The Case of the Missing Chemist

Miyuu hadn’t slept well in days. Every time she closed her eyes, the pastel nightmare was waiting for her. Singing. Dancing. Wearing that maid outfit. Serving disgustingly cute desserts to the student council while they cooed at her. And the ketchup art. She shivered just thinking about the way her hands had betrayed her, delicately drawing hearts and smiley faces on omelettes.

Her own voice—bubbly, cheerful, and completely alien to her actual personality—echoed in her memories. It was haunting.

Since her last reflective mission, she’d sworn an oath to herself: she would follow the rules to the letter until her probationary period was over.

Whenever that was.

Over? The word bounced around in her mind like an unpatched glitch. And then what? Go back to her old life? Underground hacking jobs had been fun—dangerous, satisfying, and very her—but now, just thinking about it felt... off. Like revisiting an old program you used to love, only to find it’s buggy and outdated. The thought didn’t ignite the same thrill. It just sat there; hollow in ways she didn’t want to examine too closely.

Stockholm syndrome, K.A.T.O. quipped through their neuro-link. First sign is affection for your captors. Second is actively missing them.

She snorted quietly. Affection? Missing? You’re malfunctioning.

Sure, princess, K.A.T.O. drawled. Keep telling yourself that while you write “Haruki” in sparkly gel pen in your secret diary.

Miyuu rolled her eyes. Don’t you have a firewall to hack?

Don’t you have a student council member to suck up to?

Shut up, K.A.T.O.

Owlthea, the bouncy pink Faculty Unit, flapped around the room in a glittery blur of obnoxious enthusiasm, pixelated sparkles trailing behind her. She was doing her best to assault Miyuu’s ears by chirping motivational nonsense about studying hard for the upcoming tests. Miyuu, running on fumes and sheer spite, tuned it all out.

And then, blessedly: ding dong, bing bong! The bell signalled her release from academic purgatory.

The other students began packing up, chatting about the tests, but Miyuu barely noticed. She glanced to the empty chair beside her.

Natsuki wasn’t in class.

It was odd. Natsuki wasn’t the type to just skip. She didn’t pull disappearing acts or staged unplanned acts of rebellions like someone we know (cough Miyuu cough). If Natsuki wasn’t here, it meant something was up—probably that she wasn’t feeling well.

Pulling out her student device, Miyuu sent a quick message to the council’s group chat. Running a quick detour to check on Natsuki before meeting Jun at the dojo. Don’t freak out, I’m not pulling another stunt.

Kaito’s response came almost instantly: You better not.

Miyuu scoffed, slipping her device into her bag. Relax, Dad, she thought, not bothering to reply. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she made her way toward the SEED dorms.

.

The SEED dorms were compact, a little rundown, and worlds apart from the high-tech luxury of the student council manor. The cleaning bots looked like they were barely hanging on, their movements jerky and uncoordinated as they awkwardly bumped into each other. Dust lined every corner of the floor, rebelliously undisturbed despite the bots’ half-hearted efforts.

Miyuu felt a twinge of sympathy for Natsuki. Sure, her own living situation was a constant exercise in how to avoid strangling your housemates, but at least she wasn’t stuck here.

She stepped into the creaky elevator and rode it three floors up. The ride was slow enough to make her wonder if it was powered by a hamster wheel. Mildly concerning squeaks echoed with every jolt. When the doors finally groaned open, she stepped into the hallway and made her way to Natsuki’s room.

She knocked.

No answer.

Miyuu sighed, already fishing her EchoDeck from her sling bag. K.A.T.O., give me a hand?

Breaking and entering? His voice filtered into her thoughts. My favourite.

Relax, she shot back, it’s not a break-in if she might need help.

That’s… not how laws work, he said. But okay, let’s roll with that.

If something serious were wrong, SOLON would’ve flagged it, right? But the nagging feeling in her gut said double-checking couldn’t hurt.

The dorm’s security panel blinked to life under her EchoDeck’s interface. Compared to the security measures at the student council manor—where even the snack drawer required DNA verification—this was laughably easy. It took a few seconds for K.A.T.O. to navigate the outdated system before the lock clicked open.

The door creaked open. “Natsuki, I’m coming in, okay?” Miyuu called out, stepping inside.

No answer.

The room was small, cramped with a walk-in bathroom and walls lined with shelves crammed full of precariously balanced robot frogs and ominous-looking chemical bottles. It was chaotic, messy, and so very Natsuki—except for one glaring issue.

Nobody was there.

Miyuu’s stomach clenched as her gaze swept the room. Something was off. Very off. Glass shards glinted on the floor where a beaker had shattered, its spilled contents bubbling as it ate into the tiles. She carefully avoided stepping near it. One of the robot frogs lay on its side, its legs twisted in an unnatural angle, and an overturned chair was sprawled in the middle of the room like it had been kicked over in a hurry.

K.A.T.O.’s holographic form materialized beside her, his usual smirk notably absent.

“Uh, K.A.T.O.,” Miyuu said, her voice tight, the words barely making it past the knot in her throat. “This doesn’t look good.”

“No kidding.” He replied. “This place has ‘bad news’ written all over it. Want me to try and dig into the dorm’s security feed?”

“Yes, please.” She said quickly. His hologram blinked out without another word.

She crouched, analysing the shattered beaker. The way it had fallen, the way the liquid had splashed—this wasn’t an accident. No way was this Natsuki just having a clumsy moment or a bad day. For one, she’d never waste perfectly good chemicals like this. For two, this felt too deliberate.

Too violent.

Her gaze drifted to the robot frog, its single unblinking eye staring at the ceiling as if it had seen too much.

Something had happened here. Something bad.

K.A.T.O. popped back up. “I’ve got the security feed.” He said grimly, summoning a screen.

The video started innocuously enough: Natsuki, groggy and half-asleep, slapped at her alarm to turn it off before flopping back into bed. K.A.T.O. fast-forwarded the footage, the feed jumping ahead to Natsuki scrambling awake, her expression shifting to one of panic as she realized she was running late.

Miyuu watched as Natsuki stumbled around the room, hopping on one foot as she tried to pull on her shoes. The moment was almost comedic—until the door swung open. Natsuki froze, her wide-eyed expression turning toward the door.

And then, the feed cut to black.

“What the—?” Miyuu clenched her fists as the screen dissolved into static. “K.A.T.O., what happened?”

“That,” he said, “is someone with good enough tech to destabilize SOLON’s systems.”

Miyuu’s heart thudded in her chest as she processed his words. Whoever had walked into this room bypassed Harmonia’s supposedly airtight security. That kind of expertise wasn’t common.

“She was getting ready for school,” Miyuu muttered, half to herself, “and now she’s… what? Gone? And SOLON didn’t do anything?”

“That’s the part that worries me.” K.A.T.O. said. “Whoever did this, outplayed SOLON.”

Miyuu’s student device buzzed, the sound slicing through the tense silence. Her stomach sank further. “Great.” she muttered, yanking it out of her sling bag. “Let me guess. It’s the council wondering why I’m not at the dojo getting thrown around by Jun yet.”

But it wasn’t the council.

She tapped the screen, and a synthesized voice crackled through the speaker. “If you care about your friend’s safety,” it said, “meet me at the abandoned laboratory. Come alone, don’t tell anyone, and don’t bring your student device… or else.”

The message ended, but the screen wasn’t done. Pictures began flashing in quick succession: Natsuki, unconscious and tied up on the floor, her face pale, her body limp.

The final image lingered longer than the others, burned into Miyuu’s vision as the voice echoed in her head: Or else.

Miyuu stared at the screen, her pulse hammering in her ears. “This is bad.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Really?” K.A.T.O. deadpanned. “What gave it away? The ominous message or the creepy ransom photos?”

“Not helping.” She snapped, shoving her device back into her bag. Her fingers were trembling, so she clenched them into fists to stop the shaking. Deep breath. Focus. Whoever sent this knew enough about her to target Natsuki. They had the skill to slip under SOLON’s radar. That alone was terrifying.

But what hit her harder was the gnawing guilt clawing at her chest.

Natsuki was in danger because of her.

“What do we do, K.A.T.O.?”

His hologram flickered. “First, we don’t panic.”

“Great advice.” She muttered darkly, her mind already racing with plans she didn’t like. “I think I’m about to do something incredibly stupid.”