She Is Not Human

Chapter 20

The sheet slipped as Max half-rose, leaning over the girl. Her skin was translucent pearl, her youthful features holding a breathtakingly pure innocence. Long, dark lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks. He stared, mesmerized, as if enchanted, slowly lowering his head until their breaths mingled.

In the stories, the Sleeping Princess needed a Prince's kiss to awaken. Was he her prince? Would embracing those unforgettable lips once more open her eyes?

Before he could make contact, her eyes snapped open.

Maya disliked having Max's face this close; it forced her to adjust ocular focus and retinal projection. It took seconds for her vision to clear, revealing Max's deep, unfathomable eyes, holding emotions she couldn't parse. Her expression looked focused, like a lover's gaze, but the reality was far less romantic.

*Hands numb. Legs immobile. Neck stiff. Blinking doesn't change anything. Still a corpse. Should I shut down again?*

Max's initial surge of relief at seeing her awake was choked off by the inability to utter "You're awake." He felt like a burglar caught red-handed by the homeowner stepping out for a midnight piss—an inexplicable guilt.

These strange new feelings sprouting within him... he didn't want Maya to know. Even though Maya was irreverent and lacked any sense of propriety between them, he stubbornly clung to the belief she was still too young. Feelings were fickle.

Today she might love you desperately; tomorrow she might forget you entirely.

Four years ago, hadn't she been obsessed with that boy to the point she couldn't tolerate a single bad word about him? Now, she no longer cried or demanded answers about that incident upon seeing him, but somehow she'd fixated on *him* instead.

Which meant she might just as easily forget this current obsession someday.

The heart of a young girl—who could fathom it? A passing infatuation wasn't lifelong devotion. So, if it hadn't truly begun, it was better he severed these thoughts first. Otherwise, if he truly started loving her as a woman, he didn't know if he could bear Maya's eventual, indifferent forgetting.

By his nature, once started, there was no stopping. If she no longer loved him then... he might resort to anything, possess her, cage her forever by his side. Forced fruit isn't sweet—it would wound them both.

But he knew himself: once fallen, he'd be like a moth to flame, burning until the end.

A flicker of discomfort crossed Max's face. He was about to feign calm and turn away to escape her gaze when Maya let out a soft "Ah-hoo" and closed her eyes.

As if she'd chosen to retreat before he could even act.

"Wake up." Max frowned, his voice deepening with a hint of displeasure he hadn't intended.

But Maya lay perfectly still. Her open eyes, the flash of cerulean light within them—perhaps just an illusion?

"Maya?" Max called again, uncertain. Seeing no response, anxiety spiked. He checked her pulse, only relaxing after a moment. *Good. She just fell asleep again.*

This sleep lasted another half day. Maya flexed her fingers, then slowly pulled her arm from the covers, waving it experimentally. *Good. Host body integration unchanged. Seems... perhaps even improved?*

Max, leaning against the headboard in feigned sleep, stirred at the sound. He looked at her, expression natural. "Need something? Water? Porridge?"

Maya looked back, curling a finger. "Come here."

Max obliged, leaning over her, bracing an arm near her shoulder. Meeting his deep gaze, seeing the handsome, sharp lines of his face up close, Maya's thoughts raced. Their lips and tongues touching... the sensation had been strange, unfamiliar.

She didn't understand this human bodily reaction. Back then, using her mouth was necessary to deliver the metal filament deep within him. But without needing to transfer energy, what was the point of pressing mouths together?

She remembered Max's intense, almost frantic response even in his gravely wounded haze. Logically, without energy transfer or data sharing, it was like Controller Three suddenly pressing a data port against hers... and then... weirdly sticking together?

"Were you trying to bite my mouth just now?" The question slipped out in the next moment.

Max's expression instantly froze, turning peculiar.

*She noticed after all?*

"Let's try again."

True to her exploratory nature, thought and action were one for Maya. Before Max's surprised eyes, her arms looped around his neck and yanked him down.

Caught off guard, Max slammed hard against Maya's lips. The coppery tang of blood bloomed at the corners of their mouths. That maddening softness again, shattering his composure. Max's heart clenched. He tried to wrench free from her embrace and rise, but Maya grabbed his shirt. The thin fabric slid down his arm, exposing defined collarbones and the hard, streamlined muscle beneath.

"Has Maya woken up?"

The door swung open. Young Erik stood there, thick bandages still wrapped around his head. He'd been munching on a fruit, but his jaw dropped at the scene before him. The fruit tumbled from his hand, rolled across the floor, and came to rest by the bedpost.

"What... what are you two doing in my house?!" he shouted.

*Wait. That wasn't the main point.*

Erik charged to the bedside in three strides, grabbing Max's shirtfront. "You beast!" he spat, furious.

Young Erik had been deeply miserable these past few days.

It stemmed from his father replacing his primary physician with Max. Since then, his tragic life had known no respite.

Mayor Smith's intention was clear: he wanted his son to interact more with Mr. Anderson. With the organization's dealings with Max uncertain, while the cooperation lasted, as the city's proxy, the Mayor would eventually retire, leaving Erik to deal with Max. This was a perfect opportunity for them to get acquainted.

What the Mayor didn't know was that Erik calling Max a "beast" that day boded ill for their future relationship.

Max hadn't explained anything that day. Calmly buttoning his shirt, he'd pushed Erik aside and walked out. Their next meeting came only after the physician change.

Now, Erik glared sideways at Max, lounging casually nearby. If he could speak, he'd be shouting obscenities. Instead, he could only swivel his eyes, his body rigidly standing before Max.

When Max picked up a small, flat scalpel, Erik finally found his voice. "Wh-what are you going to do?!"

Max glanced at the time, still polishing the blade. "Anesthetic's wearing off soon."

"Wait! What are you doing to me?"

"Skin graft. Want to go out bald?" Max raised an eyebrow. In truth, Erik only had a thumb-sized burn scar on the back of his head, nowhere near as bad as Max implied.

"How?"

"With this." Max gestured with the scalpel. "Slowly separate the skin from the muscle on your thigh, then cut out a piece and stitch it onto your scalp."

Cold sweat drenched Erik's back. *Slowly?* That sounded agonizingly torturous. If the anesthetic was wearing off, why hadn't Max started earlier? He glared fiercely at Max for a full minute.

Max met his gaze squarely, utterly unapologetic.

"You're abusing your position for revenge!" Erik finally exploded.

Checking his internal organs, Max had nearly cracked his ribs, then blamed "osteoporosis"! Injections? Max personally banished the pretty nurses and took five stabs to find a vein! And the diet! He was so hungry he hallucinated dancing chicken legs! Only his blind father would clap him on the shoulder and say he was recovering well!

"I settle debts clearly." Max flicked the scalpel, a flash of cold steel catching Erik's eye. His voice was mild. "Beasts have beastly methods."

*He remembers! The bastard actually remembers!* Just one insult, and he was this petty? Was he even a man?! Erik felt like crying, staring at the blade. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted.

Max set down the "weapon," a faint smirk playing on his lips. *i***t. Who said skin grafts need this knife? He believes anything?*

"Mr. Anderson."

Stepping outside, the impeccably suited Mayor Smith hurriedly set aside a file.

Lines of worry etched his weathered brow; he'd been waiting anxiously for news of his son.

In the Radiant Organization's view, Max was mercurial. Agreements made today could be discarded on his whim tomorrow.

Yet they desperately needed him—not just for the secret project of sending people to the Mechanical Space, but because in this entire space, only Max possessed deep knowledge of robot anatomy. To overthrow their powerful rulers, knowing the enemy was paramount.

He couldn't afford to offend Max, yet paternal concern was hard to suppress. Seeing Max's gaze fixed on him, the pressure mounted, and his prepared words died in his throat.

"He's fine," Max stated.

The Mayor exhaled in relief. "Young people can be impulsive, Mr. Anderson. Please don't hold it against him. The situation back then—"

Max halted him mid-sentence, his gaze intense. "I'll say this one last time. What happens between her and me is no one else's business."

Whatever her feelings, whatever their future, *now*, she was his most precious little sister. That was unchangeable.

The Mayor's smile deepened, his thoughts clearly veering in a different direction. "I understand."

Whether Max had designs on his own sister didn't matter to Mayor Smith. Ethics and morality paled before profit. His only concern was securing greater benefits for the organization. Maybe then, after retirement, he could land a cushy sinecure.

Max checked the time: 4:50 PM. "When do we leave?"

The Mayor's smile vanished, replaced by solemnity. "You're really going?"

Max offered a faint, chilling smile. "They sent us such a grand 'gift.' Wouldn't it be rude not to return the favor?"

A bitter smile twisted the Mayor's face. Behind Max's casual words, he sensed something extraordinary. It seemed they *could* indeed deliver a "return gift"!

Night in the Human Space held a desolate, icy edge compared to day. In this vast, artificial realm devoid of natural light, the difference between night and day lay only in whether the energy indicator lights simulating stars on the sky-dome were lit.

Now, twilight reigned. Through the tall, narrow windows of the Mayor's mansion, the blue glow of Star Indicator Four washed over the window ledge and unlit floor, casting everything in a faint, ethereal azure.

Maya stood there, wearing the water-blue gown he'd chosen. Her dark hair and luminous blue eyes, paired with her slender frame, gave her an ethereal, delicate beauty. She gazed upwards, the graceful curve of her pale neck stark against the deepening gloom. Her delicate features and fragile aura were indeed pitiable.

Lately, Max found himself hypersensitive to Maya's presence. Whenever near, his gaze would involuntarily drift to her lips. He always managed to stop himself before looking further down.

"What are you looking at?" He approached from behind, placing a hand on the windowsill near her, leaning down to murmur in her ear.

Maya showed no reaction to the intimate, couple-like proximity. She turned, meeting his gaze. Her cerulean eyes seemed to hold fathomless resentment, making Max's heart sink.

*What's wrong with her?*

"Max..." She wrapped her arms around him, slender limbs exerting surprising strength, as if trying to crush him into her own body.

Her youthful form pressed tightly against him. It was the first time she'd called him just "Max," not "brother," sending an unexpected warmth through him, deeper than the familial term ever had.

Max's expression softened with a tenderness no one else ever saw. He let her hold him fiercely. "What's wrong?" he asked gently.

Maya strained with all her might, fingertips tingling with effort. She looked up only to see Max's smiling face. Defeat washed over her.

*Still can't lift him...*

Receiving no answer and seeing no physical distress (he trusted his own medical assessment enough to let her move about despite her incomplete recovery), Max patted her shoulder after a moment's silence. "Come on. It's time to go."

"Where?"

"Somewhere fun." Max's handsome features took on a cruel edge.