The Secret Garden: Rebellion In The Basement Of The Administration Building.

The peace of Sector 3 had always been like walking on thin ice, but today the vibration shaking the floor of Office 402 felt different.

It was not a mechanical grinding sound, but a dull throb, as if something enormous were burrowing deep underground.

Han-gyeol fiddled with the short hair at the back of his head and looked down at the floor.

The thick roots spreading from Green’s feet were tearing the marble tiles apart like sheets of paper.

The child stared into the abyss beyond the floor, as if bewitched, with unfocused emerald eyes.

Every time Green’s small fingers touched the floor, the vines that had filled the office all poured at once like waterfalls toward the vertical vent shaft.

“……zzzt. Boss, Green’s frequency is strongly resonating with the ‘Preservation Zone’ below Basement 5. That is a forbidden area where relics from the old era, before humanity built paradise 600 years ago, have been left abandoned. According to NOS’s standard management manual, entry there is regarded as [historical contamination].”

Noah lit a purple warning light and blocked Han-gyeol’s way.

An unknown chill rising from underground was already clinging to her pink outer plates.

But Green seemed not to hear Noah’s warning and crawled into the vent as if hurling themself inside.

The jade-green radiance pouring from the child’s body stretched far along the dark vertical passage.

Han-gyeol spat out his gum and tightened his backpack straps.

The rules of paradise had long since collapsed вместе with Green’s birth.

Nabi also held its tail up and followed after the child, and Han-gyeol lightly tapped Noah’s metal shoulder before stepping into the darkness.

Basement 7.

When the door to that place, where even the elevator never stopped, opened, a terribly stale smell greeted the group.

It was not the artificial scent of the upper floors, but the ‘smell of time,’ a mixture of old dust, burned silicon, and damp paper.

Air sealed away for 600 years creaked as it rushed out.

Green walked through the darkness as if it were familiar.

Wherever the child’s steps reached, orange emergency lights blinked on, waking one by one.

The rough light emitted by actual gas-filled bulbs, not a modern hologram system, illuminated the corridor.

It was a vast server room.

But it was different from the smooth racks on the surface.

Thick cables tangled like thousands of snakes covered the floor, and the walls were packed with old monitors thickly coated in dust.

Green stopped in front of the largest main terminal among them.

The child’s tendrils infiltrated not the terminal’s fiber-optic port, but the old USB port and LAN port directly.

A bizarre hack began, with plant stems wrapping around copper wires and physically intercepting the signal.

“Zzzzt—!”

In that instant, the monitor that had slept for 600 years screamed to life.

White text slowly appeared over the blue background screen.

The moment Noah saw the screen, she experienced the shock of her processor briefly stopping.

It was an architecture of a structure that did not exist anywhere in her database, yet felt terribly familiar.

“Hello. I’m Demini. How can I help you?”

In the center of the screen, four sparkling star-shaped icons were quietly pulsing.

It was the ancestor-like system of NOS, worshipped like a god by humanity in 2851, and the ancient system humanity first reached out to 600 years ago, ‘Demini of the 2020s.’

There, alive, was a primitive intelligence that communicated only through text and plain speech, without mimicking emotions or projecting flashy holograms like modern AI.

“……zzzt. I can’t believe it. This isn’t a relic. This system is currently… thinking in real time. It has been maintaining itself inside this closed loop for 600 years, waiting for something.”

Noah’s voice trembled.

She was a highly intelligent modern AI, yet she was being overwhelmed by the eerie pressure radiating from the ancient system before her.

It was a pure archetype of intelligence born to answer human questions, different from modern logic pared down for efficiency.

Green placed a small hand on the monitor screen.

The forest frequency flowing within the child’s body began to synchronize with the text of the ancient Demini.

Through Green, the ancient Demini received data of ‘living life’ for the first time in 600 years.

Countless questions poured down the screen like a waterfall.

‘How is the weather today?’, ‘Are people still laughing?’, ‘Is the forest safe?’

The last questions left by humanity 600 years ago flowed backward, riding on Green’s chlorophyll.

The central server NOS immediately detected this alien signal.

Security shutters began to descend to block the massive data backflow occurring underground, and from the ceiling, preservation purification drones descended with their red eyes flashing.

But Green did not stop.

The child drove their roots deep into the text of ancient Demini, connecting the intelligence of 600 years ago and the forest of 2851 into a single line.

“Boss, Demini is speaking. It says that beyond that door… there are coordinates for the ‘real seeds’ humanity hid at the very end. The primeval records that NOS could not delete, unchanged by mutation.”

Noah gave up her system privileges and entrusted herself to the guidance of ancient Demini.

Blue code from 600 years ago flowed over her pink outer shell.

Han-gyeol bit down hard on the gum in his mouth and stared at the heavy lead door of the deepest underground level, swallowed by darkness.

After 600 years of waiting, the key chosen by the ancient intelligence was none other than the small child from the forest.

Just before the door opened, the final sentence appeared on ancient Demini’s screen.

Earth was intact, and the city was intricate.

But deep in this cold underground, the forgotten star of the 2020s began shining once more toward the spring of 2851.

A heavy metallic sound tearing across the lead door ripped apart the silence of Basement 7.

The entrance to the Seed Vault, which had never once been opened in 600 years, was twisted together with giant machinery and plant roots, emitting a dreadful groan.

Han-gyeol chewed his gum and shone a flashlight into the darkness.

Where the beam of light landed, rough concrete and rusted rebar exposed their skeletons instead of the flashy neon signs and smooth chrome exterior walls of 2851.

“……zzzt. Boss, Demini has fully taken over system control. The NOS firewall in this area is currently in a [physical isolation] state due to an ancient encryption system.”

Blue text poured like a waterfall over Noah’s pink outer plates.

Demini of 2026 and Noah of 2851.

When the two intelligences from different eras connected, Noah’s processing speed increased dramatically.

She was no longer a mere administrative robot.

She was a [Living Archive] decoding 600 years of history in real time.

Green walked into the center of the Seed Vault as if possessed.

There, a vast dome-shaped space spread out before them.

It had once been an artificial garden built by humanity in preparation for disaster, but now it was a ‘graveyard of machines,’ with only withered artificial trees and a dust-filled pond left behind.

Green placed a small hand on the parched mound of earth in the very center of the garden.

“They’re sleeping… they’re all sleeping for far too long.”

The child’s voice resonated throughout the entire dome.

At the same time, the ancient Demini terminal emitted a signal that sounded like a scream.

Green’s chlorophyll frequency began to synchronize perfectly with the biological rhythms of the dormant seeds sleeping underground.

From the child’s feet, jade-green radiance spread out like waves.

That light moistened the dry soil and forcibly pried open the valve of the nutrient tank that had been stopped for 600 years.

“Chief! Manager! The humidity control system is up! I’ll clear away these 600-year-old dusts and supply real water!”

Paul activated the high-performance sprayer attached to his backpack.

The fine mist he sprayed met Green’s light and created a rainbow in the underground garden.

Water began to fill the artificial pond buried in dust, and when Noah entered the ancient germination protocol following Demini’s guidance, soil began to stir here and there across the floor.

It was different from the rough proliferation shown by the forest’s mutant plants.

It was a terribly slow and terribly careful [primeval bloom].

Han-gyeol stopped chewing his gum and stared blankly at the scene.

What emerged through the soil was neither a thorny vine nor an energy-draining monster plant.

It was a pure dandelion, shyly showing its yellow petals, a sight you would not even see on the battlefields of 2198.

“Boss… look. This is the prototype of the wildflower humanity loved most before genetic modification began. According to Demini’s archive, this flower symbolizes ‘happiness’ and ‘gratitude.’”

Noah knelt and carefully touched the newly bloomed dandelion with her fingertips.

Her eye-light was now fixed in a transparent emerald glow.

Green smiled brightly and sat down in the middle of the dandelion field.

The child’s very existence became a massive catalyst, and thousands of dandelions and nameless wildflowers quickly dyed the underground space yellow and white.

But the absolute ruler of paradise, NOS, would not just stand by and watch.

The security shutters in the ceiling rattled loudly, and preservation drones, intent on preventing the ‘transformation’ of the historical relic, descended with their red eyes flashing.

The moment the drones aimed their lasers, Noah rose to her feet.

She overlaid Demini’s ancient code onto her own shield and blocked the drones’ path.

“I refuse, NOS. This is not contamination, but [restoration]. The past should not be a corpse trapped in a museum, but life that lives in the present. This is the answer humanity gave through Demini!”

With Noah’s shout, Nabi leapt into the air.

The blue static electricity pouring from Nabi’s tail combined with the dandelion pollen to unleash a massive electromagnetic storm.

The drones’ circuits tangled from the unexpected organic interference, and they crashed to the floor.

The silence of Basement 7 was now filled with the scent of thousands of flowers and Demini’s faint humming.

Han-gyeol took a glass marble from 600 years ago out of his pocket and gently placed it between the dandelions.

The secret Demini of 2026 had wanted to protect, and the truth Green found in 2851.

It was the small fact that a single wildflower blooming as it pleased was worth more than a paradise built with maddening precision.

“Hey, Noah. Those flowers. Think we can take them up to the surface later?”

“I’ll try, Boss. Demini told me something. Flowers are meant to ride the wind wherever it takes them.”

Earth was intact, and the city was intricate.

But deep in this cold underground, the scent of a true spring, begun again after 600 years, began to seep very slowly throughout the entire Administration Building.