It didn't take Zoey long to finish setting up the streaming equipment with her new, remarkably impassive assistant.
Shota had watched the entire process from beside the desk, following her movements as she connected the laptop, camera, microphone, and remaining cables. He rarely spoke, but his attention never wandered far from the equipment. Whenever Zoey needed to reach past him, he moved aside without being asked, then returned to observing her work.
By the time she switched on the monitor, most of the setup was complete.
The screen came to life with a soft hum, its blue-white glow spreading across the desk and illuminating Shota's pale face. His eyes widened, drawing Zoey's attention away from the laptop.
Something in her chest gave a small, unexpected flutter. He'd been so composed throughout the installation that seeing even this tiny change in his expression made her want to smile. She found herself watching him instead of the monitor, quietly delighted by how something so ordinary to her could capture his attention so completely.
He'd watched her work with the same quiet concentration from beginning to end, but the sight of the display seemed to surprise him in a way none of the equipment had. He stood in front of it, looking up at the screen as though he'd never seen one that large before.
Zoey glanced around the apartment.
There wasn't a television. In fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn't noticed anything resembling one since arriving. The room was sparsely furnished, with little in the way of electronics apart from the equipment she'd brought herself.
She set down her mug of tea, which was still too hot to drink, and crouched beside Shota.
"Okay, okay," she murmured, more to herself than to him, and reached for the laptop. "So this is the brain. The screen is just the face. The face is probably the part you care about."
Shota continued watching as she opened the streaming software. Its interface filled the monitor, and Zoey began checking that the camera and microphone were being detected properly. Explaining a streaming setup to a four-year-old wasn't something she'd expected to do today, particularly one who studied every step with such serious attention.
Layla was nearby, having left Zoey to handle the equipment while Shota supervised. With the setup nearly finished, Zoey finally had enough room in her head to return to a question that had been bothering her since the boy's unexpected arrival.
She straightened and looked around the apartment again, confirming the absence of a television before turning toward Layla.
"So, um..."
Her fingers found a loose cable on the desk, and she began turning it between them. Now that the initial panic had passed, she felt a little ridiculous bringing it up, but she still knew next to nothing about the boy.
"Can I ask something?"
Layla looked at her, and Zoey immediately lost half the confidence she'd managed to gather.
"I mean, I already did. Technically. That was a question."
An awkward smile crept across her face. She could practically hear herself making the conversation more complicated than it needed to be, yet somehow that didn't help her stop.
"Great start."
She glanced toward Shota, who was still occupied with the monitor. He seemed perfectly comfortable in the apartment, and Layla hadn't shown the slightest surprise at his arrival. Zoey was beginning to suspect that the entire incident had been far less extraordinary than she'd made it out to be.
"He just... came in by himself. Is that normal?"
Layla tilted her head.
"Hm?"
"N-no, not normal like weird-normal. I mean..."
Zoey gestured toward the entrance, nearly catching her sleeve against the edge of the desk. She pulled it free before continuing, wishing she could explain herself without making it sound as though she were questioning whether a child was allowed to enter his own home.
"He appeared, you weren't surprised, I nearly had a cardiac event..."
A weak laugh escaped her. The more she tried to justify her reaction, the more unreasonable it sounded, especially with Shota standing nearby as living evidence that nothing particularly alarming had happened.
"I'm mostly checking whether I panicked for absolutely no reason."
"he was at school...you have homework ?"
Layla directed the second part of her answer toward Shota.
The boy lifted his head toward the ceiling, his expression unchanged as he considered the question. Zoey couldn't tell what he was thinking about, though the way he looked upward made her imagine him trying to recall a classroom, a blackboard, and a faceless teacher standing in front of it with a ruler.
School.
Zoey stared at him.
He'd been at school. That was where he'd come from. Not some mysterious place beyond the apartment door, not a supernatural dimension that happened to produce miniature versions of Layla, but school.
An ordinary explanation for an ordinary child returning home.
Which made the whole incident considerably more embarrassing.
"School," she repeated, the word landing like a verdict on her own brain. "Okay. School. That's. That's the most normal thing anyone in this apartment has done today, and it was a four-year-old. Great. Love that for me."
Shota seemed to have finished considering Layla's question. He retrieved a book and settled on the floor near the sofa, opening it across his lap.
Zoey was about to return to the desk when she noticed the illustrations. From where she stood, she could make out pages crowded with tiny figures, bright colors, and overlapping details. Shota studied one of them briefly, placed his finger on a particular spot, then turned to the next page and did the same thing.
He repeated the process without hesitation.
Something about the illustrations looked familiar. Zoey took another look, and her embarrassment began giving way to curiosity as she recognized the distinctive style. She'd spent more time than she cared to admit searching through pictures like those when she was younger, sometimes refusing to put the book down until she'd found every hidden character.
She approached the sofa and leaned over Shota's shoulder.
"Oh my god, it's Where's Wally."
She crouched beside him, instantly interested. The unexpected familiarity of the book was a welcome distraction, and for the first time since Shota had arrived, she felt she had found something they could enjoy together without worrying about whether she was understanding him correctly.
"Okay. Hold on. I love these."
Shota turned the page.
Zoey began searching the illustration, scanning the crowded scene for the familiar striped shirt and hat. Her eyes moved between the clusters of people, trying to separate the actual character from the countless distractions surrounding him. She was still working her way through the picture when Shota's finger landed on Wally.
"What?"
She looked at the spot he'd indicated, then back at his face. He didn't seem particularly pleased with himself, or even aware that he'd done anything impressive. Before Zoey could properly register how quickly he'd found the character, he turned another page.
This time, she was ready. She leaned closer, narrowing her eyes as she swept across the illustration, determined not to be beaten quite so easily. She'd played this game before, after all, and surely a little experience ought to count for something.
Shota pointed.
"No."
Zoey stared at his finger, then at the unmistakable striped shirt beneath it. She had barely finished searching the upper half of the page.
Another page followed, then another. Zoey tried changing her approach, looking for the red-and-white stripes instead of examining every figure individually. When that failed, she concentrated on the places where Wally might be partially hidden, convinced that there had to be some trick she was overlooking. None of it helped. Each time she thought she was getting close, Shota's finger settled on the correct spot with the same effortless certainty.
What had started as a pleasant little activity was becoming an increasingly serious challenge to her pride. She knew it was ridiculous to feel competitive with a child, especially one who seemed entirely unaware that a competition was taking place, but that only made the situation more frustrating.
Zoey stared at him.
"You're four."
Shota turned another page.
"You are humiliating an adult in her twenties."
He offered no response beyond his continued interest in the book. Zoey watched him for another moment, wondering whether he had some extraordinary ability to recognize patterns or whether she was simply much worse at this game than she remembered.
She turned toward Layla, who had been watching the exchange.
"Is he always like this?"
"What do you mean?"
Layla approached and crouched in front of Shota.
Zoey shifted aside to give her room, relieved to have someone else witness what she'd been dealing with. Perhaps Layla would understand why she was so impressed. Better yet, perhaps she'd try finding Wally herself and discover that the book was considerably harder than Shota made it look.
He turned to the next illustration, giving her a clear view of the page. Layla studied it and pointed to Wally before Shota could.
Zoey looked between them.
For a moment, she wasn't entirely sure what she'd just witnessed. Shota had been finding Wally almost immediately, but Layla had somehow managed to beat him without appearing to put any effort into it. Zoey looked down at the page, checking the spot Layla had indicated, then raised her eyes toward her again.
Shota turned the page.
Layla found Wally first.
Zoey felt her earlier frustration give way to disbelief. She'd been hoping for someone who might share her difficulty, not another person who could apparently solve the illustrations at a glance. And judging by Layla's expression, she didn't find any of this unusual.
Another page, another quick point of her finger.
Shota continued turning the pages at the same unhurried pace, apparently unconcerned that someone else had started winning.
Zoey's mouth fell open.
"No."
The next page turned. Zoey barely had time to locate the general area she wanted to search before Layla's finger moved again, landing on Wally with infuriating precision. She looked at the illustration, then at Layla, unable to decide whether she was more impressed by the speed or offended by how casually she'd accomplished it.
"NO."
Zoey immediately lowered her voice, remembering that Shota was sitting right beside her.
"I was already losing to the preschooler. You did not need to enter the tournament."
She looked from Layla to Shota, who had already moved on to another illustration. The competition didn't seem to have affected him in the slightest.
Layla stood up, leaving the book in front of the boy.
"And the part that's actually breaking me is HIM," Zoey said, pointing into the air near Shota rather than directly at him. "Four years old. Gets beaten at his own game by an adult and just keeps going. No huff, no 'that's not fair,' no launching the book across the room. My cousin's kid would have flipped a table. You two are built from the same unsettling calm and I need to go sit down somewhere."
She glanced up at Layla, half accusatory and half amazed. Behind them, the monitor continued casting its pale glow across the room, the streaming software waiting for Zoey to finish checking it.
"So when I asked if he's always like this, the real answer is you're BOTH like this. Great. The whole apartment is a precision instrument and I'm the loose cable in the corner. Noted. I'll stay over here with my bruised ego and the screen glow while you two do whatever this is."
Her shoulders slumped. She dropped onto her hands and knees, head hanging toward the floor in exaggerated defeat.
Shota continued looking through his book.
Layla took a step toward Zoey.
Zoey noticed the movement and began to lift her head, but the sudden proximity made her fall silent. Before she could say anything else, Layla placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You have a lot of qualities."
The words were delivered in Layla's usual straightforward tone.
Zoey froze.
She'd been prepared for another question, perhaps even a literal response to her complaint about losing at Where's Wally. A compliment hadn't occurred to her.
Layla's hand rested against her hoodie, close enough that Zoey could feel its warmth through the fabric. She was suddenly, painfully aware of how near Layla was, and of the fact that she'd been kneeling on the floor a moment earlier, loudly declaring herself the least competent person in the apartment.
Zoey had received compliments before. Her viewers gave them freely, sometimes faster than she could read them. But hearing those words from Layla, accompanied by an unexpected hand on her shoulder, left her struggling to respond.
Layla removed her hand.
Zoey remained where she was, staring ahead as the heat climbed into her cheeks and ears. The touch had lasted only a moment, yet she could still feel where Layla's hand had been.
"I, um," she managed, her voice emerging thin and squeaky. "I, no, I mean, thanks, I just. The setup. I should. I was finishing the setup. The streaming thing. Right. That."
She gestured toward the monitor, grateful that it provided an excuse to turn away.
All she wanted was to pull her oversized hoodie up around her face and disappear inside it. Being complimented so directly was difficult enough. Having Layla do it while standing right beside her had left her with no idea where to put her hands, what to say, or how to look remotely normal.
She reached for the nearest cable, needing something familiar to occupy herself.
"I'm, um. I'll just. Finish. Over here. By the screen. Where the cables are. Doing the setup. That I was doing."
She shuffled back toward the desk, pulling her hood higher as she went.
Behind her, Shota looked up from his book. He watched her retreat with quiet curiosity before returning his attention to the illustrations.
Zoey picked up a cable.
She examined the connector, realized it wasn't the one she needed, and put it down.
"The other cable."
She reached for the correct one, acutely aware that Shota was watching her again.
Her fingers caught the edge of her hood, drawing it a little farther forward.
"I'm fine."
Once she had something technical to concentrate on, the remaining work went quickly. She finished the last connection and returned to the laptop, checking the camera feed, microphone input, and streaming software. Each responded as expected.
"Okay."
Zoey exhaled, looking over the completed setup.
"Done."
She turned toward Layla with a bright smile. It became a little more restrained when their eyes met, the memory of that unexpected compliment still making her cheeks warm.
"It works."