Chapter 116

Chapter 116: Birthdays Are Unhappy Occasions

“I’ve already secured his release. But you should be aware—the police now know his abilities extend beyond mere self-healing.” The school director reclined in her chair, phone pressed to her ear while her other hand absently rolled a string of wooden prayer beads between her fingers.  

This had sparked another round of thinly veiled barbs between her and Officer Chen, culminating in his parting shot: “Since Mrs. Lasvedo has demanded his release, I presume you’re fully aware of the nature of his abilities. In which case, I trust you’ll take full responsibility should they ever… malfunction in the future.”  

And with that, the matter was closed—at least superficially.  

It rankled. Because the truth was, she didn’t actually know what that little brat was capable of.  

Now she found herself inexplicably responsible for a child she didn’t even like. Had it not been for Heli’s intervention, she wouldn’t have lifted a finger.  

If the brat’s abilities proved dangerous and he ever lost control, her own reputation would pay the price.  

What she couldn’t fathom was why the school nurse showed such undue concern for the urchin.  

“His abilities won’t go out of control,” Heli assured her.  

At least, that’s what the records on “Mi” had indicated during her tenure at Easter. What might have transpired after her departure remained unknown.  

“What exactly are you withholding from me?” The director’s voice turned glacial. “I’m beginning to question whether you merit any trust at all.”  

She hadn’t forgotten—Heli’s secrecy extended to her as well.  

“Well…” A calculated pause. “He’s a ghost—no records, not even Fallen City could trace him. My sister committed unspeakable acts against him… I owe him restitution.”  

“And how does that justify concealing his abilities?” The director didn’t press for specifics. In Easter’s corridors, “unspeakable acts” invariably meant one thing.  

“His ability is unique. If Easter cross-references their databases, they’ll identify him.”  

“That’s all?”  

“That’s all.”  

“Don’t let there be a next time.” The call terminated with a click, leaving the director to contemplate the prayer beads now clenched in her fist.  

On the tarmac, Heli switched her phone to airplane mode and boarded the Federation-bound flight.  

She’d lied, of course.  

This wasn’t merely about atoning for her sister’s sins.  

———————— 

“My son died because of that game… He was always such a good boy…” The middle-aged woman wiped her tears quietly before the camera.  

“Did he often post inflammatory remarks online? I’ve heard most victims of this incident were internet trolls.”  

It was that same female reporter again. What should have been a news segment memorializing the victims had, under her direction, warped into a public debate—Were the deceased all online harassers? Did they deserve their fate?  

A deliberately provocative approach, starkly different from other media outlets, designed to stir controversy rather than report facts.  

Unable to stand the reporter’s voice any longer, Raven switched the channel.  

“After round-the-clock efforts, authorities have finally overcome the perpetrator behind this global incident. The Fallen City has claimed their research institute was attacked and is demanding compensation from the Federation…”  

She changed the channel again.  

“We demand a complete ban on all games!” A group of protesters, led by another middle-aged woman, waved signs in the streets.  

The ripple effects of this incident would likely linger for a long time.  

—  

Yiwen’s Bedroom.

“Tell me what you did back then. Hiding your abilities is illegal, you know.” Yiwen pinched Mi Xiaoliu’s cheeks between her hands, squishing them like dough.  

It was Sunday—the day after Yiwen had been rescued.  

Last night’s sleep was peaceful. Federal hackers had spent hours taunting and even outright insulting Amari Yota’s entire family lineage, yet received no response. Given Amari Yota’s temperament, if he were still alive, he would never have tolerated such provocation.  

It was unbelievable. How had Mi Xiaoliu done it? A crisis significant enough to be recorded in world history, resolved by this unremarkable boy with just a wave of his hand.  

And yet, thanks to pressure from the Lasvedo family, no one had managed to pry the truth out of him.  

As Lu Mingxue had bluntly reported to Inspector Chen: 

“His mind is alarmingly simple. Just reading his thoughts feels like an irreversible blow to my IQ… Abilities? He wasn’t even thinking about them. All he cared about was thanking you for the pork cutlet rice. You’ve got quite the knack for handling children.”  

The telepath assigned to monitor Mi Xiaoliu during interrogation had similarly confirmed—aside from a brief moment of irritation when Yiwen drank his water, his mood had remained disturbingly cheerful throughout.  

How could a child be this oblivious?  

Frustrated, Officer Chen had assigned Yiwen a new mission: uncover Mi Xiaoliu’s true abilities. Even with the Lasvedo family’s guarantee, no one wanted to gamble on whether that unassuming exterior hid an uncontrollable weapon.  

But Yiwen, now familiar with Mi Xiaoliu’s quirks, abandoned subtlety in favor of direct “interrogation.”  

Meanwhile, law enforcement and other organizations were scrambling to locate the “server” Amari Yota had left behind.  

The Dream Game wasn’t just some 2D RPG converted into virtual reality—it was something entirely different from ordinary mobile games.  

Whether it contained groundbreaking data technology aside, if another ability user got their hands on it, a second Dream Game incident could happen at any moment…  

“That traitorous little brat. Has she forgotten who saved her?” Sasha, as usual, grumbled in the depths of Mi Xiaoliu’s mind, casting silent judgment on Yiwen. “Does she even realize what Master gave up for her?”  

That might have been their only chance to cure the Black Element.  

Mi Xiaoliu blinked at Yiwen. “Traitorous?”  

Another new phrase.  

But this time, she said it out loud, making the thin-skinned Yiwen flush red—mistaking it for an accusation of ingratitude.  

“I-I’m not interrogating you! I just… Anyway, thank you for saving me. I’d probably be dead if not for you.” But since she hadn’t actually seen what happened, the whole “heroic rescue” felt strangely unreal.  

Why wouldn’t he talk? After all this time, there’d been no signs of his abilities going out of control. What was so secretive about them?  

At this moment, Yiwen suddenly recalled another piece of damning information about Mi Mi Xiaoliu—his outright refusal to cooperate during the school’s mandatory physical examination…

The friend she thought she knew so well had suddenly become shrouded in mystery, and the feeling left an uncomfortable weight in her chest. Logically, she understood everyone had their secrets, but that knowledge did little to ease the faint, nagging unease.

The Dream Game incident had ended too abruptly, leaving her mind spinning with unanswered questions. Why had Amari Youta targeted her? What did he mean about it being connected to her father?

Come to think of it, she’d never really looked into it—was her father some kind of powerful ability user?

Making up an excuse, she shooed Mi Xiaoliu out of her room and immediately called Officer Chen.

Raven pensively watched as Mi Xiaoliu emerged from Yiwen’s bedroom. 

Did these two even know each other’s true genders? What kind of mindset led them to grow this close…?

She beckoned to Mi Xiaoliu. “Come here, Xiaoliu.”

Mi Xiaoliu obediently descended the stairs and stood before her, tilting her head up in silent expectation.

“Xiaoliu,” Raven leaned down conspiratorially, “did Yiwen tell you? Tomorrow is her birthday.”

“Birthday?” Mi Xiaoliu echoed blankly.

Another unfamiliar term.

“Master,” Sasha quickly interjected internally, “a birthday marks the anniversary of one’s birth. It’s a day to celebrate each year—a special occasion unique to each person.” 

This explanation should prevent Raven from suspecting Heli’s emotional neglect was even worse than her own.

Raven pressed a gift box into Mi Xiaoliu’s hands. “I’ll be too busy tomorrow to celebrate properly. Give this to her tomorrow morning—say it’s from you. If she asks, tell her you thought of it yourself.”

This was the same box she’d secretly set aside days earlier. 

The busy excuse wasn’t entirely false. The Dream Game incident had caused countless clients to cancel appointments. Between that and both girls being victims, she’d lacked the heart to focus on work anyway. 

She’d already ordered a large cake, hoping the children would enjoy it.

Though perplexed by Raven’s actions, Mi Xiaoliu accepted the box with both hands and immediately tried peeking inside—only to be stopped by Raven’s gentle hand.

“No,” Raven ruffled his hair, “Yiwen should be the first to open it. Next time it’s your birthday, I’ll give you one too. When is your birthday?” 

This wasn’t an empty promise—she fully intended to follow through. 

Truthfully, she’d grown quite fond of this child. 

Her fragile demeanor, tragic past (As she imagined it), quiet obedience, and uncanny maturity—everything about her screamed for protection. 

If she became her daughter-in-law, she’d never have to worry about dramatic mother-in-law conflicts. She might even gain another daughter in the process. 

That useless Toby! Even with the perfect bride practically delivered to his doorstep, he remained hopelessly oblivious despite all her hints. 

Infuriating!

“Sasha,” Mi Xiaoliu stared at the box, “do I have a birthday too?”

“Of course, Master. Everyone has one,” Sasha replied, amused. “Your records say February 21st, but your real birthday is February 1st.”

Mi Xiaoliu committed this to memory.

Returning to her room, she initiated a memory extraction:

Blank Memory: 【】

Duplicate Memory

Blank Memory: 【】

Blank Memory: 【】

…

Eleven consecutive blanks later, the thirteenth attempt finally yielded a birthday-related fragment:

“Little Mi, do you know what today is? Ta-da~” A white-haired woman beamed as she presented an elaborately decorated cake. “I made it myself—impressed? Learned how just yesterday.”

“You actually tracked down her birthday?” A researcher who looked almost identical to Heli swiveled her chair around.

The white-haired woman’s smile faltered momentarily upon noticing her. 

“Well, Little Mi wasn’t always an orphan,” she recovered, cutting a slice for Mi Xiaoliu. “Here, try it—”

The pink-haired researcher intercepted the plate. “Can’t. We have medication trials later. Surely you don’t want her vomiting everywhere? …Not bad. Been ages since I had cake.”

The white-haired woman’s hands clenched imperceptibly, but she said nothing.

Birthdays were unhappy occasions.