as if she was practicing.


    There was something he didn’t say to her. It was about why he closed his eyes and didn’t say anything for a while after she stopped singing.


    He had never thought he would think this, but he had wanted to keep listening to her voice: her autotune-like, robotic voice. He had never expected such a voice could sound so…touching. He didn’t want her to stop singing. He wanted to keep listening to her voice.


    Never did he know, he would be hearing her voice over, over, and over again for the next few months.