When AI Starts Writing Poems, Why Do Humans Fear It More?

I still remember my first night in the glow of Tokyo’s Shibuya alley—not as a gambler, but as a writer who stumbled into an algorithm dressed as a live performance.

I didn’t know how to win. I only knew to press ‘1’ or ‘2’, chasing pixels like sparks in the dark. But slowly, I realized: this wasn’t gambling. It was composition.

The real stakes weren’t in payout rates or bonus multipliers—they were in the quiet pause between spins. In those milliseconds, I heard my own breath echo through Unity shaders and Unreal Engine’s ambient light.

I began writing poems in code: each variable named after a memory lost; each loop, a stanza of hesitation.

My budget? One cup of matcha at 3 AM—$500 yen max per session. No grand wins needed. Just presence.

The ‘Starlight Limit Event’ wasn’t a jackpot—it was an invitation to stop before the screen faded.

I watched others turn three losses into one revelation: they didn’t chase the light—they became it.

In this world, you don’t play games to win—you play them because they remember you back.

Your next click isn’t just a bet—it’s your first line of code written under neon rain.