The crackling sound from inside the main unit had barely subsided when Carl's hand was already on the side cover. He didn't look up, his voice low: "Don't touch the power supply."

Chen Hao squatted to the side, his hand still hanging in mid-air. That sound just now was like the echo of an electric current hitting a metal casing, or like the last cough before a circuit burns out.

"Can it still be repaired?" he asked.

Nana's fingers traced a few lines on the console, and a stream of data appeared on the screen. "The last anomaly was recorded three hours ago, during the debugging phase." She paused, "Someone enabled the 'overclocking preset' mode."

"Who did this?" Chen Hao turned his head to look around.

"The operation log shows it's a temporary authorization instruction." Nana pulled up the permission record. "It used your account."

"Me?" Chen Hao's eyes widened. "I didn't touch that button!"

“But the fingerprint and iris verifications passed.” Nana looked at him. “It was you who operated it.”

Chen Hao was taken aback, then slapped his thigh: "I remember now! Before the opening ceremony, I asked Susan to help me adjust the projection angle. She stood in my position and operated it."

Susan was walking back from the arts district when she heard the name and stopped: "I just clicked on a calibration option, nothing else."

“Overclocking presets and calibration modes are on the same second-level menu page,” Nana said. “You may have accidentally pressed the slider.”

The air fell silent for a moment.

Carl bent down and disassembled the casing, revealing a charred section of wire inside. "No wonder the cooling system failed prematurely; this main power line was already worn out. It couldn't withstand even one overload."

"So the problem isn't the quality of the parts, but something we created ourselves?" Chen Hao scratched his head. "It really is a man-made disaster."

"To be precise, it's a combination of human error and equipment fatigue," Nana added.

“It’s no use talking about this now.” Carl clipped the thermometer to the edge of the motherboard. “The outer casing is 60 degrees Celsius. If it gets five degrees higher, it will automatically lock.”

Chen Hao wiped his face: "So, you mean, without replacing the parts, this machine won't last more than half an hour?"

“Even ten minutes would be difficult.” Carl closed the lid. “Unless we can make a new wiring assembly on the spot.”

“The base has no stock.” Susan shook her head. “This model wasn’t on the last supply list.”

“Then let’s build it ourselves.” Chen Hao stood up. “Nana, do you have any repair solutions for similar situations in your database?”

Nana's eyes flickered slightly as she accessed the knowledge base. A few seconds later, she said, "There are three reference cases: First, the Mars outpost used alloy wire to repair the signal tower in an emergency; second, the deep-sea observation cabin used resin encapsulation to replace the insulation layer; and third, amateur modification enthusiasts used scrap circuit boards to extract metal and remake connectors."

“Choose the first one,” Chen Hao said. “What we need is something that can withstand high-frequency current.”

"What about the materials?" Susan asked.

“Titanium alloy has good electrical conductivity and high temperature resistance,” Carl said. “It’s found in the scraps from sculptures in the art district.”

"I'll go get it." Susan turned and left.

"Wait a minute," Nana called out to her, "We need high-purity metal wire, without any oxide layer. It would be best to bring cutting tools."

Susan nodded and quickly left.

Chen Hao rummaged through his toolbox and found sealant and a heat sink. "Will these things really work?"

“It’s theoretically feasible.” Nana brought up the modeling interface. “I’ll calculate the structural parameters to ensure the pressure resistance meets the standards.”

Carl began disassembling the damaged parts. "We need to determine the original specifications first, otherwise the finished product won't match."

The three of them were busy with their own things, and the only sounds on the scene were the clanging of tools and the clatter of keyboards.

Ten minutes later, Susan returned carrying a piece of silvery-white metal, followed by a small cart full of scrap. "I picked the cleanest piece, and I brought pliers, scissors, and a grinding wheel."

Carl took the materials and examined the surface with a magnifying glass. "Not much oxidation, it can be treated."

Nana projected the design onto the screen. "Based on the original wire diameter of 0.8 mm and length of 12 cm, it needs to be braided into a double-stranded structure to enhance stability."

"Sounds like knitting a sweater," Chen Hao grinned.

"Pretty much." Carl picked up the pliers. "It's just that if you knit it wrong, it'll smoke."

Susan carefully removed a piece of wire with a cutting knife and handed it to Carl. He held one end with tweezers, pulled it taut with his other hand, and began to wind it.

"Slow down," Nana cautioned. "Exceeding the tension threshold can cause lattice breakage."

Karl nodded, his movements becoming even more steady.

Chen Hao was in charge of applying the insulating adhesive. He slowly spread it along the seams with a fine brush, his hand trembling slightly. "Does this stuff dry quickly?"

“It takes eight minutes to cure at room temperature,” Nana said. “But we have a heat gun.”

"Give it to me." Chen Hao took the heating gun and blew hot air onto the interface.

A few minutes later, the first prototype was completed.

"Give it a try?" Chen Hao asked.

“No,” Carl shook his head. “We need to add another protective shell, otherwise it will easily come loose due to vibration.”

Nana brought up the 3D printing template. "Reinforce it with a plastic shell, it'll only take three minutes."

The printer starts up and hums.

While waiting, Chen Hao leaned against the wall, catching his breath. "Imagine we've been working on this for so long, and it still doesn't work after we put it on. That would be so embarrassing."

“Then make one more,” Carl said expressionlessly. “Until it’s finished.”

"You're really calm."

“Panic won’t help.” Carl looked at the printer. “We have to try anything, even if it’s a dead end, until it gets back on its feet.”

After the outer shell was printed, the two people worked together to assemble it. The new part was entirely silver-white, with a glossy, rubbery finish at the joints.

"It doesn't look...like it's going to go wrong," Chen Hao said.

“The appearance isn’t important.” Carl opened the main unit and carefully replaced the new wires. “The important thing is whether it can get power.”

Nana disconnected the main power and reconnected the wiring. "Prepare for the second test. Everyone, move three meters away from the machine."

Chen Hao took two steps back, his heart racing.

Carl stood to the side, holding a fire extinguisher in his hand.

Susan stared at the screen, her fingers unconsciously pinching her wrist.

Nana pressed the start button.

A faint blue light flashed at the interface the instant the current was switched on.

No one spoke.

Three seconds later, the system self-test program began to run.

[Hardware testing in progress]

[Power Module: Normal]

[Signal Channel: Reconstruction Successful]

[Cooling System: Restart]

The holographic display screen changed from gray to blue, and the dark blue planet slowly emerged, with flowing clouds and delicate light and shadow, exactly the same as when it was first displayed.

“It moved,” Susan said softly.

"The frame rate is stable." Nana checked the backend. "Twenty-four frames per second, no lag."

"What about the temperature?" Chen Hao asked.

Carl stared at the gauges: "The outer shell has dropped to forty-eight degrees, and it's still going down."

"Does that mean...it's fixed?" Chen Hao couldn't believe it.

"At least it won't suddenly explode now." Carl released the fire extinguisher.

The crowd noticed the projection had returned to normal and began to applaud. Someone shouted, "Was that a power-up? The picture quality is so much better!" Someone nearby chimed in, "It must be a hidden feature unlocked!"

Chen Hao laughed out loud and plopped down on the ground. "I thought I was really going to be stuck with a piece of broken wire this time."

“It’s not wire,” Susan corrected. “It’s titanium alloy.”

“It’s all metal anyway,” Chen Hao waved his hand. “The key is that we brought it to life.”

Nana is entering the repair record. "This repair plan is marked as 'Non-standard Case 001' and it is recommended to file it in the emergency manual."

"From now on, if anyone tries to overclock again, let them fix it themselves." Chen Hao got up. "I don't want to go through that again."

Carl tidied up his tools, casually putting the old wires into the recycling bin. "Remember to change the password next time."

“I’ve already deleted that preset option,” Nana said, “and set up two-factor authentication.”

Susan glanced at her watch: "The festival still has more than two hours to go."

"There shouldn't be any problems from now on, right?" Chen Hao asked.

“As long as no one touches the buttons randomly.” Carl glanced at him.

"I'm innocent!" Chen Hao raised his hand. "It was clearly Susan who pressed it."

“But I was operating under your authorization,” Susan laughed. “You have to take leadership responsibility.”

"Fine, fine," Chen Hao sighed. "Being a scapegoat is my fate."

He walked to the edge of the booth, looked at the steadily rotating planet, and suddenly felt a little dazed. Just a few hours ago, they were worried about whether they could even start the event, but now they not only managed to hold on, but they also repaired the equipment to be even better than before.

“Actually,” he said, “sometimes I feel like we’re just a bunch of temporary workers, trying to save the world with wrenches.”

“To be precise, you’re a temporary worker.” Carl tightened the last screw. “I’m a full-time technician.”

"Does your salary exceed mine?"

“I don’t know.” Carl put away his toolbox. “But I know you should go have lunch now.”

"You're right." Chen Hao rubbed his stomach. "I'm so hungry my stomach is practically touching my back."

He turned around to look for something to eat, and as he passed the control panel, he saw Nana working with her head down, the indicator light on her eye emitting a steady blue light.

“Hey, robot.” He stopped. “Thank you.”

Nana looked up: "I'm just performing a logical judgment."

“But your judgment is quite accurate.” Chen Hao grinned. “Without you, we wouldn’t even know how things went wrong.”

Nana didn't speak, she just nodded slightly.

Chen Hao waved and walked towards the exit. "I'll go see if there are any leftovers."

"The interactive Q&A system is still running," Nana suddenly said. "Just now, a child asked if aliens also like to eat fried rice."

"What did you answer?"

“I said, according to the carbon-based biological diet preference model, the probability is 62 percent.”

Chen Hao laughed loudly: "You really dare to make this up."

“I’m not making this up,” Nana said seriously. “It’s a deduction.”

Laughter rang out, and several people around looked over.

Susan walked back to the art district and found that another of the children's sculptures had been knocked over. She knelt down to right it and helped a girl straighten a crooked metal petal.

Carl turned the monitor back on and began recording a new temperature curve. The values ​​were stable with minimal fluctuations.

Nana continued organizing the data, categorizing and archiving the repair process. She wrote a line in the remarks column: **"Humans always make mistakes, but they always find ways to fix them."**

Chen Hao walked to the door, then turned back, took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Susan: "Is this the one you slipped into my pocket?"

Susan glanced at it: "'Don't forget to eat lunch'? I didn't write that."

"Who wrote that?"

Chen Hao stared at the note, his fingers tracing the creases along the edges.