The Space Station’s victory gala was less of a celebration and more of a grand stage for Herta to showcase her latest and most precious “collection” to the entire universe.
The dome of the Master Control Zone had been transformed into a boundless virtual starry sky; a brilliant galaxy flowed slowly, its light gently cascading over every guest.
Elegant waiter robots carried floating trays laden with colorful, glowing liquids, weaving silently among the well-dressed researchers.
People gathered in small groups, excitedly discussing the miracle defensive battle where they had won against the odds, their words filled with adoration for Station Master Herta.
However, the true focus of this gala was neither the meritorious staff nor any groundbreaking technical achievement.
It was Lilith.
Herta held her hand, keeping her close in an irrefutable, almost declarative gesture.
A custom-made, layered black lace gothic dress made her already snow-white skin look like fine porcelain.
Her moonlight-like long silver hair had been meticulously styled, falling smoothly to her waist.
Around her slender, fair neck, the collar that had undergone Herta’s “super modification” shimmered with a deep, restrained purple glow, like an invaluable, unknown gemstone, constantly proclaiming its owner’s identity.
A professional, perfectly measured look of “impatience” hung on Lilith’s small face.
She pouted slightly, her crimson eyes filled with the sentiment, “You mortals’ parties are so incredibly boring,” as if everything around her were a low-quality farce that had nothing to do with her.
‘Acting is so tiring…
This dress feels like armor; it would be much more comfortable to just lie on the sofa and roll around.’ She complained frantically in her heart, but her body was honest as she snuggled up to Herta, playing the role of a “little devil” belonging exclusively to a genius, one who was overly pampered and therefore arrogant.
She knew that Herta was using this method to declare her unquestionable absolute sovereignty to all potential observers, whether overt or covert.
Every researcher near her looked at her with awe, curiosity, and a hint of envy they dared not show.
How should she describe this feeling?
It was actually quite satisfying.
Herta was clearly very satisfied with her “masterpiece.” She held a wine glass in one hand, while the other never let go of Lilith.
Her fingers occasionally stroked the back of Lilith’s hand in a soothing manner, her posture intimate and natural.
She didn’t converse with anyone, merely accepting the greetings of her subordinates with cold indifference.
In those purple eyes, only when she looked down at the little girl beside her would they melt into a bottomless pool of tenderness, laced with paranoid possessiveness.
Just within this strange yet harmonious atmosphere, a small disturbance suddenly rippled through the crowd.
A woman wearing a long purple trench coat with a graceful figure, holding a glass of wine as red as blood, was smiling as she walked toward them.
Her steps were elegant and composed; her high heels made not a sound as they tapped against the polished metal floor.
Everywhere she passed, whether it was the excitedly chatting researchers or the waiter robots shuttling back and forth, they seemed affected by an invisible aura, subconsciously making way for her.
Her gaze did not linger on any of the amazed or curious faces around her; instead, it bypassed the bustling crowd and landed directly on Lilith, who was being protected by Herta, with a hint of undisguised playfulness.
‘Holy crap!
Kafka!’ Lilith’s heart skipped a beat, and her inner alarm system instantly blared at the highest level.
‘Why is she here?!
Is the Space Station’s security system made of paper?
Didn’t Herta just renovate my room into an absolute domain?
Why is the outside like a sieve!’ [Alert!
High-threat target approaching!
Target’s mental energy fluctuation level: Incalculable!] The system’s voice also took on an unprecedented tone of tension, [Suggesting the host immediately initiate an emergency evasion plan…
Oh, sorry, we don’t have one.] ‘You useless piece of trash!’ Herta’s body tensed the moment she saw that woman.
It was the instinctive reaction of a predator in its own territory sensing the scent of another predator of the same level, or perhaps even more dangerous.
She calmly pulled Lilith half a step closer behind her, her tall figure almost completely blocking the little girl, shielding her from that aggressive gaze.
“Stellaron Hunters.” Herta’s voice was as cold as a cosmic vacuum; the temperature at the gala seemed to drop several degrees because of it.
The surrounding researchers felt the Station Master’s undisguised hostility and fell silent, looking at the mysterious woman who had suddenly appeared with shock and suspicion.
“Who allowed you to enter my Space Station?” Kafka seemed completely unaffected by that bone-chilling cold.
She stopped one step away from Herta, a perfectly measured distance that neither seemed overly offensive nor prevented her from clearly seeing the silver-haired little girl’s feigned calm face from beside Herta’s arm.
She ignored Herta’s questioning, not even sparing her a glance.
Her entire attention was focused on Lilith.
Kafka smiled at Lilith with a gentleness sufficient to melt a permafrost glacier; her beautiful eyes curved into crescent shapes, filled with goodwill and affinity.
Then, a second before Herta was about to completely explode, she leaned forward slightly, crossed Herta’s shoulder, and whispered into Lilith’s ear with a voice like ethereal smoke, filled with ultimate bewitchment, the kind used only for lovers: “Elio’s script does not have your name in it.” Boom!
Along with these words, a terrifying mental force known as “Spirit Whisper,” intangible yet irresistible, like countless invisible, soft tentacles, silently bypassed Herta’s defensive aura and reached toward the deepest part of Lilith’s soul.
It was a feeling that could not be described in words.
Lilith felt as if her thoughts were being soaked in warm water; all her vigilance, all her disguises, and all her secrets were on the verge of being completely dismantled, dissected, and laid bare before the other party under the soothing influence of this power.
‘It’s here!
This is Kafka’s Spirit Whisper!’ Lilith’s consciousness screamed frantically, ‘I can’t hold it!
I’m going to be seen through!
My identity as a transmigrator!
The existence of the system!
I’ve played the game…’ [Termination Authority activated!
Lies are truth!
Beginning to construct a temporary ‘reality’!] Just as Lilith’s psychological defenses were about to collapse, the system’s voice rang out like an apocalypse.
A power, older, more primordial, and seemingly from the very beginning of the universe’s birth, instantly enveloped her core consciousness.
Kafka’s “Spirit Whisper” tentacles met no resistance; they “successfully” probed inside.
However, what they “saw” was no longer Liam’s memories, nor the truth about the system.
What they “saw” was a scene carefully woven and defined as “absolute truth” under the “Termination” power.
In the endless void, a petite figure sat alone; before her were countless threads of fate, more brilliant than the galaxy and more complex than causality.
One of them, the script belonging to the “Astral Express,” woven by a guy named “Elio,” appeared exceptionally clear.
And she simply extended a finger and gently plucked that line.
Thus, the entire script underwent a small, yet irreversible, deflection.
All of this happened in the blink of an eye.
To the outside world, Lilith merely froze for a moment after hearing Kafka’s whisper.
Then, she made a reaction that neither Kafka nor Herta expected.
She was not terrified, not submissive, and certainly not confused.
She merely furrowed her beautiful brows, wriggled her small body out from Herta’s protection, tilted her head up, and stared straight at Kafka with those pure crimson eyes, her face filled with displeasure at being harassed by a low-quality prank.
“Huh?” She let out her signature, arrogant monosyllable.
“Script?” Lilith pouted, looking at Kafka with the pity of a city dweller watching a country bumpkin visit the city for the first time.
She extended her small hand and brushed off non-existent dust from her shoulder, as if she had just touched something dirty.
“Isn’t it enough to just tear up that boring thing?” ————————
It might not seem tempting right now but who knows what the future holds?
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”