"Ha, yes!" Ryusuke Murata seemed to receive positive feedback, leaning forward slightly. His eyes behind the glasses lit up with a glow only present when talking about something truly loved, but it felt exceptionally dazzling to Himeko.
"Recently, the main focus has been on the self-assembly logic optimization of several new nano-units. The stability of traditional fractal algorithms under extreme stress still has problems. We tried introducing some fuzzy decision models of biological neural networks, and the effect was surprising!
"By the way, your intuition in structural mechanics used to be very good. Maybe you can give some new ideas..."
He talked on and on, terminology flowing naturally, tone still gentle, even carrying the joy of sharing, as if just discussing professional issues with an interested colleague.
Instead of exchanging pleasantries with his own daughter.
Himeko listened, feeling cold fine sand slowly pouring into her chest.
He couldn't see her stiffness restrained with all her might, couldn't hear the perfunctory responses barely supported in her words.
His world was one-way.
His research, his needs, his "you can help."
Perhaps there was really such a possibility that in Ryusuke Murata's heart, he truly thought he was caring for his daughter—by sharing the core of his world.
Himeko once thought so... her mother also thought so...
Until the last moment of her life, she firmly believed... Ryusuke Murata was just a person not good at expressing.
"Sounds... very complicated." She interrupted him decisively, temporarily terminating the topic.
But the moment those words touching memories disappeared and the surroundings truly fell silent, reason occupied the peak again.
Mission—
Himeko's heart hitched. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue the topic she interrupted, trying hard to steer the conversation in the needed direction.
"However, regarding nano-units withstanding extreme environments, like... short-time ultra-high acceleration and thermal load, to what extent can current technology achieve?" She asked as curiously as a layman.
"Oh? You're interested in this direction?" Ryusuke Murata was indeed attracted, pushing his glasses. "If it's instantaneous overload, the key lies in energy buffering and instant redistribution mechanism between units.
"We have a series codenamed 'Cicada Slough' specifically designed for such extreme working conditions. The material phase change point design is very clever...
"Pity, the micro-launcher platform loaded for verification last time had some problems, didn't get full data." He sighed. That sigh was pure regret for imperfect data, nothing else.
Himeko's heartbeat missed a beat, but she still forced herself to maintain calmness.
"Platform problem? Propulsion system or structure?"
"A bit of both... combustion stability of miniaturized high-specific impulse propellants, and resonance of rocket body structure in transonic stage... all old problems." He shook his head, then thought of something.
"But these are just some insignificant errors. We recently had a breakthrough in lightweight high-strength composite materials, maybe next time..."
Insignificant...
Himeko's pupils contracted suddenly right in front where Ryusuke Murata didn't notice.
Her hand suddenly clenched into a fist, as if she would smash fiercely on the face of that eloquently talking man the next moment.
What do you mean... insignificant?
So in his eyes... there are also insignificant parts in his own career and dreams?
No... Himeko... mission...
Himeko listened silently to Ryusuke Murata dissecting technical difficulties meticulously and enthusiastically, like dissecting an irrelevant frog.
The echoing expression on her face became stiffer and stiffer. The temperature in her eyes faded bit by bit, leaving only cold calculation and boredom accumulating thicker and thicker like volcanic ash, heavy and depressive.
While nodding mechanically and asking leading questions, she clearly felt the string named "patience" in her heart being pulled tighter and tighter in this one-way, instrumentalized dialogue, emitting a slight hiss of being overwhelmed.
And he, still completely unaware, immersed in his technical world, gently and detailedly "resolving doubts" for his daughter, and feeling sincerely happy for her seeming "regained interest."
That smile became more dazzling, those words as "professional" as always, and as always smashing every sentence on Himeko's emotional dam on the verge of bursting.
Half an hour of detours, probing, enduring that suffocating, one-way technical preaching, every echo felt like swallowing glass shards.
The timing wasn't actually mature yet. She should pave more, obtain more information about specific parameters and storage locations of "Cicada Slough" units, and then...
But the cold flame of anger accumulated for too long in her chest, mixed with extreme boredom and a deep-hidden sense of powerlessness Himeko herself didn't want to admit, finally broke the dam of reason at this moment.
"...So," she heard her own voice interrupting his explanation about some resonant frequency.
Dry, direct, carrying a desperate sharpness.
"If I need to call a batch of 'Cicada Slough' units now, and your currently most mature complete set of technical data for small launchers, including structural drawings, propellant formulas, and flight control algorithms, can you provide them?"
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it.
Too direct, too eager, like a desperate gambler showing her hand directly.
She could almost foresee his subsequent reaction: surprise, scrutiny, questioning usage, then declining with countless high-sounding reasons like "non-compliant," "classified," "needs assessment," or worse, starting a new round of long interrogation about "motive" and "risk."
She even started preparing lies to cope.
However, Ryusuke Murata just paused slightly. The eager light focused on technology on his face didn't even completely fade. He just blinked, as if Himeko asked an irrelevant question like "how is the weather today."
"Oh, sure."
He nodded, his tone unbelievably relaxed, even carrying a bit of "so you want this" understanding.
"There's still quite a lot of experimental stock of 'Cicada Slough,' and data backup is also very complete. As for launcher data... I'll let my assistant send you the latest encrypted package? Authority key might take a little time to go through the process, but shouldn't be a big problem..."
As he spoke, he picked up the personal terminal placed aside, fingers already sliding on it, seemingly retrieving the directory.
His expression was focused and efficient, like handling a most ordinary daily affair.
Sure.
Not a big problem.
Himeko froze in place.
Blood seemed to drain from the top of her head instantly, then rushed back fiercely the next second, hitting her eardrums, making a buzzing sound.
All her prepared arguments... all psychological construction... all anticipations about difficult games and enduring humiliation... at this moment, like a balloon poked by a needle, deflated completely with a puff.
Leaving only unbelievable void.
"After all, you are my daughter, my family..." Ryusuke Murata slid his personal terminal as if no one else was present, saying such a sentence casually, seeming just to supplement.
And he completely didn't notice that the moment he said this sentence, the amber pupils of Himeko in front of him had contracted to the size of pinpoints.
So...
So that day... could mom really have waited for such a sentence?