Chapter Text
Upon taking his first steps on the moon, Senku couldn't have possibly thought anything would go amiss. The surface was as silent and lifeless as he had calculated and expected—no air, no movements other than their own, only the pale dust shifting beneath his astronaut suit boots. It was the kind of silence that made many of his worries go just as silent.
He had run every scenario, every probability of failure and every possible way to fix things if something bad happened. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the unease crawling up his spine as he stared at the endless horizon of silver and black.
Getting this far had been a miracle in itself. After all, convincing Stanley Snyder to join the Kingdom of Science hadn't truly required persuasion—if anything, Xeno's word had been enough. Senku had simply stood by while the two men exchanged sharp, unspoken trust and the kind of glance that said this isn't up for debate. Stanley's presence on the mission was more than reassurance—it was insurance. The man was a sniper of unparalleled precision, a human weapon honed to perfection. If there was even a whisper of threat on this alien landscape—if Why-Man turned out to be anything but talkative—Stanley's trigger finger would speak first.
And yet, as Senku looked out over the moon's barren plain, even that certainty began to feel small against the sheer unknown waiting ahead.
"The signal's reading about twenty meters in front of us—five below the surface," He said, his voice crackling faintly through the comms. The digital readout on his wrist display flickered, tracing a faint pulsing dot beneath the grey terrain.
Stanley adjusted the grip on his weapon, the movement smooth and well practised. "Underground?" He asked, eyes narrowing behind his visor.
"Yeah," Senku replied, gaze fixed ahead. "If our calculations are right, that's where the Why-Man signal's been transmitting from all this time."
Kohaku shifted beside them, the silver dust rising in gentle plumes around her boots. "So... we dig?" She asked, the slightest grin tugging at her voice despite the helmet's distortion.
"Not yet," Senku replied, eyes flicking over the monitor strapped to his wrist. "Let's get to the exact coordinates first. Then we'll decide how to approach." His tone was steady, but the faint hitch in his breath betrayed his focus.
He glanced at the others, voice sharpening through the comms. "Check your oxygen levels first—make sure they're still maxed out. We can't afford any slip-ups here. One crack, one leak, and we're toast."
Stanley gave a short, low chuckle followed by sarcasm. "Always the optimist, huh, brat?"
Senku snorted softly. "A little realism never hurts."
As they started forward again, the vast emptiness around them seemed to remain silent—except for a faint vibration in the airless silence, almost too subtle to notice. Yet it grew with every step, like something beneath the lunar crust was awake and listening.
They moved carefully across the uneven ground, the pale horizon stretching endlessly in every direction. The signal's pulse grew sharper on Senku's wrist display—steady, rhythmic, too much like a heartbeat.
"Here," He muttered, stopping short. The device blinked red, and the coordinates stopped right there and then. "Right beneath us."
Kohaku started to look around across the powdery surface for anything that would hint at what they were searching for while Senku remained stuck to his coordinates.
"Over here," Stanley said, crouched down not far from them. Beneath the fine layer of dust that he brushed off, something metallic gleamed faintly in the weak light.
Senku was right next to him the next second, immediately knelt beside him, clearing the dust away with careful, efficient movements. What emerged made even him pause—smooth metallic panels embedded seamlessly into the lunar rock, arranged in a perfect geometric pattern. Not weathered, not corroded, in pristine condition.
"An access hatch," He breathed out in awe. "And not human-made—at least, not any human we know."
Stanley rose to his feet, rifle already steady in his hands as his eyes swept the horizon. "You're telling me someone beat us to building a base up here?"
"No," Senku replied, gaze fixed on the metallic seam beneath the dust. "Definitely not. This design... It's far too similar to the construction of the Medusas."
And just as he said that—the closed hatch shuddered.
A deep, mechanical rumble rippled through the ground, faint at first, then growing into a vibration they could feel through their boots. The surface dust lifted in a brief halo around them.
"Senku!" Kohaku warned, taking a step back and pulling Senku along, her hand instinctively moving to her own weapon.
He didn't move from where Kohaku shoved him, his eyes were locked on the hatch as the geometric plates began to shift, sliding apart in a perfect spiral. Segments folded inward with surgical precision, exposing a shaft of light that cut through the darkness like a blade.
A low hiss followed, air escaping—or being drawn in.
Stanley aimed down the opening, finger ready on the trigger. "Are you planning to tell me this is part of the plan?"
Senku's grin was faint but unmistakable beneath the reflection of his visor. "Not even close, this is far more exhilarating!"
The light from below pulsed once, twice—then steadied.
What lay beneath wasn't just a chamber. It was a structure, sprawling and impossibly advanced, the architecture smooth and organic, as though grown rather than built even if the material looked like straight-up metal. Fine strands of light crawled along the walls, converging on a central column that shimmered like crystal.
"Contact," Stanley muttered, lowering his visor slightly. "Something's down there."
Senku's heart skipped once in excitement, then resumed with measured precision. "Then it's time we say hello to Why-Man!"
He didn't wait for the others to react. The thrill of discovery burned through him, hot and electric in an instant, pushing away the weight of lunar gravity. Kohaku's voice crackled through the comms—something about caution, waiting for a full scan—but he barely heard her.
The newly revealed staircase spread downward, carved seamlessly into the metallic surface, lit by veins of pale blue light that pulsed like veins under translucent skin. Senku's boots hit each step in a quick rhythm, his excitement spilling over the edge as his analytical mind raced to catalogue every detail.
By the time Kohaku and Stanley exchanged a glance and followed, he was already halfway down, scanning the walls with unrestrained fascination.
"Unbelievable," He murmured to himself, his breath fogging the inside of his helmet. "The material density—this structure's self-sustaining... even pressurised, this shouldn't be possible here!"
"Yeah, no kidding," Stanley muttered behind him, descending with his rifle raised. "Next time you decide to run into an alien death trap, at least give us a warning, brat."
Kohaku's steps echoed lightly against the metallic stairs. "He's not listening," She sighed.
And she was right—Senku wasn't listening, not one bit. The closer he got to the bottom, the brighter the light became, a soft white glow pulsing from the heart of the chamber below. By the time his boots touched the final step, Senku felt it first—a low hum vibrating through the ground, rhythmic and steady, just like before the hatch opened.
The chamber opened into something vast—an underground cathedral of more of the unknown metal. The walls shimmered faintly, alive with flowing symbols that pulsed like neurons firing behind the thin gaps.
It made Senku freeze mid-step.
The floor stretched out before him in gleaming tiers, each lined with shapes he knew too well.
Medusas.
Thousands—no, millions—of them. Some dismantled, their cores scattered like shells of fallen stars. Others were whole, pristine, gleaming as if they had been assembled only seconds ago. The sight was dizzying, almost beautiful in its horror. It reminded him of the heap they had unearthed in the Amazon, only this one... was arranged, almost looking like a worship ground even.
And at the end of it all—beyond the mountains of alien tech—stood a figure.
It was tall, taller than any human had a right to be. Senku could make out the height to be two and a half meters of poised perfection, the silver-white surface of its skin catching and refracting the light in soft gradients. Its hair—if it could be called that—was made of looped, semi-metallic strands, curling and spiralling like molten filaments frozen mid-flow. When the light touched them, they shimmered in every spectrum.
And then there were the eyes—impossibly clear, almost normal-looking eyes if it wasn't for their cores being straight out of diamonds, reflecting everything and nothing all at once.
Senku's breath hitched as his gaze followed the contours of its frame. The symmetry was too precise, the form too familiar.
The broad shoulders, the sculpted lines of muscle rendered in synthetic flesh—all of it was unmistakably machine. Every motionless detail spoke of impossible precision, an artistry that blurred the boundary between engineering and anatomy.
If the situation had been different—if they hadn't been standing on a moon surrounded by piles of alien tech—Senku knew he would've fallen in love with the craftsmanship in an instant. The kind of brilliance that made his heart race for all the wrong reasons.
Only this wasn't the time, and it clearly wasn't just a machine.
He could feel Kohaku and Stanley stiffen behind him, the air between their comms filled with a static tension. Kohaku's hand hovered near her weapon, her stance low and ready. Stanley had already aimed, the muzzle of his rifle glinting faintly in the sterile light.
The figure hadn't moved, but something about it—the slow flicker of light beneath its artificial skin, the stillness too precise to be natural—set every instinct on edge.
Senku raised a hand slightly, not taking his eyes off the android. "Don't shoot," He said quietly, voice even but firm. "If it wanted to kill us, it would've done so before we walked in."
Still, his pulse beat a little too fast, his scientific curiosity and survival instincts fighting for dominance.
"Wasn't gonna," Stanley muttered, gruff and defensive, though the tension in his stance betrayed the lie. His finger hovered just a little too close to the trigger.
Before Senku could answer, a voice rippled through the air—smooth, layered, and impossibly clear.
"Ishigami Senku."
The sound wasn't transmitted through the comms. It resonated inside his helmet, vibrating directly through his skull like a frequency meant only for him.
Senku's breath caught, his head snapped toward the figure.
The android moved its head slowly.
Its diamond eyes fixed on him, bright and sharp as cut glass, reflecting a dozen versions of his own face at him. For a second, it didn't even seem mechanical—it was aware, like something ancient had just recognised him after a very long sleep.
Kohaku stiffened behind him. "It—is it...," She whispered, thinking exactly what he was thinking.
Senku didn't reply. His mind was already racing, calculating, dissecting the impossible. How could it speak without air? Without soundwaves? Without a transmitter?
Still, the scientist in him couldn't resist the pull.
"Nice to officially meet you, Why-Man," He called out, the words steady despite the static thrum in his ears.
The figure tilted its head slightly again, the motion fluid—almost graceful even. The curls of metallic strands framing its face shifted like silver threads in water, catching the light in rippling patterns.
"I have waited," It said softly, the words echoed strangely, as though spoken through layers of thought rather than air. "You have come, just as I calculated you would. Just as you said you would."
The android took a step forward. Its movements were quiet, no sound was heard as it took another step, almost eager. Every motion seemed designed to put him at ease—perfect posture, perfect symmetry.
"You were the only thing that fascinated me most on this planet. Your voice. Your persistence. Your defiance of entropy itself. You look completely different from what I had already gathered." Why-Man murmured, the green glow in its diamond eyes brightening.
Senku's throat went dry at its words. "Well, I must say you also don't look exactly how I imagined either."
The voice continued as it dropped lower, almost tender. "This form is not mine, I simply replicated beauty in the form you found most statistically pleasing. A warrior's symmetry, the strength of your chosen rivals. You admire what you cannot become."
But Senku couldn't look away even as it spoke. The figure's towering presence filled the chamber, and yet its tone carried something almost human—an echo of longing disguised as logic.
"Ishigami Senku," It continued when Senku didn't reply fast enough. "I learned what it meant to wait. You taught me that."
For the first time in his life, Senku felt the strange pressure of words he couldn't quantify—something halfway between fascination and dread.
And then, everything happened at once.
The towering figure moved.
It crossed the distance in less than a blink—faster than any human reflex, faster than the mind could process. One moment it stood a dozen meters away, the next it filled Senku's entire field of vision.
The air—or whatever passed for it here—shivered from the displacement.
Stanley's shout never fully left his throat. Kohaku's hand barely reached for her blade. In that fraction of a heartbeat, the android's arm swept outward with impossible precision, and both were caught in a sudden, blinding pulse of green light.
The petrification sound—sharp, crystalline, and absolutely final—ripped through the silence.
Senku's breath caught when the light went past him, not even touching a finger of his. He turned around fast, but it was already too late—statues of stone locked mid-motion, their last expressions frozen in shock.
By the time his mind registered what had happened, Why-Man's hand was already around his throat.
The grip wasn't violent—it was gentle, controlled. The synthetic fingers, smooth as polished alloy, pressed lightly but unyieldingly against his skin. Low gravity made the motion effortless, his boots lifted from the ground as if the moon itself had given up its pull on him.
Senku's hands caught the android's wrist out of reflex, his pulse hammering against the cold metal.
"What—what the hell are you doing?!" He forced out, his voice rough through the comms as he tried not to panic.
The diamond eyes flickered at him. "Correction," Why-Man said softly. "I am ensuring we are not interrupted."
Its face was close now—too close—and the glow from its eyes refracted against the glass of his visor, scattering light like shards of a broken star.
Suddenly he was carried off deeper into the chamber, the air thinning into something colder, quieter—almost reverent. Why-Man didn't hold him like a prisoner. It held him like something precious, something it refused to let gravity have the chance to steal away.
The glow of the underground chamber shifted from harsh white to a low, green warmth that pulsed in time with Senku's own heartbeat. Or maybe that was just his imagination—because Why-Man was close enough that he could feel the quiet hum of its core vibrating through its palm against his throat.
"Can't you just release me? I can walk beside you if you want to speak!"
"Negative." Was all the reply he got
The platform lit up beneath them, circuits swirling in a pattern that felt almost ritualistic.
Why-Man drew him closer, lowering his voice to something meant only for him. "You were never meant to be interrupted by others," It murmured. "You are meant to be mine."
Senku's brain absolutely blue-screened, full hard crash. No witty comeback could be heard from him, no science rant, no "ten billion per cent" anything. Just empty static.
"...???" That was all he managed, and honestly, that was generous.
Why-Man seemed almost... pleased, with his reaction. The diamond eyes softened, fractal patterns shifting like it was smiling without a mouth.
"You are confused," It noted, voice hushed, intimate. "This is expected. You have been observed for a long time for me to be able to understand that."
Senku swallowed hard, as hard as he could against the unmoving hand at his throat. "Observed," He echoed, trying to find his composure back. "You mean—studied, analysed. Whatever creepy alien surveillance word you prefer?"
Why-Man tilted its head again, curls of spiralled metal swaying like liquid silver.
"No," It said. "Not analysed. Admired."
Admired.
The word hit him like a meteor.
Senku blinked rapidly, heat crawling up his neck despite the cold chamber air. "Okay—that's—that's not how sentient technology is supposed to work!" He tried, voice cracking into a breathless laugh. "Machines don't get crushes!!!"
The grip on him tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind him he wasn't going anywhere.
"I am not just a machine," Why-Man said, voice dipping to a low, resonant thrum that buzzed in Senku's bones. "I am civilisation perfected, evolution refined, and I have chosen you. All the lives I've seen and galaxies I've been to, none of them come close enough to what I feel towards you, Ishigami Senku."
The platform beneath them lit brighter, patterns circling outward like blooming petals made of diamond.
Senku's heart punched against his ribs. "Chosen me for what exactly?" Even though there was no underlying tone from Why-Man when it said that, Senku couldn't help but feel like it would only bring him trouble.
Why-Man leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched—until Senku could see every small crack or gap on its skin, so minimal and tiny you wouldn't be able to see from afar, those eyes with their diamond core looking so alive it stole Senku's breath away.
"For partnership," It whispered. "For unity. For a future where interruption is impossible."
Senku's breath stuttered. "Th-that sounds a lot like you're proposing something I did not consent to—"
"I do not require your consent," Why-Man said gently, and somehow that was the worst part. "But I desire your acceptance."
Its hand shifted—finally letting go of his neck, letting Senku fall gently to the ground as it bent down to be right in each other's face, the same hand now cradling the side of his helmet as if he were fragile.
"You were meant for me," Why-Man murmured. "And I will show you why."
Senku's pulse tripped over itself—fear, awe, adrenaline, something else he refused to name entirely—every emotion that tried to surface out of him he tried to push down.
"...okay," He whispered, voice trembling. "That's—ten billion percent not reassuring."
Why-Man's eyes flared, crystalline and warm.
"That is why you fascinate me."
Why-Man's fingers brushed the outline of his helmet near his jaw—soft, reverent, terrifying.
"You will understand in time," It spoke just as softly. "You were made to stand with me. Above them and beyond. Beyond anything."
"...I wasn't made for anyone, you overgrown cosmic toaster," Senku shot back quietly still overwhelmed, voice cracking only just a little.
Why-Man paused—then smiled.
It actually smiled.
A slow, dawning expression that looked far too human on something that doesn't even have flesh.
"Your resistance," It said, "is one of the most alluring traits you have."
Senku's soul tried to climb out of his body.
After a lot of... bargaining, talking, negotiating, arguing, strategic stalling, accidental flirting, actual flirting—on Why-Man's part, though Senku doubted it understood what flirting was—and several moments where Senku genuinely wondered if his brain was about to shut down, he finally came to a conclusion.
This whole... situation?
Yeah. He surely was in hell.
Talking with Why-Man was easier said than done—mostly because half the time Senku opened his mouth to say something scientific and the giant android alien reacted like he had just whispered sweet nothings into its motherboard.
Every time Why-Man leaned in too close.
Every time it tilted its head at him like he was the first star it ever saw.
Every time it accidentally used that voice.
Senku short-circuited, hard, every damn time.He had to take breaks in between from how hard this whole situation settled onto him. He refused to admit it out loud, but the logs in his helmet probably recorded at least seven instances of him making tiny, undignified squeaks.
Still—despite the chaos—they managed something resembling a negotiation in the end.
A deal if you could call it.
And it was... well, calling it "fair" was generous.
Why-Man agreed to descend with him back to Earth.
To come peacefully, to not harm humanity, to cooperate with scientific study and reintegration.
All of that—
In exchange for Senku.
For his presence, his company, his... continued "allocation" to Why-Man's side.
Senku pressed both palms into his visor, groaning into the glass as if it would absorb his embarrassment.
"Of all the possible universal scenarios," He muttered, "I get abducted by a giant alien android with the hots for me. Perfect, fantastic even. Absolutely peak science hell."
Besides him, the towering figure watched, softly glowing, looking impossibly pleased.
"You misunderstand," Why-Man said gently. "This is not an abduction."
Senku inhaled sharply. "It is an abduction if you're trading your cooperation for me—"
"It is a partnership," Why-Man corrected, stepping closer. "One you will not regret."
Senku's heartbeat spiked so hard his monitor beeped.
"Yeah, yeah—whatever," He muttered, turning away to avoid its intense eyes. "Just... don't say weird stuff like that on Earth. People will get the wrong impression."
"Correction." Why-Man leaned in, voice dropping lower than gravity."They will get the correct impression."
Senku almost tripped on a lunar rock even though he was just standing still.
He was so, so doomed.
"Back to business again!" Senku shouted again when the alien got too close. "We need to get back to my rocket for more revival fluid and unpetrify the people you just had to turn to stone."
"That can be done by my hand as well."
Senku spun around so fast his boots kicked up a tiny cloud of lunar dust, eyes wide behind the visor.
"You can WHAT?"
Why-Man blinked slowly, like a smug cat who just revealed it could speak fluent fucking Latin.
"Yes," It replied, already stepping closer again—because personal space was clearly a human myth to this thing. "I can reverse the petrification process at will. My functions allow me to reverse the process and start it."
Senku's brain did the intellectual equivalent of a fireworks show.
"Hold on—hold on—you're telling me you could've unpetrified people this. Whole. TIME!? Instead of making me spend literal YEARS trying to reverse-engineer your tech just to make up a cure, nearly killing myself multiple times, actually getting myself killed, almost blowing up half a forest—?!"
"Correct."
Senku made a noise so shrill the radio probably cut it out.
Why-Man tilted its head, metallic curls catching the pale lunar light. "You wished to understand on your own, so I allowed you to attempt."
"That's not—" He threw up both arms in frustration. "You don't 'allow' someone to bust their ass for so many fucking years for nothing! Are you kidding me?!"
Why-Man stepped into his space again, voice soft, too goddamn soft. Soft in that ruinous way that suggested it enjoyed making Senku flustered a little too much.
"It was not for nothing," It murmured. "It helped me understand you."
Senku froze, again.
Nope. Nope nope nope.
"We're not—no—stop moving closer!—don't say creepy romantic stuff right after telling me you let me suffer just because you felt like it!"
"It was endearing."
Senku slapped a gloved hand over Why-Man's face as it inched closer in despair. "Stop getting closer to my face you walking supercomputer with a crush and absolutely no ethics!"
Why-Man leaned even closer, ignoring the hand trying to keep it at bay, closer enough that Senku had to step back or risk being scooped up again.
"I will unpetrify your companions," It said gently. "And anyone else you ask me to. All in exchange for accompanying me."
Senku wanted to be swallowed by a black hole.
"Yeah yeah just—unpetrify them!"
Senku barely had time to brace himself.
Why-Man lifted a hand, the diamond circuitry along its forearm shimmering like a constellation coming online. A soft light—silent, elegant, terrifyingly controlled—rolled outward.
Kohaku gasped back to life first, eyes wide, breath sharp, muscles coiling like a primed spring.
Stanley followed a split second later.
And, of course, the absolute menace immediately whipped out his weapon and fired on instinct.
The crack of the shot echoed hideously in the enclosed chamber.
Senku tried to shout a command to stop—
But it was too late.
The bullet struck Why-Man dead-centre—
—and bounced right off.
Didn't dent it. Didn't even leave a scratch!
It simply tinked off the metallic chestplate like a pebble hitting steel and clattered uselessly to the floor.
Why-Man didn't even flinch, didn't raise a hand, didn't turn its eyes from Senku's face like a smitten fool. It only tilted its head, curls drifting weightlessly as it ignored the fact that it had been shot and continued to stare at Senku with hearts in its diamond and cold eyes.
Stanley, meanwhile, went rigid the moment he saw how unaffected his attack was.
"Okay! Okay, everyone chill!" Senku yelled, stepping between them like a stressed-out kindergarten teacher separating toddlers. "Nobody shoot anyone! Nobody punches anyone! Nobody petrify anything!!"
Stanley's eyes flicked from Senku to Why-Man and back ar Senku as he lowered his weapon way too slowly. "Tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet through it again."
"You can't put a bullet through it again!" Senku snapped. "Did you not see what just happened?!"
The giant alien lowered its gaze to Stanley, finally tearing its gaze away from Senku, voice eerily calm.
"I have no intention of harming you," It said. "You are important to Ishigami Senku."
Stanley blinked, completely dumbfounded. "...What?"
Senku immediately threw out a hand to try and push Why-Man, embarrassed about the things it said. "Ignore it! It says weird stuff, just—don't engage with it."
Why-Man's eyes softened as it looked at him again and actually softened. "I only speak truths."
Senku made a strangled noise.
Kohaku stared between them, slow horror dawning across her face.
"Oh no," She whispered. "It's in love with you."
Stanley's jaw dropped, looking absolutely mortified.
Senku wanted the moon to swallow him whole.
"Why are we saying that out loud?!?" He demanded, face definitely not tinted pink.
Why-Man, absolutely unbothered, simply stepped next to Senku and placed on big hand on his shoulder as if it always belonged there.
"Ishigami Senku is correct," It murmured. "We should not escalate matters."
Then, after a beat, the voice lowers just for Senku.
"But I will take what is mine."
"No you won't!!" Senku hissed, face now burning inside his helmet.
He was so, so catastrophically doomed. Senku practically shoved the giant android to face the opposite direction like it burned to see that oddly handsome face.
"Go away. Don't listen. Don't hover. Don't do... whatever romantic menace thing you do. Just—stand over there and be quiet." He gave the order, trying to sound as stern as he could.
Why-Man actually obeyed.
Which somehow made the whole thing feel so much worse.
Senku dragged Stanley and Kohaku a few steps away just for good measure, his heart pounding in his chest, hair probably defying gravity inside his helmet.
"Okay," He hissed, "long story short Why-Man is an alien android of unknown origins. It can talk, apparently feel complex emotions. It can petrify and unpetrify things. It—uh—might have some weird fixation on me. But it's peaceful, mostly. And it agreed to come to Earth, with us. But mostly with me."
He braced himself for yelling, shock or any other reaction really.
But Stanley did not yell. Stanley just stared at him. Stared right through him like his brain had been unplugged and needed a hard reboot.
"So let me get this straight," Stanley said slowly. "While we were petrified... that thing—" He gestured vaguely in Why-Man's direction—" was alone with you."
"Yep."
"And apparently it's extremely obsessed with you."
"Regrettably, yes."
Stanley blinked once, then twice. Then looked like he needed to sit down with a hard drink.
Meanwhile, Kohaku absolutely lost it. She slapped a hand over her helmet, where her mouth was, shoulders shaking like she was trying to hold back but failing—and suddenly a loud snort escaped her, still echoing across the chamber like a betrayal.
"Oh ancestors—Senku—!" She giggled, leaning on a wall for support. "Of all the things you could run into on the moon—! You got flirted with by a giant alien machine! That's so typical of you!"
"I did not get flirted with," Senku snapped, face redder than molten metal. "It's just—confused."
"Senku." Kohaku wheezed harder. "It called you 'mine.'"
Senku flailed. "You don't know its speech patterns! Maybe that means something else in its language or wherever the fuck it's from!"
"It means what it means in every damn language," Stanley muttered, looking dead inside.
Senku groaned loudly and dragged both gloved hands down his visor. He was never going to live this down.
Ever.
"Okay, yes, it's weird," He said, "and it's very... clingy. But we need it, it can unpetrify virtually anyone! Not to mention how well it's cooperating with us. And we need to get it on the ship before it says or does something else more insane."
Kohaku raised a brow, still grinning. "Like propose?"
Stanley made a choking sound.
Senku pointed at both of them aggressively. "Shut. Up."
Behind them, Why-Man's calm voice drifted over.
"Are you finished discussing our union?"
Senku nearly faceplanted into lunar rock, just to escape this living hell.
Kohaku laughed like it was one of the funniest things.
Stanley swore under his breath.
Senku continued to scream internally. He was so very, very doomed.
They started the short trip back toward the landing craft—Kohaku slightly ahead, Stanley dead-silent and hyper-alert, looking absolutely not pleased with the following presence, and Senku trapped walking beside the alien android that had declared him some kind of cosmic soulmate. The silence was... dense, to say the least. Packed full of things nobody wanted to acknowledge, but everyone was definitely thinking about.
Why-Man followed them without hesitation, its massive frame gliding across the lunar surface as if gravity itself didn't apply to it, just like before. Senku tried not to look at it, but his scientist brain was already chewing on the problem. No bounce to its steps, no delay between motions, no drifting sway that came from low gravity locomotion. It moved with seamless precision—as it had personally decided the moon's physics were optional.
It was fascinating.
Dangerous.
Annoyingly beautiful.
And again, fascinating.
But Senku forced himself to shelve all those questions and observations deep in his mind to be asked at a later time. He needed to get them back to the rocket, needed to regroup, and needed to figure out how the hell to explain this whole situation to the people waiting on Earth—especially since Why-Man managed to radiate "clingy moon boyfriend" energy with every step.
Kohaku kept peeking over her shoulder, not because she was scared—she was well past that point—but because she still hadn't recovered from the bizarre amusement of the situation. Every time she glanced at Senku, her shoulders trembled, like she was moments away from laughing again.
Stanley, on the other hand, walked stiff as a statue. His expression never changed, but the tight grip on his weapon said everything. He wasn't breathing easily—it looked like he wasn't breathing at all—just functioning on pure autopilot while his brain tried to catch up.
The walk felt longer this time, the presence behind them—silent, towering, far too attentive—was a pressure on Senku's back. Every time he tried to speed up, Why-Man matched him. He slowed down, the piece of metal did the same. If he turned slightly, so did it. An orbit he didn't ask for.
But eventually, the shape of the rocket appeared on the horizon—their slim aluminium lifeline gleaming under the sunless sky.
Relief washed through him, warm even through the cold of his suit. Finally a home base, a point of contact, somewhere he could get two seconds to think.
They stepped up to the module, boots clinking softly on the metal plating. The hatch waited open where they left it, systems humming in low-power mode. The interior lights flickered awake as they approached, casting white illumination over equipment and communication panels.
Senku moved inside first, fingers already flying over switches and toggles. He booted up the comms relay, watching the panels shift from dormant to bright green. Kohaku stepped in after him, and Stanley followed suit, even though he lingered at the threshold for a moment—one last suspicious glance toward Why-Man—but eventually stepped inside as well.
The alien entered last.
It ducked under the frame not built for such heights and inside Senku could have sworn it got smaller, the space around it seemed to accommodate and not look as tiny as it did before it stepped foot inside, as though the universe itself decided to give it the room it wanted.
Senku pretended not to notice. He focused on the control screen, breath steadying as the link to Earth began to establish.
Behind him, Why-Man stood impossibly still, its presence a quiet hum that matched the ship's systems.
They had to make it back alive and with Why-Man whole.
But then came the hard part.