The lab was cold. Quiet. Only the soft hum of machines and the tired breaths of two people filled the air.
Dr. Ryu and Dr. Ken stood still, staring at what they had made.
It wasn't just wires and metal anymore.
It looked… alive.
Half-human, half-robot.
But still… there was something real in his face. Something that felt like a memory. Or a dream.
"We did it," whispered Ken, almost scared to believe it.
Ryu didn't say anything at first. He just walked over, his eyes a little red. Maybe from the stress. Maybe not.
"He looks like he's sleeping," Ryu finally said. "But when he wakes up… this world won't be the same."
Ken nodded slowly. "He won't be waking up in our time, though."
"No," Ryu replied, his voice quiet. "We're sending him far ahead. Where maybe… just maybe, he has a chance."
They moved carefully now, lifting the body together and placing it inside a strange-looking chamber. It was made of thick glass and had glowing tubes running down its sides. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. But it was real.
Inside the chamber, the boy's body looked peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
Ryu gently tapped the glass, like he was saying goodbye.
"This is his new coffin," he said. "Or maybe his new crib."
Ken laughed a little, but it was a sad kind of laugh.
They pushed the chamber slowly toward a deep tunnel in the ground — a launch hole that led straight into the earth. No one would find it down there. Not even in a thousand years.
"You ready?" asked Ken.
Ryu took a deep breath. "Let's bury him… with hope."
They pushed.
The chamber rolled into the tunnel, picking up speed as it vanished into the shadows. And then — nothing.
Just a soft sound.
Boom.
It hit the bottom.
Silence.
Ryu stared into the darkness.
"When he wakes up," he said, "I hope the world is kind to him."
Ken looked down. "Do you really think he'll wake up?"
"I don't know," Ryu said. "But we had to try."
The two scientists stood there for a moment. Still. Tired. Silent.
Then, without saying much, they turned and walked away — fading into the shadows of their hideout.
And far beneath the ground, hidden from time,The lab was cold. Quiet. Only the soft hum of machines and the tired breaths of two people filled the air.
Dr. Ryu and Dr. Ken stood still, staring at what they had made.
It wasn't just wires and metal anymore.
It looked… alive.
Half-human, half-robot.
But still… there was something real in his face. Something that felt like a memory. Or a dream.
"We did it," whispered Ken, almost scared to believe it.
Ryu didn't say anything at first. He just walked over, his eyes a little red. Maybe from the stress. Maybe not.
"He looks like he's sleeping," Ryu finally said. "But when he wakes up… this world won't be the same."
Ken nodded slowly. "He won't be waking up in our time, though."
"No," Ryu replied, his voice quiet. "We're sending him far ahead. Where maybe… just maybe, he has a chance."
They moved carefully now, lifting the body together and placing it inside a strange-looking chamber. It was made of thick glass and had glowing tubes running down its sides. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. But it was real.
Inside the chamber, the boy's body looked peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
Ryu gently tapped the glass, like he was saying goodbye.
"This is his new coffin," he said. "Or maybe his new crib."
Ken laughed a little, but it was a sad kind of laugh.
They pushed the chamber slowly toward a deep tunnel in the ground — a launch hole that led straight into the earth. No one would find it down there. Not even in a thousand years.
"You ready?" asked Ken.
Ryu took a deep breath. "Let's bury him… with hope."
They pushed.
The chamber rolled into the tunnel, picking up speed as it vanished into the shadows. And then — nothing.
Just a soft sound.
Boom.
It hit the bottom.
Silence.
Ryu stared into the darkness.
"When he wakes up," he said, "I hope the world is kind to him."
Ken looked down. "Do you really think he'll wake up?"
"I don't know," Ryu said. "But we had to try."
The two scientists stood there for a moment. Still. Tired. Silent.
Then, without saying much, they turned and walked away — fading into the shadows of their hideout.
And far beneath the ground, hidden from time, from danger, from memory…
He slept.
Waiting.
For 3080. from danger, from memory…
He slept.
Waiting.
For 3080.
In the year 2050, he was betrayed.
In the year 3080, he will rise.
This time, not as a man... but a machine forged from vengeance."
The Silent Hall"
It had been three months.
Three long, cold months since Keijo disappeared.
The mansion felt emptier than ever. Every clock ticked louder, every corner looked darker. No one dared to bring up his name anymore. His mother barely ate. The staff whispered. And the silence? It was the kind that made your chest feel heavy for no reason.
In the middle of a rainy evening, Taki Matsu Kemio—the father—stood up from his seat in the study, his hand trembling slightly as he held a folded letter.
He walked slowly to the grand hall, where the family and servants had gathered. Everyone could sense something was coming. The butler looked at the floor. The fiancée stood at the edge of the room, arms wrapped around herself like she was hiding.
Kemio stood in front of the group. His sharp suit looked pressed, but his eyes were tired, hollow, like he hadn't really slept in days.
> "It's been three months..." he began. His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to make everyone stop breathing.
"Three months… and not a single trace of my son. Not a call. Not a message. Not even a shoe."
The fiancée looked down. His mother broke into tears again, her shoulders shaking.
Kemio looked around, his face growing sterner.
> "I'm tired of waiting in the dark. I'm tired of hearing lies and half-truths. So I'm saying it now—"
He paused, voice almost cracking. "—either someone here speaks up, or I will start doing things my way."
No one said a word.
He crumpled the letter in his fist.
> "From tomorrow, I will involve the public. I'll go to the press, the police, and I'll bring out every dirty secret if I have to. My son deserves that."
The thunder growled outside.
The fiancée stepped back slightly.
The butler clenched his jaw.
Everyone knew... this was not just a father's grief anymore.
This was the beginning of a war for the truth.
Everyone had left the hall, their footsteps echoing like distant doubts in the air. The atmosphere in the mansion was tense—months had passed, and there was still no sign of Keijo. Whispers had turned into full-blown suspicions, and all eyes were silently judging Araki.
But she didn't cry this time. She didn't beg or plead.
She just… stood still.
By the window. Silent. Thinking.
> "If he keeps digging," Araki muttered to herself, "I'll lose everything. My future, my safety... my secret."
Her hands trembled slightly, but her face stayed calm. She walked into the kitchen and opened a small hidden cabinet behind the tea jars — something only she knew about.
A tiny bottle. A clear liquid inside.
> "Just a few drops. Just enough to make him weak. Shut him up. Not kill him…"
She prepared the tea, carefully placing two cups on a tray — one plain, one with the drops. She walked up to Kemio's study where the old man sat, tired and angry, staring at old family photos and reports.
> "Otosan…" she said gently, calling him 'father.' "You've barely eaten. Please have this."
He didn't even look at her.
> "Leave it," he replied coldly.
She placed the tray on the table and walked away slowly.
But what Araki didn't know…
The butler, watching from the hallway, had seen her mix something into the tea.
> "This girl's clever," he thought. "But not clever enough."
He waited for her to leave, then quietly switched the cups.
But behind the hallway curtain, the butler had been watching it all.
He waited five full seconds. Then stepped in.
Kemio looked up, irritated.
> "What do you want now?" he barked.
The butler didn't answer. He calmly walked over to the table, looked at the tea cups, then picked one up.
> "Oops," he muttered sarcastically, loud enough. "Seems like I've accidentally made myself a cup instead…"
He stared directly at the door Araki just exited from. He knew what she had done. And she knew he knew.
He sipped the tea without hesitation, placing the cup back down softly, his eyes locked on Kemio.
> "Careful with who you trust, sir. Sometimes poison doesn't come in a bottle… It comes in silence."
Kemio blinked.
> "What the hell are you saying?"
The butler smirked.
> "I'm saying... your son wasn't the only one someone wanted gone."
He straightened his collar, walked toward the door — then stopped. Turned back.
> "This tea? Tastes too sweet. Don't you think?"
And with that, he walked out.
Araki stood behind the hallway door, listening. Her heartbeat was pounding like a drum in her ears. She didn't hear choking. No gasping. No fall. Just silence... then footsteps.
The butler walked out of the room, calm as ever. He saw her standing by the hallway.
He smiled.
> "You should really learn to stir the sugar next time," he whispered.
Araki froze. Her lips trembled, her hands clenched into fists behind her back.
> "W-what… what do you mean?"
The butler leaned in close, eyes sharp like a blade.
> "You think I've been in this house for thirty years and don't know how poison smells when it's heated? Come on, Miss Araki... you're not that smart."
Her throat went dry. For a second, she wanted to scream, to hit him — anything. But he just walked past her like nothing happened.
> "Your tea almost killed the wrong man," he muttered. "Be careful, Miss. Next time, someone might sip the right cup."
The door to the study creaked open again. Kemio stepped out slowly, looking tired.
> "Where is she?" he asked the butler.
The butler turned slightly, not even facing Araki anymore.
> "She's just here, sir," he said, "Just making her next move."
Araki looked up, eyes wide, jaw tight. But she said nothing.
The hall went quiet again. The only sound left… was the ticking of the old clock in the corner.
Tick... tick... tick...