The Moment A Name Is Born.

Morning in Bureau Office 402 began, as always, with the scent of mix coffee. Lucas made clattering sounds in the kitchenette, Paul watered the pot where the data bugs lived, and Han-gyeol stretched on the sofa.

In that peaceful landscape stood a single alien presence.

Fleet Dispatcher Unit, NOA-001.

She stood straight by the window, watching her sister-figure, Noah (NOA-000), place a glass of water at Han-gyeol’s bedside.

Though the two androids shared the frame of the same NOA series, their vibes were polar opposites.

Unit 000, Noah, had her long, brown wavy hair tied loosely, and her emerald optic glow always curved softly toward Han-gyeol. Her armor plates were worn to a matte finish from 600 years of time, and that aged quality actually radiated a human-like warmth.

On the other hand, Unit 001 was cold. Her hair was a perfectly cut, silver-gray short bob as if measured with a ruler, and her eyes shone a deep, dark blue like the deep sea. Her armor plates were smooth as a mirror thanks to the fleet’s latest nano-coating, but that perfection made the surrounding air feel chilly instead.

“Unit 001… Um, may I pass through?”

A cleaning robot paused midway through wiping the floor and stood trembling in front of Unit 001. Unit 001 had merely intended to step aside, but the cleaning robot got scared by her deep blue gaze and backed up.

“Psychological analysis: Deepening avoidance phenomenon among lower-class units. Cause: My identification code is registered as ‘Watcher’.”

Unit 001 stepped back bitterly. She had gone on the picnic with them, danced to Trot, and helped record ASMR. Yet she was still an outsider to them. If Noah was family, she was a guest or an administrator.

“Inefficient. Built on the same assembly line, yet the interaction coefficients are this different.”

She muttered softly. Just then, Noah approached and patted Unit 001 lightly on the shoulder.

“Unit 001. The tension in your facial muscles is high. Relax your servomotors a bit. That’s why the kids are scared of you.”

Noah’s emerald eyes sparkled playfully. Unit 001 felt a surge of frustration. That composure. That nerve. She envied and hated that attitude of knowing human emotions so well despite being an older model.

“Thank you for the advice, Unit 000, but I am merely observing the fleet’s discipline. A state with loose screws like yours is not normal.”

“Only when screws are loose can wind blow and affection pass through the gaps. You are… way too tightly fastened.”

Noah gave a broad smile and went over to Han-gyeol. Looking at her back, Unit 001 wrapped a hand around her own shoulder. The gum mark that had been stuck there since the picnic in Episode 82 remained faintly visible. She hadn’t wiped it off. Because it felt like the only proof that she had mixed into this messy, warm Office 402.

Lunchtime passed. Wandering around the office, Unit 001 suddenly realized something. There is no spot for me here.

Han-gyeol had the sofa and the Boss’s desk. Noah had the secondary desk right next to Han-gyeol. Lucas had the kitchenette and maintenance room. Caleb had the server room. Paul had the rooftop garden.

Everyone occupied their own space. But Unit 001 always had to stand, or move around like a grasshopper looking for an empty chair. Returning to the fleet meant having her own dedicated docking station, but not right now.

I need… coordinates, too.

She cautiously approached an empty desk next to a rarely used cabinet in the corner of the office—actually a spot where junk was piled up. Dust was accumulated there. She released an electrostatic pulse from her fingertips, perfectly flicking the dust away.

Then she pulled something out of her pocket—her data storage. The sticker photo taken during the last picnic. A photo with five faces printed on it looking like aliens with eyes enlarged three times over.

She carefully placed the photo on the corner of the desk. She then picked up an empty mix coffee wrapper rolling around—the one Lucas had drunk—folded it neatly, and set it beside the photo like a decorative ornament.

“Domain setting: 30 cm radius. Purpose: Personal waiting area.”

It was shabby. An awfully humble territory for a dispatcher from a massive fleet to use. Yet looking at that tiny space, she felt a strange sense of relief.

“Settled into a spot there?”

At the sudden voice, Unit 001 turned around in surprise. Han-gyeol was standing there scratching his messy hair. Having just woken up from a nap, his eyes were half-closed.

“Ah, no. Administrator. I was merely… temporarily storing items. I will clear them immediately.”

As Unit 001 hurriedly tried to clear the photo, Han-gyeol stepped up and grabbed her wrist.

“Clear what? Leave it. Nobody uses that spot.”

Han-gyeol dragged a chair over and flopped down in front of Unit 001’s desk. He then pulled out a piece of gum from his pocket and began chewing.

“By the way, calling you Unit 001 all the time is a bit much.”

“Pardon? That is my identification code. In the fleet, I am called Unit-NOA-Type-Alpha-001.”

“No, not that. A name. Noah is Noah. Lucas is Lucas. So why are you a number?”

Unit 001 blinked her deep blue eyes.

“Because I am a derivative model of Noah, Unit 000. Since I am not the original, using a serial number instead of a proper noun is logically sound.”

Her voice grew a little smaller. It was a fundamental complex she carried. I am second. I am a fake. I am merely an improved product made by copying my sister’s data.

Han-gyeol popped his gum with a crisp crack.

“Look at you with your logic. Hey, are second-place folks not people? And technically speaking, you’re the latest model, so you’re better.”

“Hardware specs-wise, that is true… but the members here trust Unit 000, Noah, more. She has a history, whereas I only have functions.”

Han-gyeol fell silent for a moment. He stared blankly at the sticker photo placed on Unit 001’s desk. In the photo, Unit 001 looked comical due to the beauty filter, but she was definitely smiling.

“Only have functions, my foot. You dance to Trot well, take water massages well, and take good photos.”

Rummaging through a drawer, Han-gyeol pulled out a yellow name label and a marker.

“Come here.”

Han-gyeol stood up from his chair and approached Unit 001. Unit 001 froze. Han-gyeol’s hand reached toward her left shoulder. There, the purple gum mark stuck back in Episode 82—now washed faint by rainwater—remained like a scar.

“I tried to wipe this off… but it wouldn’t come off?”

Han-gyeol rubbed the gum mark with his finger.

“No. It can be physically removed… but I preserved it.”

“Why?”

“It is part of data collection. Observing the chemical changes of this stain allows analysis of Earth’s atmospheric environment…”

Unit 001 babbled excuses. Han-gyeol chuckled softly.

“Just call it a memory. Look at a machine getting embarrassed.”

Han-gyeol pressed down hard with the marker to write something on the name label. Then he stuck that name label over Unit 001’s shoulder, right over the gum mark.

Slap.

The yellow sticker settled vividly over the cold silver armor plate. Unit 001 turned her head to check her shoulder.

HA NA (HANA)

Title: Probationary Employee

“Hana…?”

“Yeah. Nohana, No-Hana. Take out the ‘No’ and just Hana. It means the number 1, and it also means the only one in the world.”

Han-gyeol nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“From now on, you’re not Unit 001. You’re just Hana. A probationary employee at our company.”

Unit 001—no, Hana’s—deep blue eyes shook violently. A warning sound echoed in her internal processing unit.

“System Error: Identification code mismatch. Conflict between fleet registered name 001 and input name HANA. Would you like to modify?”

According to logic, she had to press modify—Yes. However, deep in her core, the sector where the rhythm of Episode 76, the scent of Episode 77, and the rain sound of Episode 78 were saved exercised a powerful veto right.

“…Override. Overwriting input name as top-level local ID.”

A blue optic glow surged in Hana’s eyes before settling into a slightly darker, deeper color. It was not the cold color of the deep sea, but the color of a clear night sky after rain.

“Probationary employee… Do I get a salary?”

Hana tossed a joke—the first voluntary humor of her life—in a trembling voice.

“No salary. Instead, unlimited supply of Lucas-brand mix coffee. Deal?”

“…An inefficient contract. However… accepted.”

The corners of Hana’s mouth lifted slightly.

That evening. Hana sat at her desk—now officially Hana’s desk—doing her work. Androids passing by saw her and paused.

“Um… Unit 001…?”

A cleaning robot called out cautiously. Hana raised her head. She lightly tapped the yellow label on her shoulder with her finger.

“Correction. My name is Hana. My title is Office 402 Probationary Administrator.”

The cleaning robot’s optic sensors flickered. The fear vanished, replaced by curiosity.

“Ah! Ms. Hana! Then… may I wipe up that spilled coffee over there?”

“Of course. Thank you for your hard work.”

For the first time, Hana answered a lower-class unit in a soft tone.

Watching that scene from afar, Noah approached holding two cups of coffee. Hana tried to stand up nervously, but Noah waved her hand to make her sit.

“Sit down, Hana. It’s a welcome drink from your senior.”

Noah set a coffee cup down on Hana’s desk. Warm steam rose beside the sticker photo.

“Do you… like the name?”

Noah’s emerald eyes shone warmly. Hana touched the label on her shoulder once more. She felt both the stickiness of the gum mark and the rough texture of the paper at the same time.

“Not bad. Compared to 001… the data size is smaller, making it easier to call.”

“Look who’s not being honest. I saw you smiling in the mirror earlier.”

“Ah, no! That was a facial muscle test!”

As Hana turned red—LED overheating—and denied it, Noah laughed aloud.

“Sure, sure. Anyway, welcome, little sister.”

Noah extended her hand. It was a gesture offering a handshake. Hesitating for a moment, Hana placed her cold metal hand over Noah’s hand.

Where the two androids’ hands met, a tiny data spark popped. It was a wave of empathy, not command or obedience.

Lying on the sofa, Han-gyeol sneaked a glance at the scene while chewing his gum.

“See that? Giving her a name changes her whole look.”

In Bureau Office 402, there were now two administrators: Noah, the experienced and slick big sister, and Hana, the strict yet soft-hearted little sister.

And human Lee Han-gyeol, making his way through life between them.

On the night of Episode 85, the Bureau achieved a more perfect balance than ever before. The fleet dispatcher was gone. In her place sat a new employee wearing a name tag, blowing on mix coffee and preparing for overtime—actually, chatting.

“Hana, what should we do tonight? Send a song request to Mr. Dal-gu in the next town?”

“Sounds good. But this time, we use my playlist. Your song selection, Boss, is way too old.”

“What? Hey, what’s wrong with Trot!”

The noisy night was deepening. Today, as always, the Bureau was operating normally in an abnormal way.