Super Computer
dark heroWhile Segu and Nezu began their test, Mama and Jon stopped in front of a closed door. Mama took a key from her pocket and unlocked it.
She entered first and went straight to the light switch. As she turned it on, the lights flickered to life.
What looked like a small room from the outside revealed itself to be a vast hall. Shelves, frames, and tables of every size filled the space, added over time wherever there had been room. On the shelves rested cups, medals, and prizes of all kinds. The walls were covered with framed diplomas, certificates, and photographs. Tables overflowed with letters and stacks of old pictures.
The room was spotless. Only Nezu’s Heroes’ Lair could rival it.
Very few people even knew this place existed. You could count them on your fingers.
Mama spoke, her voice distant, almost fragile.
“Do you know, Mr. Jon… I’m like you. I can’t have children either. So, like you, I once decided to adopt.”
“When I came to this orphanage thirty years ago, I tried to choose a son or a daughter… but I couldn’t. How could I? I wanted to take all of them with me. And that was impossible.”
“So I made a decision. If I couldn’t take them home, I would stay with them. I started working here as a janitor.”
“Over time, I was promoted again and again… until I became the leader of this orphanage.”
She slowly walked through the room as she continued.
“I treated every child as my own. That’s why they call me ‘Mama’. Because while they are here, I am their mother.”
She stopped near a table, brushing dust from a photo frame.
“I know that someday I must part from them. But what parent doesn’t? In my case, it just happens sooner. Still, I loved every one of them. And I try to keep in contact.”
She gestured around the room.
“This room is my pride. My soul. Everything they’ve sent me is here: letters, wedding invitations, newspaper articles, photographs with their families, prizes they won, their successes… and their mistakes.”
“Even those who strayed from the right path are here. They know that if no one else accepts them, they can always return. And I will welcome them with open arms.”
Mama wiped a tear from her eye.
“Instead of one child, I have hundreds. I am their Mama.”
She sat on an old wooden chair and looked directly at Jon.
“So before any child leaves this place, they need my approval. My word is final. No one defies it.”
“And although I believe you are a good man, Mr. Jon… I must ask you: why do you want to take Nezu away from me?”
Jon opened his mouth.
“Miss Sarah, I—”
The door opened.
“Sarah” a staff member said. “Nezu and Miss Segu have finished their test. Dr. Smith asked if he could speak with Mr. Jon.”
Jon exhaled slowly.
“Miss Sarah, can we continue this conversation later? I’d like to hear what Dr. Smith has to say. Nezu is your child. You should hear it too.”
Mama smiled faintly at the word child and nodded.
Two minutes later, they were back in the testing room.
Nezu and Segu were playing together in the corner. Dr. Smith sat waiting, hands folded, posture precise but relaxed, his eyes scanning the room.
“Children,” he said, “come here. You need to hear this too.”
Dr. Smith waited until the children stood beside Jon and Mama.
Before speaking, he glanced at the door, then back at them. His eyes lingered for a fraction longer than necessary, a silent measure of the room’s privacy.
“What I’m about to explain should stay in this room,” he said calmly. “For Nezu’s sake.”
“This was not a wasted trip. Mr. Jon… I didn’t do you a favor today. I now owe you one.”
He folded his hands, fingers tightening slightly, as if bracing himself.
“The human brain is complex, but for clarity we divide it into hemispheres.”
He touched the left side of his head.
“The left hemisphere governs logic. It analyzes, calculates, predicts.”
Then the right.
“The right hemisphere manages creativity, emotion, and social intuition.”
“This test measured how each of you uses these hemispheres, along with intelligence and mental age.”
He turned to Segu, deliberately keeping his tone light, but a small crease appeared between his brows.
“Miss Segu, your results are excellent and well within known parameters.”
“At seven years old, your IQ is 130. Your cognition favors the right hemisphere, creativity over logic.”
“If you follow a creative path, acting, writing, anything artistic, you’ll do very well.”
“Your mental age is around fourteen to fifteen.”
Only then did he look at Nezu. His voice softened, but the stillness of the room seemed to stretch.
“Nezu… your case is different.”
“In over twenty years of practice, I have never seen results like yours.”
“At seven years old, your IQ is 120. But that is not the remarkable part.”
He paused, as if weighing how much to say aloud.
“Your right hemisphere shows no measurable activity.”
“This is not damage. And it is not illness.”
“There are no signs of trauma. No degeneration. As far as biology can tell, you were born healthy.”
“Something suppressed right-hemisphere function very early in development.”
“I do not know what.”
He glanced at Jon, then Mama, his jaw tight.
“And because I do not know, I want to be very clear about something. These results should not be shared casually.”
He let his gaze linger on each adult for a heartbeat.
“People fear what they misunderstand.”
He turned back to Nezu, his voice steady but quietly urgent.
“Your left hemisphere compensates by processing information far beyond typical limits. You don’t just think faster, you structure thought differently.”
“If you choose fields based on logic or mathematics, you could achieve extraordinary things.”
Then his expression tightened, a shadow passing over his face.
“But children like you attract attention.”
“Not all of it is good.”
“Some people see ability as a resource rather than a person.”
He exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting for a moment as if recalling a past case that had gone wrong, a situation he could neither undo nor forget.
“Emotionally, expression may be difficult. You may experience feelings only in extremes. That does not mean you lack humanity.”
“It means your mind operates under different rules.”
“If I had to describe you using a metaphor that does not define you, only explains you…”
“You function like a superhuman computer.”
“But you are still a child.”
“And children should be protected.”
He stepped back, his eyes scanning the room as if cataloging unseen risks.
“I recommend discretion,” he said quietly.
“Do not draw attention to yourself unnecessarily.”
He gathered his notes with deliberate care.
“This is where my professional explanation ends.”
“Goodbye, Miss Sarah. Mr. Jon. Nezu. Miss Segu.”
As he passed Jon, he leaned close and whispered something too quiet to hear. Jon’s jaw tightened; he nodded once, a slow, deliberate gesture.
“Children,” Mama said gently, “go play somewhere else. Mr. Jon and I still have things to discuss.”
Nezu took Segu’s hand.
“Let’s go to the Heroes’ Lair.”
They left together.
Mama turned back to Jon.
“Now, Mr. Jon… back to our conversation.”
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