"Senpai, can't this report be shorter?"
Yuki showed a thick report.
Aoi read it. "The content is good. But there are indeed redundant parts."
"Can it be compressed?"
"Yes. But," Aoi hesitated, "whether it should be is a different question."
Riku became interested. "Why?"
"Information compression has loss. What to keep, what to discard. That's a value judgment."
Yuki opened her notebook. "Lossless and lossy compression, right?"
"Yes. Lossless compression allows complete restoration. But the compression ratio is low."
"What about reports?"
"Words are difficult to compress completely losslessly. Summarizing means something is lost."
Riku asked, "What's lost?"
Aoi thought. "Nuance, emotion, context. Unlike numerical data, words have multilayered meaning."
"For example?"
"'Thanks' and 'Thank you very much.' Is the information content the same?"
Yuki answered. "The latter conveys deeper gratitude."
"Yes. But information-theoretically, it's the same 'gratitude' message."
Riku understood. "But for humans, there's a difference."
"Exactly. Human communication isn't just about efficiency."
Aoi drew a diagram on the whiteboard.
"Efficiency ← → Richness Compression ← → Expression"
"It's a tradeoff," Yuki understood.
"Yes. Sometimes efficiency is needed. But sometimes richness matters."
Riku said, "So when do we compress and when not?"
"Depends on purpose," Aoi answered. "Business communication gets compressed. But when conveying emotion, better not to compress."
Yuki asked, "Why not compress emotion?"
"Because emotion dwells in details. Specific descriptions, repetition, metaphors. These create emotional texture."
"Texture..."
"For example, poetry. Information efficiency is terrible. But it touches the heart."
Riku laughed. "So that's why love letters are long?"
"Maybe. A compressed 'I like you' versus redundant but careful words—the latter conveys feelings better."
Yuki thought. "But modern times emphasize efficiency. Social media, short texts, stamps."
"True," Aoi acknowledged. "When channel capacity was limited, compression was essential. Telegrams, tweets."
"But now?"
"Capacity has increased. But human attention is finite. So we naturally compress."
Riku asked, "Attention capacity?"
"Yes. Long messages don't get read. So we shorten them."
"But what's lost?"
Aoi said quietly, "Much. Deep understanding, subtle emotions, consideration for others."
Yuki said sadly, "It's an age of compression."
"But," Aoi smiled, "that's why uncompressed time becomes precious."
"Uncompressed time?"
"Like now. In the club room, talking slowly. Maybe inefficient. But rich."
Riku nodded. "True. Our conversations here have lots of waste, but they're fun."
"Not waste," Aoi corrected. "Redundancy is margin. Because there's margin, new discoveries happen."
Yuki wrote in her notebook. "Are there words you don't want compressed?"
Aoi thought briefly. "Like 'I cherish you' or 'I'm grateful.' They can be shortened, but I want to convey them carefully."
"Why?"
"Because the process of conveying those words is part of the message. Taking time, choosing carefully—that itself expresses 'importance.'"
Riku said, "Meta-message."
"Yes. Not just word content, but how it's conveyed carries information."
Yuki asked, "So what about the report?"
"First, consider the purpose. If efficiently conveying information to the professor, compress. But if showing thought process, redundancy is fine."
"Thought process..."
"Yes. Reports aren't just conclusions. How you thought, that path also has value."
Riku understood. "Compressing makes that path invisible."
"Exactly. So balance is important."
Yuki smiled. "Got it. I'll compress a bit, but keep the important parts."
"Good judgment," Aoi acknowledged.
The three enjoyed uncompressed time in the sunset club room.
Efficiency matters, but it's not everything.
Sometimes redundant, roundabout, inefficient words reach the heart best.