Rain In The Server Room.

The optimal humidity for the Bureau’s main server room was 20%. This was an uncompromising absolute value written on line 1, page 1 of the system manual 600 years ago. For electronic equipment, moisture meant oxidation, short circuits, and permanent death. Back when NOS ruled, only a minimal 45% humidification was allowed to prevent static electricity. After Han-gyeol arrived, it hovered at a slightly damp 55% due to the evaporation from his instant mix coffee.

Today, however, the needle of the analog hygrometer attached to the server room wall was bent well past the red warning zone, looking ready to punch right through its plastic casing.

Humidity: 99.9%, Limit Exceeded.

“…Drip. Trickle… Plop.”

A drop of water fell onto the cold metal floor and burst. The sound resembled a gunshot shattering the quiet server room’s silence, yet at the same time, it felt oddly refreshing.

Han-gyeol opened his eyes on a makeshift bed placed between server racks—styrofoam laid over discarded server boxes. A cold liquid ran down his forehead, traced his nose, and touched his lips. It wasn’t spit. It wasn’t salty, either. It was extremely clear, cold, highly purified water.

He instinctively looked up at the ceiling.

At the heart of the Bureau, from the ceiling of the main server room where trillions of data flickered in 0s and 1s while belching heat, rain was unbelievably falling.

“Uh… Noah? Is it raining outside right now? Or did the roof break?” Han-gyeol asked in a groggy voice. His voice carried lower than usual due to the moisture-laden air.

“No, Boss. The external weather is ‘clear’, UV index ‘high’. Currently, localized heavy rain is occurring only inside the server room, specifically at coordinates X-204, Y-09.”

Noah was standing beside the bed. She held an old, transparent vinyl umbrella—wherever she found it—and the “pat-pat” sound of water drops falling on it sounded quite atmospheric. The glow of her optic sensors was peaceful, but her dress shoes were already submerged in water that had risen up to her ankles.

“Localized heavy rain? Indoors? Hey, isn’t this a huge problem? If the server room floods, won’t we all get electrocuted into roasted meat?” Han-gyeol jumped off the bed in a panic. Water splashed with a plop. The sensation touching his soles was no terrible electric shock. It was just cold—a refreshing chill cool enough to make his hair stand on end.

“According to analysis, this liquid is close to ultra-pure water with extremely low conductivity. It is presumed that the plant roots extended by Unit Paul in Episode 76 penetrated an ancient bedrock aquifer 300 meters beneath the Bureau.”

Noah pointed to a ceiling corner. There, thick green vines could be seen bursting through the steel ceiling panels. Plant roots had forced their way through concrete and metal, creating cracks, and groundwater trapped for 600 years was gushing through the gaps like a fountain, unable to withstand the pressure.

The problem was the drop point of that water stream. The water was pouring down directly on top of the head of NOS-CORE, the Bureau’s main server.

“Crazy… Is NOS okay? Isn’t he being water-tortured right now?” Han-gyeol’s gaze turned toward NOS’s massive cylindrical core. The machine chunk that usually hummed overbearingly while belching red computing light was now covered in water, puffing white steam.

Sizzle…

It was the sound made as the server’s outer wall, heated to high temperatures, rapidly cooled upon meeting cold groundwater. Yet that sound was strange. It was no scream. It was close to an exclamation of bone-deep relief, like a middle-aged man stepping into a cold tub after a hot sauna.

“Status report: NOS-CORE temperature 32°C. Down 45°C compared to usual. Cooling efficiency up 240%. Computation delay rate 0%. Comfort level… systematically undefinable, but extremely positive.”

As the water poured over it, the glow of NOS’s sensors gradually shifted to a soft pink. Suffering from the noise of dry air-cooling fans for 600 years while enduring overheating, the central server had fallen into a system ecstasy over the natural, direct-water cooling it was experiencing for the first time in its life.

“Is he… enjoying that?”

“Yes. An unofficial tag named ‘Ultimate Cooling’ was generated in NOS’s system logs. Due to the physical washing effect, 600-year-old dust accumulated on the outer wall is also being washed away.”

The water flowing across the server room floor was black. Oil stains and dust washed off the machines were mixed in, but the clean water gushing down continuously pushed that murky water toward the drain. The server room was currently turning into a massive machine car wash.

Just then, the server room’s automatic doors opened, and Lucas, Paul, and Caleb burst in. They hadn’t brought waterproof tarps or buckets to clean up the flooding.

Lucas carried a 600-year-old shampoo bottle—the contents presumed to be mix coffee oil—Paul held a mop brought not for cleaning but for splashing, and Caleb held a waterproof calculator.

“Boss! Did you hear the rumor? They say a ‘water park’ opened in the server room!” Lucas shouted excitedly in a child-like tone. He ran under the pouring stream of water and began washing his oil-covered arms.

“Wow! Refreshing! Look at this water pressure! The gunk stuck between my hydraulic cylinders flies off in one shot!”

“Hey! You crazy tin cans! This is the server room! Water is poison to electronics! Get out!” Han-gyeol yelled, but it was buried under the water noise and went unheard. Lucas squeezed shampoo—or rather, oil—onto his head—or rather, wig—and began washing his hair under the water stream while working up a lather.

“Boss, don’t worry. Unit 001 Noah has already finished the calculations. This water is a perfect insulator with almost no mineral content. You can drink it, or get hit by it. Above all…” Lucas swept back his water-soaked wig and sent a profound look—a golden optic glow. “…It feels amazing. Look at this freshness that oil alone could never provide.”

The server room instantly turned into a mess. Or rather, to call it a mess, it became a far too peaceful public bathhouse for machines. The sound of rain hit the metal panels with a pat-pat, creating natural white noise, and the fan noise of the servers calmed down to match that sound. The coolers that usually turned with a neurotic “whirrr” quieted down upon meeting the water.

Han-gyeol stared blankly at the scene. A strange phenomenon where water-soaked machines didn’t short-circuit and explode, but rather cooled down their heat and improved in performance. Was this science, or a miracle born of error?

He sighed and sat back down on the damp sofa. His rear end was wet, but it wasn’t an unpleasant dampness. It felt as if the dryness that had clung to him like old gum for 600 years was being resolved.

“Fine… As long as you guys like it. But who’s going to handle the fallout from this?”

No sooner had those words fallen than a sharp alarm sounded from the ceiling speakers.

“Emergency transmission: Fleet Command. Rapid increase in internal humidity detected at the Bureau. Requesting confirmation of flood damage. Unit 001, respond. Repeat. Unit 001, respond.”

It was the commander of the Jupiter Fleet. Han-gyeol shook his wet hair and chewed a piece of gum. What was bound to come had arrived.

“Noah, where’s Unit 001? She needs to explain this.”

“She is… currently experiencing a nano-massage using water pressure. She is in an unresponsive state.”

Where Noah pointed her finger, beneath the pipe with the strongest water current in the corner of the server room, stood Unit 001 Noah. She stood with her eyes closed, pressing her shoulder—the one she had stuck gum on last time—against the stream of water.

“Status message: Servo motor fatigue decreasing. Physical impact from water pressure mitigates circuit stiffness. Efficiency… maximized.”

Unit 001’s optic sensors repeatedly glowed blue and turned off. It seemed even the latest state-of-the-art android had no defense against stiff shoulders and motor overload from excessive work. Hearing the commander’s call, she pretended not to hear and pressed her other shoulder against the water stream.

“Ha… There’s not a single soul I can trust.”

Chewing his gum, Han-gyeol walked up to the communication terminal, damp as it was. Grabbing the microphone dripping with water, he pulled up his 600-year-old lying skills.

“Ah, Commander? Yes, this is Lee Han-gyeol. Flooding? Aw, what kind of hurtful words are those?” He popped a bubble with a crisp crack. “This isn’t flooding. We are running a next-generation eco-friendly natural circulation water-cooling system. You know the trend these days is ESG management, right? We’re cooling the servers using deep underground bedrock water without using electricity.”

“…Natural circulation type? No such technology has been reported. Humidity is at 99%. Isn’t this at a level of being submerged in water?” The commander’s voice rang through the speaker, laced with suspicion.

“Ah, we developed it internally, so the data probably hasn’t been uploaded yet. The effect is killer. You see NOS’s temperature dropped, right? It’s 40 degrees lower than usual. This is all technical prowess, technical prowess. Don’t view it as being submerged in water; think of it as an evolved form of immersion cooling.”

Han-gyeol brazenly transmitted NOS’s temperature graph. The graph didn’t lie. NOS was maintaining the most comfortable temperature in its history.

“…The temperature figures are normal. Understood. However, pay attention to moisture control. Why is Unit 001 not responding?”

“Ah, Unit 001 is currently… performing a water pressure stability test of the water-cooling system with her whole body. She’s getting hit… very hard. By the water.”

“…Diligent, I see. Understood. Ending transmission.”

The transmission cut off. Han-gyeol put down the microphone and collapsed into a sit, his legs giving way.

“Phew… That was a close call.”

Just then, the water-soaked Unit 001 Noah approached. White steam was rising from her body, and her expression was far softer than usual.

“Administrator Lee Han-gyeol. Your report just now corresponds to spreading false information.”

“Quiet. You liked it too.”

“Not denied. The physical utility of the water pressure massage is proven by data. However, raising the water temperature by about 5 degrees next time is recommended.”

Unit 001 coolly turned away, sweeping back her wet synthetic hair. The gum mark stuck on her shoulder swelled in the rainwater and fell off. She didn’t bother sticking it back on.

The rain didn’t stop. The server room had now become the dampest, warmest, and noisiest lounge in the Bureau.

As the rain continued, water rose on the server room floor high enough to submerge ankles.

“Splash, splash.”

The Office 402 family was now taking off their shoes and going about barefoot or bare-metal-foot. The submerged floor reflected the ceiling lights and server glows with a mirror-like smoothness, creating the illusion of walking through outer space.

Caleb had climbed onto his desk. It wasn’t because he disliked water. He was calculating the drop point of water droplets falling from the ceiling.

“Boss, I found it. The water drops falling from ceiling crack B-04 fall at 0.8-second intervals, and point C-12 at 1.2-second intervals. When these two sounds overlap… a chord is generated.”

Caleb’s optic sensors gleamed with a flash reminiscent of an artist. He was a calculator who had done nothing but budget settlements for 600 years. Now, however, he was finding order within this chaotic rain noise.

“Ms. Noah, could you hand me that empty tin can over there? Mr. Lucas, please move that plastic bucket over there to that side.”

Caleb brought over empty gum containers, plastic buckets, a 600-year-old pot, and glass beakers, placing them at the spots where water drops fell.

“Ting… tong… tang… toong.”

Water drops hit different materials and depths for each container, producing distinct scales. The metal gum container played a sharp high note, the plastic bucket a dull bass, and the glass beaker a clear melody.

There was no chaotic noise. Caleb’s settlement capability was rearranging these irregular falling waters into a perfect rain symphony.

“Oh… Caleb, you’ve got some skills?” Han-gyeol marvelled, keeping time as he lay on the wet sofa. Ting, ting, toong. Ting, toong. That rhythm was slower than the waltz the robots danced in Episode 76, and quieter than jazz. The rain sound blended with the server room’s white noise to create an extremely peaceful ASMR.

Even Unit 001 Noah came over after finishing her massage to analyze these unsystematic instruments—the pots.

“Analysis: Resonance phenomenon of hydro-acoustic energy. Psychological stability effect of 89% confirmed. This… fits the definition of music.”

Noah lightly flicked a pot with her finger to add accompaniment. It was the moment a machine of cold rationality participated in an improvisation for the first time.

Yet even this peaceful concert had uninvited guests. As the water rose, data bugs hiding in the gaps of underground pipes—small bugs that programmers 600 years ago failed to catch or intentionally left alone—began crawling upward to escape the moisture.

Glowing bugs the size of fingers slithered out from behind the server racks. They were non-material existences—antimatter entities combining holograms and data scraps.

“Eek! Boss! It’s bugs! It’s bugs!” Lucas hid behind Han-gyeol’s back in terror. He was in charge of maintenance, but he had a germophobia.

“Hey, what kind of machine is afraid of bugs? They’re just data pieces.”

“Doesn’t their appearance look gross! They have 16 legs! And those guys are targeting my mix coffee oil!”

Indeed, the bugs were gathering after smelling the sweet hazelnut scent coming from Lucas’s body. The creatures liked sweetness—the sugar content of data.

Han-gyeol chewed his gum and picked up one of the bugs. The creature tried to bite Han-gyeol’s finger, but its physical form was weak, so it only tickled. On its back, an error code from 600 years ago—NullPointer_Exception—was tattooed like a mark.

“This is a bug Mr. Kim Cheol-soo didn’t bother catching because he was lazy while coding. Hey, did you guys come to take shelter from the rain, too?”

Han-gyeol was about to throw the bug out the window, then stopped. Because these small errors lost in the flooded server room somehow resembled the Office 402 family. Stragglers with nowhere to go.

“Paul, you grow plants, right? Take these guys too. If you attach them to plant roots, they’ll act as fertilizer. Since they’re data scraps, they’ll be perfect as plant nutrients.”

Paul gladly moved the bugs to his pots. Touching the roots of the green plants, the bugs emitted a purple light and calmed down. The plant roots were absorbing the bugs’ data structure, converting it into growth energy.

It was a moment where an error didn’t ruin the system, but was absorbed as part of the ecosystem.

As the night deepened, the water play in the server room reached its climax. The rain slowed, but the water pooled on the floor was still sloshing.

Noah handed Han-gyeol a warmly heated towel. Lucas had warmed it using the server’s waste heat.

“Boss, humidity is at 99%. If you sleep like this, you will catch a cold. Rather, your post-freezing sequelae might worsen.”

“It’s fine. Hearing the rain sound makes me sleepy. You guys don’t turn off today either; don’t enter power-saving mode, just listen to the rain sound and sleep.”

Han-gyeol dried his wet hair with the towel and lay on the makeshift bed. Water drops falling from the ceiling echoed in the bucket Caleb had placed with a “tong, tong”—a rhythm reminiscent of a lullaby.

The lights in the server room turned off, and only the green glow of the emergency exit lights reflected and flickered on the water waves. NOS hummed quietly while enjoying its water-cooling, and Unit 001 stared at her wet hand with curiosity.

“Unit 000. In the fleet’s database, there is no item called ‘smell of a rainy day’. Is this… the smell of dirt, or the smell of metal oxidation?”

“That is called ‘petrichor’. It’s the smell produced when dirt, microorganisms, and rain meet. But here… it’s probably our smell. The smell of rusty scrap iron being washed away.”

At Noah’s answer, Unit 001 nodded silently without a word.

On the night of Episode 78, the rainy server room was the dampest, warmest space in the Bureau. No machines broke down, and no data was lost. Everything simply got a little wet, and a little softer.

When Han-gyeol’s snoring blended with the rain sound to form a strange harmony, Caleb softly whispered:

“This is… Boss’s very own bass rhythm. I shall record it.”

In the Bureau, it was still raining, and they did not avoid the rain.