On a plush bed like a snowdrift, a loli yawned wide; one strap of her sleepwear slipped off her shoulder like a fallen petal.

Her tiny loli shoulders lay bare to the cool air, eyes beading with dew-like tears, a soft surge of cuteness rippling out like spring light.

Maybe it was that morning low blood pressure; the little loli floated in a fog-of-dawn daze, hardly knowing what her hands were doing.

Half-lidded, she swayed like a dandelion in wind, then by instinct grabbed Alicia’s gift—a stuffed bear split black and white, with a scarlet lightning-chain right eye befitting ghosts.

She palmed the bear’s head and, venting like a summer shower, flung it; it traced a perfect parabolic arc, then its soft body thumped to the floor.

That little burst wasn’t enough to lift the fog; so, unsurprised, the loli hefted her pillow like a small cloud waiting to be hurled.

Just as she tensed to throw, Alicia’s scent curled into her nose like a thread of incense, and her hands paused mid-air.

Slowly she set the pillow down, then leaned her little head toward it like a moth to lamplight, lulled by that familiar warmth.

Sniff sniff~ sniff sniff~, like a squirrel nosing for nuts under autumn leaves.

Yes—Alicia’s scent flowed from this pillow like spring water; she hugged it tight, dropped from sitting to lying, and rolled across the bed like a happy koi.

Every few turns, a soft “big sis~” slipped from her lips like a finch’s call at dawn.

As for why Alicia’s scent clung to the pillow, Ling—sunken in low blood pressure—refused to think; rolling with a cloud in her arms mattered more than idle puzzles.

Click~, a crisp shutter snapped from the doorway like an icicle breaking, and Ling’s rolling stopped; her petite head popped from the pillow like a dormouse from cotton.

That little head turned toward the door, eyes storm-dark with displeasure like a cloud before rain.

The culprit lounged against the frame like a willow in wind, blue short hair lifted by the window breeze.

She held a camera one-handed, her two petite feet crossed, and her upturned mouth flaunted mockery like a fox’s grin.

“Yare yare~ Miss Ling, so you can look this dumb; what if I toss these photos to Alicia like sparks into dry straw?”

On a normal day, Ling would meet Remi’s taunts with cool water and then counterkill; but under that IQ-drop halo, she had the wits of a five-year-old.

“You bastard! Give it to me—like a kite yanked back from the wind!”

“Bleh bleh~ No way! This is payback, like stones I saved for winter, for you bullying me!”

She clearly nursed a big grudge; with this rare chance to hit back, Remi refused to let it slip, piling revenge like snow wherever she could.

Ling couldn’t allow that; with the mind of a five-year-old, her logic drew a simple chain like stepping-stones over a stream:

Remi gives the photos to Alicia → Alicia sees them → my stalker-ish behavior is exposed—like dominoes falling.

Alicia hates me → absolutely forbidden → Remi must die, like a thunderclap closing the sky.

[Ultimate Magic Cannon—doesn’t matter how many shots, Remi must die]!

Fresh from sleep, her mana surged like dawn tide; dumb head or not, it didn’t blunt the output, and she unleashed a storm at Remi.

Remi saw Ling go quiet and thought she’d dozed off from low blood sugar, but the next heartbeat brought an ambush like lightning from a clear sky.

She barely dodged a Magic Cannon aimed at her head, and anger pricked like nettles under the skin.

She shouted, voice sharp like shattered glass, “Are you trying to kill me?!”

“Whatever! Remi dying or whatever—I love it, like tossing bad luck into the sea!”

Her dangerous declaration swelled the Magic Cannon’s output; now even furniture brushed by the edge vaporized like frost under noon sun.

A direct hit—no one needed to imagine the outcome; it would carve a crater like a meteor.

Bang! x2, two heavy punches landed on their heads, dropping Ling and Remi’s “play” like stones into a pond.

“What are you two doing?! Fooling around at the crack of dawn!” The voice struck like a temple bell; the hitter was Flan, of course.

Only the four of them lived here like swallows in one nest; no outsider could have slipped in.

“Flan! How can you hit your big sis?!” Remi puffed like a cat whose tail got stepped on.

She couldn’t accept the punishment and, lacking a better retort, invoked elder-sister pride like a paper shield; Flan ignored her outright.

Flan called, tone cool like winter water, “Miss Ling!”

Ling squeaked, voice small like a sparrow: “Here!”

Ling didn’t know what Flan was thinking; skipping Remi to address her felt like a scolding brewing, and nerves tightened like strings, scaring off her low blood sugar.

Flan asked like a judge beneath a cedar, “Do you have anything you want to say?”

“N… no. I’m young; I don’t want to say my last words… like a chick before rain.”

“What are you even saying? Forget it. If you’ve got nothing, then Flan will speak,” her voice steady like pine bark.

My heart tensed like a drum—here it comes, Flan’s scolding! I’m no masochist; being yelled at has zero charm.

Her words fell like a pebble into silence: “Someone downstairs wants to see you.”

“Huh? Not scolding me?” The surprise popped like a bubble.

Flan’s brow cooled like shade. “Miss Ling, what are you even talking about? Why would Flan scold you?”

“Ah… whatever. As long as it’s not a scolding,” she breathed like wind easing.

“But I’m a friendless shut-in loli, like a hermit in a gourd—why would anyone come for me? Did he give a name?”

“Yes. He said his name is Wang Xiaoming,” she said, the plain name dropping like a smooth stone.