Chapter 10: Observers

That evening, while the city began to glow in soft shades of orange and blue, two people were watching.

Behind a reinforced glass wall, in a dimly lit lab far from the school and its quiet dramas, several figures sat in silence. Their white coats reflected the blue-tinted monitors, each screen displaying various angles of the school grounds, classrooms, hallways—and most importantly, him.

___.

The subject of Experiment 045.

“We’ve been watching the data for weeks,” murmured one of the scientists, an older man with silver hair and tired eyes. “But lately, the results have been… unstable.”

A younger woman beside him crossed her arms. “That’s what happens when we introduce raw emotional variables. He wasn’t supposed to get this attached.”

“He was supposed to simulate love. Not fall into it,” the silver-haired man said flatly. “He’s been contaminated by her.”

One screen zoomed in on a paused image: ___ and Sunspot walking home together, side by side, his eyes on her. The lightness in his expression was unmistakable.

“This was inevitable,” said a third voice, a man in a suit who stood apart from the others. “You placed him in the real world. Surrounded him with real people. Gave him real affection. What did you expect?”

The woman frowned. “She wasn’t supposed to be… that good at it. We thought it would take months for him to form even basic emotional responses. But she broke through in a matter of weeks.”

“Because she treated him like a person,” the man in the suit said, his voice quiet. “Not a test subject.”

Silence.

Then the silver-haired scientist stood and turned away from the monitors. “We’ll need to begin preparations. The data has exceeded parameters. He’s formed genuine emotional bonds—attachments that could compromise him long-term.”

“You mean terminate the experiment?” the woman asked.

“We extract him. Soon. Before it goes any deeper.”

The suited man spoke again, his tone calm but sharp. “And what about her?”

“She’ll be debriefed. Memory suppressed, if necessary.”

“No,” the younger woman said, almost too quickly. “She’s… she’s more than a handler now. She’s a variable we underestimated.”

The silver-haired man didn’t reply. He stared at the monitor, at the boy who had once lived inside numbers and logic, now smiling at a girl under the early evening sky.

He sighed.

“Emotion is a dangerous thing,” he muttered. “And love… love is the most unpredictable variable of all.”

⸻

Meanwhile, in the world outside glass walls and observation reports, ___ had never felt more human.

He walked beside Sunspot down the narrow street lined with houses and cherry trees just beginning to bloom. There was no crowd. No pressure. Just the rhythm of footsteps and the scent of spring.

“I’ve never walked home with someone before,” he said, quietly.

Sunspot gave him a glance, surprised. “Not even once?”

He shook his head. “I usually go straight to the lab. Or get picked up. This is… different. But I like it.”

She smiled. “It’s just walking.”

“But it feels like something more.”

She didn’t respond at first. But after a moment, she said, “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? The small things become big when they matter to you.”

He looked at her. Her hair catching the wind. Her steps light. Her smile, finally genuine again.

And then he said it, without thinking.

“I think I’m starting to love you.”

She stopped walking.

He realized what he said. The words had fallen out too easily. Too honestly. His heart pounded.

“I—” he began.

But she didn’t move. Her expression unreadable, caught between surprise and something deeper.

The silence between them stretched.

Then, very softly, she whispered, “I don’t know if you’re saying that because you mean it, or because someone told you to feel it.”

It hurt. But it was fair.

“I don’t know either,” he admitted.

And somehow, that honesty made it real