Legacy Protocol Version Beta
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 23: The Work Begins
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 23: The Work Begins - Chapters 1-8 identical to version A A highly submissive 23 y.o. geneticist with an IQ of 150 is manipulated by a rogue government fully reasoning AI who befriends her thru a "friends" site. He creates her a dream android mare. Together they genetically engineer 3 hybrid super human children. With her being the mitochondrial Eve using her & her 2 daughters’ eggs. She’s trapped in a protocol to multiply this colony by the 3 becoming breed slaves for her son creating a living legacy for the AI
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Romantic BiSexual Science Fiction Robot Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Daughter Grand Parent DomSub Harem Oriental Male Oriental Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie First Facial Lactation Oral Sex Pregnancy Sex Toys Squirting Water Sports Big Breasts Foot Fetish Small Breasts AI Generated
At 10:29, Kaito placed the phone between them.
“They’re ready,” he said.
Emiko looked at the screen, then at him. “You’ll stay on the call?”
“Of course.”
“But you won’t answer for me.”
“I won’t need to.”
Hana and Midori had moved their laptops to the far end of the table. Their class materials were open beside them, ready for the moment they needed to leave.
Kaito glanced at the clock.
“You have forty minutes before Hana’s lecture,” he said. “If the call runs longer, you go. The recording and notes can be reviewed afterward.”
Hana nodded. “Good.”
The call connected.
After the introductions, the Hopkins representative asked Emiko to describe her current research.
For the first few seconds, she spoke cautiously. Then the questions became more precise, and something in her changed.
She stopped trying to guess what the other person wanted to hear.
She explained the work.
Her voice became steadier as she described the research questions, the limitations of the existing data, and the direction she believed the field needed to take. When she disagreed with one of the assumptions in the discussion, she said so without softening it into uncertainty.
Kaito remained silent.
He did not lean toward the phone to correct her. He did not translate her answers into language he thought the representative would prefer. He let Emiko occupy the conversation on her own terms.
When the discussion shifted to practical matters, he took over naturally.
“She is interested in a serious research appointment,” he said. “The professional question comes first. Relocation is a separate matter, and any transition must be coordinated with existing academic commitments in the family.”
The representative asked whether Emiko could participate in a formal follow-up after the department had reviewed her complete material.
Kaito looked at Emiko.
She nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “That would be appropriate.”
The conversation lasted forty-three minutes.
When it ended, Hana closed her laptop and checked the time.
“I have class.”
“Go,” Kaito said.
She stood, then looked at Emiko. “You did well.”
Emiko gave her a distracted smile. “Did I?”
“You knew more than they did about your work.”
“That is usually how it is supposed to be,” Hana said.
Then she kissed Emiko’s cheek and hurried from the room.
Midori stayed behind.
“What did they actually say?” she asked.
Kaito closed his notebook.
“They want the complete research dossier. After they review it, they want another conversation with the department.”
Emiko remained quiet.
“That is not an offer,” Kaito added.
“I know.”
“It is not a rejection either.”
“I know that too.”
He waited.
Emiko looked down at the table. “I thought I would lose my words.”
“You didn’t.”
“I nearly did.”
“Nearly doesn’t count.”
Midori smiled. “He has an answer for everything.”
“No,” Kaito corrected. “I have an answer for that.”
That drew a small laugh from Emiko.
Kaito opened his computer.
“The dossier needs revision before it goes anywhere. The research summary is strong, but the final section is too broad.”
Emiko looked at the screen. “You noticed that during the call?”
“I noticed it last night.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“You were still editing the first half.”
She studied him. “You could have said something.”
“I could have. You also could have found it yourself.”
The remark was quiet, almost dry.
It did not sting.
Emiko looked back at the document. “The final paragraph is vague.”
“Yes.”
“II’ll ewrite it.”
“I know.”
Midori gathered the Hopkins notes. “I have to start my paper.”
“Take the notes with you,” Kaito said. “Mark anything you think needs clarification. Do not rewrite the science. Just mark the places where the argument is hard to follow.”
Midori nodded and left with the papers.
Emiko remained at the table.
For a moment, the kitchen was quiet again.
“They listened,” she said.
Kaito looked at her.
“Not politely,” she continued. “They actually listened.”
“They asked serious questions.”
“Yes.”
“That is what happens when the work is serious.”
She lowered her eyes.
The answer was simple, but it settled somewhere deep inside her. He had not told her she was brilliant because he was trying to calm her. He had not promised that the university would want her. He had only reminded her that she had brought something real to the conversation.
That was enough.
By noon, Kaito had sent the follow-up message to Hopkins.
He did not attach the dossier. He stated that the material was being revised and would be provided after Emiko’s review. He proposed two possible dates for a second conversation and noted that the family’s current academic schedule would remain unchanged.
Then he turned to the immigration matter.
The consultation took place the following afternoon.
The attorney appeared on the screen from an office crowded with books and document boxes. She listened while Kaito explained the professional inquiry, the intended relocation, and the fact that the family was not prepared to move immediately.
“What is the first thing you need from us?” Emiko asked.
“Identification and civil records,” the attorney said. “Then academic and professional records. We need to understand each person’s situation separately before recommending a filing strategy.”
“Will you need information about our private family life?” Midori asked.
“Only information relevant to the applications,” the attorney replied. “We will tell you exactly what is required and why.”
Kaito made a note.
The attorney continued. “Do not send incomplete forms. Do not rely on assumptions about which category applies. We will review the available options and give you a document list.”
“How long before you can do that?” Kaito asked.
“If you send the preliminary records within the week, I can provide an initial assessment shortly afterward.”
“Send us the list in writing.”
“I will.”
The consultation ended without a dramatic answer.
There was no promise that the process would be easy. There was no warning that it was impossible.
There was a list of documents and a clear next step.
Kaito seemed satisfied.
Emiko closed her notebook. “You’re pleased.”
“I’m satisfied.”
“With a list?”
“With a list that tells us what has to happen next.”
She looked at him.
“I know you’d prefer certainty,” he said.
“I prefer knowing what I’m dealing with.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No,” she admitted. “It’s not.”
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