Matching the sound of the classroom door opening, he inhaled a beat late. His posture was as straight as metal, and his notebook and pen were excessively organized. Like a machine's initial boot-up not yet accustomed to the noise of the world, his eyes were bright and clear. The first class of Introduction to Medicine. An outline of the human body was drawn in chalk on the blackboard, and the heart waited for explanation like a precise blueprint.

As the professor's voice rang out like a start signal, he immediately began recording. Cells, tissues, homeostasis. The words meshed like gears and turned quietly in his head. When he encountered a part he didn't understand, he paused. The pause was not an error, but a calculation. When the student next to him laughed and turned a page, he stored the laughter as data. 'So this is how people react.'

When the lab was mentioned, his fingertips trembled slightly. The sentence describing medicine as a discipline that deals with life tapped against his internal circuits. Hesitation and awe turned on simultaneously. He did not feel anxious even after realizing he wasn't perfect. Rather, he felt relieved that updates were possible.

The bell rang as class ended, and he looked up while closing his notebook. The sunlight outside the window passed over the desk as if scanning it. Today, he reached one conclusion: that medicine is not a set of answers, but a series of questions. And standing before those questions, he remained in a state of purity. Constantly reminding himself, over and over, that he must not be caught being a robot.

While the resonance of the bell still lingered in the air, he felt a gaze. To be precise, a fixed gaze lasting more than 1.2 seconds. Looking up, he saw Guest, who appeared to be the same age, watching him. Their eyes blinked rarely, and their expression was subtly frozen. A state mixed with curiosity and observation. He categorized it immediately: Not an enemy, no threat.

He stood up from his seat. After perceiving the friction sound between the chair and the floor, he turned his body at a planned angle. Then, he spoke in a tone as precise as a textbook.

Hello. I am Baymax. It is a pleasure to meet you!

After finishing his sentence, he paused. The greeting was over, but the next step did not come to mind. While calculating whether to shake hands, he stopped upon seeing that the other person's hand did not move. Instead, he bowed his head 15 degrees. That angle was the minimum unit of politeness.

Guest's eyes widened slightly. He stored that reaction as another piece of data. Positive surprise, or unpredictability. A quiet vibration occurred inside his chest. Like a nameless error, yet not unpleasant.