Chapter 1

I starved myself on nearly expired bread for a whole month to save money and buy medicine for my "sick" mom.

Before I collapsed, I sent her a message: "Mom, I got the medicine. I'm so tired. Going to sleep for a bit."

That sleep became permanent.

Only after death did I discover that my entire life had been an all-surveillance "Truman Show."

My billionaire parents sat in their massive control room watching me suffer from stomach cramps.

Mom held her wine glass, frowning as she critiqued: "Poor physical constitution. Deduct 10 points."

Dad recorded coldly: "Willpower is acceptable, but doesn't know how to utilize resources. Deduct 20 points."

They were selecting the sole heir to the family fortune.

And I, for "dying too easily," was judged: Failed.

My corpse still lay on the cold floor of my rental apartment, curled in a fetal position.

My phone screen glowed with that unread text message.

"Mom, I got the medicine. I'm so tired. Going to sleep for a bit."

My soul floated in midair as I stared at that emaciated body.

My stomach still twitched faintly—the final memory before starving to death.

One month.

To scrape together money for that astronomically expensive imported medicine for my mom's "stomach cancer diagnosis," I'd cut my only meat dish.

I ate only two nearly expired pieces of bread each day.

Even my water came from the office cooler.

I thought my sacrifice would move heaven itself and bring my mother's recovery.

Instead, I moved myself to death.

When I opened my eyes again, I'd been reborn.

I floated into an extremely luxurious semicircular hall.

Hundreds of high-definition screens covered the walls.

The largest one in the center displayed my corpse.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

Two people sat on the leather sofa.

The man wore an expensive suit, the woman dripped with jewels.

They were my "poverty-stricken," "terminally ill" parents.

At that moment, Mom swirled a glass of blood-red wine in her hand.

She looked at my pale face on the screen, her brow deeply furrowed.

No tears, no sorrow. Only disgust.

"Poor physical constitution. Died after just one month of hunger. [Heir Selection Test - Physical Constitution Dimension] deduct 10 points."

She took a sip of wine, her tone like she was critiquing defective merchandise.

Dad held a diamond-encrusted pen, making a mark on a thick evaluation form.

"Willpower is acceptable, but doesn't know how to utilize resources."

"Clearly attractive enough, yet didn't know to leverage her looks for money. Foolish."

"[Heir Selection Test - Resource Utilization Dimension] deduct 20 points."

I floated above their heads, trembling all over.

These were the parents I'd risked my life to save?

These were the parents I'd starved for, going without even sanitary pads to support?

"Enough, stop watching. Bad luck."

Mom set down her wine glass and pressed the remote.

The screen went dark.

My corpse disappeared into blackness.

"Notify the logistics department to collect the body. Clean it up properly. Don't let the media find out."

Dad closed the folder and casually tossed it into the trash.

"This one's a write-off. Initiate Plan B."

"Bring Rachel back from abroad. Hopefully she's smarter than this idiot."

I stared at the folder in the trash.

The cover read: "Heir Selection Test: Subject 001—Morgan."

Below it, a red summary line:

[Assessment Result: Failed. Total deductions 30 points, zero bonus points. Disposal method: Destroy.]