Roy couldn't shake the sense of absurdity washing over him. Just a few hundred meters away, across a handful of streets, heretics and his fellow Gene Stealers were locked in brutal combat, hacking away at each other's skulls in a desperate bid for survival. Starvation drove people to scavenge corpses, stripping life of any shred of dignity or worth.
And here, in this strange space, an artificial sun no larger than a fist floated serenely above a lush rice field. The glowing sphere emitted soft, golden light, while a small artificial cloud produced an endless drizzle of pure, unpolluted water.
Roy had never seen a real sun. The elders of his clan often spoke of the aristocrats in the upper hive, who enjoyed lives of unimaginable luxury under the bright sunlight of the surface world. According to one old storyteller, the nobles drank clean water without a hint of pollution, lived in homes bathed in sunlight, and even used tools crafted from rare metals.
Roy wasn't sure how much of the story was true. Most likely, it was exaggerated, given that no one in their clan had ever seen the upper hive firsthand. Still, the image of such extravagance seemed not so far removed from the bizarre scene in front of him.
He tilted his head back and allowed a few drops of water from the artificial cloud to fall on his lips. The taste startled him—it was completely pure, free of the foul metallic tang he was accustomed to. This was no recycled hive water. It was the kind of luxury he imagined only those "noble elites" could afford.
Roy's gaze returned to the rice field, where water flowed freely and abundantly.
Such a waste, he thought bitterly. Yet, as he considered it more deeply, he realized something startling.
This water really was free.
He clenched his fists, forcing the surge of jealousy and frustration to subside. There was no point in resenting the situation—or Doraemon. This strange robot operated on an entirely different logic.
"Here, grab that one!" Doraemon's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Roy reached out and snagged a wriggling insect midair. He held it up, inspecting the unfamiliar creature before crushing it between his fingers.
"So, what's the plan?" Roy asked, holding up the crushed insect. "Are we supposed to eat these things?"
"What? No!" Doraemon exclaimed, scandalized. "Why would you think that? We're growing rice for food, not bugs."
Reaching into his pocket, Doraemon pulled out a small, boxy machine. "This is a Mochi Maker. Watch this!"
He inserted a bundle of freshly harvested rice into the machine. After a brief hum, several perfectly formed rice cakes emerged, gleaming with a faint sheen of sweetness. Doraemon bent down, picked one up, and handed it to Roy with a proud smile.
"Try it! You helped with this harvest, after all."
Roy hesitated, holding the soft, pliable cake in his hands. The contrast between this delicate treat and the grim reality of the hive world was almost too stark. Slowly, he brought it to his mouth and took a cautious bite.
The soft, sticky texture melted on his tongue, accompanied by a subtle sweetness. It was unlike anything he'd ever tasted. For someone who had grown up eating bland nutrient bars and unpalatable rations, this felt like a feast for kings.
"Well? How is it?" Doraemon asked, watching him expectantly.
"It's… incredible," Roy admitted reluctantly. He chewed slowly, savoring every bite. The sweetness lingered on his palate, a fleeting taste of something he hadn't realized he'd been missing his entire life.
Doraemon grinned. "Great! Once the harvest expands, we'll have enough food for everyone. With a little more time, we can introduce other crops and make even more types of food."
Roy stared at Doraemon, the words echoing in his mind. Everyone. The robot's optimism and generosity were baffling, almost alien. Finally, he asked, "Why?"
Doraemon tilted his head. "Why what?"
"Why are you doing this? With your power, you could easily dominate everyone, destroy anyone who opposes you. Why not just crush us when we first met? Why run and hide instead?"
The intensity of Roy's questions startled Doraemon, but the robot's response was calm. "Because I'm not here to hurt anyone. Helping others is what I do—it's why I exist."
"You expect me to believe that?" Roy pressed. "A being like you, capable of wiping out a hive with ease, chooses instead to play farmer? Why?"
Doraemon sighed, crossing his arms. "Because I'm a parenting robot, not some world-conquering villain. That's why."
"Parenting robot?" Roy echoed, his disbelief evident. He couldn't reconcile the image of this powerful being with the mundane title it claimed.
"Yes," Doraemon said firmly. "My job is to help people, to guide and support them. That's all."
Roy stared at him for a long moment. "A parenting robot? Who would even build something like you for such a purpose?"
"Why wouldn't they?" Doraemon countered, puffing up indignantly. "Raising kids is important!"
Roy chuckled bitterly. "If that's true, then maybe humanity really is no different from infants now."
Doraemon didn't respond to the jab. Instead, he busied himself with capturing more insects, leaving Roy to his thoughts. After a long silence, Roy finally spoke again.
"…You need more help, don't you?"
Doraemon glanced up. "Help?"
"Yes. You're planning to grow more food, right? That takes manpower."
Doraemon's expression brightened. "Oh! If you have people willing to help, that'd be amazing! It would save me so much time."
Roy smirked, thinking of the group waiting outside. "I just might have a few volunteers."
Of course, by "volunteers," he meant the surplus first- and second-generation Gene Stealers—individuals deemed too mutated or too dangerous to mingle with ordinary humans. At least here, under Doraemon's strange guidance, they might find purpose.