The week following my conversations with Mark and Eve passes with a strange new normalcy.
I maintain my routine – classes, check-ins with Mr. Washington, community service hours – but the dynamics have shifted subtly.
Mark watches me with a mix of fascination and concern, while Eve's analytical gaze follows me in the hallways, calculating and curious.
By Friday, I've almost convinced myself that things might settle down. That illusion shatters when Ms. Jacobs, our chemistry teacher, announces a special project.
"For the next three weeks," she says, tapping a stack of papers on her desk, "you'll be working in pairs on an advanced chemical analysis project.
This will count for thirty percent of your final grade, so I suggest you take it seriously."
I glance around the room, mentally cataloging potential partners. Mark isn't in this class, and William's already making eye contact with his usual lab partner.
"To save time," Ms. Jacobs continues, "I've already assigned the pairs based on your academic strengths and areas for improvement."
A collective groan rises from the class.
"Oh, come on," she chides. "A little diversity in working styles will be good for you all."
She begins reading names from her list.
I tune out, staring at the periodic table on the wall and contemplating the irony of studying chemical elements when Eve can manipulate them at will.
"Fushiguro and Wilkins," Ms. Jacobs announces, bringing my attention sharply back to the present.
Eve turns in her seat to look at me, one eyebrow raised. I give her a slight nod, acknowledging our new partnership.
After class, Eve approaches my desk as I'm gathering my books.
"So, partners," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "We should probably set up a schedule."
"I've got community service tomorrow morning," I reply. "But I'm free in the afternoon."
She nods. "My place at three? I have access to some equipment that might be useful."
I hesitate, weighing the implications.
Spending time alone with Eve means more opportunities for her to observe me, to ask questions I might not want to answer. But refusing would seem suspicious.
"Works for me," I agree finally. "Text me your address."
"Already have your number from the class directory," she says, pulling out her phone. A moment later, my phone buzzes with a text. "See you tomorrow."
As she walks away, I can't help but notice the subtle confidence in her movements, the precision of her steps.
Eve carries herself like someone who knows exactly who she is and what she's capable of – a stark contrast to the uncertain teenagers around us.
I check my phone, finding her address and a brief message: Bring your notes on molecular binding. We'll need them for the first phase.
Saturday arrives with clear skies and unseasonably warm weather.
After completing my community service hours at the local park – picking up trash alongside other probationers under Mr. Washington's watchful eye – I head home to shower and change before meeting Eve.
Uncle Kenji is working a day shift at the hospital, so the apartment is empty.
I take the opportunity to practice my cursed energy techniques, focusing on precision and control rather than raw power.
The Dismantle technique comes more easily now, allowing me to slice through objects with increasing accuracy.
By the time I leave for Eve's house, I feel more centered, more in control of both my abilities and my life.
Eve's home is in a quiet neighborhood of well-maintained single-family houses – not quite as upscale as the Graysons' area, but comfortable and respectable.
Her house is a two-story colonial with a neatly trimmed lawn and flower beds showing the first signs of spring growth.
She answers the door before I can knock, as if she sensed my approach.
"Right on time," she says, stepping aside to let me in. "My parents are at a faculty retreat for the weekend. Dad's department at the university hosts it every year."
The house is tastefully decorated in a style that speaks of academic sensibilities – bookshelves lined with scientific texts and literature classics, walls adorned with framed botanical prints and geological maps.
It feels like a place where knowledge is valued above all else.
"We can work in the basement," Eve says, leading me through the living room. "I've converted part of it into a lab."
I follow her down a carpeted staircase to a finished basement that's been divided into two sections.
One half contains the standard fare – a couch, television, and game console. The other half, however, is anything but standard.
A long workbench runs along one wall, equipped with what looks like professional-grade scientific equipment – microscopes, a small centrifuge, various testing apparatus, and a computer setup with dual monitors. Glass cabinets hold neatly labeled chemicals and supplies.
"Impressive," I say, genuinely surprised. "School budget couldn't afford half of this."
Eve shrugs, but I catch a hint of pride in her expression. "Science scholarships have their perks. Plus, my parents believe in fostering educational interests."
She gestures to a stool at the workbench. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get us some drinks before we start."
As she heads back upstairs, I take the opportunity to examine the lab more closely. Everything is meticulously organized, with labeled containers and color-coded notebooks.
One shelf holds a collection of academic journals, many featuring articles on molecular biology and quantum physics – reading material far beyond high school level.
A corkboard above the desk displays various notes and diagrams, including what appears to be a complex molecular structure drawn with precise attention to detail.
Near it, partially hidden behind other papers, I glimpse what looks like a costume design sketch – pink and white with a distinctive atom symbol.
I quickly look away, not wanting to be caught examining it too closely.
Eve returns with two glasses of iced tea, setting one beside me. "Find anything interesting?"
"Just admiring your setup," I say, turning away from the corkboard. "You're serious about science."
"It comes naturally to me," she replies with a small smile. "Now, about this project..."
She pulls out a folder containing the assignment details and spreads them on the workbench.
For the next hour, we discuss approach and methodology, dividing tasks based on our strengths. The conversation flows easily, focused on the work at hand.
As we begin setting up the initial experiments, Eve breaks the academic rhythm.
"So," she says casually, measuring a chemical into a beaker, "your energy manipulation. Is it limited to cutting things, or can you do more?"
I pause, considering my response. "I'm still exploring the limits."
"Hmm." She adjusts the flame under the beaker with practiced precision. "And what have you discovered so far?"
"That precision is harder than raw output," I admit, deciding that limited honesty is the best approach. "And that it's tied to my emotional state."
"Like when you went all 'kneel before your king' at the museum?" There's no judgment in her tone, just curiosity.
I wince slightly. "That was... an anomaly."
"Was it?" She looks up from her work, meeting my eyes directly. "Or was it something else emerging? Something that's part of these new abilities?"
Her perception is uncomfortably accurate. I busy myself with adjusting the microscope to avoid her gaze.
"It's complicated."
"I understand complicated," she says softly. "More than you might think."
There's something in her voice – a vulnerability beneath the confident exterior – that makes me look up.
For a moment, I see beyond the brilliant student to someone navigating her own complex reality.
I wonder what it's like for her, balancing her secret identity as Atom Eve with normal teenage life.
I'll revise the dialogue section to better align with Megumi's character, making sure he doesn't hint at his memories and instead focuses on control issues related to his past as a crew leader.
Chapter 8: Partnership
The week following my conversations with Mark and Eve passes with a strange new normalcy. I maintain my routine – classes, check-ins with Mr. Washington, community service hours – but the dynamics have shifted subtly. Mark watches me with a mix of fascination and concern, while Eve's analytical gaze follows me in the hallways, calculating and curious.
By Friday, I've almost convinced myself that things might settle down. That illusion shatters when Ms. Jacobs, our chemistry teacher, announces a special project.
"For the next three weeks," she says, tapping a stack of papers on her desk, "you'll be working in pairs on an advanced chemical analysis project. This will count for thirty percent of your final grade, so I suggest you take it seriously."
I glance around the room, mentally cataloging potential partners. Mark isn't in this class, and William's already making eye contact with his usual lab partner.
"To save time," Ms. Jacobs continues, "I've already assigned the pairs based on your academic strengths and areas for improvement."
A collective groan rises from the class.
"Oh, come on," she chides. "A little diversity in working styles will be good for you all."
She begins reading names from her list. I tune out, staring at the periodic table on the wall and contemplating the irony of studying chemical elements when Eve can manipulate them at will – a fact she doesn't know I'm aware of.
"Fushiguro and Wilkins," Ms. Jacobs announces, bringing my attention sharply back to the present.
Eve turns in her seat to look at me, one eyebrow raised. I give her a slight nod, acknowledging our new partnership.
After class, Eve approaches my desk as I'm gathering my books.
"So, partners," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "We should probably set up a schedule."
"I've got community service tomorrow morning," I reply. "But I'm free in the afternoon."
She nods. "My place at three? I have access to some equipment that might be useful."
I hesitate, weighing the implications. Spending time alone with Eve means more opportunities for her to observe me, to ask questions I might not want to answer. But refusing would seem suspicious.
"Works for me," I agree finally. "Text me your address."
"Already have your number from the class directory," she says, pulling out her phone. A moment later, my phone buzzes with a text. "See you tomorrow."
As she walks away, I can't help but notice the subtle confidence in her movements, the precision of her steps. Eve carries herself like someone who knows exactly who she is and what she's capable of – a stark contrast to the uncertain teenagers around us.
I check my phone, finding her address and a brief message: Bring your notes on molecular binding. We'll need them for the first phase.
Saturday arrives with clear skies and unseasonably warm weather. After completing my community service hours at the local park – picking up trash alongside other probationers under Mr. Washington's watchful eye – I head home to shower and change before meeting Eve.
Uncle Kenji is working a day shift at the hospital, so the apartment is empty.
I take the opportunity to practice my cursed energy techniques, focusing on precision and control rather than raw power.
The Dismantle comes more easily now, allowing me to slice through objects with increasing accuracy.
By the time I leave for Eve's house, I feel more centered, more in control of both my abilities and my dual set of memories.
Eve's home is in a quiet neighborhood of well-maintained single-family houses – not quite as upscale as the Graysons' area, but comfortable and respectable.
Her house is a two-story colonial with a neatly trimmed lawn and flower beds showing the first signs of spring growth.
She answers the door before I can knock, as if she sensed my approach.
"Right on time," she says, stepping aside to let me in. "My parents are at a faculty retreat for the weekend. Dad's department at the university hosts it every year."
The house is tastefully decorated in a style that speaks of academic sensibilities – bookshelves lined with scientific texts and literature classics, walls adorned with framed botanical prints and geological maps.
It feels like a place where knowledge is valued above all else.
"We can work in the basement," Eve says, leading me through the living room. "I've converted part of it into a lab."
I follow her down a carpeted staircase to a finished basement that's been divided into two sections. One half contains the standard fare – a couch, television, and game console. The other half, however, is anything but standard.
A long workbench runs along one wall, equipped with what looks like professional-grade scientific equipment – microscopes, a small centrifuge, various testing apparatus, and a computer setup with dual monitors. Glass cabinets hold neatly labeled chemicals and supplies.
"Impressive," I say, genuinely surprised. "School budget couldn't afford half of this."
Eve shrugs, but I catch a hint of pride in her expression. "Science scholarships have their perks. Plus, my parents believe in fostering educational interests."
She gestures to a stool at the workbench. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get us some drinks before we start."
As she heads back upstairs, I take the opportunity to examine the lab more closely. Everything is meticulously organized, with labeled containers and color-coded notebooks.
One shelf holds a collection of academic journals, many featuring articles on molecular biology and quantum physics – reading material far beyond high school level.
A corkboard above the desk displays various notes and diagrams, including what appears to be a complex molecular structure drawn with precise attention to detail. Near it, partially hidden behind other papers, I glimpse what looks like a costume design sketch – pink and white with a distinctive atom symbol. I quickly look away, not wanting to be caught examining it too closely.
Eve returns with two glasses of iced tea, setting one beside me. "Find anything interesting?"
"Just admiring your setup," I say, turning away from the corkboard. "You're serious about science."
"It comes naturally to me," she replies with a small smile. "Now, about this project..."
She pulls out a folder containing the assignment details and spreads them on the workbench. For the next hour, we discuss approach and methodology, dividing tasks based on our strengths. The conversation flows easily, focused on the work at hand.
As we begin setting up the initial experiments, Eve breaks the academic rhythm.
"So," she says casually, measuring a chemical into a beaker, "your energy manipulation. Is it limited to cutting things, or can you do more?"
I pause, considering my response. "I'm still exploring the limits."
"Hmm." She adjusts the flame under the beaker with practiced precision. "And what have you discovered so far?"
"That precision is harder than raw output," I admit, deciding that limited honesty is the best approach. "And that it's tied to my emotional state."
"Like when you went all 'kneel before your king' at the museum?" There's no judgment in her tone, just curiosity.
I wince slightly. "That was... an anomaly."
"Was it?" She looks up from her work, meeting my eyes directly. "Or was it something else emerging? Something that's part of these new abilities?"
Her perception is uncomfortably accurate. I busy myself with adjusting the microscope to avoid her gaze.
"It's complicated."
"I understand complicated," she says softly. "More than you might think."
There's something in her voice – a vulnerability beneath the confident exterior – that makes me look up. For a moment, I see beyond the brilliant student to someone navigating her own complex reality.
Is she trying to slowly reveal her powers to me? If so then this is going far faster and better than I expected - without these barriers she can become a formidable ally in the future.
"These powers," I say carefully, "they make me feel... different. When I use them, especially under pressure, it's like accessing a part of myself I didn't know existed. A more confident, more commanding part."
Eve watches me with interest. "And that part of you spoke at the museum?"
I nod, keeping my explanation vague but plausible. "I think it has to do with control. Before my probation, I had a certain... position in my old crew. People listened when I spoke. I was used to authority."
This much is true from Megumi's memories – he had been a leader among his delinquent peers, respected and feared for his tactical mind and unflinching resolve.
"And when these powers emerged, that aspect of your personality came with them," Eve suggests, following my reasoning.
"Something like that," I agree, relieved she's accepting this explanation. "The powers make me feel in control again. Maybe too much so."
Eve considers this, absently twirling a pencil between her fingers. "That makes sense. Power dynamics can be deeply ingrained in our psychological responses. But it could be dangerous if that part of you takes over in stressful situations."
"Hence the practice," I say, gesturing to the notebook where I've been recording my progress with cursed energy techniques. "I need to understand what I can do and how to control it."
"Maybe I could help," she offers, setting down the pencil. "With the scientific aspects, at least. Energy manipulation has to follow some kind of physical laws, even if they're not conventional ones."
I raise an eyebrow. "And why would you want to help me?"
"Professional curiosity," she says with a slight smile. "And maybe because I know what it's like to have questions about yourself that science might help answer."
An interesting choice of words – vague enough to maintain her cover, but specific enough to suggest personal experience. I wonder how much she's willing to reveal about herself.
"I'd appreciate the perspective," I say. "You clearly know your science."
"I do," she agrees without false modesty. "And unusual phenomena are particularly interesting to me."
For a moment, I'm tempted to let her know that I'm aware of her secret identity – to create a foundation of mutual understanding.
But revealing that knowledge would raise too many questions about how I obtained it. Saying she looks the same isn't sufficient - after all many others haven't connected the dots.
She's smart enough to know there would be a different cause.
Better to let her maintain her privacy while we build trust naturally.
"So what kind of experiments did you have in mind?" I ask instead.
"Controlled conditions," she says, her eyes lighting up with scientific enthusiasm. "Documenting your abilities under different parameters, analyzing energy patterns, testing limits and applications."
"That sounds... remarkably thorough."
"Science usually is," she replies with a smile. "But we can start simple. Show me something basic – something you have good control over."
I hesitate, then extend my hand toward a pencil on the desk. Focusing my cursed energy, I whisper, "Dismantle."
The pencil splits cleanly in half, both pieces rolling slightly on the desktop.
Eve leans forward, fascinated. "No visible energy discharge, but definite molecular separation along a precise plane."
She picks up the pencil halves, examining the perfectly smooth cut. "Did you feel resistance? Energy expenditure?"
"Minimal," I admit. "A pencil is easy. Denser materials require more focus, more energy."
"And living tissue?"
I tense at the question. "I haven't tried. And don't plan to." Not yet.
She nods, seemingly relieved. "Good. That's a boundary worth maintaining." She sets down the pencil halves and retrieves a notebook from a drawer.
"Let's document what we know so far, then design some basic tests."
For the next two hours, we alternate between working on our chemistry project and exploring my abilities.
Eve approaches both with the same methodical precision, taking notes, asking insightful questions, suggesting refinements to my techniques.
Her scientific perspective is illuminating. She helps me understand the relationship between visualization and energy flow, suggesting that my mental focus acts as a channel for the cursed energy.
"It's like the word 'Dismantle' creates a conceptual framework," she theorizes, sketching a diagram in her notebook. "Your mind defines the outcome, and the energy conforms to that definition."
"That... actually makes sense," I state, acting surprised - well I am indeed surprised by her insight. For it is something I of course already knew, but that she realised it from so little information is remarkable.
"I've been thinking of it as a technique to be mastered, but it's more about intent and visualization." I continue.
"Exactly! The technique is just the vehicle for your intent." Her eyes are bright with intellectual excitement. "Try this – instead of focusing on cutting, visualize separating the molecular bonds."
I pick up a small glass beaker, concentrating on the molecular structure as Eve described. "Dismantle," I whisper.
The beaker separates along a perfect horizontal line, the two halves settling gently onto the table without a single jagged edge.
"That was cleaner than before," I observe, intentional. It would help to show some improvement. I at first wished not to show her the extent of the cutting ability since she should be able to sense how it cleaves through the bonds - but this much should be alright.
It is not the full capacity of what I have mastered.
"Because you were working with the material's structure rather than against it," Eve explains. "Energy follows the path of least resistance when properly directed."
As the afternoon progresses, our conversation drifts from abilities to more personal topics.
Eve tells me about her childhood as a science prodigy, carefully avoiding any mention of her superhero activities but sharing her struggle to fit in with peers who couldn't understand her interests.
In return, I share modified versions of Megumi's memories – the loss of his parents, the spiral into delinquency, the intervention that set him on a better path.
"It's strange," Eve says as we clean up the lab.
"When you first transferred to our school, I thought you were just another tough guy with an attitude. Now I realize there's a lot more beneath the surface."
"Most people don't look beneath the surface," I reply, packing my notes into my backpack.
"Their loss," she says simply.
There's something refreshing about Eve's directness, her intellectual curiosity that extends beyond textbooks to the world around her.
In another life, I might have shared my knowledge of her secret identity, formed an alliance based on mutual understanding of what it means to harbor extraordinary abilities.
But in this life, with its complex web of secrets and survival imperatives, I need to maintain certain boundaries – even as others begin to blur.
As I prepare to leave, Eve walks me to the door. The setting sun casts long shadows across her front yard, painting the world in amber and gold.
"Same time next weekend?" she asks. "For the project and... the other research."
I nod. "I'd like that."
She hesitates, then adds, "You know, there's a physics lecture at the university next Friday evening. On quantum entanglement. Might be relevant to understanding energy transfer principles."
"Sounds interesting," I say. "We could grab dinner before, if you want."
A smile touches her lips. "I'd like that."
------------------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!
So, Eve and Megumi are becoming better friends. I haven't decided yet if I want to make them together.
Something I heard that sounds weird, but also interesting is that in this AU for Robot to be a female originally, and create a female body - maybe Eve clone body - the whole Monster Girl situation being replaced by Sukuna.
It's weird, but oddly fitting since they are then both not in their original bodies, and a female robot's personality fits with Sukuna side part of Megumi.
I'm still not sure of this though, so do tell me what you think of it.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)