Within the mental space, it was a warm yet old-fashioned house.
"Phew—though the process was a bit convoluted, we still managed to get in successfully."
Stelle let out a sigh of relief, casually pulling out a set of original clothes to change into. Those few minutes just now of playing Gallagher could easily rank as the most disgusting moments of her life—she'd actually been held in Sunday's arms like that. It was just······
She'd rather have a knife pressed against her back.
According to the original battle plan, they had already succeeded for the most part. Next, as long as she could defeat him in Sunday's mental space or persuade him, she could lift the threat brought by Lord Sunday.
So, the primary goal now was to find Sunday.
—"Brother··· Brother······"
At that moment, a faint call rang out. It was a slightly childish yet familiar voice in tone. Stelle and the other turned their heads slightly toward the bedroom and saw a blue-haired little girl collapsed on the sickbed.
Stelle's brows shot up at that familiar, tender little face—it was unmistakably young Robin.
Stelle arched a brow: So, deep down in his heart, Sunday still cared a lot about Robin? As expected, even if a person's exterior changes, the underlying code of their heart is hard to alter.
"Clockie, can you use some trick so they don't notice us?" Stelle asked.
Clockie went "tick-tock" and casually adjusted a transparent panel, sliding the value for [Presence] all the way to 0.
Stelle's eyes widened: "666, how do you even have admin privileges?"
Clockie: "Tick-tock! This is the Clockie Trick, after all—we can force our way into someone else's mental space, so having a control panel is weird?"
—"Robin, don't be scared—brother's here!"
Just then, an equally childish male voice rang out. Sunday, who had been bustling in the kitchen, hurried to the bedroom upon hearing his sister's call, cupping Robin's little hands in both of his: "Don't be scared, brother's here."
"You've always had a weak body since you were little, and today you even went to school all by yourself. You need to rest properly now."
Robin's voice was feeble: "I··· I can go to school with brother too. I··· I'm scared brother will be taken away by someone."
Sunday shook his head: "Robin, Penacony's schools aren't that easy to get into. Don't worry—I'm your brother; no one can take me away. Your body is weak, so I'll take care of you for the rest of my life."
Robin: "No··· No··· You promised me—go··· go to the boys' school."
"I··· Alright, I promise you, Robin."
"······"
Stelle rubbed her chin: "Parents not at home, siblings depending on each other for survival, little sister with a frail body, big brother handsome and well-liked······ Why does this plot feel like I've seen it somewhere before?"
Clockie crossed his arms: "Tick-tock, what a real shame. If Sunday hadn't gone to the boys' school here, would the future him not have turned out so twisted?"
Stelle asked in confusion: "Does his change in sexual orientation have anything to do with him becoming a capitalist?"
Clockie: "Cycles of cause and effect—the shift in sexual orientation is just the beginning. It's not like he was born to be a capitalist; it's only after experiencing the perils and beatings of society that his evil psyche gradually swelled, just like Evil Mick."
Clockie: "Don't rush—we'll keep watching."
With that, Clockie dragged the progress bar on the panel, and the surrounding scene shifted in an instant, arriving at the school.
The teaching environment of this school could be called utterly abysmal. The school building seemed to be a renovation of the old Penacony prison from the prison era, with the main structure looking like a raw concrete shell. There was no turf on the playground, replaced instead by weeds; the desks and chairs in the classrooms were older than the students themselves, and even the lightbulbs seemed somewhat dim.
But the one thing that stood out starkly was the golden sports car parked at the school gate. A middle-aged man with golden skin stepped out of it, exuding an air of superiority in every gesture.
"Good day, principal."
"Good day to you, principal."
"Good day, Grandpa Principal."
"······"
Young Sunday, backpack on his back, stared blankly at the principal passing by his side. This scene of such extravagance left a deep shock in the heart of the naive youth. In this moment, a world that originally didn't belong to him opened up to him.
He had been enlightened by the ancient god of capital.
Clang—
Suddenly, a crisp sound pulled Sunday back to reality. It turned out that as the principal passed by Sunday, a palm-sized gold brick had fallen out of his pocket. Sunday shuddered violently, instinctively looking toward the principal, only to find that the latter hadn't noticed at all and strode straight toward his office.
This was Sunday's first piece of gold.
Stelle watched this scene and couldn't help but complain: "It's over—the pointer of fate has started turning. No wonder Sunday ended up on the path of capital—it turns out he was enlightened right here!"
"Damned evil capital aaah!!"
Clockie, however, shook his head and said: "Friend, my view differs a bit from yours. I don't think one gold brick is enough to make a kind-hearted child fall into depravity like that. This might be one of the reasons, but without a stronger catalyst, it's still not very realistic."
"Let's keep watching."
The two followed Sunday into the classroom. Although there were still ten minutes until normal school arrival time, the classroom was already packed with students. They wore thick glasses, holding pens in both hands, scribbling furiously on two workbooks at once.
"Huh?"
Sunday, on his very first day at the new school, tensed up at the sight: Had he arrived late? Would he disturb the classmates? And where was the teacher?
—"Sunday?"
Just then, a low voice rang out. A middle-aged man slowly stood up, his gaze sharp as he stared at Sunday. "You—the new transfer student?"
Sunday instinctively took a step back, stammering a bit: "Ah, y-yes······"
Whoosh—
Smack!
It all happened in the blink of an eye. The teacher snatched up a piece of chalk with thunderous speed and hurled it precisely at the forehead of the student closest to Sunday.
"You dare look up in school?! Looking up means you're distracted—being distracted means you're wasting precious time! Do you still want to get into Paperfold University? Do you still want to be one of the elite?!"
"While others are studying, you look up, and you're already a huge step behind them!"
"And the director's been cracking down on look-up rates lately—you still dare to defy the rules? What about my bonus? You're penalized—one less math worksheet today!"
That student burst into tears, but he cried while doing his workbook with both hands, not daring to waste another second.
Young Sunday: ······?!
Th-this is way too terrifying, isn't it?!
The study intensity here is so much stronger than elementary school!
"Sunday."
At that moment, the homeroom teacher turned his gaze back to Sunday and said: "You—did you buy the sixteen subject-specific practice question sets required for our class?"