Chapter 60: Kalolin's Flashback

Just as the audience was simultaneously cursing the Stellar Stars production team and weeping into their snacks, shouting “So good, I can’t even handle it!”—the anime screen suddenly shifted into Kalolin’s memory.

“Kalolin, it’s time. You should begin studying.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

In the scene, young Kalolin reluctantly set down her dolphin plushie, then stood up and walked toward the Doctor.

Seeing the tiny gesture, the Doctor paused for a moment—then extended his hand.

“Give it to me.”

His voice was calm, yet carried an unyielding firmness.

For Kalolin, raised entirely within the facility, the Doctor’s command was akin to divine decree.

Even as her heart ached with reluctance, she picked up the plushie from the bed and handed it over.

The Doctor took it, then crushed it with a single, brutal squeeze.

Boom!

The once-cute dolphin disintegrated in his grip.

Filling cotton scattered like snowflakes, drifting slowly through the air before settling on the floor.

Afterward, he tossed the remains like trash onto the ground.

Coldly, he said:

“Kalolin. As an intelligent mechanism designed solely to assist Tian Dao, human emotions are the most useless thing in existence.

They only become your weakness—and impair your judgment of Reality.

So wipe away your useless hobbies and emotions. Fulfill your duty as a tool. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doctor… I… understand.”

Kalolin bowed her head, swallowing back tears.

“Since you understand, then come. Don’t keep Tian Dao waiting.”

“Remember—tools don’t need thoughts of their own.”

With that, the Doctor turned and walked out.

Kalolin lifted her head.

Her green, electronic cat eyes now showed no trace of humanity—only endless calm, absolute stillness.

She no longer seemed human.

She was a machine—cold, emotionless, soulless.

Outside, young Tian Dao stood waiting.

He watched as the Doctor and Kalolin emerged.

For a fleeting second, his gaze flickered toward the scattered pieces of plush toys on the floor.

Then, like nothing had happened, he followed the Doctor into the base’s classroom.

But halfway through the lesson, Tian Dao suddenly raised his hand, making a clumsy excuse to leave early.

If anyone else had done it, Yun Meng would have refused—then punished them harshly.

But when it was Tian Dao?

She agreed without hesitation.

After all, geniuses deserved their privileges.

Yet no one expected what came next.

Instead of heading to the usual cafeteria, Tian Dao went straight to Kalolin’s room.

He stared at the pile of shredded plush fragments.

After a moment, he turned and left—only to return moments later, holding a makeshift needle and thread he’d somehow acquired.

Using his “Star-Eclipse Eye,” his vision so sharp it could trace the path of a falling speck, he gathered every piece—every shred, every tiny fluff of cotton—scattered across the floor.

Then, with clumsy but determined hands, he began stitching.

It was his first time handling needle and thread.

Yet he moved with surprising skill, his movements growing more precise with each passing second.

After what felt like hours, just before Kalolin returned from class, he finally finished.

The repaired dolphin wasn’t as perfect as the original—its seams were uneven, the stitching messy.

But it was whole.

And that was enough.

Holding the patched-up plushie, Tian Dao smiled and poked its belly.

“Tools? Only weaklings depend on tools. I, Tian Dao Siming, don’t need such things.”

He placed the repaired dolphin gently back on Kalolin’s bed, then stood, turning toward the door.

“Besides… I’d rather have you—as you are—than some soulless tool any day.”

“Tian Dao. You’re here?”

Doctor looked up from his tablet, still covered in experimental data, as Tian Dao appeared at the door.

Without ceremony, Tian Dao plopped down onto the sofa across from him, legs crossed.

“Doctor, I think you’re raising Kalolin wrong.”

“Oh?”

Doctor glanced up. “And what’s your take?”

Tian Dao dropped his legs, his voice calm.

“Human emotions aren’t a burden for machines. On the contrary—I believe they’re the key to achieving divine transcendence.”

“Why?”

Tian Dao stood, his azure eyes locking onto Doctor’s across the desk.

“Miracles don’t happen to machines that only calculate risk and reward.”

“Humans are the species most capable of creating miracles, aren’t they?”

Silence.

Doctor stared at him—long and still.

Then, after a pause:

“Fine. Do it your way. I won’t interfere in Kalolin’s development anymore.”

“…Really?”

Tian Dao blinked, surprised. “That’s it? You’re just… letting me do this?”

Doctor smiled faintly.

“Why not? It’s easier than arguing with you.

Besides… for me, one Tian Dao Siming is worth a hundred Kalolins.

Simple math.”

Tian Dao stared, stunned—then quickly regained his usual cocky posture.

“Doctor… you people of the Intelligent Mechanism Class are terrifyingly rational, aren’t you?”

“Yet rationality doesn’t bring miracles, does it?”

“True,” Tian Dao said, turning toward the door, waving a hand over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you the miracle you’re waiting for—in real life.

And it won’t take long.”

With that, he vanished down the corridor, leaving Doctor to watch his silhouette fade into the distance.

After leaving the lab, Tian Dao headed straight to Kalolin’s room.

Leaning against the doorway, he smiled softly at the sight inside—Kalolin standing frozen, clutching the repaired dolphin plushie.

She sensed him.

Her voice cracked, hoarse with emotion:

“…You did this?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. Just bored. Practicing some needlework. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“And hey—Doctor’s been convinced. He promised not to interfere with your hobbies anymore.

You can keep this. No worries.”

He stepped inside, flopped onto a sofa, and swayed his head with a grin.

“Honestly, that old stick-in-the-mud? Total dead end.

Me? I’m the pinnacle of the Stellar Pyramid. The solver of the Ember Equation.

If I can’t function without some ‘tool,’ then I might as well give up and head straight for the wall.”

He sat up, eyes sharp.

“So Kalolin—being a person is way more fun than being a tool.

And if you ever hit something you can’t handle? Don’t hesitate. Come to me.”

“After all, past, present, or future—Tian Dao Siming doesn’t need anyone.

And I won’t ever rely on anyone.”

He paused, then smirked.

“But I don’t mind letting others lean on me now and then.

After all, showing mercy to the weak is a strength’s greatest virtue.”

“And besides… we’re partners, right?”

His words were arrogant.

Reckless.

But Kalolin knew—this was his way.

Half joke, half truth.

His own brand of comfort.

Because beneath Tian Dao’s carefree, untouchable exterior—his mind was sharper than anyone’s, his heart warmer than any machine.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Her voice trembled.

“Thank you… Tian Dao. Really… thank you.”

“Ah—hey, hey, don’t cry! What’s with this?!”

Tian Dao flinched, instantly flustered.

“Jeez, I was just being cool—why are you doing this? I’m terrible at comforting girls!”

And so, the flashback froze—capturing the moment in perfect, chaotic stillness:

Tian Dao, flustered and awkward, trying to calm down a sobbing Kalolin.

Through this memory, the viewers finally understood why Kalolin was always by Tian Dao’s side.

Because they weren’t just teammates.

They were the best pair in the entire Stellar Cosmos.

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(End of Chapter)

Chapter end