Chapter 4

I walked out of that suffocating rental apartment.

The sunlight outside stung my eyes.

I felt my pockets.

Fifteen dollars total.

That was everything I owned.

In my previous life, I used those fifteen dollars to buy ten pieces of bread that lasted me a week.

This life, I walked straight into a lottery shop.

Not to buy lottery tickets, but to borrow a charging cable and mooch some WiFi.

I opened my phone and downloaded a streaming app.

Registered an account.

Name: [Terminal Mother and Devoted Daughter's Final 30 Days].

The description dripped with pathos:

"Destitute home, mother with terminal stomach cancer, no money for medicine."

"To save my mother, I'll do whatever it takes."

"Please follow and witness a life's miracle."

I knew my phone was monitored.

My every move transmitted in real-time to that massive control room.

Right now, my billionaire parents were probably frowning at their screens.

"What's she trying to do?"

"Online begging? Too lowbrow. [Heir Selection Test - Strategic Sophistication Dimension] deduct 5 points."

The clear commentary from my previous life floating in the control room hadn't disappeared with my rebirth.

I turned on the camera, pointing it at my face—pale and gaunt from chronic malnutrition.

I had to admit, this pitiful appearance was natural clickbait.

I didn't speak. Just quietly let tears fall.

Tears dropped one by one onto the screen.

That sense of despair, helplessness, brokenness—I portrayed it vividly.

After all, I was someone who'd truly died once.

This despair didn't need acting.

Soon, viewers entered the stream.

"Poor girl."

"Oh my god, that complexion. She's clearly been starving for a long time."

"Terminal stomach cancer? Real or fake?"

"Probably a scammer."

Doubts followed quickly.

I wiped my tears, my voice hoarse.

"I know everyone doesn't believe me."

"That's okay."

"I'll take you to see my mother right now."

"See where we live, see her writhing in pain on the bed."

"If I'm lying about anything, may I get hit by a car when I leave."

I held up my phone and walked back step by step.

Passing a barbecue restaurant.

That tempting aroma drilled into my nostrils.

I stopped, my throat moving.

The viewer count began to skyrocket.

"She wants to eat."

"She must be starving."

"Send her money! Let her eat!"

Someone sent a gift.

I watched the special effects, the corner of my mouth curving imperceptibly.

Facing the camera, I shook my head.

"No, I can't eat."

"This money is to save my mother's life."

"I can still endure."

With that, I resolutely turned and walked away.

My retreating figure looked determined yet desolate.

The stream exploded.

"This is torture!"

"That willpower!"

"Following! We have to help her!"

In the control room.

Dad's pen paused.

"Using online public opinion to gain sympathy?"

"The method is lowbrow, but the effect is decent."

"This maneuver, [Heir Selection Test - Resource Acquisition Efficiency Dimension] barely earns 5 points."

Bonus points?

Dad, you're too naive.

I'm not seeking sympathy.

I'm putting you in an impossible position.

Back at the rental.

I violently pushed open the door.

Shoved the camera right into Betty's face.

She was sitting cross-legged, holding that half-eaten chocolate.

Seeing me enter with my phone, she froze completely.

"Mom!"

I let out a piercing wail and rushed over.

"Are you delirious from hunger?"

"That's trash you picked up—you can't eat that!"

I snatched the chocolate from her hand and threw it hard on the floor.

Then embraced her, sobbing hysterically.

"It's all my fault for being useless! Making you so hungry you're eating garbage!"

"Mom! I've failed you!"

Betty was stunned.

She looked at the imported chocolate on the floor, then at my streaming phone.

Her expression instantly became uglier than if she'd eaten excrement.

The stream erupted.

"What's that black thing?"

"Looks like chocolate?"

"Picked from trash? That's horrible!"

"Her mom's so hungry she's lost her mind!"

"Send money fast! Don't let them starve to death!"

Gift effects filled the screen.

I buried myself in Betty's arms, my whole body shaking with sobs.

Only I knew I was actually laughing.

Mom, how did that "garbage" imported chocolate taste?

Are you satisfied?