23. A Long Dream
"Alright, time to wake her up."
I crouched in front of Kana and gently touched the glossy, transparent film covering her with one hand.
Since it was made of melted cotton candy, I worried it might be sticky—my slight germaphobe tendencies kicking in—but it wasn't sticky at all. If anything, it was more slick, almost slimy, and not exactly pleasant to the touch, so I wanted to get this over with quickly.
I grabbed the film with both hands, trying to tear it apart, but it was surprisingly tough and wouldn't rip. Forcing it or pulling harder seemed unlikely to work, so I looked around the ground, hoping for scissors or a knife. I spotted a fist-sized stone with a sharp, pointed edge, picked it up, and returned to crouch beside Kana.
Feeling like a surgeon facing a patient under full anesthesia, I held the sharp stone and gently poked the film near Kana's navel.
A small dot formed where I poked, and with a cute *pop* sound, it burst.
Like a single dewdrop falling, ripples began spreading across the film's surface.
At first, the ripples were small and gentle, but their amplitude grew, and soon the entire film covering Kana's body undulated like the surface of a pond.
Her form distorted with the ripples, her outline blurring like the sound of an old radio plagued by static, making it hard to discern. At the peak of the distortion—*pop!*—a sharp sound, like a balloon bursting, rang out, and the film shattered in an instant, evaporating without a trace.
It was as if the substance had never existed, an illusion-like transformation.
The shock caused Kana's body to float momentarily into the air.
Like a magician performing a levitation trick, she briefly lifted off the Moon's surface before landing softly. Freed from the film, Kana's form was astonishingly pristine, like a butterfly freshly emerged from its chrysalis.
She gleamed with the perfect shine of a humanoid robot straight off the assembly line, its power yet to be switched on. Both I and the First Pitch Head were captivated by her beauty.
"This girl's a really amazing model," the First Pitch Head said in awe.
I nodded faintly.
For some reason, her uniform—torn, dirtied, and heavily damaged during the battle—was now restored to pristine condition.
It was as if it had been freshly tailored, the taut fabric accentuating her form even more.
"How'd that happen? Her clothes are like new," I said, voicing my confusion.
The First Pitch Head answered, "The spider's sugar threads in the vacuum deep sea have a restorative effect on machines."
"Huh, that's how it works?"
"Yeah. They're super sweet, too. Wanna try some? There's still some scattered around, not melted, so we could gather it."
"Nah, I'll pass. I don't have any broken parts or damage to fix."
"But isn't your CPU a bit broken?"
I quickly pressed a finger to my lips, glaring sternly and hissing, "Quiet!"
Now that Kana was free from the film, her advanced sensors might be recording her surroundings, even in sleep mode. A latest-model like her could be capable of that. I couldn't let my guard down.
"Sorry, sorry!" the First Pitch Head apologized, moving the conversation along. "So, shall we wake her up? First meeting—pretty exciting!"
I let out a small sigh, feeling like a prince before a sleeping princess, and gently placed a hand on Kana's shoulder. The moment I touched her, a faint jolt—like static electricity—ran through me.
"Kana."
I called her name softly, gently. Perhaps because we'd been apart for so long, a warm nostalgia spread through my chest. It felt like reuniting with someone from a distant memory, a quiet swell of exhilaration building within me.
I didn't shake her, just kept my hand on her shoulder and waited.
Silently, patiently waiting.
After what felt like an eighth of eternity, a gentle breeze, like the breath of a spirit, stirred, softly ruffling Kana's bangs.
Then, her eyes slowly opened.
Her gaze was so pure, as if freshly crafted from a blueprint, untouched by any visual data—a transparency surpassing purity, like a vacuum.
It was the blue of the Moon's night sky captured perfectly, an almost terrifyingly clear azure.
The blue eyes I loved so much—Kana's eyes.
"Welcome back," I said.
Her eyes slowly met mine, tracing a gentle orbit like Mars circling the sun.
The moment our gazes docked, a crescent-moon smile curved softly on her lips.
And then, her smooth voice data resonated.
"I'm back."
Her voice enveloped my ears like noise-canceling headphones, filling my heart with such calm that I could think of nothing but the lingering echo of her words.
She continued, "I had a long dream."
"What kind of dream?" I asked.
Her gaze shifted from me to the distant galaxy, and in a cautious, quiet tone, as if scooping up countless zeros and ones to form words, she answered.
"I was lying on my back on the surface of the galaxy, floating with you, Neo-kun, for eternity."