U hesitated between the blue and green sheets of paper, wavering back and forth as if trapped in indecision. Finally, as though steeling itself for a major decision, it firmly picked up the green one.
"What exactly are you all doing?" Tony asked. He genuinely couldn't see what was so special about the colorful papers spread across the table that warranted such solemn attention.
"It's a choice, sir," JARVIS replied—in full Garfield projection mode, complete with that delightfully silly, lazy drawl.
"A choice of what?"
"I was asking Dum-E and U what color they would prefer if their outer shells were repainted," Clara explained. "It was just a casual question, but they took it very seriously."
"And?"
"Dum-E chose red. U chose green. I think U actually wanted both. I limited it to one color, so it hesitated."
Dum-E lifted the red paper and angled it toward Tony, as if formally reporting its decision. U still looked uncertain, then turned decisively toward Tony, as though seeking his approval. No one could say what kind of internal struggle it had gone through in those few seconds.
Using the word look wasn't really accurate—they didn't have eyes—but Tony could clearly feel it. Dum-E and U were watching him, waiting for his opinion.
"Do whatever you want. I don't mind," Tony said reflexively, treating them like sentient beings. "JARVIS can handle the repainting."
He had the strange feeling that their intelligence had improved—slightly, but noticeably. What exactly had Clara done?
With Tony's approval, U's mood visibly brightened. It dropped the green paper, its wheels spinning as it rolled toward a small side room of the workshop—the paint chamber for Iron Man armors. U cleaned there often; it knew the place well.
Dum-E, on the other hand, was far more composed. It carefully organized the scattered papers on the table before heading to the paint chamber.
If one were to anthropomorphize them, U would be the slightly slow, not-so-bright little girl, while Dum-E would be the calm, capable young man.
"Dawn's almost here. You should go back to sleep," Tony said.
After getting some rest himself, it was now Tony—clear-headed and refreshed—who was urging Clara to rest.
She nodded and left the workshop.
Once she was gone, Tony looked at the stack of colorful papers on the table, then at the faint hum coming from the paint chamber, deep in thought.
After the campus violence incident, Tony realized he could no longer allow Clara to live alone. Even with full surveillance coverage, the hidden dangers were far too real.
So he had Clara move into New York City—his place—and contacted a nearby private school. But when it came to choosing a school, Clara didn't simply comply.
"I want to attend a regular school."
She objected immediately upon learning Tony planned to send her to an elite private academy.
"Why?" Tony asked, genuinely puzzled. "Mantlesworth Academy is the best school in Manhattan. Faculty, academics, facilities—everything is top-tier. Why choose an ordinary school?"
He had expected her to accept his arrangement without hesitation.
"It's a closed-campus boarding school," Clara said quietly. "I don't want to live at school."
That was only part of it. Clara had heard of that academy before—its students were children of high-ranking officials, tycoons, aristocrats, and social elites. Money alone wouldn't get you in.
With Tony's status, enrolling her would be easy. But being the lone pebble among pearls and jade would be unbearably uncomfortable.
Tony suddenly thought of his own childhood—being sent to boarding school, his father's emotional absence leaving deep scars that later fueled his rebellious years.
"Let Clara go to Winstead Middle School," Pepper suggested gently. "It's close to the company. You and Happy can pick her up on your way to and from work."
Pepper saw through both Tony and Clara. In matters of upbringing, they shared striking similarities—one raised under oppressive expectations, the other under complete neglect. Different paths, same wounds.
Perhaps living together would allow them to slowly heal those scars.
"If there's anything you need from Brooklyn, have Happy pick it up for you," Tony said.
Since Clara was moving into New York City, the Brooklyn house couldn't just be ignored. Tony planned to temporarily put it under Happy's name—and gift it to him when he got married.
"I'll go with Happy," Clara replied. "There are a few classmates I want to say goodbye to. And… I want to see someone."
She meant Linda McGim.
Perhaps out of guilt, Linda couldn't even lift her head when she saw Clara in Ms. Daisy's office.
"Clara… y-you're okay… that's good."
Linda sneaked a glance at her, then quickly lowered her head again, hands twisting anxiously together.
Suppressing her anger, Clara spoke as calmly as she could.
"You wanted to warn me that they were waiting for me in the storage room, didn't you? Why didn't you say anything?"
"I… I was scared… I'm sorry."
Linda's head remained lowered as tears began to fall, one after another.
Seeing her like this, Clara's anger vanished completely. Getting upset with someone like Linda wasn't worth it.
Clara took a tissue from her pocket and gently wiped Linda's tears.
"Forget it. I wasn't planning to blame you."
"R-Really? You… you don't hate me? Then… are we still friends?"
Linda looked up with reddened eyes, hope flickering within them.
"Linda, you're still young. There are things you don't understand yet," Clara said softly.
"What happened that day—if it were between friends, partners, or comrades—it would be called betrayal. But we were never friends. So I don't blame you."
Clara gave Linda a long, deep look, then left the office.
Much later in life, when Linda finally understood how her constant tears had driven people away, she would realize what that look had meant.
Pity.
Clara had already foreseen the lonely, helpless future awaiting her.
The school bell rang, and Jeresia Jonez burst out of the classroom like a gust of wind. Only when she saw Jeresia did Clara truly smile.
"You're really leaving, Clara?"
Jeresia's tears were different—these made Clara feel genuine reluctance, genuine loss. This was a girl who truly saw her as a friend.
"Why are you crying?" Clara laughed. "I'm just transferring to Manhattan—it's not far. I'll come back on weekends to see you!"
With all her tissues already given away, Clara helplessly wiped Jeresia's tears with her sleeve.
"But… I'll still miss you."
To Jeresia, Clara was more than a classmate or friend—she was like an older sister. Clara's maturity and steadiness gave this only child a sense of sisterly warmth she had never known.
"Then work harder," Clara said gently. "We'll get into the same high school someday. Deal?"
"No—college too! But… MIT is so hard to get into. What if I can't make it?" Jeresia asked anxiously.
"You think I can?" Clara laughed.
"That was just an excuse to turn down those guys. You actually believed it?"
Clara's grades were good—but that depended on who she was compared to.
MIT was a gathering place for true geniuses among geniuses.
Even if she lived a few more lifetimes, Clara knew her intellect alone still wouldn't be enough.
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