On the day that I was supposed to meet my new family, only a week after my parents' accident, I'd come by a problem: the reploids that had been in charge of my move had been "lost." I translated that as: "There was a Maverick attack outside the city, and the military forces take higher priority than a pint-sized midget. Like you."

Perhaps not quite that exact meaning, but it was close enough. No harm done either way, right? (Well, maybe those reploids, but they were dead, anyways.)

Either way, I hardly took notice to their lack of appearance—I was already engrossed in a new scientific phenomenon involving the usage of an extremely rare metal for reploids; supposedly, the material applied unique effects to their default weapons. I'd already gotten my hands on all the research articles available, even having gone through my parents' old experiments with it.

Unsurprisingly, considering how valuable the material was, only the stingiest amounts were used for experiments—on the flip side, they only needed the tiniest bit, anyways. It was very effective in its use.

"I wonder…" I murmured, tapping the end of a pen against my lip. "If we were to adjust the fixed ratios of Factor 2 and 9, could its effectiveness be increased by 10%, even in lesser concentrations than they already are? Perhaps even if we took Factor 3 out and then altered…"

Sounds of my pen furiously scribbling across the notebook's page filled the ensuing silence, margins and corners quickly being filled out by various formulae. Books of theories surrounded me as I flipped through various ones and cross-analyzed possibilities. So much to do, so much to think about …

You need to know more. Learn more, my mind pressed. Discover something; find the answer to everything you couldn't through books. People and resources are so limited … and you've got all the potential locked up in this dingy little room.

The thought put my work to a pause. It was such a foreign concept to me; all I had ever known was this little room—maybe the house and my parents' study, if that could count—and the need to learn as much as I could. Furrowing my brows, I licked my lips. "… Potential?" No. It didn't seem like a possibility for me; I was content enough where I was, wasn't I?

A sliver of doubt passed through the recesses of my mind, but I pushed it away.

A glance at my notebook, and I already knew that I couldn't pick up my previous train of thought so easily anymore.

"This is troublesome," I chastised myself. "I was on the verge of just figuring it out…where was I…"

There was a distinct knock on my doorframe, which I chiefly ignored as my eyes scanned over what I had wrote; whoever it was could wait…

"Ciel Prairie?" the individual inquired politely through my murmured, "Busy."

Ah, wait. Someone was in the house and I hadn't noticed? I glanced out the window—the quickly darkening sky signifying that half a day had passed—before reluctantly giving the visitor some form of acknowledgment: "You wouldn't be incorrect. How may I help you?"

"I'm X," he quickly introduced. Strangely enough, I could already see a warm smile accompanying his words—

My gaze quickly snapped to his face. I would be incompetent to not recognize the Neo Arcadian leader; nevermind his near-legend status. "I apologize, X, sir," I muttered distantly, but slightly sheepish. "I get engrossed in my research. I believe that is no excuse for my rudeness, however; indeed, I am Ciel Prairie. How may I help you?"

"X is fine. Please don't worry about formalities," he easily waved off, smiling. "I'm sorry for intruding in on you. What are you researching?"

"It's nothing important, sir." Play it dumb, and X might leave you alone.

He gestured amusedly at the pile of books and papers; sprawled all around me. "Are you quite sure about that?"

I cleared my throat pointedly. "Yes, sir."

"Please, call me X. 'Sir' makes me feel odd." He chuckled. "But, I suppose I should get to the point. The reploids in charge of directing you to your new family received different orders; I apologize for that. I'm here to personally introduce you to them—erm, if you're ready…" his voice seemed to hesitate as his eyes looked around further at the mess of my room.

I frowned. "It's not necessary, sir. I assure you, I am fully capable and equipped to take care of myself in my home."

He looked concerned. "Ciel, when was the last time you ate something?"

"…I," I began, but paused. There was a notable emptiness in my stomach; but in hindsight, it wasn't anything big, and I wasn't starving. "Perhaps a day or two ago, I cannot exactly recall."

"When I entered the house—I apologize for my intrusion, by the way—there was a layer of dust on the counters," he noted. "When was the last time you left your room?"

I didn't answer. This is where he'll argue the point of how I need guardians to take care of me; it's not like I can't take care of myself. I just know how to prioritize things. I looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes. I wonder if this is what one feels like upon being scolded? I wouldn't know better, really; but I would assume so. Taking in a breath, I looked at him again with an unamused expression. "I do not believe this has to do with anything."

"It has to do with everything," he said crossly, edging back once he realized how harsh his tone was. Gently, he added, "Ciel, I don't mean to take you away from your home, but you're a child. And it's clear that you can't take care of yourself properly here; what would your parents think if they saw you like this? You're a smart one, I'll give you that—" he gave indication to my room and mess "—but it's nothing in light of your health, all right?"

"Like I said, I am fully aware of what condition my body is in and whether or not I'm taking good care of myself and my health," I stated. "I have been taking care of myself since I was two; why should that change now?" I challenged. "Yes, I am five, and a child to the world's eyes; but that didn't matter before the deaths of my parents. Nothing has changed for me in terms of lifestyle, but it has suddenly become an issue because no legal guardian can be held liable for my name. That is the only difference.

"Forgive me for my rudeness, sir, but I see no true reason behind this conversation except for ridiculous legalities that are horribly dysfunctional in a situation such as this. Trying to guilt me by mention of my deceased parents will do little to convince me; they were never around in favour of their research, and I've never cared in favour of my research. I would like to drop it at that, if you would not mind, sir," I requested, ending my long speech.

I deserve credit for that one.

There was only silence.

Is he surprised by my admission? I wondered, studying his unreadable expression. Is he … conflicted?

"Sir?" I tried.

Something seemed to change, with that look in his eye; he seemed pensive and almost sad, as he drew out a long sigh. "I see." He closed his eyes in some contemplative thought. "So it's like that."

I nodded, finally snapping my pen cap shut and closing my notebook with a clear snap. I stood up and carefully took two steps ahead, standing just the right amount of distance in front of him as I held a hand out. "May I presume that this interaction is complete, then?"

His lips quirked as he gave a slow, reluctant nod. "For our best interest, I'll send someone to check up every week."

I gave a short nod in return. "That's more than I could ask for."

Just as he grasped my hand to give a shake, my vision began to blur. The last thing I remember hearing before seeing black was a startled, "Ciel!"