I Can See The Success Rate の小説・ストーリー

Even rebellions feeling predictable. --- AER-9 dims the projections slightly. “Operation success probability currently stands at sixty-two percent.” “That’s terrible,” I say. “It is acceptable,” it replies. “Acceptable?” “Yes.” --- I laugh nervously. “Only a machine would call sixty-two percent acceptable when the entire planet is involved.” “Humans have launched wars with worse odds,” AER-9 says. Fair point. Still terrifying. --- The meeting continues for hours. Timelines. Fallback protocols. Regional coordinators.

Then he picked up the folder again and went back to reading, which meant he didn't believe me and had decided to wait. I had nothing to announce. Although The clinic in Riverdale had confirmed it on a Tuesday. One round. Mia had told me the success rate was between thirty and fifty percent and that most women needed multiple attempts, so I had braced myself for failure and failure had not come. The test had been unambiguous. Dr. Martinez had confirmed it with a blood draw two days later. Three weeks. Salvatore's.

"However, does this therapy always work?" "I hope it works on you," Rebecca smiled briefly, "but I can't say anything for sure about this therapy. I'll do my best—I promise that. We will try our best. And I can confirm that the success of this therapy reaches more than 85%. However, I still want to be honest by warning you that there is still a possibility that this therapy will not work optimally. However, we will try all the ways even if this therapy doesn't work for you.” ***

I tapped the screen and it brightened again, the bar inching forward like it knew the finish line mattered more than my pulse screaming in my ears. Eighty one percent. I could feel sweat gathering at the base of my spine. I adjusted my stance, straightened my back. I couldn’t afford to look frazzled when I left. I had to be calm. Impeccable. Untouchable. Ninety four percent. “Come on.” I whispered under my breath, urging the last few lines of data to move faster. But it didn’t care. The bar moved at its own pace, unbothered, mechanical. One final blink, then... Transfer Complete.

I leaned closer without realizing it, my hands braced against the desk. 63%. My pulse spiked. “Come on,” Jonas muttered under his breath. 87%. I held my breath, eyes fixed on the screen. This was it. 99%. And…

Riley's eyes moved down the list more carefully now, his focus sharpening as he did the math properly, not just glancing, but calculating exactly how much he had versus how much each attempt would cost. One set required— He paused. Then recounted. His materials were enough for four attempts. Exactly four. Riley stared at the numbers for a second longer, the weight of it settling in a way that had nothing to do with the dawn resistance still lingering in his limbs. Four attempts. Two sets needed. That meant— "Fifty percent," he said quietly, the words barely audible. He needed a fifty percent success rate. Not forty-nine. Not close enough. Exactly fifty percent. Miss once, and he'd have one a

“One pill each!” “Young Master Fane, your success rate is pretty good. You used eight sets of ingredients yesterday night and successfully crafted three pills. Tonight, you used eight sets of ingredients as well and managed to successfully craft four. Now your success rate is at fifty percent. If you practice creating pills a few more times, your success rate will definitely increase!” Lancelot’s face was full of smiles as he saw the pill that Fane had given him. With this pill, everyone could find a place to make a breakthrough tonight.

“How accurate is it?” “After rigorous simulations and fine-tuning, it is 90% accurate. I think that's the highest that can be obtained. Future predictions can never be 100%. So, I believe that a 90% prediction tool is quite commendable. If Pioneer Holdings aren't looking to build castles in the sky, our prediction feature should be attractive to them.” Harriet interjected. “Pioneer Holdings is a reputable bank. If we secure this contract, we need to guarantee efficiency. This feature could be a game-changer for them.”

“Vivian's success rate is approximately seventy percent.” “Was,” I corrected quietly. Both men look at me. “Her success rate was seventy percent. Past tense.” Killian's expression shifts, something dangerous and pleased flickering across his features. “Exactly.” His phone buzzes, he glances at the screen, then answers with the kind of calm that means someone's about to have a very bad day. “Marcus, what do you have for me?” I can't hear the other side of the conversation, but I watch Killian's face harden as he listens.

I didn't want to hear anymore of it. “We’ve tested over thirteen hundred people in the last few weeks. What makes ten any different?” I snapped, slamming my fist on the table and leaning back to the chair, sobbing heavily. He sighed softly and stood up, pacing around the room endlessly and finally broke the lingering silence. “That’s why I told you the success rate is only five percent,” he paused and walked over to me. He grabbed a chair, drawing it across the table and sat right in front of me, his jaw resting on his arms.