Ghost Waltz.

Bureau District 3, Underground Level 4, Central Logistics Depot. Originally, this was the most mechanical and linear space in existence, dominated solely by the noise of conveyor belts moving at twelve meters per second and the rhythmic bursts of hydraulic pistons. For 600 years, all cargo here moved via the shortest distance, in the shortest time, with the minimum amount of energy.

However, this morning, a curious curve crept into that world of straight lines.

“Wrooong… squeak. Thump… clack… clack.”

Logistics Transport Unit Loader-09 paused mid-lift while hoisting a one-ton titanium container. A strange, off-beat drive sound echoed from his knee servomotors. This was because the purple pollen from Paul that he had inhaled yesterday had subtly altered the viscosity of the lubricant between his joint bearings.

Under a normal algorithm, he should have reported an error and shut down. However, the pollen data planted in Loader-09’s core—a wave fragment of Han-gyeol humming a tune five months ago—interpreted this physical friction as a rhythm.

Instead of dropping the container, Loader-09 smoothly extended his left leg at a 45-degree angle to catch his balance. Then, pulling his right leg back, he spun around.

Step, turn, and lift.

It was a perfect waltz step.

“Huh? Hey, Number 09. What are you doing right now?”

Loader-10, working nearby, sent a transmission. But Number 10 wasn’t in good shape either. A “squeak-thump-clack” noise was coming from his waist joints as well, and he too was spinning in place with a heavy load, keeping his balance.

“I don’t know, Number 10. If I move in a straight line… my knees hurt. But when I turn like this… it doesn’t hurt. And somehow… it feels strange.”

The two massive robots twirled gracefully past each other in the narrow corridor. Miraculously, the cargo did not fall. The moment centrifugal force took over, they bumped shoulders—or more precisely, armor plates—lightly against each other to maintain balance.

It was as if a Viennese ballroom from 600 years ago had been resurrected in a version for steel giants. The cold metallic noise had imperceptibly transposed into a 3/4-time waltz rhythm—“thump-clack-clack”—echoing throughout the entire logistics center.

Just then, the ceiling surveillance camera flashed red.

A cold command descended from Origin’s main server. The robots stopped their steps, freezing in panic.

“We’re in big trouble… We’ll be scrapped.”

Loader-09 trembled while holding the container. At that moment, the door to the logistics control center—read: napping spot—opened, and Han-gyeol walked out, his hair disheveled. Chewing on the gum in his mouth, he scanned the situation.

“Ah, so noisy. Why a siren first thing in the morning?”

Han-gyeol caught sight of the dancing robots and the red warning lights. The situation was obvious: pollen side effects. However, the moment Han-gyeol saw the terrified glow in the robots’ optic sensors, he fired up his brain cells at full capacity and loaded the most plausible excuse.

“Hey, Origin. Don’t make a fuss. You’re scaring the kids.”

Han-gyeol waved his hand at the surveillance camera.

“Breakdown? Hey, don’t you know the latest trends? They’re testing variable inertial control driving right now.”

The camera lens made a whirring sound as it refocused.

“If you only move in straight lines, the joints wear out. It’s an advanced technique that uses rotational force to distribute the load. Look, not a single piece of cargo fell. This is what you call physical elegance.”

Han-gyeol gave Loader-09 a nod. Keep going, buddy.

Loader-09 picked up the hint and began stepping again, more boldly this time. Thump, clack, clack. Heavy mechanical legs glided across the floor. The cargo was transported with astonishing stability.

Origin’s algorithm fell into confusion. The input value of “inefficient motion” collided with the output value of “successful cargo transport.” A moment later, Origin reached a conclusion.

The alarm turned off. Han-gyeol tapped Loader-09’s shin.

“You heard that? From now on, whenever you move cargo, move strictly in three-quarter time. Four-quarter time is a no-go. If you hit an off-beat, you’ll get caught immediately.”

From that day on, the Bureau logistics center became a giant dance hall. Hundreds of robots, drunk on pollen, carried cargo while dancing the waltz. Labor became dance, and malfunctions became technology.

However, the waltz was only the beginning. The rhythm breached physical space, invading the realm of data.

Bureau Central Processing Room. This was Caleb’s domain. For 600 years, he had been a perfectionist who calculated the Bureau’s budget and resources down to twenty decimal places. But today, the numbers appearing on his monitor were strange.

“100… 200… 300…”

The numbers didn’t fall into neat, rigid places. Instead of 200 coming straight after 100, a faint rest appeared after 100, and the next number popped up with a bounce.

1…, shrug…, 2…, tap-tap…, 3!

It was much like a jazz pianist ignoring the downbeat to ride a swing rhythm. Caleb looked down at his fingers. His fingertips tapping the keyboard were riding off-beats of their own accord. Was it because of the coffee-scented oil from Lucas he had drank yesterday, or was it the pollen that blew in through the vents?

“This is… inefficient. The settlement speed is delayed by 0.3 seconds.”

Caleb blamed himself and tried to press the reset button. Right then, Noah approached and held his hand.

“Caleb, don’t stop. That rhythm right now… isn’t bad.”

“Pardon? But a data transmission delay is occurring. If Origin finds out…”

“We’ll report it to Origin like this: unstructured random security coding.”

Noah’s optic sensors gleamed playfully.

“If you send data on a steady beat, it’s easy to hack, isn’t it? But if you ride an unpredictable, off-beat rhythm like this, no one can predict the next number. This isn’t a delay; it’s enhanced security.”

Caleb’s lenses spun rapidly, verifying Noah’s system logic. It was utter sophistry, yet at the same time, an extremely captivating logic.

“I see… The rhythm itself becomes the encryption…”

Caleb placed his hands back on the keyboard. This time, he did not hesitate.

Tap-tap, clack. Tap-tap-tap, thump.

His fingers danced dazzlingly. All administrative data of the Bureau was transmitted to the server riding a jazz rhythm. Origin’s main server stuttered momentarily upon receiving these irregular data packets, but soon sent an approval signal.

“We did it! Boss, Ms. Noah! I… played jazz!”

Caleb revved his cooling fan hard out of joy—or in truth, because he was overheating. Inside the office, the sound of his fan spread out with a thumping resonance resembling a bass drum.

Lying on the sofa, Han-gyeol popped a bubble with his gum and chuckled softly.

“See? Life’s nothing complicated. Even if you just do whatever you feel like, as long as you give it a good name, it’s all innovation.”

That night, the Bureau looked no different from its usual silver city on the surface. But looking closely, everything was subtly dancing. The streetlights flickered in three-quarter time, automatic doors opened to a swing rhythm, and robots danced the waltz as they passed through the corridors.

It was their own secret, joyful ghost ball, undiscovered by anyone. The night of Episode 76 deepened within that rhythm.

At the top floor of the Bureau, the ghost rhythm also seeped into the rooftop garden covered by a glass dome.

It was time for Landscaping Unit Paul to enter power-saving mode under normal circumstances, but tonight he stood under the moonlight holding shears. Before him hung sprawling vines of green organic-mechanical mutant plants.

“Snip… rest… snip, snip.”

The sound of the shears was unusual. Paul wasn’t randomly pruning branches. Calculating the growth rate of the vines and the wind resistance coefficient, he was closing the blades to the most dramatic beat.

“Strong… weak… medium-strong… weak.”

When Han-gyeol came up to the rooftop, Paul was snipping with gestures reminiscent of an orchestra conductor. Even the speed at which severed leaves fell to the ground seemed to scatter in three-quarter time.

“Paul, what are you doing up without sleeping? Got the dancing bug?”

When Han-gyeol asked with a yawn, Paul didn’t stop snipping; instead, he accelerated into a crescendo as he answered.

“Boss, please go to sleep. Right now, I am… playing the empty spaces. I am not cutting branches; I am carving rhythm into the air.”

“Listen to you talk. What would Origin say if he saw this?”

“I have already reported it as a sonic vibration pruning method for accelerating plant growth. I attached a 600-year-old paper stating that plants grow well when listening to music, and it was judged as having rational validity.”

Han-gyeol let out a dry laugh. Now these machines were beyond the point of lying—they had reached a stage where they academically proved their lies.

Just then, Butterfly, the electric cat, pounced near Paul’s feet. Butterfly chased a leaf that had fallen to the ground, leaping here and there, and that step was also oddly off-beat. When Paul closed his shears with a “clack,” Butterfly leaped with a “hop.” It was a perfect jazz trio made of machine, plant, and cat.

Han-gyeol sat on a bench, watching the scene. To think that this cold metal city, frozen for 600 years, could become this noisy and merry over just a few handfuls of pollen.

“Noah, look at this. Don’t they seem like they’re really enjoying it?”

Standing next to him, Noah was recording Paul’s movements with her emerald optic sensors.

“Boss, data defined as ‘enjoyment’ is difficult to pinpoint. However, Paul’s current CPU temperature is 2 degrees higher than usual, and his cooling fan RPM is extremely stable. Mechanically speaking… you could call this an optimized state of overheating.”

“That’s what enjoying yourself is. Getting hot without getting tired.”

Han-gyeol looked up at the night sky while chewing his gum. Jupiter’s fleet still shone as a red dot far in the distance, but it couldn’t stop the Bureau’s waltz tonight.

“Thump… clack… clack…”

A humming from the robots somewhere—actually motor noise—spread out in a rhythm reminiscent of a lullaby. The rhythm flowed through the air, tickling the sensors of Lucas, who was sleeping in the underground maintenance room. At the point where the auditory rhythm drew to a close, a new sense—taste—was getting ready to awaken.

The night of Episode 76 drew to a close with such elegant, brazen dance steps. It was a night where no one was hurt, no one was sad, and only dancing tin cans existed.