Pako simply smiled, a soft, understanding look in her eyes as she heard my deliberate refusal. "Okay, Perman," she said, her voice gentle, "I understand. Thank you." Her sincerity was registered, though her reasons were still rooted in emotional complexities I found… perplexing. This protracted social interaction, while yielding some data, felt like an unnecessary drain on my brain. It was, in essence, a headache. Humans invested so much energy in these intricate, often indirect, exchanges.
"You're welcome," I responded, maintaining the appropriate Perman persona.
Time was being inefficiently spent. With a polite nod, I took to the sky, leaving Pako on the rooftop, still gazing after me with that lingering, unreadable smile. My mission was clear: acquire knowledge for Mitsuo's improvement. And the most efficient place to do that was the library.
I decided against removing the Perman set. The transformation was an unnecessary step, consuming precious seconds.
I landed silently on the street outside the municipal library, the familiar scent of old paper and hushed concentration already detectable. I pushed open the heavy glass doors. The soft hum of fluorescent lights and the rustle of turning pages filled the air. I strode directly to the science and history sections, my red cape swishing subtly behind me. My programming directed me to books that would supplement the knowledge I had already absorbed, focusing on strategic thinking, global economics, and advanced social psychology. These were areas where Mitsuo's 'goodwill' and innocence made him vulnerable.
As I navigated the narrow aisles, my senses registered a shift in the ambient environment. The hushed whispers grew even quieter. Heads, bent over books and laptops, slowly began to turn. Eyes, wide with surprise, followed my every movement. I detected murmurs, snippets of confused conversation: "Perman? Here? Why is he in the library?" "Is there trouble? Is he reading up on villains?" "Maybe he's researching a new power!"
They were all looking at me. Their collective gaze was a tangible presence, a wave of curiosity and bewilderment. But I paid zero attention. Their emotional states, while noted, were irrelevant to my primary function. Their presence did not impede my access to information. My focus remained on the spines of the books, quickly scanning titles and authors, cross-referencing them with my internal index for optimal knowledge acquisition. The concept of 'personal space' as understood by humans, and the social awkwardness of being stared at, held no weight for a being driven by pure efficiency.
I located a particularly thick tome on international relations and pulled it from the shelf. As I turned to carry it to a nearby reading table, a new human approached my immediate vicinity. She moved with an almost aggressive confidence, her steps deliberate. Her posture radiated an unquestioning self-assurance, a trait I observed in individuals often associated with elevated social or financial standing. Perhaps she possessed an inherent belief in her own significance, or perhaps it stemmed from her physical attributes – a striking appearance, indeed – or her family background, often a source of such unearned confidence in human society.
Without a word, without so much as a glance to ascertain if the adjacent seat was occupied or if I was receptive to companionship, she simply pulled out a chair beside me and sat down. Her presence was immediate, intrusive.
'This is utterly illogical,' I thought, holding the heavy book. 'Perman has truly compromised his self-respect to such an extent that any random stranger feels entitled to sit beside him without even a preliminary request. His inherent politeness, while a commendable trait in certain scenarios, has been exploited to the point of appearing weak. This degree of uninvited proximity is inefficient and potentially disruptive.'
My internal analysis confirmed it: humans, particularly those with a perceived higher social standing, would often take advantage of others' passive or overly accommodating nature. This was precisely the kind of social vulnerability I was tasked with rectifying in Mitsuo. A genuine Perman, a hero, should command respect, not invite casual, unbidden intrusion. This interaction, while mildly irritating, provided further valuable data on the social landscape Mitsuo inhabited. I would need to recalibrate his responses to such overtures.