Alto walked into the mech engineering department to find everything perfectly arranged, the air crisp and quiet with the scent of polished steel and lubricants. The day had clearly not begun yet, the humming heart of innovation still asleep. It always gave him a strange sense of calm and anticipation—like he'd stepped into a sacred forge before the gods of machinery stirred. The professor spotted him and waved him over with a subtle flick of the wrist. At another workbench, Eleven was already toying with some mech parts, unusually focused. Charles Vans had yet to show up, which was a small relief.
He made his way toward the professor, whose nod was brisk, professional. Her face, as always, carried that unwavering mask of seriousness, but there was something lighter today, almost imperceptible. "You seem more happy than usual this fine morning," she remarked. Alto blinked, a little caught off guard. Happy? Was it that obvious?
