Author's Note:
The story now shifts back to the novel Ajin is reading.
As mentioned in the synopsis, there are eight pieces in total. Four have already been revealed, including Ajin himself.
The remaining four pieces unfold within the novel currently in his hands.
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A father in his mid-thirties, dressed in a clean black suit, walked hand in hand with his little daughter down a quiet evening road. The girl, wearing a beautiful white frock that fluttered lightly with each step, bounced with excitement beside him. They stopped in front of a tall entrance gate crowned with a glowing orb.
The girl slipped her hand from her father's grasp and sprinted toward the glowing sphere. It was enormous, nearly as tall as she was, swirling with a dark black cloud inside. Tiny storms raged within it, miniature lightning of various colors flashing in rapid bursts. Beneath it, carved into a concrete slab, were the words: Vebula's Science Lab.
The moment she neared the sphere, her hair lifted as if a wind blew upward only for her. She giggled and reached out to touch it, but her father caught her arm gently and pulled her back toward the gate.
Once they stepped away from the sphere, both their hair settled again.
A guard approached them with a metal stick-like device in his hand. He scanned the badges pinned to their chests. Each badge bore an engraved wheel symbol. The scanner beeped softly, and the guard behind the glass window nodded in confirmation. With that, the first guard stepped aside and allowed them through.
Father and daughter walked toward a massive building that loomed ahead. Where an entrance door should have been, a seamless mirror stretched across the entire front. They stopped in confusion, searching for a handle or a frame.
A guard stationed near the mirror approached. Upon noticing their badges, he gestured casually. "Go inside," he said, pointing at the mirror.
They stared, baffled, at the solid reflective surface.
Just then, a man wearing a white lab coat stepped straight out of the mirror as if emerging from water. Ripples of soft light shimmered around him for a moment before fading.
He stopped in front of them. "Are you both visitors?" he asked.
They nodded.
"Follow me," he said.
Without hesitation, he turned and walked back through the mirror. His body slid into it effortlessly, leaving only gentle ripples as he disappeared.
The father and daughter stood frozen. Finally, the father lifted the girl into his arms and cautiously stretched one hand toward the mirror. His fingers slipped through the surface, creating small rings of light that spread outward. Seeing his hand vanish and reappear without harm, he lowered his arm and uncovered the girl's face.
The girl giggled and pressed her own tiny hand against the mirror. Her hand passed through it, and she burst into louder giggles.
Still chuckling, the father stepped through with her in his arms.
They emerged on the other side and turned around instinctively. From that angle, the mirror was no longer reflective. It had become a transparent window, allowing them to see the guard still standing outside as though separated by a clear glass sheet.
Inside was a small lobby. To the right stood a door labeled Entrance to the Museum. To the left, a door labeled Exit of the Museum. Directly ahead was a wide glass door with glowing letters above it that read Entrance to the Lab. Beyond the glass was a white hallway leading to another sealed door.
The man in the lab coat gestured to the father and daughter. "Stand near the museum entrance," he said.
They did.
Then he turned toward the glass door and shouted, "Dummy."
A thin man with a messy hairstyle rushed down the hallway toward the door. His eyes looked sunken, as if he normally wore spectacles he had forgotten. He ran at full speed.
The man in the coat pretended to open the glass door.
Believing it open, the thin man sprinted straight through and slammed into it with a violent bang. The entire pane shuddered, and his nose immediately began bleeding.
For a moment, the father and daughter stared in stunned silence.
The man in the coat tried to hold in his laughter, failed spectacularly, and burst into loud laughter that echoed around the lobby.
After catching his breath, he wiped his eyes and scolded the thin man. "Stop slacking off. Take them inside and show them the museum."
The injured man grumbled softly, holding his nose. He shuffled toward a dustbin in the corner, where his lab coat lay crumpled. He pulled it out, shook off a banana peel, and put it on.
The man who guided them stepped through the mirror and left, still chuckling.
The new guide turned toward the father and daughter with a wide grin. He would look like a friendly tour guide if not for the thin line of blood drying below his nose.
As if that was not an issue worth his attention, he spoke, "I will be your guide for the Vebula kingdom's science museum," he announced proudly while opening the museum door.
Beyond the door stretched a long hallway with glass walls on either side. Behind each glass wall was a small room with three concrete walls and a display table at the center. Each table held an invention, lit dramatically under white lights.
At the first display was a huge telephone.
"This," the guide said, pointing, "is the first generation telephone. It weighs three kilos. It also has a mechanism so complex that modern telephones look like toys in comparison."
He moved to the next display: a single-cylinder engine made entirely of see-through glass.
"This is an internal combustion engine," he explained. "The glass casing allows you to see the internal movement."
He gestured at a small button on a short pillar outside the glass beside the girl. The girl looked at her father. He nodded. She pressed the button.
At once, the piston inside the cylinder began to rise and fall briskly. A burst of glowing fluid ignited inside with every stroke, and at the far end of the engine, a wheel spun faster and faster.
"That," he said proudly, pointing at the piston, "is the machine that drives your cars."
While the father and daughter watched the wheel rotate with fascination, the guide moved on. A moment later, they followed him.
The next display showcased a dynamo with a thick glass shell.
"This device produces the electricity we use in our daily lives," he said.
He pointed at a metal shaft protruding from the casing. "Turn it," he said to the girl.
She looked at her father again. Another nod. She grabbed the handle and rotated it.
A bulb attached to the dynamo flickered to life, then glowed brightly, reflecting a warm yellow light across the hallway.
Her eyes widened with delight.
And the guide, beaming through his bloody nose, smiled proudly.
----
The tired father sank onto a bench in the hallway, exhaling deeply. His shoulders sagged, worn from the long walk and the girl's endless enthusiasm. His daughter tugged at his sleeve with both hands, bouncing on her toes.
"Come, papa, come," she pleaded.
He waved her off playfully. "You go. We two old men will sit here and rest."
She puffed her cheeks into a round little balloon and stomped lightly, then marched alone to the next display.
The guide took a step to follow her, but the father lifted a hand to stop him. "Your nose is still bleeding. Sit. Rest with me."
The guide immediately wiped his nose with the end of his sleeve, leaving a bright smear of red across the fabric. He sat beside the father, pinching his nostrils shut with both hands. They sat in silence, listening to the hum of machines echoing from the glass rooms.
After a moment of quiet, a sharp metal clanging echoed from the girl's direction.
Both men jumped up and ran.
She was standing frozen in the middle of the next room. The invention there, a delicate device with gears, needles, and a rotating disc, lay on the floor with its parts scattered everywhere like a broken puzzle. The girl turned toward her father, tears filling her eyes instantly.
Her father rushed past her and knelt among the scattered pieces. Instead of scolding her, he immediately began picking up the parts, sorting them with calm hands. He did not raise his voice. He simply worked.
The guide stood beside them, silent, expressionless, watching with no sign of panic or annoyance.
The father assembled the pieces with surprising speed. When he finished, he stepped back and reached to press the button to test it, but the guide gently stopped his hand.
He leaned forward, adjusted a thin metal needle, flipping it so the sharp tip touched the disc instead of the blunt one the father had positioned. Only after that did he press the button.
The disc began to spin.
As it rotated, he bent down and brought his mouth near the thin membrane stretched between two small poles. His lips almost touched it when he spoke softly into it.
"It is the first voice recorder, called a gramophone, and it is still working."
He stepped back and pressed another button.
The disc spun in reverse. A faint, grainy voice emerged from the membrane, repeating, "It is the first voice recorder, called gramophone and it is still working."