The hiss of hydraulics announced the chambers opening in unison.
Valerian stepped out first. His new bioengineering suit shimmered stormy blue, sleek and sharp, like liquid steel molded to every contour of his body. Veins of pale light traced down his arms and across his chest, pulsing faintly with each breath. The suit wasn't cloth or armor—it was alive, shifting with his movements, tightening when he flexed, relaxing when he stood still. He moved like he always had—disciplined, precise, controlled—but there was an aura now, like an upgraded machine, not a man.
Luna followed seconds later.
Her light-purple biomechanical suit gleamed softly under the lab's sterile lights. It clung perfectly to her form, elegant yet powerful, with streaks of soft azure running down her arms and thighs, like moonlight woven into living alloy. It was protective, designed for battle, yet beautiful—almost too perfect, like something meant to inspire rather than intimidate.
But Luna felt none of that elegance.
Her hands reflexively rose to cover her chest and stomach. The second skin of the suit was too smooth, too seamless. It felt like being bare, like the entire lab could see through her. Her cheeks flamed, and her purple eyes darted downward, avoiding Valerian's gaze. "It's too tight… too thin… why do I feel so exposed? It's just a suit. Just a suit. But… but it's like I'm not wearing anything at all."
She risked one glance upward.
And froze.
Valerian's storm-gray eyes had flickered—just for a second. His gaze had caught her, paused, then snapped away with mechanical sharpness. But she saw it. He had looked.
Her breath caught, chest tightening. Her cheeks burned even hotter, and her words tumbled out in a nervous stammer:
"W-why… are you staring…?"
Valerian's expression hardened instantly, his voice flat as stone.
"Nothing."
But his eyes betrayed the faintest ripple of distraction, gone before even he realized it.
Thomas Pear clapped his hands, the sound echoing against the chrome walls.
"Good. Very good. Both suits look stable. Bio-sync levels optimal. I would say excellent compatibility across both subjects."
He turned sharply, his gaze flicking between them. Then, his finger jabbed toward Luna.
"But… are you really an S-rank?"
Luna flinched. "Eh—what?"
"You stand there covering yourself like a recruit on her first day of training. Look at Valerian—an A-rank, yet completely composed, already adapting."
Her entire body went hot. She pulled her hands tighter across her chest, shoulders curling inward, purple hair spilling forward to hide her face. She wanted to disappear.
From the corner of her eye, she caught it. Valerian's lips—barely a twitch, but unmistakable. Amusement.
He found this funny.
Luna's cheeks turned crimson. "He noticed. He definitely noticed. Stormbane, you cruel, cold, unreadable… why now do you smile?!"
She bit down on her lower lip, forcing a tiny, nervous laugh. Her voice wavered.
"I-I'm just… adjusting, that's all. This is different from anything in training."
Thomas waved dismissively. "Excuses. You're ISA's radiant star, are you not? Then shine, don't squirm."
Luna's fingers dug into her thighs, knuckles whitening beneath the thin purple alloy. She nodded quickly, lips curling into a shaky smile she didn't feel.
Thomas gestured toward the corner, where two more beds had risen from the floor, their frames lined with delicate silver tubing and needle-thin injectors.
"Now for the critical augmentation," Thomas said, voice clinical, efficient. "The suits protect your bodies, but Mecha Empire is no place for humans—not even ones as… radiant as you, Mooncreast. The air there is synthetic, engineered for machine lungs. You would suffocate in minutes."
A tray slid out from the wall, revealing two small, intricate devices—thin, metallic crescents no larger than a fingertip, glinting with pale blue light.
"This implant," Thomas continued, holding one up with precision tweezers, "will embed directly into the base of your neck. It functions as a biomechanical respirator. Nano-pumps will filter the mechanical atmosphere you inhale, breaking it down, converting it into oxygen for your bloodstream. At the same time, it stabilizes your energy cycle to mimic the machines you'll be blending in with. Without it, your cover would fail immediately."
Valerian nodded once, already moving toward the bed.
"Understood."
His voice carried no hesitation, no doubt. He lay down, eyes closed, as the bed's mechanical arms unfolded above him, thin needles glinting.
Luna watched him, heart twisting. He was calm. Always calm. He didn't even question what the implant would do to him, didn't show fear of the needles or the thought of something foreign burrowing into his body. "How can he be so unshaken? How can he stand there like stone while I…"
Thomas's gaze snapped to her.
"You too. Bed. Now."
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her legs moved stiffly, carrying her to the second bed. When she lay down, her pulse raced. The alloy surface was cold against her back.
"Procedure beginning."
The arms lowered.
Her breath caught as the first injector touched the back of her neck. A sharp sting pierced her skin, and she flinched, fists clenching.
"A-ah!"
She bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry out again. "Don't… don't make a fool of yourself. He's right there. If I scream now, he'll never look at me as anything but weak."
The device slid under her skin, burrowing deeper. She felt it lock into place, merging with her spinal cord. A flood of cold spread down her back, then up into her skull, as though her blood had turned to liquid frost.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. The air around her tasted metallic now—different, strange—yet somehow breathable. She could feel the implant working already, pulling in the mechanical scent of the lab and breaking it into oxygen.
Luna's lips trembled, but she forced out a shaky laugh.
"H-ha… weird… but I can breathe…"
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. "But will I ever breathe normally again? Or is this who I am now… machine in disguise?"
She closed her eyes briefly, and one thought struck her like a blade:
"If this is the price to stay by his side… then I'll endure it."
"Both of you," Thomas said firmly, his voice sharp as a blade striking alloy, "stand up straight."
Luna, still curled with her arms across her chest, blinked up at him. Her cheeks were already flushed crimson, but when Thomas's hand hovered over a glowing panel, her breath caught.
"Especially you, Mooncreast," he continued, his tone clinical, unrelenting. "Stop covering yourself like that. If I click this single button—" he tapped the control lightly, and a faint hum ran across the walls— "your biomechanical suit will dismantle instantly. Every layered strand will retract into its storage state. Meaning yes, you will be exposed. Entirely."
Her entire body jolted. Purple hair tumbled forward, framing her wide eyes. She straightened so fast her back cracked, arms snapping stiffly to her sides.
"I-I… I understand," she whispered, though her cheeks flamed even deeper.
Valerian stood beside her like stone, his storm-blue suit pulsing faintly with light as though it didn't matter at all. His eyes barely moved—just a faint flicker toward Luna, then back to Thomas. He gave nothing away.
"He doesn't care. Not one bit. Why do I care so much?!" Luna thought, her heart twisting, half humiliated, half strangely relieved.
Thomas nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, next. You can't enter Mechatopia looking like this. Too perfect, too combat-ready. The citizens are machines, androids, hybrids—ordinary. So you'll need civilian disguises."
He swiped a hand across the holographic console, and two mannequins slid forward from the wall. Both wore simulated "casual" clothes.
"For you," he gestured to Valerian, "long coat, shirt, undershirt, standard pants. Self-adjusting fiber weave—underwear and undershirt adapt automatically to your body dimensions. Even posture or sudden stress changes will be corrected."
Valerian nodded once. "Acceptable."
Then Thomas turned toward Luna.
"And for you. Options: tactical pants, long or short skirt, flexible bras—each auto-sizes to chest dimensions—underwear likewise adjusts to hip width. Top wear ranges from conservative to more… stylish." His eyes flicked to her chest as he spoke, utterly clinical. "Custom modifications are possible. Crops at the waist, chest, thighs. Mechatopian fashion tends toward exposed areas—functionality and vanity combined."
Luna's face went scarlet. "I-I… I don't need… I mean, no custom, thank you!"
Her hands fidgeted together in front of her as she shook her head frantically. Purple strands of hair bounced around her cheeks.
Thomas raised a brow. "Strange. You're a woman—you should already understand this. But fine. No custom."
Valerian's voice cut in, calm and even. "I don't want fashion either."
Thomas gave him an approving nod. "Practical. I expected that."
The mannequins shifted, displaying their clothing in full.
Luna swallowed hard. Her eyes darted toward the female set—bra, underwear, skirt, pants. Her mind began spiraling immediately.
"So that… that bra… it's really going to scan me? And size itself automatically? Won't that mean he'll… know? Oh no. What if Valerian notices…? What if the system… announces it or something…? Oh god, why am I even thinking like this!"
Her cheeks puffed slightly, then burned even hotter. She squeezed her hands into fists, staring firmly at the floor.
And then, in her panic, the words slipped out without thought.
"So that means… we're… we're naked right now, aren't we?"
The entire room froze for a beat.
Thomas, utterly unfazed, replied in his dry tone:
"In machine terms? Yes. Your current biomechanical suit is technically artificial skin. To us, to them—you're naked."
Luna gasped softly, her eyes wide as saucers. Her legs buckled, and she curled down toward the floor, arms shooting across her chest again, purple hair falling over her face.
"I-I knew it! I knew it felt like nothing! W-why am I here? Oh my god, Valerian is right here—don't look, don't look, don't—"
Her face was crimson. Drops of sweat rolled down her temple as she crouched low, hugging herself tight.
Valerian's jaw shifted almost imperceptibly. His lips threatened to twitch again, but he pressed them flat. His eyes, however, didn't linger. They swept past her, back to Thomas, as though nothing mattered.
Still—Luna noticed. And that tiny almost-smirk carved her deeper than Thomas's clinical words ever could.
Thomas sighed. "Mooncreast, compose yourself. ISA has trained you for worse. Harsh environments, harsh conditions, full exposure. Yet now, before your partner, you crumble? S-rank or not, you disappoint me."
His voice was sharp, like a blade.
Luna winced, but nodded quickly, forcing herself upright again. Her hands trembled as she smoothed her hair back, trying to fix her appearance, but her eyes refused to meet Valerian's.
"Y-yes, understood…" she murmured, voice breaking.
Thomas gestured briskly. "Good. Now—take these. Change. When you're both dressed, we'll proceed with final briefing."
The clothing compartments opened with a pneumatic hiss. The ordinary civilian disguises slid forward, glowing faintly with neon seams, ready for their wearers.
The compartments unfolded with a faint hiss of compressed air. Inside gleamed folded sets of the civilian clothing, their fibers glowing faintly with an inner current of nanite activity. The air smelled faintly sterile, like clean steel and ozone, the scent of technology that had never known dust.
Thomas's voice broke the silence.
"Now—wear them. Here. No need to go to another room."
Luna's head shot up. "H-here?!"
Thomas gave her a clinical look, almost bored.
"Yes. As I've already explained—in machine terms, you are naked. But once you wear these, you'll have a disguise layered over your bio-suit. Think of it as clothing over artificial skin. There is no shame here. Only efficiency."
Valerian had already stepped forward. Calmly, wordlessly, he took his set from the compartment. The dark coat and undershirt shimmered in his hands, threads adjusting as though alive, waiting to synchronize with his frame. Without hesitation, he began slipping the undershirt over his storm-blue biomechanical suit.
The fibers clung instantly to his chest, scanning muscle depth, posture, bone alignment. A faint ripple of neon crossed the shirt as it auto-sized. It looked ordinary now—just a clean undershirt—but its seams pulsed faintly with blue, a whisper of what it really was.
"Perfect fit," Thomas noted with approval. "Good. The coat will seal at the wrist and collar, preventing environmental anomalies from triggering suspicion. Pants next."
Valerian obeyed silently, sliding into the long pants, the fabric tightening over his legs and hips with seamless precision.
He looked exactly like a man dressed in a simple traveler's outfit—but beneath, the storm still raged.
Luna stood frozen in place. Her cheeks glowed pink, her breath fluttering in shallow, nervous bursts. Her fingers curled against her thighs.
The female civilian outfit gleamed at her from the compartment. Folded neatly: a tactical bra, underwear, pants, and a simple top. She could feel the pulse of the nanites even from here, as though the clothes were… watching her.
Her thoughts spiraled, hard and fast:
"It will scan me. The bra will know my chest size. It'll know. I'll know. Oh no… and what if Valerian… what if he can tell? What if it adjusts too obviously? What if he stares again…? Stop! No, he wouldn't… would he?"
Her hands trembled as she lifted the bra between her fingers. The fabric was weightless, flexible, impossibly soft. It shimmered faintly, stretching slightly as though it already knew.
Thomas's eyes caught hers, and his voice was merciless.
"Hesitation wastes time. Put it on."
Her face ignited in fire. "Y-yes… understood…"
She turned slightly, trying to give herself some angle away from Valerian, though she knew—knew—he wasn't looking. He hadn't once acknowledged her panic. He was fastening the last buttons of his coat, posture perfect, as if the world's awkwardness could never touch him.
Still—her hands shook as she slipped the bra over her shoulders. The fabric rippled, molding instantly to her frame. A faint glow swept across her chest, scanning dimensions with inhuman precision. She felt every centimeter as it tightened, fitting snug, supportive—perfect.
Her breath hitched.
"It… it knows. Oh god. 32D… 32D… stop thinking about numbers, stop—what if he knows, what if the machine tells—"
She yanked her tactical top over herself quickly, heart hammering. The top sealed around her neck and waist with a whisper of air. The glow vanished, leaving only a sleek, casual appearance. To anyone else, she looked perfectly modest. To her, she felt exposed.
Next—the underwear and pants. She snatched them quickly, cheeks burning, slipping them on while half curling her body as though to shield herself from invisible eyes. The nanite weave contracted at her hips, hugging precisely before relaxing into comfortable fit.
Again, that shiver of shame.
"It knows. Every curve. It knows me better than I do. Stop it, Luna, stop! You're an S-Rank—why are you acting like a child—"
Finally, she pulled on the long pants and fastened the seams. The outfit adjusted smoothly. She now looked like any ordinary traveler in Mechatopia. Nothing about her screamed "ISA operative."
But she couldn't stop tugging the hem of her top downward, her arms half-crossing instinctively over her chest.
Thomas observed silently, then exhaled a faint, unimpressed sigh.
"Functional. But your posture ruins the illusion. Stand straight. You must walk like a citizen, not a girl hiding herself."
Luna flushed deeper, forcing her shoulders back, though her arms still twitched with the urge to cover.
Valerian's eyes flicked toward her. Just once. Just long enough for her to notice.
She stammered immediately, her voice cracking like glass.
"W-why… why are you staring…?"
His gaze, calm as a storm contained, slid away again.
"Nothing."
That one word cut her deeper than a blade. Her heart leapt, twisted, then collapsed all in the space of a breath.
"He saw. He definitely saw. He said nothing. He doesn't care. He never will. Stop it, Luna. Stop hoping. Just… just finish the mission."
Her cheeks still red, she forced a nervous laugh and looked down at the floor, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her new top.
Thomas clapped his hands once, efficient, sharp.
"Enough. Civilian disguises are complete. Sit. We proceed with the infiltration briefing."
Luna swallowed, nodded stiffly, and sat again. Her entire body still hummed with embarrassment, but her radiant smile flickered back onto her lips like a fragile mask.