Morning light was like melted honey, slowly flowing through the gaps in the curtains and spreading a warm blanket of light across the floor.
Artoria woke up in a strange sense of comfort. Consciousness returned before her body, and the first thing she perceived was a constant, unchanging warmth enveloping her entire being. The temperature wasn't scorching; it was a perfect warmth, like soaking in a spring at just the right temperature. Then came a rhythmic, steady thrumming from right next to her ear—the Energy Core deep within Minerva's chest, pulsing at a frequency that simulated a human heartbeat.
The last thing to awaken was her sense of touch.
Her cheek was pillowed on something soft yet with a perfect amount of elasticity. Her body was completely embraced by something; the encircling arms were equally soft, yet she could feel the power hidden beneath them. Her back was pressed against a warm curve, and a warm breath rhythmically brushed against the back of her neck.
Artoria snapped her eyes open.
Memories surged back like a tide—the extreme exhaustion of last night, Minerva's unquestionable care, the embrace that pulled her into her arms, and the fact that she had fallen into a deep sleep amidst that warmth.
And now, she was curled up, completely buried in Minerva's embrace. Her back was pressed tight against Minerva's chest, and she could clearly feel that amazing soft curve—a curve of a female body that she had designed herself but had never truly "experienced." One of Minerva's arms was tucked under her neck, serving as her pillow, while the other hand rested loosely around her waist. Their legs were even unconsciously intertwined.
The soul of the former male college student let out a sharp buzzing at this moment. Blood instantly rushed to her cheeks, and the tips of her ears turned burning hot. She froze, even holding her breath, her mind going completely blank.
Just then, the arm around her waist tightened slightly. Minerva's steady voice came from above her head, carrying the extremely faint, relaxed quality of someone who had just "woken up":
"Good morning, creator. Your core body temperature has returned to normal values, your heart rate is steady, and muscle tension has significantly decreased. Last night's rest protocol was highly effective."
As she spoke, her chest vibrated gently, making that soft sensation even more vivid. Artoria could even feel the subtle rise and fall of her body as she "breathed."
"Xing... Minerva..." Artoria's voice was dry as she tried to unobtrusively move away, but her body was held in a gentle yet firm circle.
"Are you feeling unwell anywhere?" Minerva propped herself up slightly, a movement that caused Artoria to sink deeper into that softness. She lowered her head, her smooth Faceplate "looking" at Artoria's flushed face. "Abnormal increase in facial temperature, slight acceleration in blood flow detected. Was it too warm last night? Do you need me to adjust the thermostat output?"
"No, it's not that!" Artoria practically bolted upright, scrambling to pull at the blanket, her cheeks hot enough to fry an egg. She didn't dare look back at Minerva, her gaze darting wildly toward the window. "I-I'm fine! It's just... a bit hot! Yes, a bit hot!"
Minerva sat up as well. The morning light outlined her silver-white figure. She was wearing simple light-gray loungewear—Artoria's old clothes, which were a bit tight and perfectly hugged the smooth curves of her body. She reached out, her warm fingers covered in bionic skin naturally tidying Artoria's messy blonde hair, then lightly touched her forehead.
"Surface body temperature is 36.8 degrees, on the higher end of the normal range. I suggest hydrating." She withdrew her hand, nimbly flipped out of bed, and stood still. "According to the schedule, morning washing should be performed now, followed by breakfast. I have monitored whole wheat bread, eggs, bacon, and milk in the kitchen cabinets. I will attempt to prepare breakfast. This is part of my life-support function; I require practical data."
As she spoke, she had already turned and walked toward the door, her steps steady, as if the intimate embrace from moments ago and her natural care now were just ordinary daily procedures.
Artoria sat on the bed, watching her retreating back, her heart still beating out of rhythm. She raised a hand to touch her forehead where she had just been touched; the warm, soft sensation of Minerva's fingers seemed to linger there. The embrace last night, the intimacy this morning—Minerva did it all so naturally, as if it were only right and proper. Meanwhile, she, a transmigrator with twenty years of memories as a male in her past life, was left flustered and confused.
"Minerva," she called out to the silver-white figure who had already reached the door, her voice still a bit shaky.
Minerva stopped, turned sideways, and directed her Faceplate toward her. "Yes, creator?"
"Um... thank you. For last night... and for now." Artoria lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously twisting the corner of the blanket.
Minerva seemed to pause for half a second, then nodded slightly. "Ensuring your health and comfort is my core protocol. No thanks are necessary. Furthermore," she added in a flat tone, "according to a comparison of my scans and memory data, humans experiencing brief fluctuations in heart rate and body temperature due to physical contact in close relationships falls within the normal range of physiological reactions. You need not feel troubled or abnormal because of it."
With that, she walked straight out of the bedroom, leaving Artoria sitting alone on the bed, her face turning even redder.
After Artoria splashed her face with cold water several times, finally getting her cheek temperature down, she changed her clothes and walked into the kitchen. The sight she saw made her temporarily forget her shyness.
Minerva was standing in front of the stove. She had changed out of her loungewear and back into her sleek silver-white basic combat suit (though most of the external armor had been removed), with a checkered apron tied around her waist that was clearly a size too small for her build—it was a free gift from Artoria's previous online shopping. She held a spatula in one hand and a slice of bread in the other, her smooth Faceplate tilted slightly down, "focusing" intently on some charred, unidentifiable object sizzling in the frying pan.
On the counter beside her sat two plates. In one plate lay a piece of bacon with charred edges and a center that seemed not quite fully thawed, along with an irregularly shaped fried egg with egg whites running everywhere. The other plate was empty.
A faint smell of burning permeated the air.
Hearing footsteps, Minerva turned her head. "creator. Breakfast preparation has encountered some... unforeseen variables. The egg yolk underwent an unplanned rupture upon contact with the hot oil. The bacon's fat content and heat conduction efficiency were mismatched, resulting in edge carbonization. There was an error in calculating the toast's heating time relative to the toaster's power."
Her report was as rigorous as if she were analyzing a tactical failure, but her fingers gripping the spatula tightened unconsciously, revealing a very faint, "at a loss" kind of emotion.
Artoria walked over and turned off the stove. Looking at the charred toast in the pan that was beyond saving, and then at the disastrous "results" on the counter, much of her shyness and embarrassment suddenly dissipated, replaced by a strange kind of tenderness.
"It's okay," she said, taking the spatula from Minerva's hand, her voice gentle. "It's your first time; you've done very well. At least the eggs didn't fly up to the ceiling, right?"
She opened the refrigerator and took out fresh ingredients. "Come, let me teach you. The heat for the fried egg should be a bit lower. Once the oil is hot, crack it in gently..." She demonstrated, her movements practiced. Minerva stood quietly by her side, leaning in slightly, her Faceplate almost touching Artoria's shoulder, "watching" every step intently as her sensors recorded the temperature, time, and the angle of the hand gestures.
Her presence was very strong; the warmth of her body and the extremely faint scent of clean metal and sunlight enveloped Artoria. Artoria's hand holding the egg shook imperceptibly, but this time she held steady. She could feel Minerva's gaze (or rather, the focus of her sensors) on her hands. That rapt, studious attitude strangely diluted the tension brought by their close proximity.
"Bacon should have excess moisture blotted off with a paper towel first so it doesn't splatter oil as easily and gets crispy more readily..." Artoria explained while operating. Minerva would occasionally ask very technical questions, such as "At what temperature does protein begin to denature and coagulate?" or "What is the relationship between the exact melting temperature of fat and the heat conduction coefficient?" Artoria did her best to answer in ways she could understand, and the atmosphere in the kitchen gradually became natural, even somewhat warm.
By the time two perfect fried eggs, fragrant golden-brown bacon, and perfectly toasted bread were placed on the dining table, morning light had already filled the entire dining room.
They sat down opposite each other. Minerva hadn't taken off the apron. She sat upright, her movements with the knife and fork as standard as if she were undergoing etiquette training. She first "looked" at the perfect breakfast on her plate, then "looked" at Artoria.
"Data log: Breakfast preparation process, revised version, archived." She said, then paused for a moment. "Thank you for the instruction, creator. Your skills are very practical."
"Just call me Artoria." Artoria cut a piece of the fried egg and put it in her mouth. The taste was ordinary, but she was in a very good mood.
"Artoria." Minerva followed her lead and also tried cutting a small piece of bacon. She didn't have taste sensors, but she possessed a complete chemical substance analysis capability. "Fat decomposition products, Maillard reaction products, protein degradation amino acids... the flavor profile is complex. Databases show that humans usually derive pleasure from this type of food."
"You could also try 'eating' a little to analyze the texture data?" Artoria suggested.
Minerva seemed to consider it for a moment, then used the tip of her fork to dab a bit of the egg white and brought it toward the lower part of her face—not where a mouth would be, but where a miniature substance sampling and analysis port was located. After a moment, she said, "Texture analysis: soft, elastic. Chemical analysis complete. Experience simulation rating: unable to generate. However, I can record your physiological indicators of pleasure while eating as positive feedback data."
As she spoke, the morning light happened to fall on her silver-white Faceplate and the checkers of the apron, gilding her sleek figure in a soft, warm color. The sight of her wearing that ridiculous little apron and solemnly analyzing the components of a fried egg was strangely, clumsily adorable.
Watching her, Artoria couldn't help but laugh. The laughter was light, but genuine.
Minerva looked up, "watching" her. "Your smile is accompanied by a slight increase in endorphin and serotonin levels. This is a positive signal. The breakfast mission is a success."
"Yes, very successful." Artoria nodded. The last bit of awkwardness in her heart seemed to quietly melt away in this ordinary morning light and breakfast. She was beginning to adapt to this intimate companionship, to this family member who had a soft body, a will of steel, and was working hard to learn how to "live."
The sea outside the window was azure and calm. The Stealth Field operated quietly, guarding the brand-new and warm daily life inside the house.
Breakfast continued, and a new day had just begun.
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