Do Androids Dream of Oil Chocolate"Mr. Rancatore"
The lab door was practically slammed open by Peter's voice. While Peter had always been one to assert his presence with loud volume, everyone had grown accustomed to it. Lately, however, he’d developed a new quirk of physically barging through doors. Probably because androids lacked pain receptors, and the lab doors were usually unlocked for safety. At this rate, he’d start dismantling doors with his bare hands. Rancatore considered reminding him about proper door etiquette someday but kept working on his experiment as he replied:
"What is it"
Silence. When Rancatore finished his task and turned around, he found Peter hunched over, staring at the coffee on the desk like a predator eyeing prey. If stares could generate heat, the coffee would’ve evaporated already.
"...Do you want coffee"
"Mr. Rancatore"
Peter straightened abruptly, ignoring the question and shouting Rancatore’s name with the same booming, inexplicable intensity.
"Yes, yes, what is it"
"Does this coffee have sugar"
So he does want coffee Rancatore didn’t bother probing Peter’s motives. He’d programmed the android himself—there was no point trying to decipher his logic.
"No. I prefer black."
"Understood"
Peter vanished into the hallway as violently as he’d arrived. Rancatore paused, momentarily puzzled by the lack of follow-up questions, then realized he’d forgotten to scold Peter about the door.

★
"Hmm... So she... he gave you one too"
Peter tilted his head. Data indicated the red-haired android’s tone had risen slightly, but he couldn’t parse the emotion behind it. Then he saw Force shook his head dismissively:
"Never mind. Just obligation... Ahem. You wanted to ask how to slip something into someone’s pocket Why"
"I want to give a gift."
"I knew that... But why not hand it over directly"
Peter tilted his head again, eyes wide:
"Because Mr. Speed said, ‘Secretly ask about tastes before making it.’ So shouldn’t the gift also be delivered secretly"
"No... A heartfelt gift should be handed over properly."
"I see..."
As Peter fell into deep thought, Force almost intervened to prevent a system freeze. But little robot suddenly looked up:
"Then how do I ensure it reaches their hands accurately"
"...We’ll practice in real time."
★
"And that’s why you’re submitting my report for me"
Arakawa sighed, eyeing Peter’s unyielding demand for the documents while waving off concerned researchers passing by.
"After considering Mr. Force’s advice, I determined reports are the most logical practice material. Please cooperate, Mr. Arakawa."
Polite words masking stubbornness.
"Fine... But I wanted to discuss some issues in the second section with Mr. Rancatore..."
Peter stared silently.
"Alright, alright Just ask him about the second result’s evaluation when you hand it over please"
Arakawa surrendered, placing the files into Peter’s outstretched hand.
"Good luck, I guess."
"What do you mean with luck"
"...Never mind."

★
"Did taste-testing take that long Thought you changed your mind."
Speed, bored enough to play puzzle games with ingredients, brightened as Peter returned and hurried to the stove.
"I also consulted Mr. Force and Mr. Arakawa."
"No clue why, but you’re dead serious, huh"
"Mr. Rancatore rejects others, but he accepts me." Peter stated it as fact. "Mr. Speed said chocolate conveys feelings. So I want mine to be the catalyst for change."
Speed blinked, then grinned and ruffled the overly earnest android’s hair.
"That’s the spirit. He’ll love it."
"What does this action signify"
"Nothing. Let’s cook. He likes bitter stuff, right"

★
"150g of 0% sugar, 40% coffee chocolate Please inspect it"
Rancatore immediately recognized the identical motion and phrasing Peter used earlier when delivering the report. The impeccably wrapped chocolate—too refined for a boy—hinted at its true creator. Suppressing a frown, he accepted it.
"...Thanks."
But Peter lingered, eyes sparkling expectantly. Under pressure, Rancatore took a bite.
True to its description, the chocolate lacked sweetness. Instead, rich coffee aroma bloomed, balanced by subtle acidity and bitterness—a perfect replica of Rancatore’s daily brew.
Recalling Peter’s earlier coffee-staring and knowing Speed couldn’t replicate that flavor, Rancatore sighed wryly. He retrieved a vacuum-sealed cube from storage and handed it over.
"I like this gift. Here’s a return."
The irregular cube rolled in Peter’s palm: the test version of solid portable oil Rancatore had once mentioned.
"Mr. Rancatore Are you happy"
"...Kind of"
"Then why didn’t you pat my head"
"......"
Sensing he shouldn’t question the logic, Rancatore reluctantly patted Peter’s fluffy head. Satisfied, Peter turned to leave—until Rancatore called out:
"Ah, Peter."
The android froze mid-doorway, with grasping the door handle properly, then pivoting earnestly.
"Yes, Mr. Rancatore"
The researcher flashed a fleeting smile, voice soft:
"Nothing. Happy Valentine’s Day."
"Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Rancatore"