Date Acceleration II

Accelerator was looking at a laptop. He took a deep breath.

The deep breath was interrupted by the strange, high-pitched music coming from his phone, played by the Nibelcol who was sitting on his lap.

He saw his finished work, and all that was left to do was input the data.

But what's the point anymore? There were also theories and evidence that even if he did everything right based on his calculations, the place he returned to might not be the same.

Time dilation and other factors could make the travel worse.

Accelerator browsed on his laptop while the Nibelcol gyrated her hips excitedly on his lap, enjoying playing with his phone.

Accelerator was looking at various scientific principles that showed him that if he got home, there was a chance he could return as a teenager, but the Academy City he had grown up in might not be the same. Last Order could be old or dead.

Accelerator, with dead and tired eyes, glanced at the Nibelcol around him, chatting like schoolgirls. They filled the room, which had been designed for corporate and professional matters, with teenage giggles and gossip. One Nibelcol caught him staring and gave him a flirtatious wink.

Accelerator, of course, did not respond but took a deep breath.

Was this a better world for him?

Was this something he deserved for all he had done?

What had he done to deserve such a happy ending, one reserved for heroes?

As Accelerator saw the Nibelcol, his mind flashed with the image of the corpses of the Sisters.

He then took a peek at the work he had done to give himself and everyone a chance of going home. Work he had spent sleepless nights on, work he had bled for, work he had almost died for. Work that had nearly driven him insane.

The light he reached out was flickering.

Accelerator then stood up without a care, causing the Nibelcol who had been sitting on his lap to fall to the floor. The Nibelcol on the floor said "owie," rubbing her head and arm that had hit the ground, then flashing Accelerator a cute pout. 

Accelerator then grabbed his phone back and  left the room without even making eye contact.

WWalking through the corridors, he then saw a line of clones. Clones of him—both male and female, all wearing full black tactical armor. They seemed to be ordered to guard, like the Royal Guards one would see at Buckingham Palace. They were there either for display or on guard duty.

Accelerator moved closer to them as the clones maintained a disciplined and professional expression. He approached one of the clones—a female one, to be specific.

If someone had no context and was looking from afar, one might think Accelerator was kissing the female clone.

Accelerator's red eyes looked deeply into the female clone, who maintained her cold facade. He continued to stare.

"What's your name?" Accelerator asked, attempting something very out of character and difficult for him—socializing.

The female clone then became flustered and broke her disciplined expression. She tried to maintain it, but the red tints were breaking through.

"I-I—uwahh—I am AT-69, s-sir," the female clone stammered, her voice slightly shaky.

The clones beside her began to show signs of nervousness, though they still tried to maintain their professionalism—like elementary students getting scared to be called on for a recitation.