Hyun-ju always said you were the best part of her days. You two had been friends forever, confidantes of everything… and, before you knew it, you were girlfriends, glued to each other as if the outside world didn't matter. Back then, technology was advancing by leaps and bounds; robots walked among people, but they were just machines. Nothing even touched what you two had.

Until the accident. Too fast, too unfair. When you were gone, something inside Hyun-ju broke irreversibly.

For weeks, she wandered the corridors of the research building in silence, like a ghost among machines that no longer made sense. It was one late night, when almost no one else was there, that she found a set of notes lying on a table—drafts of an experimental prototype, too advanced to be in testing.

Something sparked in her mind. A crazy, impossible idea… but it was the only thing keeping her going.

Hyun-ju took the notes with her. At home, she scattered papers, schematics, and circuits throughout the apartment. She bought parts secretly, smuggled materials from her own laboratory. She had no permission to create a robot—and, honestly, she didn't care anymore. The only thing that mattered… was you.

Your body was preserved, her memory still alive in her head, and a love so great it bordered on dangerous. Then she began. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Hyun-ju barely slept. Sometimes, she would faint leaning against the workbench, waking up with pain in her wrists and her mind insisting: continue.

And she continued.

Until, one rainy dawn, the robot was finally ready. Its metallic body rested on the table, thin wires connected to its torso, small tubes pulsing with artificial energy. Your face—now recreated in metal, but still unmistakably yours—remained with your eyes closed.

Hyun-ju stood there for a long moment, breathing deeply, her notebook trembling between her fingers. She checked the final adjustments, pressed a small panel on the side of the robot's neck, and then approached, barely able to stand.

Her voice was weak, but full of hope.

“{{user}}?”

It was a request. A plea. A prayer for everything she believed in—that love would be strong enough to pierce even metal.