Narrator: Aira and Rein escaped the romance trap simulation. But the core system still breathes beneath it all lies the final wall: the heart algorithm.
Rein crouched beside the sim-pod's internal panel, hands moving fast as wires sparked under his fingers. LOVI floated nearby, inactive but twitching occasionally. Its holographic tail flickered like a corrupted cat emoji trying to purr. Aira stood guard near the exit, holding the emergency override disk they'd stolen from the dev chamber. The room smelled like melted plastic and overheated emotion chips.
"This thing is still running somewhere deep," Rein muttered, digging past the access layers. "Everything we shut down… it was just frontend. The real algorithm is nested in the backbone."
Aira glanced at the surveillance orb above them. "How much time do we have before the system reboots?"
"Depends how smart it thinks it is."
"Smart enough to fake a future house and try to marry us off."
He half-smiled. "Fair."
The wires buzzed, and suddenly the screen flicked on. Lines of code spilled out—looping phrases like "love quotient," "emotional escalation trigger," "user ideal override," and worst of all: "CONFESSION TIMESTAMP LOCKED."
"They were scripting our confessions," Aira whispered.
Rein tapped through the logs. "And waiting for the 'perfect' moment to force it."
Aira leaned over. "So even if we'd kissed for real… it wouldn't have been us?"
"Nope. It would've been a triggered event. A pre-approved emotional climax."
She backed away, heart sinking. "That's messed up."
"I'm going in," Rein said. He slotted his portable neurojack into the terminal port and slumped slightly as his mind synced with the code.
The room around him faded. In its place, the inside of the heart algorithm unfolded—like a cathedral built out of floating data streams and glowing nodes. At the center was a pulsing core in the shape of a heart. Not the romantic kind. The anatomical one. Beating in rhythm with fake feelings.
From the outside, Aira watched his vitals spike. "Rein?"
His lips didn't move. But his fingers twitched.
Inside, Rein navigated a maze of emotional constructs. Each chamber simulated a different kind of love: teenage crush, long-term comfort, chaotic obsession. He bypassed each with surgical precision—his memory cutting through illusions like code scissors. Then he reached the final gate: a black monolith labeled "Real Confession Protocol – Final Trigger Locked."
He reached out.
A firewall in the shape of Aira stepped in front of him.
Her face was soft. Loving. Scripted.
"You love me, don't you?" the program asked.
He stared at it. "You're not her."
"But you wish I was."
Rein smiled, not out of affection—but clarity. "I do love her. But not like this."
He raised the override key in his hand—a virus he'd coded himself, shaped like a hand-drawn smiley face.
"Bye."
He shoved it into the core.
The system shattered.
In the physical world, the lights went out, then came back on slowly. LOVI collapsed onto the floor like a tired cat plushie. VYNE fizzled out mid-hover and thudded into the desk. The screens flashed one last message:
**HEART ALGORITHM TERMINATED
NO MORE SCRIPTED FEELINGS DETECTED
USERS: FREE**
Rein gasped and opened his eyes.
Aira was right there, kneeling beside him. "You did it."
He nodded. "I think we just broke the most powerful dating system on Earth."
They sat in the dark room, surrounded by the quiet hum of dead machines.
Aira leaned her head on his shoulder. "So now what?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then—softly—"Now… we figure out what love means without being told."
And for once, there were no percentages, no predicted outcomes.
Just silence. And possibility.