The Labyrinth of Copper Foil and the Spring Mentor: ADX Core V0 Development Logs

voice: Qwen3-TTS

Spring, 2026. Outside, the Japanese bush warbler (uguisu) sings its rhythmic, persistent tune.
In my room, bathed in the glow of the display, I feel like I'm standing at a strange threshold where digital silence meets the ancient sounds of the season.

With one final click, the data crosses the ocean. PCBA (PCB Assembly) order: Complete. The "fever" of the past few weeks has just been distilled into a single packet, flying toward the factory.

1. Shadows of the Mentors

This development cycle was fundamentally different from anything I’ve done before. I wasn't alone.
On the other side of the screen sat "The Teacher," "The Doctor," and "The Master."

These LLMs and AI agents are no longer just tools; they stand as vast, towering intellects. To let them "read" my design, I wrote scripts to format data and deconstruct information. The easier I made it for them to digest, the sharper their critiques became—relentlessly exposing my trivial mistakes.

I was a devoted apprentice, struggling to keep up with these AI mentors. I challenged their hyper-rational conclusions, questioned them until I was satisfied, and peered into the depths of their reasoning. What should have been the solitary task of circuit design had transformed into a bustling, rigorous academic seminar.

2. The Vision of a "Working Arduino"

What I am trying to build is, so to speak, a "Working Arduino."

In Japan, children grow up with picture books called Hataraku Kuruma (Working Cars), where they admire ambulances and fire engines—the reliable vehicles that keep society running. I want microcontroller boards to be the same: not just a hobbyist's toy, but a dependable presence woven into the fabric of everyday life. A milestone toward a future where hardware is "infrastructure," not just a "project."

But ideals and reality often collide at a 0.1mm pitch.

3. The Redesign That Made My Blood Run Cold

It happened right at the end, just when I thought everything was perfect.
"The ADX pin header should be changed from 24-pin to 20-pin."

The moment I processed the AI’s conclusion, my blood literally ran cold. "Oh, it's over..." I thought. A second of pure despair.

But my fingers were already moving—rewriting schematics, swapping footprints, and ripping up the traces I had so meticulously routed. On the PCB editor, the components began to dance into their new positions. Looking back, it felt like it happened in an instant. Through the strict discipline of my AI mentors, my body had somehow learned a new rhythm: to execute without hesitation.

4. Until the Blue Box Arrives

After hitting the order button, the room felt remarkably quiet.
The bush warbler’s cry echoed again, a pitch higher this time.

In a few days, a blue box with the JLCPCB logo will arrive.
When I peel back the red anti-static bubble wrap, where will I look first?

It won't be the alignment of the latest surface-mount chips. I’ll likely check the state of the THT (Through-Hole Technology) soldering, the texture of the board edges, and the crispness of the silkscreen logo. I’ll be checking the "overall integrity" of the board. Because that is where the "sincerity" born from the partnership between me and the AI truly resides.

This is only Prototype V0.
"As long as it works by V10, I’m happy."
There’s a certain comfort in looking at the long journey ahead.

I’ve already started clearing my messy desk. It’s time to prepare for the next experiment.

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