Egghead Island, Research Layer. Inside a laboratory, Kuma's memories continued to play on the machine screen in vivid first-person perspective. "Uwaaa! Dad... It's all my fault! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have... Ugh ugh ugh!" Bonney crumpled to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. Her voice dripped with self-loathing and despair.
Sephiroth took a drag from his cigar, blinking against the sting of smoke. "Damn it! This cigar's really burning my eyes..."
Bartholomew Kuma's life could be summed up in one phrase: a coffee table littered with tragedies. Sephiroth found himself imagining what he'd do in Kuma's shoes. Frankly, it was a miracle the man hadn't turned into some deranged anti-social lunatic! Hmm. Sure, Sephiroth had his own dark streak, but Kuma? The guy was kindness incarnate. You could slap the title of 'Saint Mother' on him and it'd fit perfectly—both compliment and critique rolled into one.
Extreme kindness shackles a person at every turn, and Kuma was living proof. Vegapunk gazed at the screen and sighed. "Alas! Kuma's the man I admire most in this world. Sephiroth, do you think you can restore his personality and memories?"
"Absolutely!"
"These memories span from Kuma's childhood to adulthood—complete and well-organized. Shouldn't be a problem. I'll need to prep some special equipment first, but the treatment itself is straightforward." Sephiroth nodded confidently.
Our experiences shape who we are. Without his original memories and personality, Kuma was just an empty shell. Even if you removed the machines controlling his emotions and thoughts, without restoring his memories, he'd never truly be himself again.
The memories Kuma manifested through his Devil Fruit weren't his entire life's story—just the ones that stuck, the ones he could still recall. Routine events, like what he ate and when, faded into the background, forgotten by the brain as repetitive, mechanical actions. They became instinct rather than memory.
So Kuma's forty-five years of life yielded just enough memories—not too many, not too few. After hours of converting and displaying them on-screen, the playback finally reached its end.
"Really? You can actually restore Dad's personality and memories?" Bonney's face lit up with fragile hope.
"Of course it's true. Don't worry!" Sephiroth couldn't help but nod again at the girl's pitiful expression.
Vegapunk glanced at the young man beside him, his tone heavy with implication. "Even so, there's still one major problem to tackle... How do we get Kuma's main body?"
"Don't sweat it! The Marines have control of Kuma right now, but getting him here shouldn't be too hard." Sephiroth thumped his chest reassuringly.
Honestly, a Kuma stripped of personality and will couldn't even muster half his original combat power. He was just a glorified super soldier. Restoring his consciousness was the way to go.
Given Kuma's 'Saint Mother' personality, he'll likely be deeply grateful to Sephiroth. If Sephiroth ever needs a favor in the future, Kuma probably won't say no. Plus, helping Kuma recover his memories could earn Sephiroth some serious goodwill from the Revolutionary Army...
Gurgle~! "Uh!? I'm hungry..."
Bonney scratched her head with a sheepish grin under their gazes. The three had been glued to Kuma's memories for five straight hours—from dawn till afternoon. Her stomach growled in protest; she'd barely eaten two bites at breakfast before rushing to meet Vegapunk.
The miracle wasn't that Bonney lasted this long without food. The miracle was that Kuma's memories had distracted her from hunger at all. Now with that weight lifted, her appetite roared back to life. "Bonney," Vegapunk chuckled, "what'll it be? I'll have a drone fetch something from the vending—"
Sephiroth cut him off with a snort. "Machine food?" He rolled up his sleeves. "Where's the soul in that? Same ingredients, same steps—but the taste? Worlds apart. Today, you're getting a masterclass in cooking."
Bonney's eyes lit up. "Pizza!" She jabbed a finger at him. "And it better be legendary if you're bragging like that!"
Vegapunk sighed. The vending machines did churn out edible—if monotonous—meals. Hence the fully stocked kitchen tucked between lab equipment. For "dietary variety," he claimed, though everyone knew he just missed real food.
Sephiroth moved through the kitchen like a composer at a piano. Flour dusted his wrists as he kneaded dough. Bonney hovered at first, then plopped beside Vegapunk when Sephiroth shot her a look. "Sit," it said. "You'll set something on fire."
The scent of baking crust and melting cheese soon drowned the sterile lab air. Bonney's stomach growled loud enough to startle the seagulls outside. When the first pie emerged golden-brown, she lunged before the steam cleared. "Hot! Hot—ohhh." Her groan of pleasure fogged up the pizza. "This is... this is..." Words failed her. Sauce smeared her chin as she demolished slice after slice.
Vegapunk nibbled his portion with academic curiosity. "Fascinating texture variance," he murmured, then yelped as Bonney swiped his untouched crust.
"More!" she demanded through a full mouth, whirling toward Sephiroth.
He smirked, already sliding another tray into the oven. "Told you machines can't compete."
Bonney threw her arms up. "Sephiroth is truly a rare good man!" Soon, with Sephiroth's steady rhythm, pies kept emerging—pepperoni, quattro formaggi, even a bizarre but delicious pineapple-abomination York designed. The feast grew loud with clattering plates and laughter.
Then the lab doors hissed open.
Stilton's nose twitched as he followed the aroma like a bloodhound. "Is that... my patented anchovy-olive blend?" He zeroed in on the last slice. Bonney bared her teeth.
Vegapunk sighed. "Someone get the fire extinguisher."