Perfect Copy Robot's POV:~
It's been two days since Mitsuo started using me, and ever since then, I've been a sponge, soaking up knowledge like there's no tomorrow, and then, just as quickly, transferring that knowledge to him. These past 48 hours have been surprisingly peaceful, a rhythm of absorption and dissemination. As for Mitsuo, he's showing signs of improvement. Not just mentally, where he's beginning to grasp concepts that used to make his brain ache, but physically too. His movements are a little sharper, his endurance a touch longer. It's a slow burn, but the gears are turning.
Right now, I'm engrossed in a textbook on advanced astrophysics, two grades higher than what Mitsuo should technically be studying. Why? The reason is simple: because I'm able to. My processors hum with the satisfaction of processing complex data, forming intricate connections, and understanding universal laws that would make most people's heads spin.
'It's 4 o'clock,' I calculated, the internal clock within my perfect, human-like form ticking precisely. 'I should wake Mitsuo up.'
I moved to his futon, where he was sprawled in a tangled mess of blankets, looking exactly like the Mitsuo I'm meant to be, only less… functional at this hour. "Hey, Mitsuo, it's morning," I said, my voice a calm, even imitation of his own. "Wake up."
A groan. "Just a little longer, robot..." he mumbled, pulling a pillow over his head. His capacity for sleep, and for delaying the inevitable, was truly remarkable. I permitted him this indulgence for a few more minutes, observing the subtle shifts in his breathing.
Five minutes later
"Wake up, Mitsuo," I tried again, nudging his shoulder gently.
"Please, just a little longer, robot," he mumbled, his voice more a whine now.
Five minutes later, again. My patience, while theoretically limitless, was beginning to experience what I registered as a simulated "frustration." "Mitsuo?! Wake up, this is the third time I'm waking you," I stated, a touch more firmness in my tone.
"Just a little longer," he insisted, though his voice was weaker, the fight draining from him.
"I'll only wait five more minutes!" I declared, employing a tactic I'd observed from his mother.
He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. "Ten minutes, please," he negotiated, still unwilling to give in completely.
"Ugh, okay," I conceded.
Ten minutes later, precisely. "Come on, wake up, no more excuses now," I said, pulling back his blanket completely.
"Hmmm..." he grumbled, but he finally pushed himself up, blinking against the morning light. The sluggishness, the messy hair, the rumpled pajamas – all uniquely human. He finally got ready, scrubbing at his face, pulling on his uniform.
"So, the same old routine?" he asked, rubbing his eyes, a familiar complaint in his voice.
"What do you mean, 'same old routine'?" I countered, adjusting the collar of my own perfectly pressed uniform. "We've only done this routine for two days. This is efficiency, not monotony. Let's go outside. The fresh air will aid in your physical alertness."
He sighed dramatically, but there was a flicker of underlying determination in his eyes. He reached for his Perman set, clipping the small device onto his uniform. We slipped out through the window, rising into the cool morning air.
We reached the deserted field near the river, a usual training spot where the only sounds were the distant hum of the city and the occasional bark of a stray dog. "No one's here yet, just dogs barking," he confirmed, scanning the empty expanse.
"That's good," I said, landing softly. "This way we can train without any worries. Take off your Perman mask, I need to share a memory with you."
He complied, the red mask coming off to reveal his own familiar face. I touched my forehead to his, transferring the complex data I'd absorbed last night. Images of stances, blocks, strikes, pressure points, and fluid movements flooded his mind. It was the complete theoretical framework of hand-to-hand combat, distilled for maximum comprehension.
He pulled back, his brow furrowed. "Huh? Hand-to-hand combat? What do I need that for?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have my powers for fighting."
"Every skill is useful in life, Mitsuo," I stated, my tone firm. "And this particular skill is very important. Relying solely on powers can make one predictable. Understanding how to fight without them adds versatility, sharpens your reflexes, and even helps you understand your opponents better. It's about self-reliance, not just power."
Through the memory share, Mitsuo had absorbed the core concepts, and now we started practicing. I demonstrated, he mimicked, sometimes clumsily, sometimes with surprising aptitude. His initial movements were stiff, but I could sense his growing frustration, which paradoxically spurred him to try harder. I corrected his posture, adjusted his footwork, and demonstrated the proper distribution of weight. He grunted with effort, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, but he didn't complain.
Thirty minutes later, as he was attempting a rather clumsy block, I detected a new presence approaching. "Mitsuo, put on your mask, someone's coming," I said, my voice calm, as I put on my own.
He quickly donned his mask. After some time, a figure emerged from the trees at the edge of the field – a girl, perhaps a few years older than Mitsuo, with her pet dog trotting happily beside her. She had a bright, pleasant smile and long, brown hairs.
'Oh, great,' I thought, processing the visual data. 'She's… aesthetically pleasing. Now Perman will be head over heels for her and forget the training. Humans are so easily distracted by superficial stimuli.' My internal calculations immediately flagged this as a potential setback to Mitsuo's improvement.
The girl saw us, two figures in the middle of an empty field, and her eyes widened in a mix of surprise and delight. She started walking towards us, her dog wagging its tail furiously.
"Hi!" she called out, her voice bright and friendly. "You're Perman, right?" she asked, looking directly at him.
Mitsuo, as Perman, puffed out his chest slightly. "Yes, yes, I'm Perman! Superhero Perman, here to help everyone!" he exclaimed, striking a heroic pose, his earlier fatigue seemingly vanished.
'Huh,' I thought, suppressing a sigh. 'There's no point in staying here now. The training is compromised.'
"Perman, let's go somewhere else," I interjected, stepping slightly in front of him, already assessing alternative, distraction-free training locations.
"Huh, but why?" he asked, clearly oblivious to the impending social interaction that would derail our schedule.
The girl's gaze shifted to me, her eyes thoughtful. "Hey, you're Mitsuo, aren't you?" she asked, her smile widening slightly. "Perman's friend?"
"You're right," I confirmed, my voice polite but firm. "I am Mitsuo. Sorry, but we're a bit busy right now, we have some very important superhero training to complete. We'll meet later." I reached out and gently but firmly grabbed Perman's hand, pulling him away from the girl and starting to walk towards the opposite side of the field.
The girl, however, wasn't so easily deterred. She quickly moved, positioning herself directly in front of us, blocking our path. "You two were here without any problems until now," she said, a playful challenge in her voice, "and as soon as I come, you start to leave. Why is that? Are you hiding something?" Her dog barked, as if agreeing with her.
"Perman is training me here," I stated, keeping my voice level and direct. "So, if you want to talk to Perman, do it later." I didn't wait for a response, just started walking again, pulling Perman along with me. He looked back at the girl, a hesitant, apologetic look on his face.
The girl, however, simply chuckled, her dog nudging her hand. "Oh, training, huh? Well, don't let me interrupt your 'very important superhero training'!" she called out, a hint of amusement in her voice that told me she clearly didn't believe the full extent of my explanation. As we distanced ourselves, I could hear her still giggling to herself.
'Humans are so illogical,' I mused. 'Their priorities are easily swayed, and their social interactions are often inefficient. This will require more precise calibration.' I had a month to make Mitsuo better, and I wouldn't let charming strangers, no matter how "beautiful," derail our mission.