Chen Hao carried four chairs out of the woodworking shop, his steps a little unsteady. His shoulders ached as if someone had hammered them several times, and the cloth strip on his right middle finger was still covered in wood ash, which fell off with every movement. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath, his arms trembling, almost dropping the bottom chair.
Nana followed from behind, without saying a word, and took the two bags from her. Her movements were steady, and she walked without making a sound.
The two walked down the corridor, their feet creaking under the old floorboards. The restaurant door was open, and the interior was empty except for sunlight streaming in from the high windows, casting a long, bright rectangular patch on the floor.
"Put it here for now." Chen Hao placed the remaining two chairs in the middle, took two steps back, and tilted his head to look. The table had already been moved over; it had been set up yesterday and placed in the center, but now it looked a bit to the left.
“No,” he said. “It’s too far to the side, like having an invisible person sitting next to you while you’re eating, staring at you.”
Nana gently put down the two handfuls of food and stood beside him.
"Move it a little to the right." Chen Hao reached out and pushed the table, but as soon as he exerted force, his shoulder tightened, making him wince in pain. "Thirty centimeters is enough."
He talked as he worked, the table legs scraping against the floor with a screeching sound. Seeing that he was struggling, Nana came over to help, supporting him on one side with one hand to move it steadily.
"Alright." Chen Hao took a few steps back, squinting as he looked her over. "This looks much better."
Four chairs were arranged around the table, roughly in the right position, but the angles were still crooked. He adjusted them one by one, sitting down in each chair to test its orientation.
“When you sit here, you have to keep an eye on the door,” he muttered to himself, “otherwise you’ll always feel like there’s something moving behind you.”
After adjusting the last setting, he sat down, his hands resting on the table. His fingers traced a smooth, even surface, without any burrs or dents. He tapped the table lightly; the sound was crisp, unlike the muffled tone of before.
"At least it's not junk anymore." He smiled.
Nana stood to one side, an optical mirror scanning the entire space, projecting a layer of light blue grid lines that seemed to float in the air. The lines divided the restaurant into several areas, marking distances and angles.
"According to ergonomic data, the main seat should avoid being directly exposed to airflow from the vents," she said. "And the back should not be facing the entrance."
Chen Hao looked up: "You mean I shouldn't have been facing away from the door?"
"yes."
"But that's exactly how I was sitting."
"That was an instinctive mistake."
"How was I supposed to know you still remembered?" He scratched his head, stood up, and readjusted his chair. This time, he turned the main chair around so that it was against the wall and facing the angle between the door and the window.
How about this?
"Meets safe visibility standards."
"Then it's settled." He plopped down and stretched. "This will be my personal seat from now on."
No sooner had he finished speaking than his stomach growled.
"To be honest, I'm actually a bit hungry." He rubbed his stomach. "I'll have to get something to eat later. We're sitting at a new table, so we should have a decent meal."
Nana did not respond and continued scanning environmental data.
Chen Hao looked around and suddenly felt that something was not quite right. There was space, and the furniture was all there, but it still looked deserted. The walls were white, the floor was gray, and the tables and chairs were dark, making it look like a warehouse temporarily converted into a canteen.
“Something’s missing,” he murmured.
"The functional layout is complete," Nana said. "Currently, the space utilization rate is 72%, and the basic circulation is smooth."
“That’s not what I’m asking.” He stood up and walked around the table. “I mean…the feeling.”
He walked to the corner, squatted down, and looked at the triangular gap between the table leg and the wall. The gap wasn't big, but it was very noticeable.
“It would be nice if there was a small cabinet or a potted plant here,” he said. “It looks like something was forgotten to be arranged here.”
Nana wrote down the sentence, and a faint light flashed from the optical mirror.
“The detected seat pitch is 68.5 centimeters,” she said. “The standard comfort value is 69 centimeters, so the deviation is 0.5 centimeters.”
"Half a centimeter off?" Chen Hao was stunned. "You can even calculate that?"
"Accuracy affects the long-term user experience."
"Should we pull it out a little more?"
"It can be adjusted, but the changes are so minor that they are barely noticeable to the naked eye."
“But I felt a little uncomfortable.” He reached for the nearest chair, moved it slightly out of the way, and then took a step back. “Okay, now it’s balanced.”
He walked back and forth several times, looking at it from different angles. The table no longer seemed like it had been crammed in, and the chair no longer appeared isolated. Sunlight shone on the tabletop, reflecting a faint sheen of the wood grain.
“You know what?” he suddenly said, “This is the first time I’ve ever felt like this place is home.”
Nana didn't respond.
He sat in the main seat, closed his eyes, and mimicked eating. He held chopsticks in his left hand, a bowl in his right, and lowered his head slightly. He opened his eyes a few seconds later.
"It's alright," he said. "It's just that the left side is too empty and the right side is a bit cramped."
"An optimized plan has been suggested," Nana said. "Should we implement a second adjustment?"
Chen Hao didn't answer immediately. He pulled out another chair, sat down, and changed his posture. This time, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, as if waiting for someone to chat with.
“No,” he shook his head. “We still have to move.”
He stood up and rearranged all the chairs, placing them a little closer to the table than before. Then he tried sitting in each one, finally settling on the head seat.
"That's about right now." He nodded. "At least he won't want to run away after finishing his meal."
Nana continuously records data, and the optical mirror constantly refreshes the information stream.
“The current layout meets the basic functional requirements,” she said, “but the aesthetic integration is only 67 percent.”
"How many?"
Sixty-seven.
"Isn't that failing?"
"The system's scoring criteria are based on multi-dimensional parameters, including visual weight, color coordination, and spatial breathing effect."
"It sounds like an exam," Chen Hao said with a wry smile. "So you think it needs to be revised?"
"You have the power to make suggestions, but the decision-making power is yours."
He was silent for a moment, staring at the table. The light fell on it, illuminating his blurry face. His fingers unconsciously traced the edges, savoring the feel of something he had personally polished.
"Actually..." he began slowly, "I'm thinking about a question right now."
"What's the problem?"
"Do you think this place should be made cleaner and more modern, or should it retain some of its old-fashioned charm?"
Nana's optical glasses trembled slightly, as if she was stuck on this question.
She did not answer immediately.
The air grew quiet.
Chen Hao remained seated, leaning slightly forward, his gaze fixed on a spot on the opposite wall. His fingers were still tapping lightly on the edge of the table, the rhythm very slow.
Nana stood still, the mirror surface shimmering, as if she were calculating a proposition that was beyond the preset range.
The restaurant was bathed in the quiet sunlight, casting the shadows of the table legs diagonally onto the floor.
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