The clock on my nightstand glared at me: 9:50 AM. Ten minutes. The award ceremony was supposed to start at 10. I fidgeted, my legs bouncing restlessly. The Copy Robot was sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, looking completely unconcerned.
"Shouldn't we send Wooby now?" I asked, breaking the silence. "It'll take him some time to get there, and the ceremony's starting soon."
He didn't even shift. "There's no need. We'll send him when it's absolutely necessary. Those people can wait for Perman. If they can't wait for the hero who just saved dozens of lives, then there's no need for this whole stupid award ceremony anyway. It's just a publicity stunt."
I clamped my mouth shut. He was right, of course. No matter how wrong it felt sometimes, how rude or cold his logic seemed, what he did almost always turned out to be the right thing in the end. It was infuriatingly effective.
Suddenly, my Perman badge started ringing, vibrating against my chest. My heart jumped. An unexpected call, just minutes before the ceremony. I pulled it out. It was Pako.
"Perman!" her voice screeched through the badge, frantic and breathless. "The award ceremony is going to start soon! You have to come! Everyone's waiting!"
The Copy Robot didn't even flinch. He just laid there, calm as a statue. He must have anticipated this. He was probably just waiting for it to happen, just to prove his point.
"I can't come," he said, his voice flat and unyielding, echoing through the badge. He didn't bother to explain that it was him talking, not me. "I'm doing my duty right now. Something unexpected came up, something far more important than a public ceremony."
Pako's voice went from frantic to outright furious. "What?! You can't just not show up! Everyone's here! Miss Sumire is about to go on stage! You have to come!"
The Copy Robot sighed, a theatrical, put-upon sound. "Pako, if Miss Sumire herself is giving the award, and Perman isn't there, you should know by now that it's because something genuinely important has come up. If you're already there, then you should take the award yourself. It's not about the trophy; it's about the acknowledgment of the deed, which you can easily convey." Then, without another word, he simply hung up.
My jaw dropped. "Hey! Why did you talk to her like that?!" I exploded, completely shocked. He was so harsh!
He finally sat up, turning to face me. "You don't need to be scared of Pako, Mitsuo. We've already told her our intentions. It's her concern now, not ours. Our time is too valuable to be wasted on social anxieties."
The badge immediately started ringing again, buzzing angrily. I instinctively reached for it.
"Don't take the call," the robot commanded.
I hesitated for a second, then, with a sigh, I just did it. I cut the call. The ringing stopped.
The robot then flopped back down onto the bed, letting out another exaggerated sigh of contentment. "There. Now, we should rest. It's not our concern anymore."
He reached under the bed and pulled out a large bag of potato chips and a carton of my favorite mango juice. "Want some?" he asked, tearing open the bag with surprising enthusiasm.
My eyes widened. Those chips were super expensive, and that juice was a rare treat. But then I remembered. He was a millionaire now.
"Don't worry," he said, catching my surprised gaze. "We're millionaires, remember? We can afford it."
I didn't say anything. I just reached for the bag, pulled out a handful of chips, and started munching. The salty crunch was comforting.
A strange warmth spread through me as I ate. It wasn't just the chips. It was the fact that he'd remembered what I liked. No one else ever thought of me like that. My own parents usually liked Ganko more than me, always praising her achievements. My "friends" were just that, friends by name, never really caring about the small things that made me happy. But the robot, he thinks so much about me.
He looked at me, a soft, almost empathetic look on his face. "Don't worry, Mitsuo," he said, his voice unusually gentle. "Soon, you'll have real friends. Friends who actually worry about you, who understand you, who remember the little things."
And as I crunched on the chips, I found myself, for the first time in a long time, truly believing him.