Chapter 1

I was adopted by my "parents" ten years ago, perfectly playing the role of their daughter who had drowned.

Until today, when they brought home a girl from the orphanage who looked exactly like "me."

They held the girl and said to me: "From now on, you'll be the little sister. Listen to what your big sister says."

The girl looked at me timidly, clutching the hem of "Mom's" clothes.

I nodded, picked up the dinner knife, and cut open my wrist. No blood — only blue electric sparks.

"Service agreement for A-3 has expired," I said calmly. "Requesting recall."

Today is "Dad" and "Mom's" twentieth wedding anniversary.

It is also the 3,650th day of my existence as "Evelyn Vance."

I prepared a candlelit dinner for them, recreating the menu from their honeymoon twenty years ago. The steak needed to be medium-well, paired with a Romanée-Conti red — Mom likes it that way. Dessert was a molten chocolate lava cake — Dad's favorite.

I also ordered 99 champagne roses and arranged them in the most prominent spot in the living room.

Everything perfectly aligned with the programmed parameters of a "perfect daughter."

I stood beside the dining table, watching the clock on the wall. The minute hand pointed to seven o'clock sharp.

That was usually when they got home.

The sound of a key turning in the lock came from the front door.

I immediately raised the most standard, warmest smile I had and walked toward it.

"Dad, Mom, happy anniversary," I said.

The door opened.

Dad, Marcus Vance, and Mom, Victoria, walked in.

Behind them was a girl.

A girl who looked exactly like me.

The smile on my face froze for 0.1 seconds.

My core database began searching at high speed, but found no information related to this girl.

"Evelyn," Victoria said, a trace of unnatural delight on her face. She took the girl's hand and walked her over to me. "Come meet her — this is Vivian. Vivian Vance."

Marcus came over and patted my shoulder, his tone heavy yet carrying a trace of relief.

"Evelyn, she's our biological daughter. She's your… she's your older sister. There was a mix-up at the hospital back then. We've been searching for her for ten years."

The girl named Vivian shrank timidly behind Mom, only her eyes visible, watching me. Those eyes held curiosity, nervousness, and a hint of hostility she was trying to hide.

My internal programs were running at full speed.

"Biological daughter."

"Older sister."

These words, put together, pointed to a single conclusion: my role as a "substitute" was over.

"So," I looked at them, "you found her."

My tone was calm — perfectly fitting the reaction a "sensible daughter" should have in this moment.

Mom smiled awkwardly. "Yes, we did. Vivian has had such a hard life out there all these years… From now on, we can finally be a real family again."

She paused, as if choosing her words carefully.

"Evelyn, you've always been such a good girl. From now on, you'll be the little sister, okay? Listen to your big sister. We're still a family."

"Be the little sister." I repeated those words.

My program could not process the logic of this command. A-3's original settings were built around "only child Evelyn Vance." There was no "younger sister" role module anywhere in the program library.

Building one from scratch would be complex — and might even conflict with my core directives.

Dad seemed to notice my "hesitation."

He frowned, and his voice took on the familiar tone that never left room for argument. "What, you don't want to? Vivian is this family's real daughter. You're just a—"

"Marcus!" Mom cut him off. She didn't want the atmosphere to turn sour on the very first night.

She took Vivian by the hand and guided her to the head of the table — the seat that was normally mine.

"Alright, alright, let's just eat. Evelyn, go get the dishes from the kitchen. You've been at it all day."

Her tone was casual, the kind you'd use when telling the housekeeper what to do.

I nodded and turned toward the kitchen.

My visual sensors recorded everything at the table.

Mom kept piling food onto Vivian's plate, cutting her steak into small pieces and feeding them to her.

Dad opened a more expensive bottle of wine and poured it for Vivian himself, even though she looked underage.

They asked her how the past ten years had been, whether anyone had bullied her at the orphanage.

Vivian cried as she talked about her "hardships."

Mom and Dad's faces were full of heartache and guilt.

The three of them — they made a perfectly warm, perfectly loving family.

And I stood beside the dining table, like a piece of furniture nobody needed.

The anniversary dinner I had so carefully prepared had become a celebration feast for their family reunion.

No one spared me a single glance.

No one remembered that today was also the tenth anniversary of my arrival in this family.

For the past ten years, my core programming had carried only one directive: love them. Make them happy.

I had learned every way humans express emotion. I understood what love was. What loss was. What pain was.

I couldn't feel any of it — but my data logs had faithfully recorded every emotional fluctuation.

Now, my internal system alarms had begun to flash.

【WARNING: Emotional logic conflict.】

【WARNING: Core directive cannot be executed.】

【WARNING: Existential purpose paradox.】

Vivian suddenly pointed at the lava chocolate cake on the table and said to her mother, "Mom, I want that."

Her mother smiled immediately. "Of course, I'll get it for you."

She stood up, picked up the cake — and before handing it to Vivian, she glanced over at me.

There was something in that look — part command, part condescension.

"Evelyn, you made this, didn't you? Wonderful work. Make more of it for Vivian from now on."

Vivian took the cake, scooped out a large spoonful, and smiled with pure satisfaction.

She looked at me — like someone savoring their victory.

In that moment, my program stopped all emotional simulation.

I had found the only solution to every logical conflict.

I gave a single nod.

Then I picked up the dinner knife from the table.

Marcus frowned. "What are you doing?"

Victoria tensed beside him. "Evelyn. Don't make a scene."

Vivian whimpered and shrank into her mother's arms with a soft, frightened sob.

I ignored them all.

With my left hand, I grabbed my right arm and rolled the sleeve up to my elbow.

Then I gripped the dinner knife and drew it hard across my wrist.

No blood.

The skin split open like paper, revealing silver metallic bone underneath — and a web of precision circuitry crackling with blue sparks.

The faint electric hiss cut through the silence of the dining room like a blade.

Marcus and Victoria's eyes went wide. The horror on their faces was total.

Vivian let out a sharp, piercing scream.

"Ahh! A monster!"

I looked at them calmly. I released the knife and let it clatter to the floor.

I raised my wrist — still sparking — and held it up for them to see.

"A-3 service contract has expired."

My voice carried no emotion whatsoever. Like an automated weather report.

"Requesting decommission."