The moment Limone heard the commotion, her interest was piqued.

From their hiding spot, she and Charles watched as Sixon led his team into battle against the monster. Taking down a major boss like this required careful coordination, and by the end, everyone was usually left barely clinging to life.

In most cases, no one dared to interfere with prominent teams battling such bosses. But as with everything, exceptions existed.

Limone had studied the strategy for this boss in the past and knew exactly when to make her move.

The timing between her and Charles was seamless. Just as the boss was on the verge of death, Limone darted forward, landing the final blow.

Together, she and Charles claimed the kill.

The world chat immediately broadcasted the announcement: “Congratulations to Sweet Lemon for defeating the Peachblossom Haven Boss!”

Sixon’s fury was palpable. Through his headset, he roared, “What the hell were you all doing? How could you let someone steal our boss?!”

Sophie, ever the instigator, chimed in disdainfully. “Did you see those two? Probably just noobs with new accounts. Do they even know who we are? How dare they steal our boss!”

Sixon, livid, barked, “Kill them!”

But barely a moment passed before Sixon’s game screen turned grayscale, his character already dead. One by one, his teammates collapsed as well, their avatars lying motionless on the ground.

Sixon stared at the on-screen name Sweet Lemon, unease creeping over him. The way this player executed their moves—it felt bizarrely familiar.

Could it be… Limone? Was she the one disguised under this new account, deliberately stealing his boss?

No, it couldn’t be. Limone wouldn’t have sharpened her skills to this extent.

Meanwhile, Limone and Charles reveled in their victory, divvying up the boss’s valuable loot. But nothing compared to the satisfaction of stomping Sixon and Sophie into utter defeat.

Not long after, an alert signaled their food delivery had arrived.

Charles stretched and stood. “Time to eat.”

Limone noticed there was a small cake among the spread. Her brow furrowed slightly—wasn’t this the same brand as the one Sophie had received earlier in the day?

She cast Charles a sidelong glance. “Why’d you get a cake?”

“You girls like this kind of thing, don’t you?” He tried to sound indifferent, though his tone wavered slightly. “Think of it as a reward—for not embarrassing me this time.”

A strange warmth fluttered in Limone’s chest. Her gaze softened, though she quickly masked it. Just as the sentiment began to settle, Charles, seemingly uncomfortable, added gruffly, “Don’t get the wrong idea. It came with the meal order, that’s all.”

Limone picked up the small cake. Something about it felt... special. Hers. Just hers.

Without thinking, she took a bite. She lowered her gaze, letting the quiet sweetness linger far longer than the taste itself. Her heart thudded unevenly, and she couldn’t explain why.

Charles watched her silently for a long moment. Finally, he coughed, his voice breaking the quiet. “What’s wrong? Don’t like it?”

It shouldn’t be a bad cake—wasn’t this brand supposed to be wildly popular?

Limone shook her head, her voice low. “No, it’s really good. It’s just… been so long since anyone’s bought me a cake.”

Her parents had always remembered. Until they didn’t. They had passed away on her birthday, and from that moment on, her life had taken a sharp, irreversible turn.

No birthdays. No cakes. She wasn’t a child anymore—she had no right to celebrate.

Her brothers never even noticed that she still craved these small, hollow gestures.

Charles narrowed his eyes slightly, his voice dropping in an unfamiliar note of tenderness. “You don’t eat cake on your birthday?”

Limone hesitated, her silence heavier than words. Finally, she admitted, “My parents died in a car accident on my birthday. Ever since then… there’s just been no reason.”

For her family, that day became sacred, a mourning instead of a celebration. She couldn’t find it in herself to push against that grief.

She wouldn’t.

Those words hit Charles like a blunt force to the chest. He looked away abruptly, jaw taut, his fury carefully tamped down but just barely. His hand gripped into a fist, veins standing sharp against his skin.

The tension became palpable. Limone shifted uncomfortably, forcing a bright, hollow laugh. “Honestly, I don’t even care about birthdays anymore. It’s not like I’ve got the time to celebrate.”

After all, how could she?

Her voice was too calm, her smile too practiced. She was trying to let him off the hook—but it only clawed deeper under his skin.

When Charles finally looked back at her, she seemed more fragile than he’d ever noticed before—like some small, quiet creature huddled in its shadows. Her resilience enraged him nearly as much as it moved him.

His voice was rougher now, lower. “It’s late. You should head home. Kids shouldn’t be wandering around after dark.”

“Got it,” Limone replied, slinging her schoolbag over her shoulder. But then she paused, hesitating in the doorway. “Can I—? Will it be okay if I come by again?”

She looked at him as if she wasn’t sure what answer she wanted, her cautious gaze holding a rare flicker of hope.

Charles stared down at her, his expression unreadable, dark and steady like ink spreading across water. “You trust people too easily. You’re not afraid I’ll lie to you?”

“There’s nothing I have worth deceiving me for,” she answered simply. Eyes meeting his, completely unguarded. “Besides, you’re the closest thing I’ve got to a friend right now.”

A friend. He repeated the word silently, tasting it like something bitter and sweet on his tongue.

His lips curved faintly, and then, as if to brush it away, he added with an exaggerated sternness, “You need to stop trusting men so easily. Got it?”

“Sure, sure.” Her laugh was quick, her hand lifting in an easy wave as she walked out. “See you around.”

He stood there, stared at the empty space where she’d been, a long ache unfurling inside him. And he didn’t know whether to call it anger or... something worse.

After she had left, Charles remained seated in his chair, staring at the cake on the table. The sight stirred a memory, and suddenly he was back at the scene of the car crash all those years ago—the shattered remains of a once-pristine cake scattered across the asphalt.

A dull ache began to spread through his temples, insistent and unwelcome.

Since that day, he hadn’t eaten cake—not a single bite.

After what felt like an eternity, his phone buzzed. “Young Master, Miss Lu has arrived home safely,” came the voice on the other end.

Only then did Charles hang up, allowing a faint sigh to escape. His silhouette stretched long in the glow of the setting sun.

—

When Limone returned to the Lane family estate, she found Sutton seated on the living room sofa, clearly waiting for her.

Her face betrayed nothing. “Sutton.”

He looked up, and there she was—aloof, unyielding, a sister who felt like a stranger. He didn’t know what to say or where to begin.

The truth was that when he first heard about Limone’s recent academic improvement, an ugly suspicion had seized him. He had doubted her, suspected her of cheating. But as reports came in confirming her achievements, doubt turned to astonishment.

Her grades were real—impossibly real. He couldn’t reconcile this sudden transformation with the sister he had known, the one whose academic performance had always been mediocre at best. How had she improved so drastically?

Sutton had to admit: Limone had truly changed. This wasn’t some petty rebellion against the family. She had grown, in ways that were undeniable and unsettling.

He felt a twinge of pride, but it was laced with a deep, aching sense of loss. The little sister who once revolved around him, looking to him for approval, no longer existed.

Now, her successes weren’t born of childish obstinance—they were the fruits of genuine effort, of a determination he couldn’t claim credit for.

Sitting there, Sutton couldn’t avoid the weight of self-reflection. He had spent years disregarding her, boxing her into his own narrow assumptions. And then there was what Sixon had done at school—actions that had only alienated her further.

Had their neglect, their casual favoritism, driven the change in her?

Sutton spoke at last, his tone a mix of unease and concern. “Out so late again? You’ve been at the study room outside?”

“Yeah,” she replied curtly.

He sighed, just enough to show disapproval. “The environment at home is perfectly good. Better, in fact, than any public study room. The outside isn’t safe—too many distractions, too many unknowns. From now on, don’t study outside. Stay home.”

Limone pressed her lips into a thin line. Here he was again, making decisions for her as if she had no agency of her own.

“And another thing,” he continued. “Sophie’s grades have dropped significantly since she’s been busy preparing for the team competition. I’ve hired a tutor to help her catch up. You should join the lessons too. That way, if Sophie ever needs clarification, you can help her out. After all, you’re in the same class. Make some notes for her when she’s absent—it’ll be a big help.”

Limone’s eyes narrowed, and there it was—the familiar sting of resentment. So that’s all this was about. Bringing her home had nothing to do with her well-being. It was all for Sophie.

She straightened her back, meeting his gaze with steely defiance. “No, I won’t.”

Sutton’s voice turned placating, but there was a frustrated edge to it. “Limone, I know what Sixon did at school was wrong, and you’ve proven your capabilities, I’ll give you that. But we’re a family. Sophie’s grades have taken a hit because she’s been focusing on the team competition. Since you’re not participating, shouldn’t you contribute in other ways? Help Sophie out. You have the experience.”

Limone couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh rising in her throat. “I. Refuse.”

Three words, and she didn’t even feel it worth her energy to elaborate.

Sixon came storming out from another room, his face twisted with anger. He jabbed a finger at her, his voice rising to a shout. “Limone, do you have any shred of gratitude left in you? All these years, the Lane family fed you, clothed you, gave you a place to live—and what have you ever given back? Nothing! Don’t you feel the least bit ashamed?”

Shame? The word itself felt like an insult.

In her last life, she had given until there was nothing left of her. She had poured every ounce of herself into the Lane family—training relentlessly to perfect her gaming skills, to lead their team to championship victory.

And what had it amounted to?

When the moment came, when her success should have been her triumph, Sophie’s tears had erased her entirely. They’d cast her aside without a second thought. Sophie had taken her place, her win, her glory—like it was the natural order of things.

She would never let them use her again. Not in this life.

Her voice was calm yet unyielding. “Fine. Starting today, I’ll move out of the Lane family home. I won’t take a single penny from you. Not one cent.”

The split was final. It began here and now.