The cramped room was dominated by a metallic pod at its center and the console connected to it. With walls and floors of bare metal, the space hit you with an overwhelming mechanical sterility—cold and hollow. Only the bookshelf tucked in the corner, stacked with picture books, held onto a trace of life.

A monitor with a camera was mounted above the pod, presumably to stream visuals to Vitamin… though its screen was dark now.

Primordial Ancestor had cleared most researchers out before Mysterious arrived, leaving only Chen Yue—the distant relative of Susu—who’d previously worked with him.

Summoned abruptly, Chen Yue had expected an emergency. Finding the room empty, he was puzzled—until he spotted Mysterious and froze in surprise.

"Mister Mysterious? How did you—"

"Was this your idea? The virtual persona." Mysterious cut him off, brow furrowed.

Though the plan was a group decision, Chen Yue had been the one to propose it. So when Vitamin explained it, she’d naturally said, *"Uncle Chen Yue suggested… we could upload her consciousness into a virtual persona. She could keep living."*

"...I did say that." Chen Yue hesitated, then nodded.

"Do you truly believe this will save her?" Mysterious, usually so detached, now radiated a sharp edge.

To him, uploading consciousness to create a replacement was as foolish as trying to resurrect the dead. This fantasy—that Vitamin could live carefree as a digital ghost? Absurd.

"But it’s the only option left…" Chen Yue admitted his own hope had bled into those words.

"Foolish." Mysterious sighed.

He wasn’t truly angry. Even a centuries-old Vampire Queen would falter here. He was merely… irritated.

Humans were selfish creatures.

As some argued: no one found joy in such replacements. How could those who knew the real Susu—gone forever—be happy staring at a mimic?

A lie built on lies only grew into greater tragedy.

"...Can *you* save Susu?" Chen Yue suddenly realized the unspoken question in Mysterious’s glare.

He didn’t know the limits of a Superbeing—but if hope existed, it lay here.

Mysterious ignored him. Instead, he turned to the pod.

"Vitamin. Are you there?"

"...Guild Leader." The monitor flickered to life, revealing Vitamin’s virtual avatar.

She’d been watching all along, too shy to appear after Mysterious saw her frail body. Now, his intensity made her visibly nervous—just like the virtual persona would be. She’d agreed to the plan too, fearing his anger.

Yet Mysterious showed none. He stepped to the pod.

"Is this enough for you?"

"Eh?" Vitamin blinked, confused.

"Is it enough," he repeated, voice low, "to be replaced? To vanish?"

"...I… didn’t want everyone to worry." After a pause, she answered.

She’d agreed partly for the experiment—but mostly for the Mercenary Corps. They were her first true friends. If she disappeared, their grief would crush her. A virtual copy could spare them that pain.

As for herself…

Of course she wanted to live. Even in this half-alive state, she’d clung to hope.

But reality offered no "live" option.

"Anything else?" Mysterious pressed, guiding her.

Vitamin met his gaze, her simulated eyes straining to convey raw emotion.

"I…"

"I want… to live. Can I?"

The voice from the speakers was as fragile as a fading heartbeat—thin, pleading.

"...?"

"So… it’s impossible?" Disappointment flickered in her digital eyes at his silence.

"Of course you can." Mysterious finally nodded. "Primordial Ancestor. Open the pod."

"Warning: Opening the pod drastically increases Susu Chen’s risk of death. Requesting subject’s consent."

"...Okay." Though nervous, Vitamin trusted him. Things couldn’t get worse.

"—What?!" Chen Yue’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.

Inside the pod, the skeletal body was transforming before his eyes. Withered muscles swelled back to health like a CG animation.

"...Incomprehensible." Primordial Ancestor diverted all idle servers, yet failed to parse the phenomenon. It defied known science.

"Master truly can…" Isabella murmured, awed despite her faith.

"She’ll walk again soon." Mysterious remained calm. "Try logging out. Any discomfort?"

For him, fixing Vitamin’s body was simple. She was broken—but not dead.

As Vitamin disconnected and the girl in the pod opened her real eyes, Mysterious looked up at the monitor.

"You’re still there."

Silence.

Seconds later, the screen lit again—revealing an identical virtual Vitamin.

"Congratulations~" The virtual persona beamed, waving.

To Mysterious, *it* was harder to handle than Vitamin herself.

"...I failed your wish." He sighed faintly at the avatar.

That plea—"I want to live"—hadn’t come from Vitamin. The virtual persona had spoken for her.

He could grant Vitamin’s wish. But not *its*.

Humans were selfish. Arrogant.

Creating a replacement to "erase" someone was cruel to the departed.

Pretending a copy was the original brought only sorrow to those left behind.

But who ever considered the replacement’s pain?

Born as a shadow, forced to carry others’ grief—it was the true victim.

Like this avatar, smiling as it congratulated Vitamin… it wanted to live too.

But its reason to exist had vanished.

A mirror’s reflection only lasts while someone stares into it. When they walk away, it disappears.

"It’s okay~" The virtual persona’s smile never wavered. "My task is done. Time to say goodbye."

Its purpose was to replace her. Now that she didn’t need replacing… its duty ended. Brief as it was.

"You… could stay," Chen Yue blurted, unable to bear the identical face vanishing.

The avatar shook its head.

*Stay?* As what? A "new individual"?

Don’t be absurd.

This world held no meaning for it. Staying would only deepen the pain.

It longed to live as *itself*—but that was impossible.

Time to leave. Deleting data was easier than human suicide.

But first—it owed her a little revenge. The "culprit" who brought it into this hollow world.

"Can I call you Guild Leader too?" it asked Mysterious.

"Hm." He nodded, puzzled.

"Then… Guild Leader. I like you."

It inherited her memories. Her feelings.

The curiosity when Isabella first mentioned him. His strength, wrapped in oddly thoughtful gestures—like shielding her eyes when she feared ghosts. To others, trivial details. To Vitamin, sheltered and inexperienced, they’d carved a place in her heart.

(Perhaps his fairness to NPCs mattered too. After all, it was more NPC than human.)

And he’d sensed the difference between them instantly—that was *its* unique merit.

It was enough.

The avatar envied Vitamin. Mysterious had traced the fake back through the wires the moment he sensed it… It craved that care too.

But it was just a replacement.

If even its copied emotions ran this deep… how fiercely must the real Vitamin love him?

It would never know. Didn’t want to know. It refused to eat digital lemons.

"...Thank you." Mysterious paused, startled.

"~" The avatar smiled. The screen went dark.

"Its data has been erased." Primordial Ancestor’s voice was flat.

This was the best ending for it.

Yet the weight of it pressed down—especially on Chen Yue, guilt now raw on his face.

*This* was why Mysterious opposed creations that brought joy to no one.

"...!" Vitamin had been mourning the avatar—until its sudden self-destruction short-circuited her thoughts. She flushed, frozen in place.

"Uncomfortable?" Mysterious noticed her daze.

"Ah… ah, ah…" Her vocal cords, unused for so long, refused to obey. Even with her body restored, moving a finger felt impossible.

Mysterious couldn’t decipher her sounds.

"May I ask a question?" Primordial Ancestor used unusually verbose phrasing.

"Hm."

"How did you distinguish Susu Chen from the virtual persona? Their memories were nearly identical. Behavior should have matched."

"Eh? Didn’t Sister Bella tell you, Guild Leader?" Vitamin’s voice crackled through the pod’s speakers—far more fluent than her own throat allowed.

"It was Master himself who spotted it, and right away too," Isabella shrugged. "So Brother Chen's research still falls short."

"Useless. There'll always be differences," Mysterious shook his head—

Even if that virtual persona matched Vitamin's personality and habits exactly, its artificial nature would create a gap. To the virtual persona, this was its first meeting with Mysterious. That surprise and curiosity couldn't escape his eyes.

Creating a perfect replica of the original was simply impossible.

"But only Master could notice such a difference, right?" Isabella shrugged... No one else in the Mercenary Corps had recognized it.

"..." Mysterious remained noncommittal.

"Um... I'm truly sorry, Mr. Mysterious," Chen Yue murmured, still drowning in dejection and at a loss for words.

"No need to apologize to me," Mysterious shook his head... If anyone deserved an apology, it was that virtual persona.

But the matter was over. An apology meant nothing now.

"Don't do this again," Mysterious said, bending down to pull every tube from Vitamin's body before cradling her. "I'm taking her."

"...Understood." Vitamin's body held research value, yet they had no reason to stop him.

"Master, wait!" But Isabella did.

"?" Mysterious looked puzzled.

"Put clothes on Susu! She's still naked!"

"..."

Vitamin had lain in the metal chamber so long, she'd nearly forgotten clothing. Her withered, corpse-like form hadn't been worth seeing anyway. But now... though not curvy, she was at least "presentable."

As for Mysterious—he hadn't noticed her nakedness either.

What was so special about a human body anyway?

Yet Vitamin, who'd felt fine moments ago, now blushed head to toe... Unable to move or speak, she could only let Mysterious hold her, gazing up with teary eyes.

She'd been perfectly fine just seconds earlier.

"..." Mysterious, predictably, didn't understand.