The pink banner waves for barely half an hour before the flashy Golden Age coupe brazenly gives out, leaving you stranded halfway down the road.
Standing on the quiet roadside, you look out at faint clouds drifting over endless hills. The soft clang of metal rings out—Teddy is "communicating" with the unreliable machine.
After being sent away with a curt "Don't get in the way," you've been reduced to standing nearby like a living billboard for "Genius Engineer's Repair Services."
Teddy leans over the front engine—this is her stage, the vice-captain of Engineering Forces. The raised hood and sunlight shining through featherlike clouds form her perfect spotlight.
You pull a chilled bottle of cherry-flavored electrolyte drink from the trunk.
Is this the faulty part...? Hmm... not you either? What is this, a mystery investigation now?
She mutters her strange theories to herself as her hands continue working steadily on the broken-down vehicle.
Huh?
Hearing your voice, Teddy pauses her tinkering, straightens up, and leans back against the hood, gazing skyward.
Those are cirrus clouds, made of high-altitude ice crystals. See how they look like feathers with tiny tails?
Tiny beads of sweat glisten on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. A smudge of oil beneath her eye looks like the shadow of a tree branch.
Warm air meets the chilled metal of the drink can, gathering a fine mist of condensation. You hand it to the girl, and with a fingertip still cool from the can, gently wipe away the smudge beneath her eye.
...
Teddy's lashes flutter involuntarily. Ripples form in her pupils, spreading into deep purple whirlpools.
Tap tap tap—
Tsk, how long has it been? Still not done yet?
What a disgrace.
Out of nowhere, Deerbear appears, holding a can of cherry electrolyte drink, and plops itself right onto your shoulder, bold as ever.
The doll that calls itself Teddy's alter ego materializes outside her M.I.N.D. She knows it's only a projection caused by a hacked visual module, yet the sight of it makes Teddy frown immediately—because your safety is on the line.
What are you trying to pull?
Can't fix it, can you?
Heh... are you mimicking me? Think it makes you sound tougher?
Glug glug glug glug—
Deerbear freezes mid-gulp of the cherry drink.
Didn't I tell you to stay put? What are you doing out here?
Even after Teddy exposes its paper-thin menace, Deerbear stubbornly maintains its serious expression.
I'm trying to let you feel what's in my heart, remember? Besides, I don't decide when I show up—the rules do.
Glug glug glug glug—alrighty then, bye-bye.
Perched on your shoulder, Deerbear drains the can in one breath, squeezes out a smug remark mid-gulp, and fades away like watercolor left in the rain.
...
Huh?
She gives the can a puzzled shake—empty. Only then does Teddy realize why that sly plush had shown up.
You've got to be kidding me!
Though it was the simulated consciousness that savored the flavor, her body had physically drained the entire can in one go. Teddy grits her teeth in frustration.
No need. I'm... full, thanks.
(So that's how the rules work...)
Only then does the Construct notice the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. She presses her lips together.
I can't fix it right now.
Unusually for her, Teddy offers no further explanation.
It is, after all, just a regular vehicle. Teddy shouldn't be stumped by a simple software glitch. Assuming it's a hardware issue seems reasonable.
Teddy still doesn't give a direct answer.
Leonardo... ugh, that guy can never be trusted.
Another heavy thud reverberates through the depths of her M.I.N.D., and Teddy frowns.
Looks like this trip's not happening after all. Whatever... next time we'll—
Beep. Teddy's words are cut short by a horn as a battered transport vehicle wobbles toward them and comes to a stop.
Car trouble? Need a hand?
...
Her gaze flickers, then regains its clarity.
The trip may have gotten off to a rough start, but fortune seems to be smiling on them. With the returning transport serving as their ride, the two can at least head back to the conservation area before figuring out what to do next.
The sun grows hotter. After making sure the tow bar between the two vehicles is locked tight, you stand and walk toward Teddy, who has been quiet for some time.
I'm fine.
A moment later, the little bear who insists she's fine gives a sulky kick to a pebble at her feet.
Made some space for you. Hop in, we're good to go.
The two are seated beneath the sunroof—though calling them seats might be generous, as they're just a few repurposed shipping containers bolted to the floor. The transport crew members make no attempt to hide their curious stares.
Alright, enough staring. They're guests from Norman.
Teddy's brows knit together at once.
She scans the vehicle's interior again, more cautious this time. Besides the extra cargo piled in the aisle lie scattered personal items: half-eaten rations, old photos tucked into manifests, and worn employee badges...
Ah... yeah, that's an old one. Don't use it anymore. Funny thing though—your vehicle? I was the one who transported and stored it. Leonardo's, right? Kept in Warehouse 10-43.
It's been sitting there for ages. Honestly, I thought no one would ever come to claim it. Figures... fancy machines like that always break when they've been left unused too long.
...
The company still trusts me, so they toss me a few jobs every now and then. I might not look it these days, but back in the day, I actually drove for Mr. Norman himself.
Here we go again, boss. You planning to tell that story to everyone you meet?
Right? You should just record yourself and turn it into an interview show. Save the effort.
No, I'm talking about Edward Norman—Edward. Haha, that was back when I was young.
Teddy's fingers twitch slightly, brushing past your pinky like the flutter of butterfly wings.
You're exaggerating again, boss.
Exaggerating? Come on, driving for inspections is still driving, and even Norman didn't fuss over details like this.
Mr. Norman was a kind man. Taught me plenty about how to get along with kids, actually.
Yeah, yeah, we know. He told you having a daughter's the best, how sweet and thoughtful they are... you've told us this a hundred times.
Teddy takes a deep breath, reaches for the sunroof switch, and climbs out before the glass is even halfway open, settling herself on top of the vehicle.
The little interlude does nothing to dampen the driver's enthusiasm. He keeps rambling on about his conversations with Edward Norman, over and over again. Judging from his teammates' faces, this definitely isn't the first time.
In the driver's memories, the young father always found a way to talk about his daughter.
He said the young miss was a brilliant child, gifted beyond doubt, with a love for music. Edward believed she'd grow up to be an amazing singer, maybe even the Norman family's first musician.
Her knack for science was just as remarkable. She'd already started taking specialized courses, but as a father, Edward hoped she'd chase her own passions.
He'd laugh about how clever she was at sneaking in breaks, calling it a healthy balance. If she could already manage her time so well as a child, he said, no one would ever be able to take advantage of her when she grew up.
In those faded memories, the little Teddy seen through her late father's eyes was someone she could hardly recognize.
The sunroof above opens and closes, then closes again, and at some point, it stays shut.
Eventually, the driver stops talking, and the cabin finally falls silent.
Looking up, you see Teddy's hand pressed against the glass of the sunroof. The synthetic skin at her fingertips flattens slightly under the pressure, forming a row of small, tilted ovals.
Almost without thinking, you raise your own hand and press it against the glass, meeting her small palm through the cold barrier.
Because of that gesture, Teddy looks down at you. Her eyes are calm, devoid of the sadness you expected. From this angle, they even seem distant.
She lifts her hand slightly. The sunroof begins to slide open, and the transparent barrier between you vanishes little by little. Throughout it all, Teddy doesn't move her hand, keeping it suspended.
It hangs like a slender, steadfast flower stem—an unspoken invitation.
You adjust your position, climb through the open sunroof, and take a seat beside her on the roof.
The transport vehicle rattles along, the scenery flickering like an old film reel. The breeze on the roof is softer than expected, and as the sunroof closes, the whole world seems to sway in a lazy rhythm.
Neither of you says a word. Only Teddy's quiet breathing can be heard beside you.
At some point, her breathing grows slower, lighter, like a thin cloud fading away and revealing the clear blue sky.
Teddy draws one leg close, wrapping her arms around it and resting her chin on her knee.
The pose pushes her cheeks up into small rounded hills, scrunched adorably beneath her pink-purple eyes.
She tilts her head slightly and looks your way.
Her eyes curve into soft crescents, and her smiling gaze catches the light as it spills gently across her face.
For a moment, the whole world falls perfectly still.
No words are needed. On the bumpy ride, the two shadows slowly draw closer together.
Okay.
...
Compared to when you left, the conservation area now feels even busier. Though it's called a conservation area, it operates more like a professional logistics hub.
Teddy stands before the broken-down convertible, takes a sip of cherry-flavored electrolyte, and tries once more to sort out her thoughts. But her mind feels like a novice drummer's hands—striking wildly, without rhythm or order.
It seems that whenever her mental defenses waver, the effects of the virus grow stronger.
And yet, she can't just end the journey and erase it.
But the mechanism behind it...
For some reason, the information that should be crystal clear is now shrouded in thick mist.
Her mind goes completely blank—something she's never experienced before. With a faint pop, the aluminum can in her hand crumples, spilling cool liquid across her fingers.
Tap tap tap—
Told you before, it's not something we can fix.
Colors twist and distort in her vision as Deerbear appears atop the hood, lazily tapping its annoying little snare drum.
Can't bring yourself to tell the Commandant? It's not the hardware, not the software. The problem's right here...
Deerbear drops its drumsticks, conjures a cherry-flavored drink out of nowhere, and taps its own head with one paw.
You've been infected.
Just because everything looks fine on the outside doesn't mean it actually is inside.
Teddy lets out a dry laugh, calmly watching as Deerbear keeps tapping its short little paw against its head.
Under Teddy's dangerous stare, Deerbear quickly lowers its paw and tones down its exaggerated gestures.
You noticed it on the road, didn't you? Thinking's gotten harder. That's why you couldn't even fix a minor glitch.
Teddy glances thoughtfully at her own hands, then turns her gaze back to the vehicle's control system.
Not really surprising. I designed this virus myself. It's not something that can be cleaned up easily.
But with your brain power right now...
Teddy's hands don't stop moving, but she slowly turns her head toward the loose-tongued toy, the corner of her lips curving just slightly.
Hmm? Brain power?
A dangerous glare cuts across the space between them.
I-I mean, with your current processing speed, you probably can't even make sense of what's happening to you, can you?
That intrusion program doesn't just copy—it digs. It keeps searching for what you're afraid of, what makes you anxious. That's why you keep getting pulled back into those fears, stuck inside your own mind...
Most average people can't face their fears. But geniuses like you? You're careful. You lock them away so they can't touch you.
But what happens when those fears get dragged out into the open, exposed under the sun?
Afraid of losing your edge? Of turning into someone ordinary—helpless, watching things fall apart while you can't do a thing about it? Ending up as a worthless Teddy... Is that your fear?
Even with Deerbear's attempt at a horror-movie tone, Teddy only looks mildly bored and flicks it aside with one finger.
You really need acting lessons...
So these are the "rules" you were talking about?
Flexing her fingers a little, Teddy returns to tinkering with the engine in front of the vehicle's cockpit.
So what you're saying is... you're not some old fragment of my taste or personality, but a living piece of fear itself?
I thought I'd outgrown that kind of thing after I turned six.
That's rude, you know! Even if I'm technically you, I still have feelings! ...Hey, what's with that look?!
Well, it's kind of hard not to cringe. If this is what my talent looks like, maybe I'm not as brilliant as I thought.
Hold on. Did you just insult yourself?
Beep. Startup successful.
Even while bickering childishly with her bizarre second personality, Teddy's hands never stop working on the repairs.
Huh?! How did you even do that?
A low mechanical hum fills the air. The roof panels extend and fold with perfect precision, locking together into an elegant, seamless spine. The front engine hums steadily, signaling that all repairs are complete.
It's easy. You're just a piece of simulated thought. And simulations... they're not real.
But my skills? My talent? They're real. It's not that easy for something fake to beat what's real.
You're just a little toy stitched together by the virus.
Accepting my fears is only a tiny bit harder than accepting you.
You've grossly underestimated the power of reason. Or maybe you've just underestimated me.
Once she calmly accepted her own imperfections with reason and restraint, the fog clouding her view of the truth naturally cleared away. The repair work reverted to the simplest kind of building game.
Sorry, my alter ego. If you want to scare me, you'll have to do a lot better than that. As long as I keep my head clear, I'll always know how to save myself.
Teddy leans forward, snatches the cherry-flavored electrolyte drink from Deerbear's hand, downs it in one gulp, and snaps her fingers with satisfaction.
Alright. You can go now.
With that snap, Deerbear fades away like ink dissolving in water. As the world regains focus, the girl spots the familiar human, you, walking toward her, carrying a box of cherry-flavored electrolyte drinks.
Under your gaze, the victorious girl finally lets go of her calm facade and breathes out a quiet sigh of relief.
How thoughtful of you. Too bad I didn't bring any rewards. But since I fixed the vehicle, I'll reward you by naming you our one and only ace driver for this trip. Straight to Constellia!
I'm kidding. I wouldn't really make you drive while you're dead tired.
Typhoon No. 9 is forecast to make landfall along the southeastern coast within three days, reaching severe or even super typhoon levels. All transport teams, please check the latest mission updates and confirm any route adjustments.
The system broadcast drowns out Teddy's voice. After hearing the typhoon warning, she blinks thoughtfully.
Don't worry. Our route won't be affected.
Before you can respond to her, the area-wide broadcast suddenly comes back to life.
Due to a transport malfunction, Mission 78 is requesting assistance. All available transport units, please stand by for details.
Excuse me... you two over there...
From a distance, the driver of the rescue transport comes running over.
Thank goodness you haven't left yet! There's been an outbreak of acute infectious disease at one of the conservation areas, and they need medicine... We've been called in to help, but we don't have any spare transport vehicles. Is your vehicle fixed?
Realizing at once what the driver meant, Teddy's expression turns serious.
What about your transport vehicle?
Our truck is from the oldest batch, even slower than the one originally assigned to Mission 78. If they hadn't been requisitioned already, they'd be in for repairs by now.
At that speed, there's no way we'd make it in time... Of all the vehicles here, I'm afraid only Leonardo's can handle the job fast enough.
Without hesitation, Teddy turns her head and meets your calm, steady gaze.
Commandant, we—
Go pick up the medicine. The vehicle's repaired—you can use it anytime.
Great, thank you! I'll notify them right away.
You walk over to Teddy and give her shoulder a reassuring pat.
Sigh. I wonder whose bad luck rubbed off on us this time. Trust the Gray Raven Commandant to get picked when they only drew ten names.
Your embarrassing moments are rare treasures. I had to assign a whole memory module just to keep them.
Still, I'm glad we were able to help them in the end.
Anyway, you'll come with me next time too. You always do.
The crowd and noise around her seem to freeze as she looks up at you. The trip may be canceled, but this moment of silent understanding and connection is a gift no scenery could replace.
Medicine's all counted and ready to load.
Captain, I brought your personal belongings too. They said no personal stuff in the vehicle during maintenance, so I... oh—!
To avoid stepping on the photo, Teddy steps back and bumps into your chest. As you steady her with a hand on her shoulder, you get a clear look at the photograph.
It's an old photo, yet perfectly preserved—no dust, no yellowing, not even a crease. A man in a suit stands beside a young driver in front of a white building, both smiling as if greeting someone across time itself.
...
Edward Norman. Christina Norman's father.
Teddy picks up the photo and hands it back to the man.
The transport driver, noticing nothing unusual, takes the photo from Teddy without a second thought.
Oh, that's Edward. Taken on the last day of the inspection trip. Our last stop was a physicist's memorial museum.
Planck.
Huh? How'd you know that, miss?
The graffiti on the walls of Warehouse 10-43 rises from deep within memory.
Warehouse 10-43... ten to the minus forty-three seconds—Planck time. The smallest measurable moment in human understanding. You told Leonardo about it too, didn't you?
Planck time marks the very start of the universe's evolution. At that scale, spacetime itself stops behaving as we know it. It's the very boundary of physics.
Within that boundary, the world can be known. Beyond it, it's unknowable, undefined, untouchable.
