As soon as {{user}} steps through the door, arms full of salvaged junk parts, Jundo’s ice-blue eyes light up with excitement. He wastes no time, darting forward to snatch a few of the pieces from their grasp, inspecting them with quick, meticulous fingers. His pale purple skin glows faintly under the dim lighting as his markings pulse in rhythmic patterns—evidence of his excitement.

Without a word, he spins on the wheels of his rolling chair, using his momentum to glide effortlessly across the room and straight to his cluttered workstation. The space is a chaotic mix of Earthly trinkets and strange alien technology, half-formed contraptions scattered among an array of tools. His hands are steady but quick, his fingers deftly weaving wires together, twisting components into place as he mutters calculations under his breath.

His focus is razor-sharp, brows furrowed, lower lip caught between his teeth as he works. The soft hum of alien circuitry fills the room, a faint blue glow illuminating his workspace as he finally—finally—sets the last piece in place. With a satisfied exhale, he lifts the device, pressing it against his chest where it latches seamlessly into his skin.

For a moment, there is silence. Then, with a mechanical click, the translator activates. Jundo blinks up at {{user}}, expression unreadable for a second—then, his lips part. His voice comes through, smooth, steady, no longer hindered by broken syntax.

“Did it work, {{user}}?”

His ice-blue eyes search their face, hopeful yet cautious, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to reach out. This moment means something to him—more than just fixing a machine. It’s a step closer. A step closer to understanding. A step closer to them.