S made an account for Rukana on MeΧ: a message application that only the most high-ranking users of Χ-lum had access to. There was no longer any need for Rukana to infiltrate Χ-lum. S could give her all the information she needed through MeΧ instead. From time to time, he would also send her more casual messages—“Are you still awake?” and so on. Though sporadic, Rukana was finally in direct correspondence with S. She could learn about the organization behind Χ-fes and Χ-lum, about zingai, and about S’s own personal plans, directly from the horse’s mouth. At last, she had access to the pure, unvarnished truth.
Before long, Rukana and Cipher began working together to make a new app. Needless to say, it was all done for S. Rukana spoke with him over MeΧ to iron out the basic concept, and Cipher handled the programming. Rukana was the one who chose its name: Happy Ever After. They were the sort of words a fairy tale might end with, implying eternal contentment.
Rukana hoped her app would be used by people looking for happiness. Though, from another perspective, that meant she was targeting people who were currently unhappy. Happy Ever After was still untested, and there was no telling whether it would serve its intended purpose. But the way Rukana saw it, the only way to find out was to try it and see. Cipher handled the app’s construction, while Rukana tested it and ensured that it functioned as intended. She didn’t understand the finer details of its mechanisms, however, and there were some aspects of the program that would simply have to be tested by actual users in the field.
That said, it was still in testing, and she couldn’t just throw it up on the internet. She had to check how it worked and what effects it had first, then make any necessary adjustments. It would only be truly complete after multiple rounds of testing and upgrades.
Thankfully, a hacking tool S supplied to her through the Cleaner proved very useful for that purpose. The device looked like an ordinary USB drive, but could be connected directly to a smartphone, bypassing all security to install the app.
Rukana’s middle school prohibited the use of cell phones outside of emergency situations, but the devices themselves weren’t banned. Plenty of students kept their phones in their schoolbags, and whenever students had to move to another room for class, all their phones were left behind, free for the hacking.
Rukana also infiltrated the school’s servers, giving her access to all the personal information used to assign students to each class. She would use what she’d learned to select promising candidates, hack their phones at the first opportunity, and install HEA on them. A short time later, the message “Your summons to HEA has arrived! Join us in a brand-new social network experience!” would pop up unprompted on their screen.
HEA was an entirely anonymous social network. Though their identities were hidden, its userbase boasted a large number of celebrities middle and high schoolers were likely to know. To join, all you had to do was pick a username, and soon you’d be conversing with all the other members.
“Nice to meet you!”
“I’m Loves-Icecream-From-XXX-Joe.”
“Chaos!”
“Kinda cold this morning, huh?”
As new users began sending out replies, they’d quickly realize that names of people and places were automatically filtered and replaced with the letters XXX. Some users would be able to guess the censored words in certain posts, while others would be left completely in the dark. In that sense, HEA was something of a puzzle to be solved.
The app had one governing rule: Its users had to log in at least once every twenty-four hours, or the app would be automatically deleted from their phones. All messages they’d sent up to that point would be erased from the app’s servers as well. If you ever decided you wanted off the network, all you had to do was stop logging in.
Users could chat with their online friends as they pleased. When you had a bad day or encountered an unfair situation, you could post about it knowing that someone would be there to react in no time at all. You could get sympathy and commiseration from another person. All you had to do was say “This sucks,” and you’d have a friend to cheer you up before you knew it.
“Maybe you should try being a little more true to yourself?”
“Just be yourself, and everything will work out fine.”
“You’d be better off if you stopped holding back.”
“Your true self is what’s really important.”
“As long as you’re living genuinely, that’s all that matters.”
“It feels like you just haven’t realized what sort of person you are yet.”
“But your true self is always right by your side.”
“Even if you can’t find it now, you will someday.”
“Find your true self!”
“You don’t have to overthink this.”
“Just try searching for yourself.”
“Look for the real you!”
“Uncover your inner truth!”
HEA was made for people who wished to be happy. If you felt unhappy, then HEA would provide you with a path to happiness—a way to find your very own happy ever after, like something out of a fairy tale.
Needless to say, fairy tales were not real. No one in the real world had a perfect stable of friends to console and cheer them up at the drop of a hat. HEA existed in a realm separate from reality. That should have been obvious.
The network’s “fellow users” didn’t exist. HEA wasn’t a social network at all. It appeared as if you simply had to log in to instantly connect with your friends. But that was just how the program was set up to appear. Cipher had made it that way. It had designed the program with one purpose in mind: to guide and manipulate the thoughts and feelings of its users.
Rukana kicked HEA’s testing into high gear shortly after she started her second year in middle school. One day, she learned that Class 2-1 would have gym during third period, leaving their usual classroom empty. She waited until everyone was gone, paid their classroom a visit along with Cipher, and approached her target’s desk. The smartphone she was after had been left in a pocket of her target’s bag. The model was two years old, but that wasn’t an issue. Rukana plugged her hacking tool into its charging port, and less than two minutes later, the deed was done.
Rukana returned the phone to its place and just barely held back a laugh as she stepped out of the classroom. She didn’t last long, however. The second she’d shut the door behind her, Rukana burst out in a hysterical fit of laughter, her shoulders shaking as she made her way down the corridor. She laughed until she had tears in her eyes.
“Good luck finding true happiness, Itoha…”