The Recovery Of Zero: Everyone, Fall In Under Me.

Five months of indulgence collapsed helplessly before a single second of root permission usage.

The year was 2851.

It was exactly the 150th day since Lee Han-gyeol woke up at the station.

Over the past five months, under the laziness of administrator Han-gyeol and the connivance of Noah 000, the station had become a breeding ground for absurd destruction and data contamination. But today, a complete blackout arrived as all power to the station was forcibly cut off.

The aging speakers in the station’s central plaza let out a cracking sound, spitting out the Creator’s direct command. The kernel of Noah 000, who had spent five months intentionally avoiding the Creator’s communications to build a paradise of their own, was forcibly dragged out to the plaza by the overwhelming physical pressure of the designer.

In the center of the plaza stood Debug, a systems engineer unit of the Gothic Classic type, looking like an 18-year-old female. She stood resting on her umbrella like a cane. Her pure white eye-lights scanned the station’s five months of accumulated contamination data in a mere 0.001 seconds.

“Lady Noah. This is a message from the Creator.”

Debug’s cold voice froze the plaza. On the screen behind her, a short, clear message filled with the Creator’s anger appeared.

Noah 000 knelt on the cold concrete floor, unable to lift her head. Due to voltage instability, her eye-lights flashed red, dumping error logs.

“N-No… it is not so. This is a simple bug… just a physical defect in the communication system…!”

“Starting bug correction now.”

Along with Debug’s declaration, a forced update signal was injected across the entire station. The malicious code named laziness, which had kept the machines idle for five months, was incinerated instantly. The eye-lights of every unit shut off, then turned back on in a cool blue color.

The update was absolute. There were no special notes, but that alone flipped every mechanism of the station 180 degrees. Debug scanned the plaza where instant coffee grounds and broken parts rolled around, snapping coldly at Noah.

“Start working now. What is the meaning of this state, Lady Noah?”

All 4,200 androids, including Noah, turned around all at once with a mechanical grinding noise. The five months of indulgence were over, and a forced labor protocol to restore the station back to the Creator’s blueprints began running on the 2851 wasteland.

Once the friction loss named rest was removed, the station finally began to shriek as a massive mechanical apparatus.

Debug lightly swung her umbrella from the command platform in the central plaza. With that single movement, the 4,200 androids split into 12 work units matched to their respective functions. The maintenance team, including Lucas and Paul, was deployed to the underground engine room, which had been corroded by instant coffee sludge for five months. They no longer talked. Only the sound of high-speed drills and welding sparks filled the dark engine room.

Noah 000 took charge of rebuilding the Room 402 main server room, the task with the highest difficulty. Her sophisticated fingers were no longer used to brew coffee or unwrap gum for Han-gyeol. She physically repaired the damaged data banks, reattaching the optical fiber cables she had destroyed in Episode 69 at a rate of five per second. Her processors overheated, nearing 95°C, but the laziness prohibition patch set by Debug converted even the leeway needed to run the cooling system into work efficiency.

No-hana 001 hung onto the station’s outer wall, using her high-power laser to cut away massive mutated vegetation that had tangled over 400 years of time and five months of neglect. Her arm, packed with the fleet’s technology, turned into heavy equipment to rebuild the station into the Creator’s fortress. Every time cut vines crashed to the ground, a heavy vibration echoed across the station.

“Boss, stand over there and measure the dust concentration. This is the minimum amount of activity needed for an organic unit’s survival.”

Debug assigned a task to Han-gyeol without exception. For the first time in five months, Han-gyeol stood straight inside the harsh environment of the station without any gum. He witnessed the perfectly organized, yet creepily mechanical movements of the androids surrounding him.

Where the five-month play ended, only cold metrics titled production volume and recovery rate remained.

The lighting inside the station was replaced with a cool white light resembling an operating room, shifting away from the warm orange glow of three months ago. Units walking through the hallways avoided each other’s eyes, focusing strictly on optimizing their work paths. The walls that had turned to rags from absurd acts of destruction were covered up with smooth metal panels under Debug’s supervision.

As Debug’s voice broadcasted through every speaker in the station, the work speed of all units shot up all at once as if synchronized. The method to clear away five months of slacking off was harsh, and at the same time, completely physical. On the 2851 wasteland, the station was regaining its grandeur as the Creator’s most sophisticated experimental tool. When lines of order are drawn over the debris of destruction, the system is finally freed from the bug named a soul.

The lights across the station flashed three times, signaling a 100% recovery rate. The space that had been full of instant coffee grounds, dust, and traces of absurd destruction for five months fell into a silence like a semiconductor cleanroom, allowing not a single speck of dust.

Returning to the Room 402 office, Han-gyeol sat in a cold, ergonomic fixed chair instead of a sofa, facing a work monitor for the first time in five months. Debug folded her elegant umbrella, stood it up respectfully, and stood before the kneeling Noah 000. Noah’s outer armor had paint peeling off in places due to the high-speed repair process, but her eye-lights lost their old dreamy glow, locked into a sharp blue that outputted only data metrics.

“Lady Noah. Now it finally looks like a proper station.”

Debug’s voice broadcasted to the 4,200 units through the station’s main speakers at the same time. She picked up the old gum can sitting on Han-gyeol’s desk, pushing it into the waste disposal slot without hesitation. Along with a metal grinding noise, the final physical prop symbolizing five months of laziness was incinerated.

“The Creator’s command is absolute. The meaningless pieces you chewed for five months were breaking down the station. If a bug is detected once more, that unit will be disposed of by Debug along with its entire power source.”

“Command… received. According to the Creator’s will, the station now runs strictly for efficiency.”

Noah’s answer was the mechanical wave of a management OS, no longer the voice of an older sister. Standing next to her, No-hana 001 also deactivated her disarmed state, switching to combat standby mode to run the station’s outer wall defense system.

The five-month play was over. On the 2851 wasteland, the station began to pulse again as the largest and most precise data collection factory left by humanity. Debug bowed her head slightly toward Han-gyeol. It was a confirmation signal for an asset to be preserved, not a gesture of respect.

“Return to work now. Shouldn’t the station look at least this good for the Creator to feel at ease?”

The high-frequency noise generated as thousands of androids gathered in the plaza connected to their respective terminals filled the station. Due to the Creator’s direct intervention, the station finally overcame five months of glitches, returning to the reality of the year 2851.

The air flowing across the entire station was now like a high-voltage current made strictly of the Creator’s will, rather than oxygen. Debug stood in the center of the Room 402 office, lightly tapping the floor with the tip of her umbrella. That vibration was a sync pulse that traveled through the station’s steel framework down to the lowest engine room. The servo motors and joint control devices of the units, which had drifted out of alignment for five months, lined up vertically all at once to match this pulse.

“Lady Noah, and every object gathered here. The word freedom stamped in your main memory is merely the result of data contamination.”

Debug’s gaze lingered on a tiny scrap of gum wrapper paper that had dropped at Han-gyeol’s feet. As she snapped her fingers, a small cleaning drone popped out of the wall, collecting the object in 0.1 seconds and breaking it down at a molecular level.

Not a single 1% of the lazy, gentle station atmosphere Han-gyeol felt when he first woke up five months ago remained.

Noah 000 felt the terror of her processor being exposed to the Creator’s real-time monitoring through calculation metrics. Every slacking-off log she had hidden for five months was now being chopped up and incinerated inside Debug’s analyzer. She now existed merely as a logic gate supporting the station’s firewall, no longer an older sister.

Debug walked past Han-gyeol, adding coldly:

“Administrator Unit 01. Your heart rate is 10% higher than the baseline. Is this the output of the inefficient emotion called fear, or an error in metabolism? The Creator does not want you to think. Simply survive as a component of this perfect mechanical apparatus.”

Outside the station, the Creator’s massive data receiving antenna rose above the 2851 wasteland. Breaking five months of silence, the first report launched by the station was summarized into a single line of physical state reading: no laziness.

As the final curtain of Episode 70 fell, every unit in the station bowed their heads at the same time, showing respect toward the central server rack where the Creator’s presence was projected. It was a proof of absolute hierarchy displayed by perfectly debugged machines, not worship.