My mind raced. "Together?" I stammered, still trying to regain my composure and my personal space. The scent of her perfume, light and floral, still lingered, making my head spin. I wanted to tell her that we weren't "together" in any sense of the word, but the Copy Robot's voice cut in, surprisingly calm despite the bizarre situation.
"She's trying to establish a shared narrative, Mitsuo. Don't contradict it directly. Acknowledge the 'togetherness' but pivot to the immediate objective: the inverters. Remember, the free inverters."
"Yes, together," I repeated, trying to sound as suave as Perman usually did, though my voice still cracked a little. "Especially when it comes to... sustainable energy solutions." I gestured vaguely at the invisible plans in my head. "About those inverters, Kirei..."
She giggled, a genuine, unforced sound that somehow softened the awkwardness of the situation. "Oh, right! The inverters!" She finally let go of my hand, and I almost sighed in relief, though I made sure to remain perfectly still, not wanting to give her any reason to grab me again.
She walked over to a sleek, minimalist desk in her room, tapping on a tablet. "I've already contacted my father's engineers. They can arrange for a discreet delivery of the solar power inverters, exactly the quantity you need, within 48 hours. And of course, no paperwork, no questions asked. Just a thank you from Perman will suffice." She turned, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Unless, of course, you'd like to thank me in person?"
My face warmed again. The Copy Robot's voice, usually so logical and precise, remained silent. Even he seemed to be struggling with this level of human interaction.
"Don't respond to the personal invitation, Mitsuo. Focus on the logistics. Confirm the details. Then, escape gracefully."
"That's... excellent, Kirei," I managed, trying to sound professional. "Forty-eight hours is perfect. And your discretion is greatly appreciated." I started to edge towards the door, slowly, subtly.
She watched me, her smile unwavering. "Running off already, Perman?" she teased, but there was no malice in her tone. "I thought we were going to talk. About your dreams, your worries... or were those just empty promises?"
"She's employing emotional manipulation, Mitsuo. Reiterate your appreciation, but emphasize your commitment to your duties. Suggest a future, non-committal interaction."
"Of course not, Kirei," I said, forcing a sincere tone. "It's just that... well, being Perman means constant vigilance. Threats don't take breaks, you know? But I truly appreciate your help. Perhaps... another time, when things are less... critical?" I tried to sound hopeful, but also busy.
She looked at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine, and I thought she might press the issue. But then, to my surprise, she simply nodded. "Alright, Perman," she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice, but also understanding. "Duty calls, I suppose. Just... don't forget me, okay? And remember, my door is always open for a hero in need... or just a hero who needs to talk." She winked.
I managed a weak smile, a quick nod, and then, with a burst of relief, I made my escape. I flew out of her window, the cool morning air a welcome balm on my flushed face. The sound of her soft laughter floated up from her room as I soared away, leaving me to wonder if I had just negotiated a business deal or survived a very strange date.
I landed back in my room, slightly breathless, and quickly remove the perman set. The Copy Robot was sitting calmly on my bed, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up as I entered, a faint smirk on his face.
"So," he began, without looking up from his phone, "how was your... negotiation?"
I threw the Perman suit onto my desk. "Don't even start, Copy Robot! She almost had me stuck in there! And what was with all those instructions? 'Emotional manipulation,' 'playful dominance' – you could have warned me she was going to be like that!"
He finally looked up, his expression neutral. "Sorry, I hadn't expected this. However, we got inverters." He paused. "And you survived."
"Barely!" I grumbled, collapsing onto my own bed. "And what about all that 'handsome hero' stuff? You didn't tell me to ignore that!"
"I admit, her flattery was… surprisingly effective. Even I, experienced a momentary processing delay."
I stared at him. He actually admitted it. That was... new. "Wait, you actually thought she was serious?"
He gave a slight shrug. "Maybe she thought." He picked up his phone again. "In any case, the inverters will be delivered soon. Now, about our next steps..."
The next morning, the solar inverters arrived, a large, rectangular crate discreetly dropped off near the the location that robot told them. The Copy Robot, still in Perman form, swiftly transported it to the hideout.
My days were split between school and the hideout. Girls, still curious about my "transformation," would approach, and I'd engage in carefully orchestrated conversations, guided by the Copy Robot's remote instructions in my ear.
"Remember, Mitsuo," he'd whisper, "maintain eye contact. Express intellectual curiosity about her interests, but don't reveal too much about your own. Offer a compliment about her intelligence, not her appearance. This fosters a more substantial connection while maintaining emotional distance."
It was exhausting, playing two roles – the normal, improving Mitsuo, and the hero-in-training. But the hideout became my escape, a place where I could truly be myself, or at least, the version of myself the Copy Robot was molding me into.
In the evenings, after my homework was done and my parents thought I was asleep, I'd slip out to the hideout. The Copy Robot would be waiting, sometimes already engrossed in studying complex financial reports or practicing intricate combat maneuvers. He never forced me to train, but his presence, his sheer dedication, was a silent challenge. I found myself picking up the bamboo sword, punching the bags, following the routines he had designed, pushing my body to its limits. He'd occasionally offer a brief, precise critique – "Elbow higher, Mitsuo. Your stance is too wide" – but mostly, he let me learn, let me push myself.
I even started to read some of the books he had acquired. The more I learned, the more I understood the subtle ways the Copy Robot was manipulating the world around us, ensuring my path was clear, my future secure.
One night, after a particularly grueling training session, I sat on the comfortable sofa in the hideout, sipping a juice that the Copy Robot had magically acquired. He was at one of the computer terminals, a flurry of data scrolling across the multiple screens.
"Copy Robot," I said, breaking the silence, "all this... it's a lot. Are you sure Birdman won't find out about any of this? The money, the hideout, the training... it's a lot for him to miss."
He turned, his face illuminated by the glow of the screens. "I don't think he would have a problem with that." He paused, a hint of something that sounded like pride in his voice. "And remember, Mitsuo, he monitors you. Not me."
He turned back to his screens, and I knew he was right. I was the face, the public persona, while he was the silent, unseen architect of my future. The thought was both daunting and exhilarating.