Dr. Saito PoV
As the days passed, Morado gradually relaxed around the idea of playing. He was pretty good with his hands, able to stack tall towers now with ease.
"Dr. Saito, do you think this is a good idea?" Dr. Emily asked as she walked up to me as I watched the boy play on his own.
"What is?"
She sighed. "Having Morado play games. He isn't a real boy. He's a homunculous. Plus, games don't do much to advance our mission."
"What is?" I replied, not taking my eyes off Morado, who had just managed to construct a tower taller than before.
She sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. "Having Morado play games. He isn't a real boy. He's a homunculus. Plus, games don't do much to advance our mission."
I turned to her, my brow furrowing slightly. "Morado may not be a typical child, but he is still capable of growth and learning. These activities are essential for his development. They help him explore his mental faculties and creativity, which are just as important as mastering his powers."
"I understand building his mind up, but creativity?"
I smiled and nodded. "Yeah, the boy has psychic powers. The more creative he gets, the more he can shape his surroundings. He can probably make cubes to trap his enemies in."
Her brow furrowed deeper as she considered my words, but the concern in her expression didn't fade. "That's all well and good, but what if he becomes too reliant on these games? It's one thing to encourage creativity, but I don't want him to get lazy. He needs to be sharp, focused, and ready for the missions we have planned. Playing around could make him complacent."
I could see where she was coming from, but I felt differently. "It's a balance, Emily. Play doesn't mean he won't train or prepare for his tasks. It can actually enhance his focus and problem-solving skills. Think about it—when was the last time you saw him relax like this?"
Emily sighed, her gaze drifting back to Morado as he stood up, his tower wobbling dangerously. "I just worry that if he spends too much time playing, he'll lose sight of his purpose. We've spent so long training him to be the perfect weapon; I don't want that to slip away."
"He won't lose sight of his purpose," I reassured her, my voice steady. "In fact, playing can reinforce his purpose. It's about giving him the tools to think outside the box. If he can imagine new strategies and ways to use his powers, he'll be even more effective in the field."
She hummed thoughtfully, watching Morado as he carefully adjusted the cubes in his tower, a look of intense concentration on his face. "I suppose there's merit to that. But I still think there's a risk. We need to ensure he understands the seriousness of his role."
"I agree," I said, feeling the weight of her concerns. "It's important that he knows this is a part of his training, not just a diversion. I'll keep an eye on him, and if I see any signs of complacency, we can adjust accordingly."
Emily nodded slowly, although I could tell her worries still lingered. "Just promise me you won't let him lose sight of his training. We've come too far to let anything derail our mission."
"I promise," I said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We're in this together. The goal is to make him the best version of himself—both mentally and physically. Creativity can be a powerful tool in that journey."
As we both turned our attention back to Morado, I felt a sense of optimism. He was focused, engaged, and displaying a level of joy that I hadn't seen in him before. Perhaps this was what he needed—a chance to be more than just a weapon. And as long as we guided him, I believed he could find that balance between play and purpose.
Morado glanced up at us, a broad smile spreading across his face as he triumphantly placed the final cube on top of his tower. The structure stood tall and proud, and for a moment, he looked like any other child celebrating a small victory.
I smiled back. I wondered if he could sense we were standing outside his room. Not necessarily with his psychic powers, seeing the special quartz glass walls were meant to cancel them out, but rather with his heart.
His heart... Morado was more than just a living weapon. I wished the other researchers and Prince Suoh could see that. Alas, to them, Morado nothing more than a puppet we put together in secret. One that was meant to help the prince reach his goals, whatever those might've been.
But as I watched him, the boy who was learning to smile, to create, and to play, I felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps through his development as a person, we could redefine what it meant to be a homunculus. Perhaps he could show everyone that even crafted beings could possess a spark of humanity.
Maybe I could help Morado become something greater than what anyone had intended for him. And in doing so, perhaps I could change the narrative of his existence. He deserved a chance—a chance to be more than just a tool, a chance to be truly alive.
Yet, in the back of my mind, I couldn't ignore the the role I played in all of this. To act like a savior to the boy was hypocritical. After all, I was part of the problem.
"Dr. Saito?" Dr. Emily called out. I turned to find her studying me with a mixture of concern and curiosity, as if she could sense the internal conflict brewing beneath my calm exterior.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. "You seem… distracted."
I took a slow breath, choosing my words carefully. "I'm fine. Just… thinking."
She tilted her head. "About what?"
I sighed and slipped my hands into my labcoat. It was best not to tell her. Her views on Morado were the same as the rest. If I told her, she might keep me away from the boy.