In the middle of the aquarium (a miniature world, though it was hard to believe) a white egg suddenly appeared and quickly sank to the sandy seabed.
Alex examined the egg briefly before summoning a menu that displayed the traits of that creature:
[Name: No
Color…
…
Development cycle:
Egg — 72 hours
…]
Unfortunately, Alex couldn't accelerate the development cycle. He had designed the creature to be as simple as possible, so that he could reach the next Manager Rank quickly and unlock more tools. Still, his abilities were limited; he couldn't create a being that defied the laws of physics or reproduced at the speed of light.
He couldn't even use [Time Acceleration], since that tool would only be unlocked at Manager Level 2, so the time inside the world he created and his own were currently synchronized.
Because his first creation existed for a single purpose — to complete the mission as quickly as possible — Alex hadn't tried to be particularly creative with it. Still, after some thought, he decided that it at least deserved a name.
Too bad, because Alex had never been good at naming things. Even in games, he always let a random generator choose his characters' names.
After some struggle that lasted ten minutes, he finally decided to name the creature Subject 1, since it was his first creation
He typed the name into the profile and tapped Confirm.
After that, seeing there was nothing else to do for the moment, Alex left the dark space and stepped back into the attic. On his way out, he noticed a mug on the floor and finally remembered his coffee. It was completely cold by now.
Alex gave a wry smile and was about to reach for the mug when he suddenly froze.
Something was floating inside. At first he thought it was just a speck of dust, but after carefully plucking it out, Alex blinked as he realized what exactly he was holding between his fingers.
It was a spider.
Probably the same spider he had nearly crushed earlier. Somehow it had climbed into the mug and accidentally fallen inside.
Alex shook his head. Could he have prevented it? Maybe. But was he truly at fault? Not really.
He hadn't killed the spider.
He had simply left the mug.
…
…
…
For the next few days, the white egg remained motionless, yet Alex checked on it every morning, afternoon, and evening. From time to time, he adjusted the world's settings—raising the temperature slightly, softening the atmosphere, or making other minor, meaningless tweaks simply to keep his hands busy.
Sometimes he simply sat beside it in the dark space, reading books or playing games on his Steam Deck.
This continued for nearly three days before the egg finally hatched.
It happened at dawn. Alex paced the dark space like an anxious father awaiting news from the delivery room, until at last he noticed movement on the aquarium's sandy floor.
The egg shuddered, jerked to the side, and split open. Small, transparent tentacles unfurled from within. They were slightly thinner than a squid's, while the creature itself resembled a fleshy, pink jellyfish.
Moments after hatching, it drifted to the surface.
Alex watched the creature with fascination, his eyes shining with childlike wonder.
His world was now inhabited. With only one creature right now, but that wouldn't be the case for long. The mission was to create a species capable of sustaining itself for multiple generations. Thus, S1 (short for Subject 1) could reproduce on its own.
Less than two hours later, it produced another transparent egg, from which a new jellyfish emerged. Following its parent's example, it drifted to the water's surface and began absorbing sunlight.
Since no other species existed in this world besides S1, Alex granted them the ability to photosynthesize and made the local sun and air especially rich in nutrients.
The S1s were destined to flourish in a world of abundance—their own Garden of Eden.
From that point forward, Alex monitored them daily, keeping a written record of their growing population.
Every two or three days, a new S1 was born, and shortly after its parent died, its body settling on the seabed before dissolving into dust. To prevent overpopulation, Alex had given the creatures the ability to reproduce only once in their lifetime and a very short lifespan.
He estimated that it would take several months for enough generations to pass for him to complete his task, and for a while everything went according to plan… until one fateful day.
Several month into his experiments, on an otherwise unremarkable morning, Alex climbed into the attic and began counting the fleshy jellyfish drifting in the aquarium.
Alex knew they wouldn't live long, yet he still gave them names: Ares, Atlas, Chaos, Kratos, Genemon, Little Star, and so on.
It was his way of fighting boredom. The S1s were visually identical and rarely moved, so he distinguished them by their location.
There's Rabbit floating over there, there's Dandelion, there's Jade Emperor, there's Gundam, and there, in the corner, is Lumpy Puff…
Wait.
Alex froze.
The corner was empty. Where was Lumpy Puff?
He scanned the aquarium again but still couldn't find it. Could it have already died? To be sure, he checked the footage from the camera he'd bought a couple of weeks earlier and set up on a tripod to record everything in the aquarium.
He rewound the footage to the moment when Lumpy Puff was still there, and a few minutes later Alex's eyes widened in shock.
He replayed the fateful moment, then watched it again in slow motion, then again.
On the camera's small screen, Lumpy Puff and another jellyfish, Jelly, drifted side by side. Suddenly, Jelly's transparent tentacles shot toward her sister, pulling her closer and swallowing her whole.
A chill ran down Alex's spine. He hurried to the aquarium and found Jelly. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that she was slightly larger than her peers.
Alex checked his notes and discovered that Jelly was the youngest member of the pack. For some reason, that detail felt important, perhaps even crucial, to solving the mystery.
Alex spent a couple of hours mulling over the matter and, in the end, chose not to intervene — at least for now — and to continue his observations.
The next day, Jelly devoured two more of her sisters (farewell, Gundam) and grew even larger. Two days later, she laid an egg from which hatched not one, but two S1s.
But Alex was worried for another reason. Previously, offspring had appeared every three days (including the hatching period), but now it took as many as five. That delay pushed back the completion of his mission. Fortunately, only two generations remained before he would reach the required number (33), so perhaps it wouldn't be much of an issue…
Meanwhile, the aquarium was quickly growing empty. Immediately after hatching, Jelly's twins (Yogurt and Sour Cream) devoured all of their ancestors, growing to the size of their mother. The following day, they tore Jelly apart and consumed her as well.
Who would be the next to die?
Alex observed the twins with intense focus and anticipation.
Determined not to miss the crucial moment, he practically lived in front of the aquarium. He even ate his breakfast there, which turned out to be a mistake:
He nearly dropped his coffee when Yogurt and Sour Cream opened wide, black eyes upon their bodies, staring right at him.
…