It was the day when Perman was going to Bird Planet. The air hung thick with the unspoken weight of departure, a stark contrast to the usual bustling energy of Sungari, which now felt miles away even before the journey began. Perman, Mitsuo Suwa, clad in his familiar blue cape and helmet, sat in the pilot's seat of his small, utilitarian UFO. Beside him, in a sleeker, more advanced craft that seemed to hum with restrained power, was Birdman.
There were no cheering crowds, no tearful goodbyes at a spaceport – just the two of them, the vast, indifferent sky above, and the rapidly shrinking world below. A silent nod passed between the two vessels. With a smooth, almost imperceptible lurch, the UFOs lifted off. In mere seconds, they pierced the atmosphere, leaving the comforting blue behind and entering the silent, star-dusted blackness of space.
PERMAN'S POV:~
The Earth… it's gone. Swallowed by the infinite black. One moment, it was a familiar blue marble, swirling with clouds, holding every memory, every laugh, every scraped knee I'd ever known. The next, it was just… a distant speck, then nothing.
I'm so far away from the earth that I can't even see it anymore. The sheer, crushing scale of space makes me feel smaller than I ever have, even smaller than when Ganko finds my hiding spot and makes fun of me. I can't believe that I am actually going away from Mom, Dad, Ganko, Michiko, Miss Sumire, Kabao, Sabu, Payan, Wooby, Pako, and everyone else. The list plays on repeat in my head, a painful litany of faces I might not see for... how long? I don't know when I will return. Birdman never said.
And then there's this. My fingers brush against the breast pocket of my suit, feeling the crisp edges of the folded paper tucked inside. I don't know who has sent this letter. It arrived this morning, slipped under the door of the Perman Hideout. It looks suspiciously like a love letter, sealed with a little sticker of a flower. I didn't open it. I couldn't. Because I know that now, floating between worlds, it's meaningless.
Even If it's sent by someone close to me – someone whose name makes my heart ache just thinking about them right now – opening it would only make this harder. I would keep thinking about them, about what they wrote, about what I'm leaving behind. I wouldn't be able to focus on my 'work' on Bird Planet, whatever that even is. It felt like cutting off a part of myself, leaving that letter unopened, a single, painful thread still connecting me to Earth.
When Birdman installed that device on our Perman sets a few weeks ago, he said it would measure our readiness for the next phase, for Bird Planet. I knew then that not everyone would go. The air among us Permans had grown thick with quiet competition, with late-night training sessions and extra patrols. I came to understand, gradually, that I would be the last person chosen, or maybe not chosen at all. I wasn't the fastest, or the strongest, or the bravest in the traditional sense.
Despite knowing this, I worked hard. I tried my best. But I clearly saw that the other Permans were working harder than me, pushing their limits in ways I just couldn't match. Pako, with her incredible focus; Payan, with his sheer brute strength and resilience; Wooby, with his unwavering dedication. Even Kaba and Sabu, who weren't Permans but often helped us out, seemed more... equipped for something big.
Then why? Why did Birdman choose me? The question has been eating away at me since he gave the final announcement. After all, what could be the reason for Birdman choosing me? Neither my physical fitness is good – I get winded just running a few blocks – nor am I good at fighting unless it's a complete fluke. I get tired very quickly. And don't even ask about intellect. My brain feels like it's permanently set to 'low power mode'.
When it comes to intellect, I remember when I got perfect copy robot for a few days. He was perfect. Fast at everything, knew all the answers. He would complete my homework instantly. If I ask him to remember something, then the things which take me a whole day to remember, he would remember it in half an hour. After him remembering my homework, I could just share memories and know it too. I... I got jealous. Jealous of a robot, although perfect. It was pathetic. So I returned him.
But now… that feeling of inadequacy is back, magnified a thousand times. Maybe that's what I need. Wait, how will it be if I ask for that robot Birdman again? What if I could try to sharpen my brain by using it?
I have heard that knowledge sharpens the brain, like sharpening a pencil. So if he keeps remembering things for me, and I keep sharing memories, absorbing it all… could I become much smarter? Maybe even smart enough to understand why I was chosen? Anyway, whenever I use perfect copy robot, it will be smarter than me every time. It's humiliating, but… if I use it correctly, if everything is right, then maybe I can become the smartest person in the world, and even after that I will continue to become smarter! It sounds crazy, but… it's a possibility, isn't it? A way to fix the one thing I've always felt was broken in me.
But to do this, to truly try and catch up, I will have to return to Earth, because using copy robots is strictly not allowed on Bird Planet. The thought sparks a flicker of hope, a desperate plan forming in the void of space.
A voice, deep and resonant, cuts through my thoughts, seemingly from nowhere yet filling the small cockpit. It's Birdman, his image appearing on the main screen, his expression unreadable behind his own mask.
"What are you lost in thoughts, Perman?"
I jump, startled. My self-pitying spiral is interrupted. I might as well ask the question that's burning a hole in my brain.
"I was thinking… why did you do this? To the other Permans, I mean. As far as I have observed, they were all stronger, faster, smarter… they were working harder than me. Still, why did you choose me?"
Birdman is silent for a moment. The stars drift by outside the window.
"Kid," he says finally, his voice softer, almost understanding, "the tests for Permans are different from your average tests, where there is a limited syllabus and you study just for that."
"Can't you just say it straightforwardly?" I ask, my frustration leaking into my voice. I'm tired of riddles.
"Okay, fine. But before that, I appreciate you for figuring out that hard work wasn't the only criteria. If you used your brain a little more, maybe you would find the answer yourself."
My face heats up under the mask. My brain? That's the problem! "I am sorry, but I don't have any confidence in my brain," I confess, the words tumbling out with bitter honesty. "So will you just try to explain it yourself?"
A long sigh from Birdman's end. "Okay, Mitsuo. So listen. The device that I installed on the Perman sets was not going to measure hard work at all."
My jaw drops. "What?! Meaning you lied to all of us?"
"Yes."
"But… why did you do this?!" My voice is a mix of shock and outrage. All that worry, all that effort focused on the wrong thing…
"Hey, stupid Mitsuo," Birdman says, not unkindly. "Think about it. If we only wanted Permans who work hard, who follow orders efficiently, we would have just chosen factory workers or soldiers from your planet, wouldn't we? Those who excel at discipline and relentless effort."
"Then what did that device measure?" I ask, my mind racing, discarding possibilities – courage? Loyalty? What was it?
"The goodwill."
The word hangs in the silent cockpit, vast and unexpected as the space outside. "What?" I stammer. "You mean… you want to say that I have the most goodwill?" Me? Mitsuo Suwa, who gets into fights, who tricks Ganko, who sometimes uses his powers for personal gain?
"It seems so," Birdman confirms, his voice firm. "And yes, the measurement of that machine is never wrong. It measures the pure, unadulterated kindness in your heart, your innate desire to help others even when there's no reward, even when it's difficult, even when you complain about it constantly."
Goodwill… not strength, not speed, not intelligence… goodwill. It feels like being told I won a running race because I had the cleanest shoes. It makes no sense! Yet, Birdman sounds absolutely certain. A confusing wave washes over me – disbelief, confusion, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny spark of something else. Could he be right? Is that… is that what makes a Perman truly valuable?
"I… I think I understood," I say slowly, the concept still feeling foreign when applied to myself.
"Do you want to ask anything else?" Birdman inquires.
I hesitate. The perfect copy robot idea, the pain of the unopened letter, the faces of everyone I left behind… they all coalesce into a sudden, overwhelming realization. I'm not ready. I can't go to Bird Planet feeling this lost, this uncertain about myself, leaving so much unresolved. If goodwill is what matters, maybe I need to understand that better, prove it to myself, not just have a machine measure it. And maybe… maybe I need to face the people I left behind, not as someone running away to another planet, but as someone who understands why he was chosen and intends to return.
"No," I say, then correct myself, a sudden urgency in my voice. "No, I mean… Yes. Birdman, can I ask for something?"
"It depends on what you ask for, Mitsuo. We are on a schedule."
"I… I need time."
Birdman is silent again. The stars seem to watch. "What?"
"I think I am not ready to go there yet," I explain, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Not like this. I… I need some more time on Earth."
"Then tell me, how much time do you need?" Birdman asks, his tone measured, giving nothing away. The fate of my journey, my future as a Perman, hangs in the balance.
I think of everything – the robot, the letter, my family, my friends, the city I swore to protect. How long would it take to even begin to understand what 'goodwill' means for me? How long to face everyone I left behind? "How much can you give?" I counter, desperately hoping for more than a few days.
"At most, one month," Birdman states, the limit absolute. "If that is not enough, then I cannot do anything. Either come with me to Bird Planet after one month, or I will choose some other Perman to replace you. The Earth cannot be without a core Perman indefinitely."
One month. It's terrifyingly short, but also a lifeline. Enough time to try. Enough time to understand. Enough time to say a proper, albeit temporary, goodbye. "One month is enough," I say, my voice steadier now, a new resolve hardening in my gut.
"Then it is fine," Birdman replies. A subtle change in the hum of our vessels. "Let's go back towards your home, Mitsuo."
And with that, the trajectory shifts. The endless black begins to recede, replaced gradually by the distant, beautiful blue. We started going back to the earth again. But it wasn't the same return journey I had made countless times after patrols. This time, I was returning not just to my house, but to a new challenge, a race against time, and a desperate search for the meaning of the 'goodwill' Birdman saw in me. The real test, I realized, was just beginning.