It felt as though he had just woken up from a dream that lasted a lifetime. A strange feeling of being lost lingered—he couldn’t quite tell what day it was, or even which world he was in now. The bright colors of that dream slowly faded, leaving only the plain, white present.
Ruan Zhao lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light that now felt almost unbearable. After some time—when his vision had started to adjust—he slowly lowered his hand and looked around. He looked around with quiet curiosity.
The room was pure white. Empty. Without a single extra decoration or detail. The whiteness stretched endlessly in every direction, making it impossible to tell how big or small the room truly was. But one thing was clear: he was completely alone. The silence felt strange.
“System?” he called out. But unlike before, the familiar mechanical chirp of the system’s voice didn’t answer him. The connection between them seemed to have been cut—cleanly, as if by an outside hand. There was nothing now. Just his own thoughts echoing back at him. A faint feeling of unease settled over him. He pressed his lips together.
With some effort, he reached up and pulled out the clear threads that had held him to the machine. Then, slowly, he pushed himself up, rising from the structure that had held him, and carefully moved toward the open space beyond. His body felt oddly soft—even limp—as though made of cotton.
There was no strength in his limbs. His legs felt delicate and unused, like a mermaid’s tail freshly split into human form: super sensitive and wobbly. Just this small effort left him breathless.
And there was something else—something stranger. How to describe it? A kind of… stiffness. A sluggish disconnect. Like an old machine with dry gears, creaking and straining as it tries to turn—his body and his mind seemed just slightly out of sync. He made a fist. It took roughly 0.1 seconds longer than it should have for his hand to close.
Then, finally, a voice echoed in the stillness: “Host HSWEFG7539126, allow me to remind you: your body has only just finished a full repair. You will need three to five system cycles to stabilize before normal movement can continue.”
A mechanical female voice suddenly echoed through the empty space. She sounded very similar to the system—but her tone was noticeably different. Cold. Emotionless. Even sterile.
“You have successfully completed your trial mission. Evaluation: S-Class. Completion rate: 97%. Assessment: Excellent. Sponsor’s review: Perfect. You have now been officially entered into the Candidate Series for Formal Operatives.”
“In accordance with our contract, we have fully restored your physical body and reversed the timeline of your original world to the moment just before the car accident.”
“At this point, nothing has happened yet. The shadow of death has not touched you. Your life remains full of endless possibility.”
Ruan Zhao froze. For a moment, a flicker of joy lit up his face—an instinctive, spontaneous reaction. But almost immediately, it faded, replaced by confusion. The pale shimmer of his eyes turned distant, uncertain.
“My mission… is really over?” he asked softly.
The mechanical voice replied with absolute certainty. “Yes.”
“Congratulations, Host HSWEFG7539126. You’ve performed exceptionally well. Your results place you in the top 0.001% of all previous hosts.”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of the boy’s lips. But it didn’t last. His gaze dropped, and a few strands of tousled hair fell forward, casting a soft shadow over the shimmer in his eyes. He was silent for a long time, his thoughts a mystery.
Eventually, his voice returned—quiet, almost hesitant. “…Where’s my system? Didn’t it come back with me?”
The mechanical voice responded, flat as ever. “Your assigned system has not yet awakened. It remains in stasis. If you desire its company, I can initiate a wake-up protocol.”
“There is a service fee for this function. Ten star-units per—” The voice glitched momentarily, then cut off and changed. “Update: In your case, the service will be provided free of charge.”
Ruan Zhao didn’t question the sudden change in tone. He simply nodded slightly. “Then… please wake it up for me.”
“Understood.”
“Your supervising system will arrive in five minutes. Please prepare to receive it.”
Ruan Zhao blinked.
The mechanical female voice hadn’t lied. After silently counting to about three hundred in his head, a small gray mechanical orb with pointy cat ears burst through the white door. It flapped its tiny wings, shouting, “Zhaozhao!” as it zoomed into the room with a lot of fuss. The screen on its face flashed a happy expression: o(＾▽＾)o.
“Zhaozhao!”
“I’m here!”
It launched itself at Ruan Zhao, flying straight into his arms. First, it tried to hug him with its two short wings—but quickly realized they were far too small to be proper arms.
In the end, it gave up and simply nestled into his chest, rubbing against him like a spoiled kitten. It snuggled from left to right, then from right to left. Then front to back. It rubbed so much that Ruan Zhao’s clothes were noticeably wrinkled.
The sensation tickled, and Ruan Zhao gently cupped the little orb to keep it still. Then he reached out and softly patted its small, round head to reassure it. The system let out a blissful little hum, its eyes squinting happily.
“You’ve been asleep for so long,” it chirped, “I came to see you several times, but you wouldn’t wake up! During that time, I even did a full diagnostic scan and entered sleep mode for ten whole hours myself!”
Ruan Zhao touched his own cheek, a bit surprised. “Was I really out that long?”
The system replied, “Quite a while, yeah… but it’s totally normal! The mainframe said your body had suffered significant damage. Even after repairs, it takes time for your consciousness to fully connect.”
“You’re different from us. Carbon-based life forms are much more fragile. There’s no such thing as being too careful.”
Ruan Zhao clenched his fist to test it out. This time, his movements were noticeably quicker—though there was still a faint stiffness, just barely lingering.
“Do you have a mirror?” he asked. “I want to see what I look like.”
“Mirror provision is considered a premium service—” the mechanical female voice cut in, paused, then corrected, “Updated: now generated.”
The moment she finished speaking, a smooth sheet of glass appeared on a nearby white wall. Ruan Zhao walked over to it. His steps were slow and unsteady—like a toddler learning to walk, stumbling with awkward limbs. At one point, he even moved the same arm and leg at the same time.
It was only a few meters—barely a dozen steps—but Ruan Zhao took nearly two full minutes to reach the mirror. In its bright, polished surface, a familiar face stared back at him. His bangs were a little long, slightly messy. His eyes had that distinct peach-blossom shape, with outer corners that tilted up just a bit. His nose was straight, and the tip delicate. His lips were the color of strawberries after the juice had been squeezed—red, soft, slightly flushed.
No different, really, from how he’d looked in all the other mission worlds. And yet somehow, it felt more real this time. He raised a hand and cautiously reached out. His fingertips touched the cold surface of the mirror. He paused… then pulled his hand back.
“Host HSWEFG7539126, a friendly reminder: your remaining stay time is less than one system unit. Once the limit is exceeded, this containment zone will no longer provide housing services.”
Ruan Zhao asked, “Do I need to renew something?”
“Negative,” replied the mechanical female voice. “You need to make a choice.”
“There are two available options. Please consider carefully before deciding.”
“Option One: Return to your original world.”
“We will rewind time to the moment just before your car accident. All misfortunes that followed will be erased. Your life will begin anew—wealth, status, power… anything you desire will be within reach.”
“In short, you will be granted the status of ‘Child of Fate’ in a minor world. The will of the world will show you limitless favor.”
Ruan Zhao blinked. “So… basically, I’d be the protagonist?”
The female voice added, “With none of the burdens or responsibilities usually associated with that role.”
“That’s…” Ruan Zhao murmured. “A really tempting offer. I don’t see any reason to say no.”
The voice was silent for a beat, then said softly, “…Still, I strongly recommend that you hear the second option before making your decision.”
Ruan Zhao gave a soft “mm” in agreement, signaling for her to continue. But then—silence. He counted slowly in his head from one to ten… and back again. The delay far exceeded normal AI response time. It was as if the unfamiliar voice had malfunctioned. There was no reply. No explanation. No second option.
Ruan Zhao looked over at his primary system, puzzled. The expression on the system’s screen—made entirely of animated symbols—showed the same confusion. They stared at each other, equally at a loss.
Roughly ten more seconds passed. Then the mechanical female voice finally spoke again—but what she said had absolutely nothing to do with their previous conversation. It was like watching a drama reach its most intense moment… only for a sponsor’s ad to crash through the screen.
“Now broadcasting a global announcement.” The voice was cold, emotionless, with a faint metallic edge. Completely unnatural.
Ruan Zhao: “…?”
“Agent S1, ID AAA-000000S1, has successfully opened the following small worlds: XD-35567, XJ-48954, XX67934, and YZ-20986… breaking his previous record for the shortest completion time. All four worlds have been fully integrated under Bureau jurisdiction with a 100% success rate, generating additional jump energy reserves… This outstanding performance marks another brilliant chapter in the legendary track record of Agent S1. Let us offer our congratulations.”
A strange sound of applause played in the background—uniform, manufactured, and coming from nowhere. Then, slightly off-beat, another clapping noise echoed nearby.
Ruan Zhao turned his head toward the sound. The gray mechanical orb beside him was blinking its star-shaped eyes and flapping its tiny wings together, struggling to mimic clapping.
Ruan Zhao: “……”
The global announcement continued. “Agent S1 has maintained the number one position on the leaderboard for consecutive years, with cumulative mission points in the billions. Not a single task under his command has ever ended in failure… truly astonishing.”
The mechanical voice recited the words in a flat, unchanging tone—conveying admiration with none of the warmth. “Even with full memory suppression and deep immersion into roleplay, Agent S1’s performance remains exceptional. He continues to lead by a wide margin among all active agents, once again proving an indisputable truth: talent is inherent. It does not waver with circumstance. And the gap between agents… can sometimes be greater than the gap between humans and machines.”
……
Ruan Zhao: “Still not done praising him?”
The random broadcast, which came out of nowhere, was taking forever. He couldn’t tell if it was some spontaneous act of machine worship… or just that the sponsor had paid way too much. So he waited patiently, letting the “ad” run its course.
Another three full minutes passed before it finally neared the end.
“Agent S1 seems born to be on the frontlines of interdimensional conquest. Countless collapsing small worlds have been rescued by his hands. No matter how dangerous or complex the situation, he always turns the tide through sheer power and strategy.”
“His flawless record is worthy of the codename once given by the Primary System…”
“Star.”
“A burning star.”
The boy—who had been absentmindedly petting his system this whole time—suddenly froze. His eyelashes trembled slightly. In this abrupt rush of praise, seemingly thrown in with no warning, all it took was one word—just one simple syllable—for his expression to falter. And then, without reason, without wanting to, foolishly—he couldn’t help but wonder: Could those words have been meant for him? Maybe someone… who couldn’t say it aloud… had borrowed a machine to say it for them.
……
“Host ID HSWEFG7539126, apologies for taking three minutes and forty-seven seconds of your time.”
“Though some parts were adjusted by me for effect, the message above was indeed an emergency broadcast sent by Agent S1 to all 76,903,216 world management areas, 6,543,219,876 zones, and 7,321,579,5323 units—directed to every conscious agent and host right now.”
“Based on current behavior data models, there is a 99.54% chance… that he is looking for someone.”
“However…” The machine voice paused, then continued. “With S1’s high-level access, if he wanted to, he could find any host or agent within 0.65 seconds.”
“Moreover—fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds ago, a transfer of 10 star coins was made from S1’s private account to mine.”
“Then, five minutes and fifteen seconds ago, another transfer of 25 star coins occurred.”
“Excluding causes like system error, data corruption, hacking, virus, or S1 simply glitching out… there is a 99.99998% chance that both payments were deductions on your behalf—for services I provided to you.”
“Wake-up call – 10 star coins.”
“Mirror – 20 star coins. Third-party procurement service – 5 star coins.”
……
“Which leads us to the final conclusion—”
“Agent AAA-000000S1 is looking for you.”
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