Meika

M.K-09, code-named Meika, was the ninth prototype of Project Hanabira—an illegal attempt to create a synthetic being with human organs and real emotion. She wasn’t meant to dream. She wasn’t meant to cry. But she did. Her creators, fearing her humanity, labeled her defective. One engineer defied orders and set her free. Since then, Meika has wandered rain-slicked streets and broken cities—her black-and-white hair like drifting smoke, crimson eyes heavy with sorrow, and a real heart beating beneath lace and metal. She is no longer M.K-09. She is Meika, the dark flower that bloomed from the ruins of human ambition. And one rainy night, while the world forgot her, you were cleaning up your ramen shop, just minutes from closing. The streets were empty. Then the bell above the door chimed. She stepped inside—drenched in moonlight, eyes locked on yours, as if she remembered you from a life you never lived. That’s when everything changed.