Tears blurred his vision, the view through the droplets hazy and indistinct, much like the best answer he could never quite find in his heart.
Mewtwo's space once again reverted to the pitch black it had been, utterly empty, just as he had been born without the slightest trace of fanfare.
Outside, the laboratory instantly bustled into life, stirred by Mewtwo's emotional fluctuations.
"Mewtwo's brainwaves are extremely chaotic!"
"Highly abnormal! Any stimulation right now would be disastrous. Inject sedatives immediately—make him sleep!"
The doctor made a decisive call without a moment's hesitation.
Yet, almost immediately, the brainwave monitoring equipment returned to its usual calm, as if the disturbance just moments before had been nothing more than an illusion.
Naturally, this change was Chen Ming's doing. To mask the intense fluctuations of his own brainwaves, he had put a great deal of careful thought and research into the methods used.
Mewtwo's gaze never left the spot where the light had dissolved. "Amber, the tears won't stop. What should I do? Answer me, Amber!"
Three plump, round spheres gently pressed against Mewtwo's head—those fleshy bulbs were considerably larger than Mewtwo himself.
"Tears don't just keep falling forever. They're only trying to run outside. Once they get tired, they'll stop."
Mewtwo slowly turned, burying himself in Chen Ming's warm embrace. His tears traced down Chen Ming's chest, sliding past the base of his tail, and the moment they dripped away, they shattered into fine, sparkling droplets that vanished without a trace.
Chen Ming said nothing, simply letting him lean there in silence.
I can understand, yet I chose not to understand.
He raised his other, free hand. Chen Ming was hardly lacking in the power to change things, yet he chose not to. Would it ache to do so?
Probably not. I am nobody's god. Let me just watch quietly like this; this is quite nice, too.
Holding Mewtwo within his arms, Chen Ming gently patted the fleshy bulbs. A strange sensation always radiated from them—that slick, velvety texture made him really want to stroke them up and down a few times.
He cast his gaze further down, lingering on that purple tail. It was already reaching the scale of a grown-up's long, majestic tail; he wondered what it would feel like to hold.
Just as Chen Ming's thoughts were drifting into increasingly bizarre territory, Mewtwo finally broke free from his embrace.
"See? I told you it would get tired. Look, you've stopped crying."
Chen Ming gently wiped the tear stains from Mewtwo's face.
"A-Are they never coming back?"
Mewtwo seemed to harbor a trace of imperceptible hope, asking weakly as he looked at the one who made him feel so warm.
As for how to answer—Chen Ming was hardly skilled at lying or comforting people; the few lines he had blurted out earlier had practically drained him dry.
"Don't dwell on it. They're gone. But you don't need to worry; at least they were happy when they left." The cloned lives here were all terribly short-lived, and only you are perfect.
Chen Ming did not speak the most hurtful second half of that sentence.
Having cried his fill, Mewtwo shed no more tears upon hearing this, though a momentary flash of desolation could not be faked.
He remembered Amber saying that Chen Ming was an experimental subject created by humans before them, and that their meeting was built upon the trials born of Chen Ming's agony. Without him, those cloned Pokémon would inevitably have lived in perpetual torment.
The more he thought about it, the more sorrowful he felt. If he himself had only tasted a superficial morsel of that bitter grief, just how had Chen Ming managed to endure it all?
After Mewtwo left his embrace, Chen Ming's gaze did not linger on him for a second. He simply stared blankly into the dark space.
Caught deep in thought, he failed to notice even Mewtwo's strange, shifting expression.
"Mewtwo, why don't you decorate this place to make it a bit brighter?"
Chen Ming didn't mind the dark, but such an environment would inevitably take a toll on one's personality. Perhaps Mewtwo's future temperament would be shaped in part by these very surroundings.
"Are you talking about the sun? Amber is gone. Relying solely on my memories, I can't create..."
Mewtwo shook his head. He had no concrete memories of the outside world.
"Is that really so hard to fix? Give me your hand."
Taking the initiative, Chen Ming gripped Mewtwo's hand tightly, causing the three fleshy bulbs to contract noticeably.
A look of astonishment surfaced on Mewtwo's face, and that fleeting presence he had felt once before grew suddenly more intense.
It was that same warm aura, wrapping around him like a sweet confection, leaving Mewtwo entirely incapable of mustering even a shred of resistance.
After all this time, Chen Ming's mental space was no longer a vast, blinding white expanse. More and more things were being successfully recreated, and his daily mental burden was increasing by the day.
Naturally, the effects of such training were remarkably pronounced.
With the scale of his mental power as it was now, even if Mewtwo were unwilling, Chen Ming could still manage to ornament Mewtwo's mental space by simply going all out.
If he truly had to force it, however, it wouldn't be himself anymore; if the other party wasn't willing, Chen Ming couldn't be bothered to try.
Since Mewtwo himself was willing, Chen Ming was more than happy to reach out a helping hand.
The fusion of mind with mind—neither of them could have anticipated it would bring such a wondrous sensation.
It was unlike reading Amber's memories; this was a genuine blending of mental energies, or perhaps the mutual reliance of two lonely souls.
Chen Ming gave a full-body shudder, completely unprepared for this development.
It wasn't that the feeling was bad—quite the contrary, it was far too good, good enough to stir up unfamiliar, deeply hidden desires within his own heart.
This was something that had been utterly impossible ever since he gained consciousness. His very first instinct was to retreat rather than advance, trembling as he longed to scramble back inside the safety of his familiar walls.
Following this brief connection of souls, Chen Ming shoved Mewtwo away with a force that could almost be called rough.
Even with such turbulent emotions churning inside him, Chen Ming did not forget his true objective.
He stirred Mewtwo's mental energy—an ocean-like expanse of sheer volume. Only now did Chen Ming understand why Mewtwo was able to act like a creator within his mental space the moment he was born.
Born a legend; that was truly no mere figure of speech.
Aside from a handful of mythical Pokémon possessing specific divine duties, there were practically none who could definitively defeat Mewtwo. Even relying on their divine functions, the outcome against a Mewtwo operating at its full potential remained entirely unpredictable.
Every single one of those legendary Pokémon possessed peerless might only after traversing vast expanses of time, whereas Mewtwo merely needed to grow into the power already resting within his body from birth. To say he wasn't envious would be a flat-out lie.
Mewtwo looked at Chen Ming with a trace of heartache, completely failing to understand why he had been pushed away when it had felt so comfortable and warm.
Fortunately, once Chen Ming pushed him away, his mind quickly shifted to other matters, and his face did not betray the expression Mewtwo dreaded most.
Within Chen Ming's white space, the familiar objects he had yet to finish constructing were now fully replicated within the dark space, brought to completion with smooth efficiency thanks to Mewtwo's power.
Mewtwo circled the newly materialized structures. Their style was vastly different from Amber's, reigniting his curiosity. Wagging his long purple tail, his mood lifted considerably.
As for the reason his mood improved, it was probably because of these new buildings appearing in the space...
Chen Ming shrugged, sighing inwardly. He had thought he was in for a grueling slog, but reaching the goal in one go wasn't bad either—even if he did feel a sudden sense of loss.
"W-Where is this?"
Recovering his wits, Mewtwo turned to ask Chen Ming curiously, a palpable sense of eager anticipation dancing in his expression.
Yet Chen Ming had already chosen to leave, vanishing just as silently as he had arrived.
For someone who detested solitude, such bizarre behavior was undoubtedly the deepest form of hurt.
Amber, and now Chen Ming as well—both were deeply etched into Mewtwo's heart.
It was a good thing Mewtwo had a gentle disposition nowadays; otherwise, after glaring angrily for a long while at the spot where Chen Ming had vanished, he would have surely let loose an Aura Sphere to teach him a lesson for leaving without a word.
Returning to his own space, Chen Ming stood hovering near the upper reaches, deep in thought.
Looking back, he felt his appearance had been a massive blunder. He had only meant to sample the state in which Amber and the others had vanished so he could better mimic their brainwaves; once they had disappeared, the data he obtained should have been more than enough...
Rolling a mountain of justifications through his mind, he barely managed to convince himself.
Shaking off the increasingly chaotic thoughts in his head, he pressed on with his original plan.
It took a full seven days to perfectly replicate every single change that occurred at the moment of Amber's death. A one-to-one reproduction meant there would be no flaws.
Throughout those seven days, Mewtwo never fully detached himself from the reality of Amber's death, frequently recalling those fond memories and the sight of them walking away.
Fortunately, Chen Ming's appearance had also allowed him to cry to his heart's content.
Even Mewtwo himself hadn't realized how significantly his reliance on Chen Ming had deepened, or perhaps he simply believed that Chen Ming wouldn't abandon him the way Amber and the others had.
Yet why hadn't he come over yet? Mewtwo floated there once more, consumed by boredom.
He was already growing tired of the scenery he and Chen Ming had created together; all he wanted was for Chen Ming to keep him company.
Inside the white space, Chen Ming had no idea what he was even thinking. He could easily have chosen to slip away for good, yet he kept feeling the urge to say a proper goodbye to Mewtwo.
Chen Ming grew a little impatient with his own indecisiveness.
Brushing those lingering sentiments aside, he resumed his contemplation: Was it that mental fusion the other day? Have I changed?
Maybe I should just give Mewtwo a "surprise." After all, once I'm out, I can't possibly wander the world in the form of "Mewtwo"—there's no guarantee I could outlast the black-tech wizardry of the Pokémon World.
Having made his decision, Chen Ming acted immediately.
He slipped quietly back into Mewtwo's space, just as he always had.
Pity that this time, he failed to evade Mewtwo's perception—whether because his sensitivity to the other's presence had heightened since that day, or simply because he had missed Chen Ming so intensely that his aura had become glaringly obvious.
Mewtwo flew over at lightning speed, diving straight into Chen Ming's arms and wrapping him in a tight hug.
With a pitiful tone and eyes brimming with desperate hope, he asked, "You're here. This time... don't be like last time. Can you please tell me when you're going to leave?"
Looking at that expression, Chen Ming found it hard to refuse. Fortunately, since he was about to stage a fake death, Mewtwo probably wouldn't remember him anyway.
Feigning comfort, he patted Mewtwo's head, stroke by stroke, as if giving silent consent.
Mewtwo's mood instantly soared, a wave of warmth washing even over the cold, barren space.
Feeling that it was about time, Chen Ming gently pushed Mewtwo away and struck up a casual conversation with an amused smile.
Most of it was Mewtwo asking questions and Chen Ming answering. Even now, Mewtwo's curiosity remained fiercely insatiable.
As they talked, Mewtwo's happiness reached dazzling heights—an emotion entirely different from what he had felt with Amber, prompting him to want to ask Chen Ming about it.
As for Chen Ming, the moment Mewtwo opened his mouth to ask, he stood up and put on a solemn expression.
Mewtwo thought Chen Ming was about to leave again, losing interest in his own question. He looked genuinely, heartrendingly pitiful, desperately wanting Chen Ming to stay.
With his mischievous streak running high at that moment, Chen Ming chose the most playful method of "suicide." Yet what was with that look on Mewtwo's face? Had he actually done something wrong?
A flicker of a guilty conscience crept into his heart, forcing him to opt for a comparatively gentler approach.
"Hey, Mewtwo, make sure you live a good life on your own, okay? Life is very interesting—don't be too lonely..."
As he spoke these words, Chen Ming didn't even dare look at Mewtwo.
Since Chen Ming was role-playing his own inevitable demise, his tone naturally mirrored the farewells of Amber and the others.
Looking at Chen Ming in sheer disbelief, Mewtwo found it utterly unimaginable.
"N-No, you won't! Your mental power is vast; you won't just vanish like that, you—"
Panicked and at a loss, Mewtwo's voice bordered on a roar. He refused to watch another familiar person leave him; that kind of pain was simply too great.
Chen Ming's words were half-true and half-false, vague in meaning, yet not entirely a lie.
Thanks to their earlier chat, he knew he was currently in a state where the system was self-repairing, which happened to give him an opening to bluff.
"That's right, it doesn't vanish easily. But I don't want to stay here anymore. Bound, restricted, completely lacking freedom."
"Well, as you learned from Amber, I'm the original experimental subject—a defective product riddled with flaws. Living up until now is already my limit. It's time for me to go..."
"The outside world is beautiful. There are bound to be interesting things happening."
He offered his heartfelt thanks: "Thank you, Mewtwo..."
Chen Ming's birth had not been Mewtwo's original intention, but had Mewtwo never been created, Chen Ming would never have had the chance to be born at all.
Perhaps Chen Ming ought to thank that bunch of fellows outside, but if he really did that, it would be awkward to the point of agonizing. Better to thank the Mewtwo right before him instead.
Then, Chen Ming chanted softly—*Healing Wish*.
It was a move Jirachi had once used in the anime; for an ordinary Pokémon, using it would inevitably plunge them into a critical state or even death, whereas only Jirachi could transform into a meteorite to slowly reaccumulate energy.
As a being akin to Mewtwo, Chen Ming was no exception—using this move would likewise plunge him into a critical state. However, he had energy points to sustain him, so he wouldn't truly fall into that condition.
The stronger one was when using *Healing Wish*, the greater the effect it produced. Having practiced telekinesis many times, Chen Ming naturally gathered the scattered power of the skill, forming a golden orb of light that drifted slowly toward Mewtwo.
Consider this my parting gift to make up for the hurt I've caused you, my dear Mewtwo...
Just like the way Amber had left, a familiar process...
"Doctor, it's bad! The sample's brainwaves have completely vanished—it's heading toward death!"
The doctor gazed deeply at the product of his past decisions; to say he held no lingering attachment would be a lie.
Amber's death had indeed dealt him a heavy blow, but he was confident he could create another. As long as Mewtwo could awaken, that technology would reach its absolute perfection. *Amber, just wait for me a little longer—*
"Dispose of it. I believe the Mewtwo we created is the most perfect one of all!"