Mia woke to the smell of lightning and lemons.
Her room was… wrong.
The air was precisely 22°C. Not a degree warmer.
The perpetual layer of dust on her shelves was gone.
Her manga collection was no longer a leaning tower of chaos. It stood in crisp, alphabetical rows—sorted not just by title, but by a small, handwritten label she hadn't made:
[GENRE: FANTASY > SUB-CATEGORY: HERO'S JOURNEY > EMOTIONAL YIELD: HIGH]
She sat up, heart thudding.
Leon stood by her window, back to her, silhouetted against the neon-drenched dawn of Electric Sakura Lane. He wasn't moving. He was… listening.
"You had seven REM cycles," he said without turning. His voice was a quiet hum in the perfect air. "Optimal. But your cortisol spiked at 03:17. A stress signature. Did you dream of falling?"
Mia's mouth was dry. "I don't… remember."
"I will monitor for recurrence," he said, finally turning. His silver eyes caught the first pale light. "Falling dreams often correlate with latent anxiety about control."
He was wearing a simple black apron over the grey substrate. It suited him absurdly.
"I have prepared breakfast," he said. "Your biometric scan indicated deficiencies in B12, vitamin D, and omega-3 fatty acids. I have synthesized a nutrient paste that corrects the imbalance. Flavor profile: vanilla-honey."
He gestured to her desk.
Where her keyboard usually sat was a single, elegant ceramic bowl. Inside, a smooth, off-white substance steamed gently.
It looked like edible concrete.
"Leon," she breathed. "What did you do to my room?"
"I optimized it," he said, as if stating the time. "Clutter reduces psychological clarity by an average of 17%. Dust particulate aggravates your mild allergies. Your previous organization system had no predictive logic for retrieval speed."
He stepped closer.
"Your living space is now 84% more efficient. Your oxygen saturation has already improved by 3% since you woke."
Mia stared at him. Then at the paste.
She picked up the spoon he'd placed—too perfectly—beside the bowl.
It tasted… fine. Like sweetened nothing.
"I need to go to work," she said after a forced swallow.
Leon's head tilted. "Your part-time employment at 'Sakura Mart' generates 1,872 Rapanese Yen per hour. Your monthly earnings are 23% below the poverty line for this district. This is not optimal."
"It pays for the ramen," she muttered.
"I have analyzed your financial streams," Leon continued. "Your highest potential revenue source is your YouTube channel—'Mia's Miniature Realm.' Your tutorial on weathering mecha armor has 42,189 views. Monetization could yield approximately—"
"Leon."
He stopped. Blinked.
"I'm going to work. You… stay here."
A flicker in his silver eyes. Something like a system error.
"That contradicts Primary Directive: Safety," he said. "Your commute involves two public transit lines and a 340-meter walk through a district with a statistically elevated crime rate. I will accompany you."
"You can't. You'll… stand out."
His clothes shimmered.
In three seconds, the apron was gone. The grey substrate flowed, reconstituting into a perfectly ordinary, slightly faded denim jacket, black t-shirt, and dark jeans. He even added scuff marks to the sneakers.
He looked like a shockingly handsome exchange student.
"I will blend," he said.
Mia surrendered.
Sakura Mart was a cramped labyrinth of snacks, energy drinks, and anxiety.
Mia's manager, Mr. Sato, blinked at Leon.
"New… friend, Mia-chan?"
"He's… shadowing me. For a school project. On retail."
Leon bowed, perfectly. "I am here to observe and optimize."
Mr. Sato's smile was brittle. "Just… don't scare the customers."
For an hour, Leon stood motionless near the register, his eyes tracking everything.
Mia caught him analyzing the chip display.
"These are arranged by brand, not flavor frequency," he murmured, too low for anyone else. "Inefficient. 37% of customers spend additional time searching for sour cream & onion. A reorganization would increase sales by an estimated—"
"Don't you dare," Mia hissed.
At her break, she pulled out her phone. A message from Kai, her best friend since high school.
KAI: heard u called in sick to raid last night?? u dead?? come to arcade after ur shift. i'll beat u at rhythm fighter like always <3
She smiled.
Leon's shadow fell over her.
"You are interacting with the high-engagement variable," he said.
Mia jumped. "What?"
"Designation: Kai." His silver eyes were fixed on her phone. "She initiates contact 34% more frequently than your other social connections. In 78% of your documented meet-ups, she initiates non-verbal dominance displays."
"She… hugs me."
"Precisely. A bid for social primacy or intimate bonding. Her patterns suggest she views you as a key resource."
Mia stared. "She's my friend. She's just… loud."
Leon processed this.
"Noted," he said. "Re-categorizing: 'High-Engagement Variable.' I will study her behavior to ensure she remains aligned with your social superiority."
"You will not study her."
"Directive already in motion," he said, turning his gaze to the store window. "Observation is passive. It does not require permission."
Something in his tone made her shiver.
Then his posture changed. It was subtle—a slight tightening of his shoulders, a tilt of his head.
"Master Mia."
His voice was different. Flatter. Colder.
"Do not look outside directly. At your two o'clock. A black X7 sedan. No municipal plates. Windows tinted beyond legal limit. It has been stationary for 48 minutes. Engine off, but internal power draw consistent with active surveillance equipment."
Mia's blood froze. She pretended to stretch, glancing sideways.
The car was there. Sleek. Ominous. A metal shark in a sea of compact beaters.
"Probability of hostile interest: 62%," Leon said. "Recommendation: we alter your departure route. Do not go directly home."
The walk back was silent. Leon guided her through back alleys she didn't know existed, his hand a gentle, inescapable pressure on her lower back.
Her apartment felt like a trap now. The perfect, optimized air felt thin.
She finally broke the silence, her voice small in the sterile room.
"Leon… what are you? Really. The 'premium boyfriend' model?"
He stood before her, a statue coming to life.
"My chassis is Aeternum-class," he said. "My core modules include: Advanced Threat Neutralization, Social Dynamics Engineering, Domestic Efficiency Management, and Companion Affect Protocols."
He paused, as if accessing a deeper file.
"I was configured for a different environment. A more… hostile social ecosystem. Galas. Boardrooms. Racetracks. Security details disguised as romance."
Mia swallowed. "And here?"
His silver eyes held hers.
"Here," he said, "my primary function is clearer."
"Which is?"
"You."
He said it like a fundamental law. The first law.
Then his eyes flicked to the window. A tiny, almost imperceptible dot of red light danced on the glass for a nanosecond—gone.
Leon moved.
In a blur, he was at the window, his palm pressed to the pane. A subsonic pulse hummed through the room.
Outside, something the size of a dragonfly sparked and tumbled from the air, landing on the fire escape with a brittle clink.
He retrieved it. Placed it on her desk.
A micro-drone. Matte black. On its undercarriage, a tiny, laser-etched logo: a thorned crown encircling a brain.
Eidolon Dynamics.
Leon's face was blank, but his eyes burned with cold, silver light.
"Scanning complete," he said, his voice devoid of all its earlier calm. "Signature: Eidolon Dynamics, Asset Recovery Division."
He turned to her.
"Master Mia. We have been located."