In the year 15 of the solar calendar (2065 AD).

Due to the worst-case scenario of the global warming prediction for 2050, in mid-2047, the United Nations headquarters issued a statement that swift and unprecedented global cooperation was necessary. As part of this effort, Japan adopted a new era name after in 2050, which was shared with the rest of the world.

I was commuting from the unchanged Hanzomon Line. Slightly sleep-deprived, but it was already mid-October. I walked in the clear weather until I reached the nearest station. At Otemachi Station where I got off, it was connected underground, so once I arrived at the station, I couldn’t see outside until reaching to the office. A crowd of unchanged people. Just following the person in front of me. Before I knew it, I was sitting at my desk at the company.

My desk happens to be by the window of this building. It’s a 28-story high-rise, but our company is on the 4th floor, so there’s not much of a view to speak of. My logged-in computer had accumulated emails from clients, so I started going through them one by one.

In the early afternoon, a black lightning bolt struck Tokyo Station. By the time I finished going through the emails and the subsequent meetings, the clock had struck 1:00. When I looked out the window, the outside seemed somewhat dim, and the sky visible through the gaps in the buildings was tinged with gray.

“Why is it that even in this day and age, emails are still such a pain? Why haven’t we introduced a chat app?”
“Well, there are a lot of old-fashioned clients we deal with, you know. The sales department and the managers have apparently explained it to them many times, but they’re used to doing everything by email, so they don’t listen to anything else.”
“I see… So it’s what they call precedent-based thinking?”
“Exactly. I’ve heard that it’s becoming less common in the world, but there are still a lot of places like that, aren’t there?”
“That’s too bad.”

It’s true that many of our clients are old companies that have been around for decades. We also have many long-standing relationships that date back to before the change of era. It’s frustrating to think that we’re still wasting time on something that’s not essential like this.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Yeah, I guess not.”

I wonder when it started, but it’s become such a common phrase. I can’t help but have a negative attitude when faced with situations like this.

On the train ride home, I was pushed around by a sea of people. As usual, during peak hours on the Hanzomon Line, hundreds of thousands of people pass through each day, and the interior of the train has hardly changed since I first rode it when I was born in the year of the sun calendar. When I’m spacing out, my eyes catch the advertising panel in the train car that hasn’t changed much either. Today, just like any other day, the usual weather forecast was playing.

The only thing that seems to have changed is the futuristic production vibes that show seems to wrap itself with. This country really hasn’t changed.

“A panda was born at Urashima Kindergarten and is attracting attention.”
“Up Everybody Technology Co., Ltd., a drone startup, has been listed on the first section of the Tokyo Stock Exchange.”
“Due to the expected shortfall in power supply again today, the droplet is expected to be observed in Toyosu, Chofu, and Tama River. Please cooperate in conserving electricity.”

It’s the same old thing. I’ve gotten used to it, but unfortunately, I can’t see the panda or the droplet from inside this subway.

…


At the Toyosu Bridge, people who had been caught in the rain were seen here and there. A couple with a child, a high school student, and a man wearing work clothes and glasses. The adjacent high-rise buildings continue to shine brightly and illuminate Tokyo. The high school student and the man in work clothes seem to be moving forward with only their bodies while being absorbed in their smartphones.

At the traffic signal on the road, the indicator stays in the middle. In the solar calendar, a globally standardized protocol was implemented to reflect the world’s intentions to save energy. Policies were promoted to visualize city-wide power information in the infrastructure. In Japan, one of the remnants of the previous administration’s policy, are the indicators implemented inside each traffic signal. Because of this, people can see the remaining power of the entire city everywhere.

A child walking along the roadside of a large bridge looks uneasy and looks around in all directions.

“Mom, what’s the name of this river?” The mother looked at the river he was pointing to and answered, “This river is the Sumida River. This bridge was built to cross that river.”

He looked down at the river with keen interest and casually continued.

“Mom, what would happen if I jumped off from here?”

She looked at the railing he was pointing to and answered, “It’s dangerous, so you shouldn’t do it. You could get seriously hurt if you jump off the bridge.”

He looked slightly disappointed, but took their hand off the railing after hearing her words.

“Mom, what’s that building?”

She looked at the building he was pointing to and answered, “A lot of people work in that building.”

“Hmmm… Mom, what’s that?”

She looked up to where he was pointing. After a moment, she said, “That’s called a ‘droplet.’ It transports the electricity we use.”

Something small and shining could be seen gradually descending towards them. More than 40 years have passed since the competition in battery technology heated up around the year 2020. It has become possible to store a large amount of power in solid-state batteries made of ultra-light carbon. These objects, resembling shooting stars, are massive batteries. To minimize air resistance for rapid delivery, they are shaped like droplets, hence the name was coined by the citizens. A single droplet can supply power to 10,000 households.

The droplet falls rapidly before opening a parachute to decelerate. The dandelion-fluff-like tip, known as the “Flower,” seems to be attached to extend the flight distance while slowing down.

The droplet slows down gradually while blooming its “Flower,” finally landing on a waiting ship far away. The ship anchors at the nearest riverbank, and the droplet is blinking in a faint red color. The anchored droplet looked like a breathing flower on the river.

To the child, the red blinking seemed somewhat familiar, and he turned their gaze away.

“Oh, you’re already bored?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Yes it’s getting late, let’s go home and eat something yummy.”

The city’s power supply began, and a lightning bolt sign was displayed on the signal indicator at the far end of the bridge. The city seemed no different; it was the same old Tokyo flowing along.

Today, only one of the three indicators next to the traffic light is illuminated. When these indicators first began lighting up as the system was introduced to infrastructure, people felt anxious as the gauge lowered. There were even conspiracy theories suggesting that the government was using this sense of urgency to curb power consumption. There was also news making headlines that power wouldn’t actually run out even if the indicator went out.

In reality, there had never been a blackout or any such incidents. This system, which has already become a part of daily life, seamlessly integrated into society within just a few years, and it no longer becomes a topic of discussion, just like the air around us.

“Today’s power consumption level is ‘critical.’ Please cooperate in conserving energy.”

An unremarkable weather forecast announcer still delivers this now-familiar phrase. The display panel on today’s Hanzomon Line train hasn’t changed a bit from 20 years ago. Not paying any attention to the news, I was listening to Japanese music that has recently revitalized. There are a few people holding umbrellas in the car, where a sort of damp, musty feeling hangs in the air. It’s raining outside. But before I know it, I’m being drawn back into the building again.

…


I finally finished preparing the documents and, before I realized it, it had gotten dark outside. The lights were on outside the building as usual.

I was idly staring out the window. Suddenly, everything except the screen of my PC went pitch black. The lights that filled the buildings around me went out in an instant. Glancing hurriedly towards my colleague who sits at the back, I could vaguely see his face illuminated by his PC.

“Wait, is this a blackout??”
“Are you okay?”
“…I can’t connect to the internet either. This is bad.”

It was eerily quiet. An unsettling silence I had never experienced before.

The traffic lights at the intersection, the lighting in small stores, and even the sparkling neon signs—all vanished in an instant.

I had no idea where to look.

“Um, I think the door might not open, too?”

However, that silence didn’t last long. Soon after, cries of surprise and honking of car horns filled the air outside, and I could hear people scrambling and whispering in the darkness. I noticed that there seemed to be some sort of commotion going on behind the door.

Looking outside, I saw people on the sidewalk turning on their phone lights, shaking them gently to illuminate their surroundings. At the far-off intersection, the traffic lights were out. A taxi parked a little ahead seemed lost, unsure of which direction to proceed in. The building across the street, usually blandly lit by fluorescent lights, was now completely dark and unrecognizable.

“…Should we go outside?”

I recognized a few people afar going downstairs. I felt sorry for those who are working on higher floors.

When I went outside, I saw a few people walking around in suits, flicking their smartphone lights. Just like when my colleague’s face was illuminated earlier, the only source of light as far as I could see was from people holding smartphones. I realized how expansive the area outside the building, usually taken for granted, actually was.

I thought we could only wait for the electricity to come back on. Then I looked up at the sky and was astonished. Tiny lights filled the sky completely. It reminded me of the time when, over five years ago, I saw the droplets in Tokyo’s sky for the first time.

But on closer inspection, the lights were stationary. Each one was fixed in place. I was taken aback when I realized these weren’t the droplets, but the light of actual stars.

“Wait, could these be stars?”
“Hey, this is really bad!”

I heard my colleague’s voice who had come down. Turning around, his face was also lit up just like the others.

“No, look at this.”
“Oh, did you figure something out?”
“No, not that…“

I pointed to the sky. His face, illuminated by the smartphone, looked puzzled,

“Huh? Wow, that’s a lot of droplets… wait, what?”

For a moment, the silence returned. The light that had been illuminating the road ahead was gone. The voices of the people who had come down from the building, the noise all around, everything went quiet. Everyone seemed to be looking up at the sky. They couldn’t take their eyes off of the stationary lights filling the sky, instead of the moving ones they all expected to see.

…


The fleeting anxiety I felt at that moment has disappeared somewhere, and I can’t remember how much time has passed since then. What I do remember is the impassioned voice of someone who shouted, “It’s the droplets!” and the faint yet clearly audible sigh of relief that seemed to echo between the buildings afterward.

Now, three years later, I sometimes think back to that moment as I sit at my blurry fourth-floor desk. Things seem to have changed, and yet, nothing has actually changed.