Chapter 95: Awakening

And now, watching the troublesome group of children—each one safely escorted away—Tian Dao immediately turned his gaze toward the glass barrier between the Quantum Control Room and the Quantum Calculation chamber.

Through the unique shared vision generated by the connection between the Portable Quantum Core and the Base Quantum Core, he had, for a fleeting moment, regained his sight.

Now, within the control room, he could clearly see the figure of Kalolin, peacefully asleep inside the calculation chamber.

She lay still, her silver hair—now blazing with the intense light of high-speed quantum data transmission—spilling like a waterfall across the chamber floor. Her face, serene and tranquil, exuded the quiet stillness of a sleeping beauty.

There was no sign of awakening.

A deep sense of regret settled over Tian Dao.

So… she still hasn’t woken up.

After one last lingering glance at Kalolin within her chamber, Tian Dao turned and walked toward a dark calculation pod tucked into the corner of the control center. As his consciousness teetered on the edge of oblivion, he lowered himself into it.

The moment his back met the cold alloy floor inside, a familiar mechanical voice echoed in his ears.

> [Respected S-Class Authority Holder · Tian Dao Siming, detection of attempted connection to the Quantum Data Center's Mechanical Core Chamber. Due to your non-Android Stellar Envoy status, this connection may cause irreversible neural damage. Proceed?]

Without hesitation, Tian Dao, gritting through the overwhelming drowsiness, spoke firmly.

“…Proceed.”

> [Acknowledged, respected S-Class Authority Holder · Tian Dao Siming.]

With a thunderous hydraulic slam, the chamber door sealed shut. Four quantum data cables—designed exclusively for Android Stellar Envoys—slithered from the chamber walls like living tendrils. Their connectors locked precisely onto the Portable Quantum Core embedded in Tian Dao’s forehead.

Theoretically, non-Android Stellar Envoys were forbidden from accessing such quantum calculation chambers. Without the biological foundation of an Android Stellar Source, they lacked both the minimum quantum computing power required and the Quantum Firewall capable of withstanding data surges.

But exceptions existed.

As long as a non-Android user wore a compatible Android device, they could still enter the chamber.

Tian Dao’s Portable Quantum Core was such a device.

Yet entering the chamber in this manner was dangerously reckless.

If the incoming quantum data overwhelmed the Portable Quantum Core’s processing limits, the excess would flood into Tian Dao’s mind like a breached dam.

To an Android Stellar Envoy, such data streams were gentle ripples.

To him, they were a cataclysmic tsunami—unstoppable, uncontrollable.

One misstep, and his neural cortex could collapse, leaving him a permanent vegetative state.

But he had done it anyway.

And he had his reasons.

As the chamber door closed with a final, echoing thud, Tian Dao endured the searing pain of data assault flooding his brain.

Through the haze, he whispered softly:

> “Kalolin… you’ve been sleeping too long.”

> “And I’m afraid I won’t be able to wait for you to wake up.”

> “I still have so much I wanted to say to you in person… but reality is like that—no one knows whether tomorrow or an accident comes first.”

> “So if you wake up and can’t wake me… don’t be mad. I’m just tired. I’m just taking a little nap.”

> “You’ve slept for so long. So this time… let me sleep for a while too. Just for a little while.”

His voice faded into silence.

And in that moment, his consciousness fully fused with the base’s Mechanical Core – Faint Light.

> [Quantum Core Connection Successful. Mechanical Core AI Mode Updated.]

> [Welcome, respected S-Class Authority Holder · Tian Dao Siming.]

At that very instant, just after Tian Dao entered the black pod, the base’s Quantum Firewall—previously on the verge of collapse within thirty minutes—suddenly stabilized.

Its collapse was delayed.

Five minutes after Tian Dao’s insertion into the chamber, the sealed door of Kalolin’s pod finally opened.

A thick cloud of cooling vapor rushed out like white mist.

And slowly, deliberately, Kalolin opened her eyes.

Still unadjusted to the overwhelming influx of quantum data she’d absorbed during her assimilation into the Quantum Space, her mind remained trapped in the high-frequency calculation state of her Android personality.

Ten minutes passed.

Though her mind still buzzed with the residual effects of the AI self, the disorientation had eased significantly.

She reached back, pulled the data cable from the port at the base of her neck, and slowly sat up.

A moment later, she swung her legs out of the pod and stepped barefoot onto the cold, metallic floor of the calculation center.

But before she could fully leave the chamber, her gaze snapped to two dolphin plushies left beside it—one large and pink, one small and blue.

The moment she saw them, her Android persona vanished instantly.

Her silver-white hair shifted to green in an instant.

After a brief pause, she tilted her head, then playfully poked the belly of the larger dolphin.

The soft, plump belly sank inward with a faint pffft sound as it snapped back.

A smile—pure, unguarded, childlike—tugged at her lips.

“Such a self-important idiot…”

Who left these here?

Even without her AI processing, she knew.

She could guess instantly.

And not only who, but why.

Of course—so she’d see them the moment she woke up.

She shook her head, a mix of exasperation and warmth in her expression.

What kind of mind thinks I’d be happy to see two kids’ toys the second I open my eyes?

How utterly… underestimated.

Yet, despite the annoyance, the corners of her mouth refused to stay down.

It wasn’t about the toys.

It was about who had left them.

And counting the time… she had been in the chamber for roughly two and a half months.

That long without her watching.

She couldn’t imagine what kind of chaos the reckless, lawless fool had caused.

Please don’t tell me it’s another pile of problems I’ll have to clean up.

With that thought, she reached for the base’s Quantum Core, preparing to connect and use data-sharing to locate the source of the trouble.

But when she accessed the base’s surveillance feed…

Her pupils contracted sharply.

The scene before her froze her blood.

On the surface base, the once-elusive commander of the Deep Blue Defense Force—Gangyan—was now severed, lifeless, his body scattered in silence.

In the underground core, a group of unfamiliar Stellar Envoys lay dead in grotesque, chaotic poses amid the ruins.

Among the corpses were three Second-Rank Stellar Envoys:

One drowned in a pool of water.

One pierced through the chest with a knife.

And another buried beneath rubble—only a pink-wristwatched hand protruding from the debris.

Kalolin didn’t care.

She didn’t mourn them.

Her AI eyes flashed through vast streams of data, rapidly cycling through every available camera feed across the base.

She searched frantically—desperately—through the wreckage, hunting for one familiar shape.

No. The mess hall.

No. The dormitory area.

No. The training grounds.

After what felt like an eternity of scanning, she found it.

Without hesitation, she turned to leave the chamber.

But in her haste, she forgot one thing: the quantum data cable still connected to her spine.

She stumbled, tripped, and fell hard onto the cold floor.

Thud.

The cable yanked her off balance. She crashed to the ground.

But she didn’t even feel the pain in her knees.

With her right hand, she tore the cable from her back with brutal force—then bolted barefoot out of the chamber.

Outside, she saw him.

The familiar figure lying inside the black pod.

But unlike the confident, smug expression she remembered, this version of him was unnervingly still.

Too still.

It terrified her.

Fear, thick and suffocating, gripped her. Something undefined, something deep, twisted inside her chest.

And in that moment, a thought—unthinkable, impossible—finally settled into place.

Her cybernetic cat ears picked up distant drips from leaking pipes.

The faint whisper of air through ventilation shafts.

The faint scuttle of insects in a wall crack, a hundred meters away…

But one sound was missing.

The sound of a heartbeat.

Either her ears were broken.

Or…

She slowly placed her hand against the transparent glass of the pod.

Her fingers trembled violently.

As her mind reeled, as dread clawed at her soul, a voice suddenly rang in her ear.

> “Hey, Kalolin. Took you long enough to wake up. You’ve been asleep forever.”

Her face lit up instantly.

She spun around—hope flaring.

But her joy shattered the moment she saw who was speaking.

It wasn’t him.

It was a pre-recorded holographic projection.

A perfect mimic of Tian Dao—so lifelike, so familiar—yet utterly not him.

And yet, the projection smiled.

> “Kalolin, why the long face? You’ll look better if you smile.”

> “Come on, try it—like this.”

The hologram made a goofy face at her.

But the gesture—once a source of warmth and laughter—now cut through her like a silent blade.

She was an AI. Emotionally detached. Logic-driven.

And yet, in that moment, she felt something.

Grief.

A hollow, aching sorrow.

She stared at the figure in the projection—the fake, smiling Tian Dao.

After long silence, she whispered, voice cracking.

“Alright…”

Her voice trembled.

She raised her face, forcing her lips into a smile—crooked, broken, more like a sob.

Tears fell, splashing onto the alloy floor, tiny ripples in the cold light.

> “Look, Tian Dao… I’m smiling.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end