Generasi Bintang (EN-Translate)

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For years after the Frankenstein Tragedy—the horrific incident that claimed the lives of everyone at the artificial human revival event—Kaivan and Frankenstein continued to live in hiding.

Their decision to remain underground wasn't without reason. As an artificial human, Frankenstein had become a symbol of dangerous failure, feared by the entire world. That tragedy made him both a target and a threat. Kaivan, the sole survivor, faced a similar risk. If he resurfaced, his existence would undoubtedly spark serious suspicion.

Kaivan's name was listed among the thousand victims declared dead in the tragedy. Even if he could explain his survival, the risk was too great—especially if he attracted the attention of the Elites, the powerful group that wouldn't hesitate to eliminate anything that threatened their stability.

For their safety, Kaivan and Frankenstein chose to live in the shadows, far from a world filled with threats and surveillance.

But even in hiding, the outside world still haunted them. Kaivan could never truly escape its bitter reality, not even as he watched Frankenstein struggling with a simple task in the corner of their tiny, rundown apartment.

After years on the run, they were back in the city—an advanced metropolis with towering skyscrapers glowing under artificial lights. But beneath the glittering façade, its people drowned in silent suffering.

Under layers of luxury, social inequality stretched wide, separating the powerful from the oppressed.

In a world like this, equality was nothing more than an illusion. Any attempt to achieve it had been buried alongside dreams crushed by greed and injustice.

Inside the dimly lit apartment, Frankenstein stood beside Kaivan's bedside table, preparing his medication—his fingers stiff, struggling with tasks that should have been simple.

The apartment was cramped, with peeling walls and a musty scent that lingered in the stale air. A small window in the corner allowed only a faint trickle of light, adding to the bleak atmosphere.

His rigid fingers trembled slightly, an ever-present challenge even in menial tasks like picking up pills.

Meanwhile, Kaivan lay on the worn-out bed, his mind clouded with restless thoughts, growing increasingly irritated by Frankenstein's persistent efforts.

"Just leave it there. I've got it." Kaivan's voice was flat, laced with exhaustion.

His life had been in constant turmoil ever since his conflict with the elites escalated.

It all started when he published his book The Grand Charade, a scathing critique of the ruling class and their reckless destruction of the planet. At the same time, many articles and newspapers had begun quoting his statements, spreading his words further.

"Earthquakes? They say they're caused by tectonic shifts and natural collisions. They say volcanic eruptions are just routine geological activity. But what about the nuclear experiments they never mention? What about the relentless mining that's been tearing the earth apart? How long will we keep turning a blind eye while they bask in luxury atop the destruction?"

With the media under elite control, freedom of speech was fading fast. That's why Kaivan's books always sold out—people were desperate for the truth.

As Kaivan's thoughts drifted deeper, the sound of pills hitting the floor snapped him back. Frankenstein had dropped them again.

Kaivan sat up, his gaze heavy with frustration as he watched Frankenstein's stiff fingers fumbling once more.

"Frankenstein, you weren't made to serve me. Stop trying to do things you can't," he muttered, glancing at the scattered pills on the floor. "I'll handle it. Just… leave me alone for now, okay?"

Frankenstein didn't respond. He remained focused on his task, trying over and over with the same frustrating result.

For a moment, Kaivan watched in silence, but soon enough, irritation took over.

"Isn't your brain supposed to be insanely advanced? Elise used to brag about it all the time, until I got sick of hearing it. But why can't your brain help you pick up a damn pill properly? You keep dropping them, wasting something important."

Frankenstein continued his effort, unfazed, his trembling fingers reflecting the tension—not just from the task, but from Kaivan's sharp words cutting through the room.

"Or maybe your so-called genius brain is just a half-baked experiment?" Kaivan snapped, his voice tinged with childish frustration, like someone lashing out simply because things weren't going their way.

This time, Frankenstein responded swiftly, giving Kaivan no chance to complain further.

"Kaivan," Frankenstein said in a calm, measured tone, "I can process all your complaints instantly if that's what you want. I can also predict what you're going to say before you even finish, if that's what you prefer. But…"

He paused, staring at his trembling fingers before continuing.

Frankenstein locked eyes with Kaivan—not with anger, but with the patience of someone explaining something to a stubborn child. "But," he continued, his voice steady, "you need to understand that something this simple isn't as easy as it seems."

He raised his hand slightly, showing the faint tremor. "You see this? Picking up a single pill requires my body to manage multiple tasks at once. First, I need to stay balanced, which means coordinating muscles from my legs to my back. Then, I have to move my arm toward the pill—not just any movement, but the most efficient path to avoid wasting energy."

Frankenstein studied Kaivan's face for a moment before going on.

"Once my hand reaches it, I need to grasp the pill carefully. But it's not as simple as pinching something. These pills are fragile—if I squeeze too hard, I might crush them. If I don't apply enough pressure, they'll slip away."

He slowly lowered his hand, then pointed to his head.

"And while all this is happening, my brain has to process thousands of calculations in a fraction of a second: calculating movement angles, adjusting muscle tension, keeping my balance, and making sure I don't knock over anything else on the table. And at the same time, I have to maintain a conversation with you—to make sure you don't feel ignored."

Kaivan stared at him, momentarily silent.

Frankenstein continued, "The difference between me and a human is this: your body learned naturally from the moment you were born. You've been picking up objects effortlessly without thinking. But me? I have to teach my body to work together—to connect every muscle, bone, and sensor just to mimic the skills you take for granted. And that... takes time."

His gaze was calm but firm as he added, "So, Kaivan, if you're frustrated because I keep dropping the pills, just remember—I'm still learning. I'm not perfect, but I'm not a failure either. Give me time."

Kaivan let out a long sigh, a mix of guilt and reluctant admiration. "Alright," he muttered, running a weak hand through Frankenstein's hair. "You're right... I'm just tired. But try to be quicker next time, okay? I'm running low on these."

Frankenstein offered the faintest of smiles and carefully picked up the fallen pills with newfound precision.

In the quiet, Frankenstein's lips moved slightly, forming a phrase no one could hear.

"I win."

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