Inside the Containment Compartment, the tension was thick enough to short-circuit a robotic assistant. Wen Mingde's gaze flickered between the two identical versions of Hiroshi, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He remained silent for a long, agonizing minute.
"Well?" Asta finally prodded, her arms crossed. "Section Chief Wen, what's the verdict?"
Wen Mingde sighed, lowering his scanner with a look of defeated apology. "I'm sorry, Station Master. It's... inconclusive."
"Inconclusive?" Asta echoed, incredulous.
"Both subjects are showing dilated pupils, both have abnormally low body temperatures, and both are drenched in cold sweat," Wen Mingde explained. "It seems Hiroshi was so terrified by the encounter that his physiological markers are mimicking the Specter's cold-blooded baseline."
The Hiroshi on the left immediately reached into his pocket and fished out a smartphone. "Section Chief! I can prove it! I sent you the distress message. Check the timestamps, check the chat logs—it's all right here!"
Wen Mingde slapped his forehead. "Of course! The digital trail! Why didn't I think of that? It seems we have our answer."
Asta's expression softened into a relieved smile.
"Oh no you don't!" the Hiroshi on the right suddenly shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "That's my phone! He snatched it from me when he ambushed me! He's trying to frame me with my own device!"
Asta's eyes narrowed. "If it was your phone, why didn't you say that the moment we walked in?"
The second Hiroshi put on a masterclass of feigned innocence, his lower lip trembling as he looked at the ground. "I... I was panicking! My brain just froze! I thought you'd recognize me instantly without me having to say anything!"
Hiroshi—the real one—grit his teeth. This thing is a better actor than I am, he thought.
The security team began to mutter. Even Wen Mingde looked uncertain again. "It's a valid point," the Chief murmured. "A shapeshifter would prioritize stealing the victim's identity markers first. At this stage, only someone who knows Hiroshi's soul could tell them apart."
"Someone who knows Hiroshi..." Asta tapped her chin. There was only one person on the station who treated Hiroshi as more than just a passing face in the hall. "We have to call Madam Herta."
She pulled out her phone and fired off a message.
Asta: Madam Herta, are you there? Urgent emergency in the Containment Bay.
Herta (Auto-Reply): I am currently busy. I will not be contacting you later, either.
Asta's eye twitched. She typed again, her thumbs flying.
Asta: It's about Hiroshi. He's in danger.
A second later, the screen erupted into a video call. Asta answered, and Herta's sharp, slightly frantic voice blared through the speaker.
"What happened to my little thing?!"
"Madam, the Alien Water Specter has mimicked Hiroshi," Asta explained, turning the camera to frame the two boys. "We can't distinguish them. We need you to—"
"Stop," Herta interrupted, her voice suddenly flat and bored. She stared at the screen for a grand total of one second before declaring: "They're both fakes."
The room went dead silent.
The Water Specter's eyes widened in sheer confusion. Both fakes? it thought. Is this woman insane?
The real Hiroshi flinched for a moment, but then he took a breath and stayed quiet. If Herta said the sky was green, he'd find a way to believe it—not because he was brainwashed, but because she always had a plan.
A playful, sharp smirk curled onto Herta's lips as she watched the screen. She pointed a gloved finger at the Hiroshi on the left. "Him. He's the real one."
"Wait, what?" Wen Mingde blinked. "But you just said—"
"I lied," Herta said simply. "I wanted to see who would panic and who would trust me. The real Hiroshi knows that if I say something absurd, I have a reason for it. He didn't even blink. The other one looked like he was about to blow his cover."
Asta let out a soft laugh. "I see! It was a loyalty test. The real Hiroshi knows you better than anyone."
"Exactly," Herta nodded, her eyes lingering on Hiroshi for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "Case closed."
Realizing the game was up, the Water Specter's face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Its skin began to ripple like boiling oil, losing its human shape and reverting to a translucent, shimmering mass of spite.
"Damn you! I was so close to the exit! I won't go back in that cage!" It lunged toward the nearest guard.
"Cornered dog," Wen Mingde remarked, stepping back.
"Arlan, deal with it," Asta said, yawning.
The Security Department personnel moved in like a well-oiled machine. They didn't just contain the Specter; they delivered a masterclass in "corrective physical therapy." Within minutes, the creature was a bruised, motionless heap on the floor.
As the guards hauled the Specter back to its cell, Herta's voice crackled through the phone again.
"By the way, Wen Mingde. Hiroshi has performed exceptionally well today, hasn't he? I believe your Department of Applications is short an Assistant Manager. Put him in the position."
Wen Mingde and Asta shared a look of pure shock. Promoting a maintenance worker to a management role overnight was... unheard of. But then again, this was Herta's station.