One sunny morning, Kabbo and Nishi from the original world wake up to find themselves in each other's bodies-only to discover they're not just body-swapped but also neighbors in a strange new land where superhumans don't exist. As they navigate their bewildering situation, they must pretend to be androids, grappling with their new identities while maintaining their ruse. Meanwhile, their android counterparts from this parallel universe find themselves in Kabbo and Nishi's world-a vibrant place filled with superhumans, where they are celebrated as a loving couple. Unbeknownst to the androids, they must learn to navigate the complexities of being human in a world that defies their programming. Adding to the chaos are the Storyteller Trio: Aharoon, the silent observer with a knack for awkward timing; Feyamoon, his clumsy, quirky wife who always seems to trip over her own punchlines; and Kayamoon, the heroine type who's too busy rolling her eyes at her friends to notice the brewing chaos. As they roast their hapless author for this outrageous plot twist, they wonder if the author is on a hiatus or just lost in their own convoluted narrative. "You're screwed, author!" Kayamoon snarls while plopping a piece of pancake into her mouth. "If I were the author, I would've fixed these messes already!" Feyamoon quips, only to trip over her own feet. "Guess our author didn't finish the story?" Kayamoon adds, "Is it an open ending? Can someone give me the author's address? I think I'll deliver them a piece of my mind!" she mutters, pressing her fork down so hard it almost bends. "Guys! I appreciate your sentiment, but could you not break my wife's favorite cutlery? I don't want to spend the night on the street," Kabbo says, while Aharoon slowly pulls the fork out of Kayamoon's grip.

"Wait! You were born at a time when there weren't any Superhumans?" "Technically, yes." Nishi paused, watching Kabbo's flabbergasted face with barely veiled amusement. "So, Mr. Kabbo, what generation of Superhuman were you again?" "52nd generation." "Oh! That's quite young." She hummed, eyes sparkling. "I'm... on the other hand... 3rd generation," she said nonchalantly, taking another sip of her milk tea. "If you're 3rd, then why wasn't there any- Oh my god!" The realization struck Kabbo like a flying cow. His hands trembled, nearly spilling the tea. Slowly, he set the cup down on the table. A twisted smile crept across his face as he covered it with his hands, his brain painfully overloading. Nishi, who had silently finished her tea by now, ignored his reaction and smiled. "Thank you so much for the tea, Mr. Kabbo. Your hospitality is indeed praiseworthy." He looked back at her, replacing his shocked expression with his usual innocent smile. "Maybe, for this praiseworthy hospitality of mine, we could both pretend this conversation never happened?" Nishi shook her head from side to side, and his smile dropped. "You know what? I really should have poisoned you." "You're most welcome to dream about that. Hmm? What are you doing?" "Calling my aunt." "And why?" "To tell her to start preparing for my funeral ASAP, of course!" Nishi chuckled. "You know, you have a rare talent for cracking jokes in the most absurd moments. I can almost see myself admiring you for that." "I'm flattered, Miss Eumireqa, but this time I ain't joking. The forbidden knowledge you just bombarded me with could literally get me killed!" "Wow! That honorific came out of nowhere." "'Cause I know how to respect my elders. But that's not the point! The point is-why? Why are you telling me this?" "Because, of course, I need you to do me a little favor." Despite himself, Kabbo snorted. "Pff! Miss Eumireqa, this isn't asking for a favor-this is blatant blackmail!"