The cooling unit chimed, and Sweet Johnny's hologram flickered with excitement. "The moment of truth! Let us behold the fruits of your labor!"
Soda yanked open the door, releasing a cloud of cold vapor. She pulled out the first tray of molded hearts and set them on the counter. The chocolate had solidified, gleaming under the harsh factory lights, but even from where Arthur stood, something looked... off.
Cocoa lifted one of her creations—a dark heart with an unsettling reddish tint. She took a small bite, chewed methodically, then set it down. "The ketchup provides acidity, but the texture is grainy. Structural integrity is compromised."
"Grainy is putting it kindly," Soda muttered, examining her own peppermint-studded disaster. The chocolate had seized during tempering, leaving it chalky and brittle. When she bit into it, pieces crumbled onto the counter. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This is terrible!"
Ade retrieved her espresso-infused chocolate with clinical precision. She studied it, turned it over, then took a careful bite. Her expression remained neutral, but Arthur caught the slight downturn of her lips. "Adequate. But not exceptional. The flavor profile is unbalanced."
Alisa bounced forward with her tray, her pink dress swirling. "Look, Commander! Mine turned out really pretty!" She held up a perfectly formed heart, its surface smooth and glossy. Arthur accepted it and took a bite. The chocolate melted on his tongue—rich, sweet, with a subtle vanilla warmth that complemented rather than overwhelmed.
"This is actually good," Arthur said, genuine surprise coloring his voice. "Really good, Alisa."
She beamed, clutching her hands together. "I kept thinking about how you always drink your coffee with just a little sugar, and how you like things that aren't too complicated, so I tried to make it simple but nice!"
Arthur looked down at the remaining maids' attempts. Cocoa's ketchup abomination. Soda's peppermint wreckage. Ade's technically sound but soulless cube. He set Alisa's chocolate down and crossed his arms. "Can this even be considered Valentine's chocolate?"
Ade's shoulders stiffened. She turned toward the hologram, her voice tight with frustration. "Sweet Johnny, your instructions were inadequate. Chocolate requires precise temperature control, specific ratios, and proper tempering technique. 'Roast until it sings' and 'add what your heart desires' are not scientifically sound guidance."
"Ah!" Sweet Johnny's projection spun in a circle, his mustache practically vibrating. "But that's where you're wrong, my dear automated friend! Tell me—what were you thinking about as you made your chocolate?"
Ade blinked. "I was... calculating optimal ratios. Monitoring temperature fluctuations. Ensuring proper emulsification of fats."
"And you, Soda?"
Soda wrung her hands. "I was worried about making a mess. And cleaning up afterward. And whether the peppermint would be too strong. And—"
"Cocoa?"
Cocoa tilted her head. "I was experimenting with flavor innovation. Testing whether acidic compounds could enhance cocoa profiles."
Sweet Johnny's hologram flickered, and his voice softened. "You asked me for the secret to 'the ultimate Valentine's Day chocolate.' But none of you were making Valentine's chocolate at all!"
The maids exchanged confused glances. Arthur straightened, sensing where this was going.
"Valentine's chocolate," Sweet Johnny continued, his tone almost gentle, "is not about perfect technique or innovative flavors. It's about the person you're making it for. You must hold them in your mind throughout the entire process—their preferences, their personality, how they would react when they receive your gift. Without that... you're just making chocolate-flavored confection."
Ade's eyes widened behind her glasses. "CEO Mustang said something similar. He told us we lacked 'Moe'—that our service was technically flawless but emotionally hollow." Her voice dropped. "I forgot. In the excitement of finding real ingredients, I... forgot what we came here to do."
"Making Valentine's chocolate without thinking about the receiver," Sweet Johnny said, "is like trying to make chocolate without cacao beans. The fundamental ingredient is missing."
The factory fell silent except for the hum of machinery. Arthur watched Ade's hands clench into fists, watched Soda's shoulders slump, watched Cocoa's analytical gaze turn inward.
Sweet Johnny's projection swiveled toward Arthur. "And you, young man. How do you feel about these three maids?"
Arthur met the hologram's pixelated eyes. He thought about Soda's manic energy, the way she attacked every task with wholehearted enthusiasm. Cocoa's bizarre experiments, her genuine belief that ketchup could improve anything. Ade's desperate need for precision, for control in a world that had given her none.
"They're dear to me," Arthur said quietly. "Each of them."
Sweet Johnny's mustache curved upward in a smile. "I can tell. You care for them very much." He turned back to the maids. "So here is your assignment: make chocolate again. But this time, think only of Arthur. His preferences. His personality. How his face will look when you present your gift. Can you do that?"
Ade nodded slowly. "Yes. We can."
"Wonderful! Then let us take a brief respite before round two. Gather your thoughts, and prepare your hearts!"
The maids converged on Arthur as he leaned against the counter. Cocoa and Soda flanked him, their hands suddenly on his shoulders.
"Commander, you must be tired from supervising," Soda said, her fingers kneading the muscles around his neck.
"We shall provide rejuvenation," Cocoa added, working on his other shoulder.
Arthur relaxed into their touch. The warmth of their hands, the rhythmic pressure—it was pleasant, almost meditative. His eyes drifted closed.
Then Soda's fingers dug deeper, and something in his shoulder made a sound like grinding gravel.
"What the—" Arthur started.
Cocoa pressed her thumbs against his spine. A series of pops echoed through the factory, each one louder than the last. Arthur's goddesium legs kept him upright, but his organic torso felt like it was being systematically disassembled.
"Tension detected," Cocoa announced. "Applying corrective pressure."
"Corrective—that's enough!" Arthur twisted away, rolling his shoulders gingerly. "Massage concluded. Thank you both, but I'd like to keep my spine intact."
Soda looked genuinely distressed. "Did we hurt you, Commander?"
"No permanent damage," Arthur assured her, though he made a mental note to never let them near his back again.
Before he could escape, both maids grabbed his hands—Soda on his left, Cocoa on his right. They held on with the determination of soldiers securing an objective. Ade approached, her datapad tucked under one arm.
"Commander, I require information to optimize our chocolate production," Ade said. "May I ask you some questions?"
"Sure," Arthur said, very aware of the warm synthetic hands wrapped around his own.
Ade adjusted her glasses. "First: do you prefer sweet or bitter flavors?"
"Depends on context. Sweet for dessert, bitter for coffee."
"Noted. Texture preference: smooth or chunky?"
"Smooth."
"Temperature preference when consuming chocolate?"
"Room temperature, usually."
Ade's questions continued, each one methodical and precise. Arthur answered easily at first, but then her expression shifted—became more intense, more focused.
"What emotional associations do you have with chocolate?" Ade asked.
"Uh... comfort food, I guess? Reminds me of better times."
"When you receive a gift, do you prefer practical utility or sentimental value?"
"That's... complicated. Depends who it's from."
"If you were to assign a color to your ideal romantic partner, what would it be?"
Arthur blinked. "What does that have to do with chocolate?"
"Data correlation. Please answer."
"I don't... I don't assign colors to people, Ade."
Soda squeezed his hand. "Commander's favorite sleeping position?"
"What? Why—"
"Most attractive physical feature in a woman?" Cocoa asked.
"Okay, hold on—"
"Preferred method of emotional support during crisis situations?" Ade's voice was clinical, but her grip on the datapad had tightened. "Frequency of intimate physical contact required for optimal relationship maintenance? Threshold for jealousy when partner interacts with other women? Long-term cohabitation preferences including—"
"Ade." Arthur's voice was gentle but firm.
She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes wide behind her glasses. "I... apologize, Commander. I have exceeded appropriate boundaries."
"I'm not mad about the questions," Arthur said. He felt Soda and Cocoa's hands tense around his own. "But I need you three to understand something."
Ade waited, silent.
"I don't want you to twist yourselves into shapes that you think will fit me perfectly," Arthur continued. "Sweet Johnny told you to think about me while making the chocolate, and that's good advice. But he didn't tell you to stop being yourselves."
He looked at Soda, whose eyes were glistening. "You've been sincere with me from the start. All three of you have. Soda, you're enthusiastic and caring. Cocoa, you're creative and thoughtful in your own weird way. Ade, you're brilliant and dedicated." He squeezed their hands. "Make chocolate the way *you* want to make it—just hold me in your thoughts while you do. That's all."
Ade's posture shifted, her shoulders relaxing incrementally. "You are certain? Our natural behavior patterns may not produce optimal results."
"Your natural behavior is exactly what I want," Arthur said. "The chocolate will be fine. I trust you."
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Ade nodded, a small smile touching her lips. "Understood, Commander. We will proceed as ourselves."
Soda released his hand and pumped her fist. "Yes! We're going to make the best chocolate ever!"
"With appropriate ketchup ratios," Cocoa added.
"Please don't put ketchup in my chocolate," Arthur said, but he was smiling.
The three maids gathered their ingredients again, but this time the energy was different. Softer. More focused. Ade measured cocoa powder with steady hands. Soda hummed as she prepped the tempering station. Cocoa studied the vanilla extract with quiet intensity.
Sweet Johnny's hologram watched from above, his mustache curved in approval. "Now," he said softly, "now you are ready to create something truly special."
Arthur leaned against the counter, his prosthetic hand resting on the cool metal surface. He watched the maids work, watched them glance at him between steps, watched their expressions shift from concentration to something warmer.
Whatever they made this time, he knew it would be worth eating.