He never got his answer. Riruru smiled at Nobita—a gesture no manual could define—and touched her forehead to his. “Thank you for being broken,” she said. “It was the only thing that was real.”
Doraemon said nothing. He simply placed a hand on Nobita’s shaking shoulder. In the distance, a new star appeared in the twilight—small, silver, and impossibly kind. doraemon: nobita and the new steel troops winged angels
Riruru had come to scout. She had been created to judge humanity obsolete, a virus of emotion in a universe of pure logic. But then she had fallen into the creek near the vacant lot, her circuits sputtering. She had heard Nobita cry. She had seen Shizuka offer her a blanket. She had watched Gian sing off-key, not as a weapon, but as a gift. He never got his answer