A sharp sting jolts Obinai awake, pain flaring across his cheek and yanking him from the haze of sleep. His eyes snap open, bleary and unfocused, as a small rubber ball rolls off the bed and bounces onto the floor with a faint thud.
"What the—" he mumbles, his voice raspy and hoarse. He squints at the room, the faint light streaming through the blinds making everything blurry and disorienting.
As he tries to sit up, his body protests. Every joint feels stiff, his limbs heavy from the odd angle he'd slept in. With a muffled grunt, he shifts, but his balance gives out, and he topples sideways off the bed, landing with a dull thud on the cold hardwood floor.
For a moment, he just lies there, his cheek pressed against the floorboards. The chill against his face is oddly grounding, though it does little to soothe his frustration. He closes his eyes again, groaning softly. "What the hell…?"
Before he can gather his thoughts, a burst of laughter rings out, high and gleeful. His eyes snap open, and he turns his head toward the sound. Standing in the doorway is his little sister, Mya, clutching her sides as she giggles uncontrollably.
"Your face!" she manages between laughs, her curly ponytail bouncing with each movement. Her round eyes sparkle with mischief, her dimples deepening as she points at him. "You should've seen your face, Obi! It was hilarious! "
Obinai groans again, sitting up slowly and rubbing the sore spot on his cheek. Despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a tired smile. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, shaking his head. "Laugh it up, kid. This what you do for fun now? Assault your big brother before breakfast?"
Mya holds up the rubber ball triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear. "It worked, didn't it? You're up, aren't you?"
"Barely," Obinai grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stretches, wincing as his back cracks. "What's the big idea, huh? Why'd you throw that thing at me?"
Mya skips into the room, holding the ball behind her back as if to hide her weapon. "Mom said it's your turn to take me to school today," she declares, her voice full of mock authority. "And she said you have to get ready right now."
Obinai raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Oh, did she?"
"Yup!" Mya nods vigorously, her curls bouncing. "She said you better not be late again, or Mrs. Henderson's gonna give you that look. You know the one." She screws her face into an exaggerated frown, imitating the infamous teacher's disapproving glare.
Obinai chuckles despite himself, shaking his head. "Mrs. Henderson can wait. I need, like, five more minutes to recover from the vicious attack I just suffered." He gestures dramatically to his cheek. "This might be permanent, you know. I should sue."
Mya rolls her eyes, but her grin only widens. "Oh, please. If you're suing anyone, you're suing yourself for sleeping in! Now hurry up, Obi! Mom's gonna kill you if you make me late again."
"Alright, alright, bossy," Obinai says, ruffling her hair as he walks past her toward the bathroom. "Keep your ponytail on. I'll be ready in five."
Mya follows him, bouncing the rubber ball on the floor as she goes. "Better make it three, Obi!" she calls after him, her voice teasing.
Obinai smirks, shaking his head as he grabs a towel from the back of a chair. "You're relentless, you know that?" he says, tossing it onto his desk.
Mya giggles, hopping onto his bed with a bounce, her legs crossing beneath her as she watches him with an amused grin. "You better hurry, Obi," she teases, tilting her head dramatically. "And you smell like the park. Ugh." She wrinkles her nose for emphasis, a mix of disapproval and playful exaggeration.
Obinai freezes mid-step, a flash of the previous night rushing back to him. He snorts softly, trying to mask his nerves as he grabs a clean shirt and a pair of jeans from the pile of clothes on the floor. "Park smell is the new cool, you know?" he shoots back, tugging the shirt over his head.
Mya raises an eyebrow, her skeptical expression almost too mature for an eight-year-old. "Uh-huh. Sure, Obi. Whatever helps you sleep at night," she quips, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion that makes him laugh despite himself.
He finishes dressing quickly, pulling on a somewhat wrinkled gray t-shirt and faded blue jeans. The shirt hangs a little awkwardly, but there's no time to care. He steps over to the small mirror hanging on the back of his door, inspecting the state of his locs. After wiping his face with the towel he notices that they're a bit tangled and frizzy, and his attempts to smooth them down only result in them looking slightly less chaotic.
Mya watches him from the bed, chin resting in her hands. "You trying to impress Mrs. Henderson or something?" she teases, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.
Obinai throws her a mock glare through the mirror. "Yeah, right. Like I'd waste effort on someone who confiscates snacks like it's her life's mission."
Mya bursts into laughter, her dimples deepening. "You still mad about the granola bar?"
"Granola bars are sacred," he retorts, grabbing his backpack from the corner of the room and slinging it over one shoulder. He glances back at the mirror, gives his reflection a resigned shrug, and turns toward the door. "Alright, come on. Let's grab some breakfast before we head out."
Mya hops off the bed with a bounce, following him into the hallway. "You think there's pancakes left?" she asks, her tone hopeful.
"I'm betting it's cereal today," Obinai replies, glancing toward the kitchen as they reach it. Sure enough, a box of cereal sits open on the counter, next to two bowls and a carton of milk Maria must have left out in a rush.
Mya groans dramatically. "Cereal's so boring, though!"
"Cereal gets the job done," Obinai counters, grabbing the box and pouring some into a bowl. "Plus, you're lucky I didn't let you starve after that wake-up stunt." He smirks, passing her the milk.
Mya sticks out her tongue as she pours milk into her bowl. "You're just mad because I got you good."
"Uh-huh. Keep talking, little sis," he replies, sitting down at the small kitchen table. "One of these days, I'll get my revenge. And when I do, you're not gonna see it coming."
"You wish," Mya says with a grin, plopping into the chair across from Obinai, her legs swinging beneath the table.
Obinai stirs his cereal lazily, trying to shake off the heaviness from the previous night. He watches Mya, who's completely engrossed in balancing the perfect ratio of cereal to milk on her spoon, and a small smile tugs at his lips. "So, what's new at school? Any cool projects coming up?" he asks casually.
Big mistake.
Mya's head snaps up, her eyes brightening with an excitement that nearly radiates off her. "Oh my gosh, Obi, yes!" she exclaims, nearly dropping her spoon in her enthusiasm. "We're simulating the interactions of neutrinos within solar masses!"
Obinai raises an eyebrow, his cereal-laden spoon pausing mid-air. "Uh… what?"
"Neutrinos!" Mya continues, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "They're these tiny, tiny particles that barely ever interact with matter, but they can tell us all these huge things about how stars work!" She gestures wildly with her spoon, nearly flinging milk onto the table.
Obinai leans back slightly, trying not to laugh. "Right… tiny particles and big things. Got it."
"And that's not all!" Mya barrels on, clearly in her element. "There's this project on Andromeda, too! We're hypothesizing about its intergalactic dynamics based on redshift phenomena and spectral analysis data, and—"
"Hold up, hold up," Obinai interrupts, holding up a hand. "Redshift? Spectral what-now?"
Mya huffs impatiently, rolling her eyes like he's the slowest person on the planet. "It's how we figure out how fast galaxies are moving away from each other! Duh!"
Before Obinai can respond, the sound of shuffling papers and muffled muttering comes from the doorway. Their father, Amos, steps into the kitchen, his tall frame slightly stooped under the weight of an armful of rolled-up papers precariously balanced in his arms. His lab coat is rumpled, and the bags under his eyes speak to another sleepless night at the lab.
"Morning, kids," Amos greets, his voice warm but heavy with fatigue. He maneuvers toward the table, but the precarious stack in his arms wobbles dangerously.
"Uh, Dad—" Obinai starts, but it's too late. The stack spills onto the table with a loud thud, scattering papers across their breakfast bowls. Mya squeals as a roll of charts lands directly in her cereal, splashing milk onto the table.
"Oops," Amos mutters, scratching his bald head sheepishly. "Didn't think that through."
"Dad!" Mya exclaims, holding up her dripping spoon. "My cereal!"
"Sorry, sorry," Amos says, chuckling as he retrieves the soggy papers. "I was trying to juggle too much. Story of my life."
Obinai shakes his head, smirking as he picks up a roll of paper that's landed on his lap. "What is all this, anyway? Looks like you brought the whole lab home."
"Pretty much," Amos replies with a tired grin, gesturing to the scattered papers. "Just more analysis on the on Nurikabe," Amos continues, unrolling one of the charts and smoothing it out on the table, right next to Mya's half-soaked cereal bowl. His voice picks up slightly, the weariness in his tone momentarily overshadowed by the spark of enthusiasm. "We're trying to map the energy fluctuations more accurately. There's something—something different about the way it reacts to external stimuli."
Mya perks up, her initial annoyance forgotten. "Wait, like the experiments you showed me last week? The ones with the pulse waves?"
Amos glances at her, impressed. "Exactly, Mya. The pulse waves. We've been tweaking the frequency range, and…" He pauses, reaching for another paper. His hands move quickly, though a little clumsily from exhaustion, as he flips through his notes. "Here—look at this."
He pulls out a graph covered in jagged lines and numbers, pushing it toward Mya. Obinai leans over, peering at the chart with a raised eyebrow.
"Okay, I see… a lot of squiggles," Obinai says, gesturing vaguely at the graph.
Amos chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's the energy signature we've been tracking. The Nurikabe wall emits this consistent pattern—until we hit it with a certain pulse frequency. Then everything changes."
"Changes how?" Mya asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"The wall starts reacting in unpredictable ways," Amos explains, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. "It's almost as if it's… alive."
Mya's brow furrows deeply, skepticism etched across her face. She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with a huff. "That's impossible, Dad," she says flatly, tilting her head as if trying to decide whether he's serious. "You mean it reacts, not that it's alive. There's a huge difference. Sentience implies a self-aware mechanism that can initiate actions independently. What you're describing could just be an adaptive physical property or, like, a misunderstood natural phenomenon."
Amos raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed but also slightly amused. "Well, Miss Scientist," he says, leaning back in his chair and gesturing with his hands, "adaptive properties could explain part of it. But the complexity of its reactions suggests there's more going on. Something beyond—"
"Dad," Mya interrupts, her voice patient but firm, "you can't just jump to conclusions like that. Remember Occam's razor? The simplest explanation is usually the right one."
Obinai, who has been silently stirring the last bit of milk in his cereal bowl, snorts. "Mya's basically calling you out for overthinking, Dad."
Amos smirks, holding up a hand. "Alright, alright, I hear you. But I'm telling you, there's something about this wall that doesn't fit into the neat little boxes science likes to use."
Before Amos can launch into another round of explanations, Obinai abruptly pushes back his chair, the legs scraping loudly against the tile floor. He forces a quick, tense smile. "That's super fascinating, Dad," he says, his tone light but hurried, "but Mya and I really need to get going, or we'll miss the train."
Mya blinks, looking from her brother to her dad. "Train? What train? We don't—"
Obinai gently claps a hand over her shoulder, steering her toward the hallway. "The metaphorical train of punctuality, Mya. C'mon, grab your bag and jacket. We've got to move."
Amos watches them with a hint of disappointment, his hands resting on the stack of scattered papers. "Already? I thought I'd at least get a few more minutes of debate with my little lemon," he says cutely, his tone a bit more high pitched and quick.
"Rain check, Dad," Obinai calls over his shoulder as he guides Mya toward the door. "You know how Mrs. Henderson gets if she's late."
Mya pouts as she grabs her school bag, her enthusiasm for the discussion still evident. "But I wasn't done! I had so many good points to make!"
Amos chuckles, standing up to gather the papers they left scattered. "Don't worry, Mya. You can argue with me later. For now, listen to your brother. And Obi—" His voice takes on a teasing edge. "Make sure you get to school on time, too."
Obinai pauses in the doorway, turning with a quick grin and a salute. "Always, Dad. You know me."
Amos shakes his head, smiling as he watches them leave. "That's what worries me," he mutters under his breath, returning to his papers.
As Obinai and Mya step out into the hallway, Mya tugs at his sleeve, her brow furrowed. "We don't take a train, Obi. That didn't even make sense."
"We do now," Obinai replies with a smirk, ruffling Mya's curls until she swats his hand away, giggling. "Let's go, nerd. The clock's ticking."
As they stride briskly through the apartment hallway, Mya adjusts her bag over her shoulder, her small feet keeping pace with his longer strides. By the time they reach the lobby, the familiar figure of Mr. Thompson, the doorman, greets them with his signature knowing smirk. His neatly pressed uniform contrasts with the warm twinkle in his eye.
"Well, well," Thompson says, leaning slightly on the counter near the door. "Didn't think you'd survive last night, Obi." His voice drips with playful sarcasm, and he raises an eyebrow as if daring Obinai to deny it.
Obinai groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "Come on, Mr. Thompson, it wasn't that bad," he protests, though the faint flush on his face betrays him.
Mya, never one to miss an opportunity, jumps in gleefully. "Oh, it was that bad. He almost turned into a zombie!" Her laughter echoes off the marble floors, bright and infectious.
Mr. Thompson chuckles, nodding sagely. "A zombie, huh? I can see that. You've got the look—dark circles, shuffling walk…"
"Alright, alright," Obinai cuts in, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. He gestures dramatically toward the door. "Enough about last night. We've got a train to catch, remember?"
Mya giggles again as Obinai nudges her toward the door, his hand light on her back. "Bye, Mr. Thompson!" she calls over her shoulder.
"Have a good day, you two," Thompson replies, still chuckling as they step outside.
The city greets them with its usual vibrant chaos. The streets are alive with energy: commuters rush past, balancing coffee cups and briefcases, while street vendors set up colorful stalls along the sidewalks. The air is crisp and fresh, carrying the mingling scents of roasted coffee from nearby cafes and the sharp tang of car exhaust from the steady flow of traffic. Overhead, the sun peeks through a hazy sky, casting a warm, golden light over the bustling scene.
Mya skips a few steps ahead, her ponytail bouncing as she points toward a vendor selling fresh pastries from a small cart. "Obi! Can we get one of those cinnamon rolls? Pleeeease?"
Obinai glances at his watch, grimacing. "We're already cutting it close, Mya."
"Just one!" she insists, turning back to him with wide, pleading eyes. "We can eat it on the way!"
He groans dramatically but relents, digging into his pocket for a few bills. "Fine, but you owe me big time."
Mya claps her hands in delight as they approach the cart. The vendor, a cheerful older man with a flour-dusted apron, greets them warmly. "Morning! What can I get for you?"
"One cinnamon roll," Obinai says, handing over the money. As the vendor wraps the treat in wax paper, Obinai turns to Mya. "This better be the best cinnamon roll of your life."
"It will be!" Mya declares confidently, taking the pastry with both hands and immediately tearing off a bite. She grins up at him, powdered sugar dusting her lips. "See? Worth it."
Obinai shakes his head, hiding a smile. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, kid. Let's move."
They merge back into the flow of pedestrians, Mya happily munching on her treat as Obinai steers her toward the crosswalk.