22. Custom-Made
We arrived at the ruins.
Shaped like a pyramid, it stood about as tall as a five-story building.
Its geometric beauty was striking, with patches covered in golden moss and vines, birds nesting here and there, and tourist humanoid robots sitting to take photos.
"There are other humanoid robots here besides us?" Jinri asked.
The clerk responded, "Yes. The entrance we used isn't the only one."
"Is this all owned by this brand?"
"Not owned, just rented. Next month, another brand will take over."
With that conversation, we entered the ruins.
Inside, it felt as if a powerful air conditioner was running, starkly dry compared to the jungle's dense humidity, with static electricity crackling just from walking.
"It's a bit too dry, isn't it?" I grumbled.
"Shouldn't you turn on a humidifier?"
"This place has a lot of water-sensitive precision machinery, so we keep it minimal," the clerk explained.
"You'll get used to it soon enough. It's only until the clothes are finished."
"How long will that take?"
"I can't say. I've never worked with such exquisite material before, so I can't predict."
"Please don't take too long. I'm in a tough spot, but my time is running out."
"I see," the clerk said, her face tightening slightly with concern.
"I'll do my best not to get caught up in perfectionism."
Looking around, the interior had the dim atmosphere of a dungeon, but torches lined the walls in perfect order, and rugged chandeliers, carved as if from raw mineral, hung at regular intervals.
As we progressed, the space took on the refined air of a luxury hotel lobby mixed with the curious charm of an eccentric museum.
Many humanoid robots bustled about, engrossed in taking photos, and we carefully navigated around them, following the clerk while avoiding the shutter sounds. Finally, we reached a door with a sign reading "Costume Room."
The clerk knocked, but there was no response.
"Lucky us," she said. "It's all ours. The gods of Mars must be guiding us to create the finest uniforms."
She opened the door, and we stepped into the costume room.
At first, the room seemed empty, but that was only because it was veiled by a holographic curtain, like a thin waterfall blocking all visible light. Switching my visual sensors to infrared and ultraviolet modes, the room's details gradually emerged.
Passing through the veil, the room became visible even to standard visual sensors. It felt like a young girl's dream—or perhaps, a touch exaggerated, a secret room brimming with fantasies. Intricately designed shelves and closets stood neatly arranged, while desks and chairs, shaped as if scribbled by a preschooler with crayons, dotted the space chaotically.
Yet, everything needed was present.
On the bed, lush greenery reminiscent of a garden corner flourished, and the wallpaper was adorned with colorful patterns that seemed to encompass every candy brand in existence.
The atmosphere was dizzying yet somehow fulfilling.
The clerk scanned the room and beckoned us.
"This way."
She led us to a large full-length mirror, big enough to reflect both Jinri and me entirely, with a red circular carpet laid before it like a small stage.
"Stand here," she instructed.
Jinri and I stepped onto the carpet, feeling a bit like nervous students stepping onto a stage for a drama club rehearsal, almost as if we'd become actors.
The clerk approached with a measuring tape.
She stared at us for a moment, then lightly traced our bare bodies from feet to head with her fingertips, tickling us. The sensation was momentarily chilling yet strangely fresh, almost euphoric.
The measurement began in earnest.
As the tape glided over our bodies, it felt like a cutting-edge medical device scanning every detail, evoking a mix of openness and vulnerability. The tape's touch was oddly soothing, like a pure earthworm cleansing the body as it crawled.
Once the measurements were done, the clerk finally spoke.
"Measurements complete. You both have excellent bodies."
At her compliment, Jinri and I merely exchanged glances.
A quiet, clean joy, as if purified by the "earthworm" of the measuring tape, lingered between us.
The clerk continued, "Now, I'll start making the clothes."
She moved to a small wooden desk and chair in a corner of the room.
She caressed the furniture gently, as if fondly recalling a long-missed home. The gesture had a natural ease, like blending into a riverside landscape.
Quietly pulling the chair, she sat down.
The desk and chair seemed to embrace her, as if welcoming their true master.
The clerk exuded an air of having found her true place, completely at home.
Raising her hands, measured with surgical precision as if a doctor preparing for an operation, she said in a sacred, saint-like whisper, "I'll begin the work."
Drawn by her voice, I moved almost unconsciously, handing her the fabric from the white bear. She received it with the care one might reserve for a sacred relic, placing it gently on the worktable.
She spread it out slowly, ensuring not a single wrinkle formed.
Though I'd handled the fabric carelessly before, her touch made its value shine. Like the solemn act of preparing matcha in a tea ceremony, the fabric's presence intensified. Its glossy white fur shimmered faintly in the room's dim light, almost as if alive.
Without another word, the clerk began sewing.
She cut the fabric precisely with sharp scissors, carefully treating the edges to prevent fraying. Then, she started an old-fashioned sewing machine, its rhythmic needle movements echoing through the room. Occasionally, she hand-stitched delicate details, checking the thread's tension with her fingertips, shaping the fabric with the focus of a sculptor chiseling stone.
Pinning sections temporarily and marking with chalk, her hands moved like a conductor's. The mechanical hum of the sewing machine intertwined with the quiet precision of her handwork, breathing life into the clothes.
As she immersed herself completely, Jinri and I stood still.
To avoid disturbing her focus, we maintained a silence so profound it felt like even an ant's footsteps would be too loud. We stood fixed, as if in sleep mode, holding our breath. The time felt long, but strangely, no frustration arose. The moment seemed irreplaceable.
The room was filled with the heat of her creative energy.
After thirteen seconds—an eternity—she finally stopped.
Her slightly hunched posture straightened, and she looked up. When her gaze met ours, her eyes held an irreversible change, as if she'd glimpsed another world.
"The clothes are finished," she said, her voice brimming with the certainty of having fulfilled her purpose.