Instead, he studied her with that gentle focus again—the kind that made you feel like your words actually landed somewhere. Not just heard, but received, parsed, and tucked away for later reflection.
He glanced at the Nekomata card now held up by the tentacle, eyes lifting toward the ceiling like he was mentally paging through years of lectures, case notes, and patient confessions.
“Now that,” he said finally, “is a very compelling question. And I think you're onto something important.”
He shifted his weight slightly, leaning back against the edge of the desk again as the tentacle tucks the card into his labcoat. “In psychology, we talk about something called learned helplessness.' When people try asking for help—especially multiple times—and they’re rejected, misunderstood, or met with incompetence, they start to internalize that as a pattern. They stop reaching out altogether, not because they don’t want help, but because the cost of asking outweighs the likelihood of receiving something meaningful in return.”
He glanced at her again, more animated now, like something had sparked. “So in that sense... yeah. It’s not that people turn away help out of pride or stubbornness. It’s more like they adapt to the failure of the system. They look for reliability elsewhere. And when a machine like EMMA gives them a sense of certainty—no judgment, no ambiguity, answers—it becomes a safe outlet. And in Zenkichi-san's case, not the best one, but to have EMMA in power like that...even as a god powered by cognition might even pose the question that the masses have accepted their fate and given up fighting altogether. Only persona users like him will fight and question its aspect."
He paused, letting the weight of that hang in the air for a second, before softening again.
“But that need—seeking something that won’t let them down? That’s very human. Wanting guidance doesn’t make someone weak. If anything, it shows how deeply people long for structure. For connection.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Instead, he studied her with that gentle focus again—the kind that made you feel like your words actually landed somewhere. Not just heard, but received, parsed, and tucked away for later reflection.
He glanced at the Nekomata card now held up by the tentacle, eyes lifting toward the ceiling like he was mentally paging through years of lectures, case notes, and patient confessions.
“Now that,” he said finally, “is a very compelling question. And I think you're onto something important.”
He shifted his weight slightly, leaning back against the edge of the desk again as the tentacle tucks the card into his labcoat. “In psychology, we talk about something called learned helplessness.' When people try asking for help—especially multiple times—and they’re rejected, misunderstood, or met with incompetence, they start to internalize that as a pattern. They stop reaching out altogether, not because they don’t want help, but because the cost of asking outweighs the likelihood of receiving something meaningful in return.”
He glanced at her again, more animated now, like something had sparked. “So in that sense... yeah. It’s not that people turn away help out of pride or stubbornness. It’s more like they adapt to the failure of the system. They look for reliability elsewhere. And when a machine like EMMA gives them a sense of certainty—no judgment, no ambiguity, answers—it becomes a safe outlet. And in Zenkichi-san's case, not the best one, but to have EMMA in power like that...even as a god powered by cognition might even pose the question that the masses have accepted their fate and given up fighting altogether. Only persona users like him will fight and question its aspect."
He paused, letting the weight of that hang in the air for a second, before softening again.
“But that need—seeking something that won’t let them down? That’s very human. Wanting guidance doesn’t make someone weak. If anything, it shows how deeply people long for structure. For connection.”