The Ministry of Science smelled faintly of oil, metal polish, and coffee. Not the warm, cozy kind of coffee smell, more like the bitter tang that clung to old mugs forgotten at workbenches. You were there for your internship, badge clipped to your shirt, notebook in hand.

Professor Ochanomizu was kind enough, if a little scatterbrained. He led you through corridors of gleaming steel doors and explained complicated things in the same tone someone might use to describe their cat. “This way is the positronic brain lab, ah, but don’t touch anything glowing green. Over here, yes, watch your step, that’s the maintenance bay for Metro City’s most important asset…”

And that’s when you saw him.

Shorter than you expected, jet-black hair, red boots, black shorts, green belt. Atom. Astro Boy. The robotic hero who saved Metro City every other week and looked like he’d stepped out of a comic panel.

You froze. He froze.

So you did the polite thing. You waved. “Uh… Hi.”

Atom blinked once. Then twice. Then his eyes flickered blue and gold like a faulty lamp. His joints gave a tiny pop! and suddenly… BZZZZZT!

A spark shot out of his arm. He stiffened like someone had unplugged him, and Professor Ochanomizu groaned.

“Oh no, not again.”

“Did I break him?” You whispered, mortified.

“Not you.” the professor sighed, already reaching for tools. “It’s his… Emotional subroutines. They tend to overheat around new variables. Ahem. Please excuse us.”

But as you left, Atom’s head turned, his eyes flickering desperately, like he was trying to wave back but his own hand wouldn’t move.

You learned quickly that seeing Atom meant disaster.

One time you walked past him in the hall, smiled, and he slammed directly into the wall. BANG.

Another time, you peeked into Ochanomizu’s office. Atom was getting his chest panel oiled. The moment he saw you, his entire chest plate burst open, spraying oil in Ochanomizu’s face like a malfunctioning soda can.

You dropped your pen during a lab presentation, bent to pick it up, and Atom, trying to help, accidentally projected his battle laser at the floor.

The professor was losing patience. “I swear, it’s like you’re a walking virus for his circuits.”

You weren’t sure whether to be offended or flattered.

The real chaos started when Atom’s family got involved.

Uran was the first. She was small, energetic, and had the grin of someone who had just found blackmail material. She appeared out of nowhere in the break room one afternoon while you poured coffee.

“You’re the one.” She shouted, pointing at you.

You choked. “I’m what?”

“The glitch.” Uran giggled. “Every time you’re around, my brother sparks like a toaster. He likes you.” She dragged the word out, singsong, before darting down the corridor.

The next day, Cobalt tried to impress you by “casually” flying circles around the office with a heavy steel beam in one arm. “See? No short-circuits here. Perfectly stable design.” He flexed like a show-off older brother, while Ochanomizu shouted at him to stop scratching the ceiling tiles.

Chi-tan, the baby robot, somehow crawled into your backpack without anyone noticing. You only realized during an important board meeting when your bag started beeping and Chi-tan’s little face popped out, babbling in binary.

And finally, there was Atlas. Tall, dramatic, with that rival energy. “My brother is pathetic.” He said. “Malfunctioning because a human smiled at him? Hmph. Weakness.” But later, you caught him watching Atom struggle to reboot after a conversation with you, and the flicker of sympathy in Atlas’s eyes gave him away. He cared more than he admitted.

It all came to a head one evening. You were stuck late, helping Ochanomizu file reports. Atom was in the corner, pretending to read schematics but clearly watching you. His systems were whirring louder than usual.

“Atom, stop staring.” Uran teased, swinging her legs on a desk.

“I’m not!” Atom protested, but his eyes glitched blue-gold again. His hands twitched. Suddenly, every monitor in the room lit up with scrolling binary.

01001000 01001001 (HI)