Time flowed like a small boat drifting along the dreamlike streams of Penacony, gliding gently and leaving ripples in its wake.
Mercy gradually grew accustomed to life as a Halovian girl, as the elder sister of Robin and Sunday.
Her system shop refreshed daily.
Most of the time, it offered things like [Delicious Lollipops], [Glowing Bouncy Balls], or [Handkerchiefs with Silly Patterns]—items that caused her system storage to accumulate quite a collection of “children’s toys.” But occasionally, items that made her heart race would appear.
Orbs of [Constitution Boost (Minor)] or [Endurance Enhancement (Minor)] were like springs in the desert.
Though they appeared with extremely low probability, each time she used one, Mercy could feel the latent potential of [Martial Artist] growing within her, her limbs becoming stronger, her breath longer.
She carefully hid these improvements, continuing to play the role of the lively, cheerful, occasionally mischievous eldest daughter.
One afternoon, sunlight filtered through the garden leaves, casting dappled spots of light on the grass.
Mercy lay on the living room carpet, a thick, beautifully decorated family calendar spread open before her.
Her slender fingers traced across the dates, finally stopping on one she had secretly circled with a gold highlighter.
“Tomorrow is the day…” Mercy murmured to herself, a glint of scheming in her eyes.
Robin sat nearby, holding a doll in a puffy dress, humming a tuneless yet remarkably pleasant melody.
Hearing her sister’s words, she curiously leaned in.
“Sister, what’s tomorrow?” Mercy mysteriously raised a finger to her lips.
“Shh—it’s a secret!
A surprise for Mom!” Sunday, sitting quietly by the window reading, also looked up, his blue eyes filled with curiosity.
Mercy beckoned her younger siblings closer and lowered her voice like a little conspirator.
“I checked the calendar.
Tomorrow is Mom’s birthday!
Let’s make her a big birthday cake ourselves.
What do you think?” “A birthday cake!” Robin’s eyes lit up like stars had fallen into them.
“We’re making it ourselves?
But…
can we?” “Of course we can!” Mercy puffed out her little chest, full of confidence—confidence born from her fragmented baking memories from her previous life, and from her reliance on the occasional [Beginner’s Baking Guide (Illustrated)] and [100% Success Cake Mix (Small Portion)] that appeared in the system shop.
She had already stocked up on these “treasures.” “Sister has a secret recipe!
We just need to divide the work.” Sunday’s brow furrowed habitually as he considered the practical aspects.
“What materials do we need?
Flour, eggs, sugar, cream…
the kitchen should have those, but maybe not enough.
Also, operating kitchen appliances carries safety risks.” “I’ll handle the ingredient list!” Mercy declared.
“Sunday, you’re detail-oriented.
You help me check the list and…
keep watch!
Don’t let Mom find out early.
Robin, you’re in charge of…” She looked at her little sister’s expectant face and smiled.
“Using your sweetest voice to distract Mom, and also drawing the prettiest decorations on the cake!” “Okay!” Robin nodded vigorously, as if she had just received the most glorious mission.
Sunday considered for a moment.
Though the plan was a bit risky, out of love for their mother and trust in his sister’s (seemingly) reliability, he nodded.
“Agreed.
I will ensure the operation remains covert and logically sound.” And so, a secret operation codenamed “Operation Birthday Surprise” quietly began.
Drawing on her memories and the system guide, Mercy compiled a detailed list of ingredients.
Sunday, like a little butler, snuck into the kitchen to take inventory, then recorded what needed to be purchased in his neat handwriting.
Taking advantage of a moment when their mother was busy in the study, the three little ones pooled their allowance money.
They sent the least suspicious Robin, with Sunday providing “remote command,” to the community market to buy the missing cake flour, whipping cream, and colored frosting.
The next day, their mother woke as usual in the gentle morning sunlight to prepare breakfast for the family.
She had completely forgotten the special significance of the day, until— “Mom!
Happy birthday!” When the three children, blindfolding her and carefully guiding her to the dining room, finally removed the blindfold, what greeted her eyes was a slightly rough but heartwarming “giant” cake, brimming with childlike love.
The cake was a simple round shape.
The cream wasn’t spread very evenly, and the edges were even a little crooked.
But on the pure white cream, colorful frosting had been used to draw crooked flowers, crooked stars, and even more crooked letters spelling out “Happy Birthday Mom.” In the center, a few small candles burned with warm flames.
Mercy, Robin, and Sunday popped their little heads out from behind the cake, their faces dotted with flour and cream, their eyes sparkling, singing a slightly off-key but heartfelt happy birthday song.
Their mother froze.
She looked at the cake, clearly made by the children’s hands, at their dirty little faces and hopeful eyes.
The floodgates of memory burst open.
The busy household chores, the worry for her husband, the vague unease about the outside world…
she had even forgotten her own birthday.
But her children—these most precious treasures in her life—had remembered, and in their innocent way, had prepared such a surprise for her.
Tears welled up without warning, instantly blurring her vision.
She covered her mouth, her voice choked with overwhelming emotion.
“You…
you…
thank you, thank you, my darlings…” She crouched down, opening her arms and pulling all three children into a tight, tight embrace.
Mercy felt her mother’s warm embrace and her slightly trembling body, and her heart melted.
She hugged her mother back, her voice light and cheerful.
“Do you like it, Mom?
We made it together!
Sunday calculated the ingredients, Robin drew the prettiest flowers, and I…
I was in charge of directing and spreading the cream!” She conveniently omitted the part about her own flustered moments.
“I love it!
Mom loves it so much!” Their mother laughed through her tears, her smile radiant with happiness.
She kissed each child’s forehead in turn.
“This is the best birthday gift Mom has ever received!” Robin nestled in her mother’s arms and whispered, “Mom, don’t cry.
Eat cake.
It’s sweet.” Even Sunday, usually reserved with his emotions, let himself be held by his mother and quietly added, “According to analysis, sugar intake helps elevate mood.” Warmth and laughter filled the dining room.
Their mother blew out the candles, and the children eagerly helped cut the cake.
Though the cake layers were a bit burnt in places and the cream was overly sweet, their mother ate it with immense relish, her smile never fading.
It was undoubtedly one of the warmest, brightest days Mercy had experienced since coming to this world.
But beautiful moments always seemed fleeting.
Night fell, and the lights came on.
The children were still riding the high of successfully surprising their mother and the lingering sweetness of the cake, when the sound of a hovering vehicle’s engine dying came from outside the villa.
“Dad’s home!” Robin’s ears perked up, and she jumped off the sofa excitedly.
Mercy also looked toward the door, feeling a flicker of anticipation.
Her memories of this “father” were somewhat vague.
She only knew that he seemed to work in a joint department between the Interastral Peace Corporation and the Family, often traveling on business with irregular returns.
The door swung open, and a tall figure stepped in.
He, too, bore the features of a Halovian, his blue hair meticulously combed, the halo behind his head a deep blue, perfectly circular with a cold, metallic hardness.
He wore the standard uniform of an IPC mid-level manager, and his face bore unmistakable exhaustion—the dark circles under his eyes visible even under the dreamlike lighting.
He was the children’s father, Claude.
“Dad!” Robin flew toward him like a happy little bird.
Claude forced a tired smile onto his face, bending down to hug his youngest daughter.
His voice was slightly hoarse.
“Mm, I’m back.” He patted Robin’s back, then looked at Mercy and Sunday, who had walked over.
“Mercy, Sunday.” “Dad,” Mercy and Sunday said in unison.
Mercy keenly sensed that something was off with her father.
His smile was strained, and deep in his eyes lay a heavy, lingering worry.
Moreover…
As Claude straightened up and handed a beautifully wrapped gift box to their mother, who had come forward to greet him, saying softly, “Happy birthday, Emily,” a faint scent—a mix of metal and something indescribably sweet and rusty—wafted into Mercy’s nostrils with his movement.
It was the smell of blood!
Though faint, almost masked by his cologne and the recycled air of interstellar spacecraft, Mercy’s enhanced senses—especially [Martial Artist]’s instinctual alertness to certain scents—caught this discordant note.
It wasn’t an ordinary injury.
It was the lingering scent of…
some kind of intense conflict, carrying the smell of rust and destruction.
Emily took the gift, her face glowing with happiness, clearly unaware of her husband’s abnormality.
“Thank you, dear.
The children gave me such a wonderful surprise today…” She enthusiastically began to share the day’s events.
But Claude seemed distracted.
He interrupted his wife, his tone carrying an imperceptible urgency.
“Were the children good today?
Are you…
alright?” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, then quickly swept across the entire living room, as if confirming something.
“We’re all fine,” their mother said, sensing his unusual behavior.
Her smile faded slightly, and she asked with concern, “Claude, you look exhausted.
Was your business trip alright?” Claude averted his gaze and rubbed his brow.
“Just some company matters.
A bit tricky.
I’m going to take a shower.” He said no more and headed straight for the upstairs bedroom, his steps seeming unusually heavy.
The warm atmosphere seemed to have been punctured, allowing a cold draft to seep in unnoticed.
At dinner, Claude ate very little and spoke even less, only occasionally answering the children’s curious questions about the outside world, but his answers were vague and brief.
Their mother tried several times to ask him more, but each time he stopped her with a look.
Mercy ate in silence, the knot of suspicion growing in her mind.
What had happened to her father?
Where had the smell of blood come from?
Company affairs?
Though the IPC was domineering, ordinary business competition or colonial management wouldn’t leave a scent like…
as if he had just come from a battlefield, would it?
That night, Mercy lay in bed, tossing and turning.
From the adjacent master bedroom, the muffled sound of her parents’ lowered voices drifted through the walls.
She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was filled with anxiety, with argument, and occasionally her mother’s voice rising in a choked sob before being quickly suppressed.
The next morning, Mercy woke to find that her father had already left.
In the dining room, only their mother was there, her eyes red and swollen from crying, trying to put on a brave face as she prepared breakfast.
“Mom…” Robin tugged timidly at her mother’s skirt.
“Did you and Dad have a fight?” Their mother crouched down, hugging her youngest daughter.
Her voice was still a little hoarse, but she tried to maintain her composure.
“No, sweetheart.
Dad is just…
very busy with work.
He had important matters to handle, so he left very early.” She stroked Robin’s hair, then looked at Mercy and Sunday, who had come over, forcing a smile.
“It’s nothing.
Hurry up and eat breakfast.” But how could it be nothing?
Mercy looked at her mother’s forced smile and at her still-red and swollen eyes, and a heavy weight settled in her heart.
The joyful atmosphere of yesterday’s birthday had vanished, replaced by an invisible cloud of worry, casting a shadow over this once-warm family.
Their father had brought back more than just exhaustion and gifts.
He had brought that faint smell of blood, and with it, an unsettling shadow.
Mercy ate her breakfast in silence, her consciousness sinking into the system space.
The screen showed today’s free shop refresh: [Delicious Lollipop (Strawberry Flavor)], [Dancing Sunflower Potted Plant], [Constitution Boost (Minor)].
She didn’t hesitate to claim the orb of [Constitution Boost (Minor)], which glowed with a soft white light, feeling that faint but real surge of power integrate into her body.
She also glanced at the mountain of candies and toys accumulated in her storage.
These small daily joys seemed so fragile in the face of the approaching, unknown shadow.
The Stellaron disaster…
the corporation’s upheaval…
her father’s abnormality…
Mercy clenched her small fists.
She didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she knew she had to grow faster, accumulate more strength.
Not just to complete the “wicked sister” mission, but to protect this family, to protect the loved ones she cherished.
The daily life still glittered, but Mercy had already caught the scent of the approaching flood of calamity, wafting from the distant sea of stars.
The shadows were quietly rising.