Two weeks later.

  My brown notebook was indeed returned a week after the fever subsided, but the surveillance got even tighter. Time rules were really enforced. If I spent too long writing or scribbling things that made me curious, Mom would appear and take it without much talk.

  ? ? ?

  In those days, I returned to my routine. Mornings, I helped Mom in the kitchen. Washing rice, picking green onions, or sitting in a small chair while keeping her company cooking. It was already an old habit. Nothing new.

  However, after being sick, everything felt slightly different. I felt my eyes stinging even though there were no onions in front of me.

  "Sera, stir the eggs slowly."

  "Sera, taste the soup. Slowly, or your tongue will burn."

  I did everything without protest. I didn't care about being seen as obedient.

  Because I liked moments like this.

  Simple and calm.

  Mom usually talked about vegetable prices going up, unpredictable weather on the small island where we lived, or her friend Aura. I'd known about Aura for a long time, but never actually seen her.

  "She's very busy, dear," Mom said one day when I asked about her.

  I frowned. "Busy? But... I'm curious!"

  Mom laughed quietly while covering her mouth. "She's just busy with her own life."

  Mom's laughter was a sound I usually heard, part of the routine that stayed the same. But behind that routine, something was slowly shifting in this house. If Mom was the figure always in the kitchen, then another figure started often appearing in unexpected places.

  Dad.

  Since I got sick, he's been coming into my room more often. One afternoon, when I was lying staring at the ceiling, waiting for drowsiness to pick me up like my usual routine.

  The sound of door hinges creaking thinly broke the silence.

  The corner of my eye caught a shadow slipping in.

  Dad entered with bent knees, his foot tips stepping carefully as if avoiding land mines. His gaze locked on the pile of toys in the corner of the room, as if that was an enemy base that must be conquered immediately.

  I was still frozen on the bed, but he didn't glance at me at all. His right hand reached into his cargo pants pocket with a quick motion, pulling out a pair of plastic pistols whose surface was still slick and shiny. Hologram stickers on the barrel reflected light.

  Without warning, Dad dropped his shoulder.

  Thud!

  His back hit the floor, followed by a rolling motion that made dust want to immediately emigrate. He crouched behind my bed frame, squinting one eye with tightly pursed lips.

  "Dad..." My voice came out quietly.

  "Shhh! Sera, duck!" Dad whispered sharply, the veins in his neck taut. He peeked from behind my bed sheet with a look as if there was an armed force breaking through the window. "We're surrounded by the Empire's elite division! Don't let them see you!"

  He then puffed out his cheeks, making wet explosion sounds. "Boom! Got you! Take that... Do you think we're weak chickens."

  I could only blink. The doll I was hugging slowly slipped down.

  In front of me, that grown man was busy doing small jumps, imitating choppy movements of MC-like characters we watched the other day. Sweat started appearing on his temples, and his breath sounded heavy, filling the afternoon emptiness that was usually calm.

  I wanted to scream, 'This is so cringe!'

  But, if I'm honest with myself... I also did it in my previous life when I was little. Turns out it's embarrassing seeing it from someone else's perspective. Did other people think the same about me? When they saw me rolling around like a jumping clown?

  I really wanted to cover my face with a pillow and pretend to faint.

  "How about it, my Daughter? Impressive enough?" Dad held out that pistol to me, making me aware from daydreaming.

  I took that plastic pistol. Light, smelled like factory, and felt strange in my hand. I took a long breath, trying to suppress my embarrassment. "Dad... so cool! Dad..."

  My words immediately stopped.

  Tiss.

  Something cold and thick landed right on my temple. It felt sticky.

  I froze.

  Reflexively, I touched that spot. When I looked at my finger, a sky blue stain greeted me. I stared at Dad.

  His hand held another pistol that came from who knows where. The barrel tip still had a drop of blue paint ready to fall. He looked at me with the most innocent face I'd ever seen.

  An extraordinarily bad acting.

  "...Dad."

  "Hmm?"

  "This is paint."

  "Yes," he answered casually.

  "On my head."

  "Right! So what? The color's nice, isn't it? Sky blue. Pretty, like your hair, very suitable," he said while holding back laughter starting to explode in his eyes.

  I blinked once.

  Tiss.

  The second paint hit my shoulder.

  Red color.

  I felt the corner of my lips twitch.

  Dad, why do you enjoy bothering me so much? I didn't do anything wrong, right? Are you taking your frustration out on me? Because you made Mom angry at you?

  I raised the orange pistol in my hand, aiming it right at Dad's nose, who was now laughing widely.

  "Dad thinks this pistol is just decoration?!" I growled in the coldest tone possible.

  I pulled the trigger firmly.

  Click.

  No cold liquid spurted out. No color stain came out. Just the sound of dry plastic colliding inside that pistol's mechanism.

  I froze, staring at that orange pistol barrel in confusion.

  What the hell? Jammed? At a time like this?!

  Dad stopped laughing. His eyes sparkled slyly, as if he just saw prey whose weapon ran out of bullets in the middle of a real battlefield.

  My shoulder tensed without me realizing it.

  "Oh," Dad mumbled with a predator's grin. "Looks like your weapon is experiencing technical failure."

  Tiss! Tiss! Tiss!

  "Oww! Dad, stop!"

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Three consecutive shots hit my face. One on the forehead, one on the left cheek, and one right on my nose tip.

  "Target confirmed!" Dad exclaimed happily. His hand moved quickly, pulling the trigger repeatedly as if he was on the front lines of a world war.

  Tiss! Tiss! Tiss! Tiss!

  Damn!

  I immediately covered my face with both hands, turned my body, and ran haphazardly looking for shelter. I could feel wet stains raining on my back and the back of my head.

  Damned thing! Why won't this plastic trash shoot?! Does this toy not even have usage instructions?

  I slid into the narrow gap between the closet and wall, my breath racing. Roughly, I wiped the red paint stain that almost entered my right eye. I flipped that pistol around in the dim light. There must be something. No way Dad gave me broken goods.

  Then my finger felt something. A small bump, almost invisible, near the trigger guard. A slider switch with a very small power unit symbol.

  Oh, finally!

  I slid that button.

  A small LED light on the back of the pistol glowed bright red. The machine inside vibrated smoothly, making a satisfying low hum.

  I grinned. Now, time to counterattack.

  I peeked from behind the closet. Dad was walking slowly with firm steps.

  "Seraaa... come out, come out, hands up!"

  I came out of hiding with one quick jump. Dad froze.

  Are you shocked because I dared face you?

  He tried to aim his weapon at me, but I was ready. I raised the orange pistol in my hand, aiming it right at Dad's nose.

  "Dad thinks this pistol is just decoration?!" I shouted, repeating the same sentence to erase my embarrassment.

  Tiss! Tiss! Tiss!

  Three sprays of blue paint launched straight, hitting Dad's chest and shoulder squarely.

  So easy! Is it because there's no recoil?

  "AHHH! Cheating! Sera's cheating!" Dad yelled in shock, almost jumping backward. He immediately ran zigzag, trying to hide behind my small bed. Of course it was too narrow to cover his body completely.

  "Dad started first!" I answered while continuing to press the trigger mercilessly.

  How dare you call me a cheater?

  That room exploded again in chaos.

  I no longer cared about feeling cringe. Right now, there's only me and a plastic pistol that now functions perfectly.

  And the mission to make Dad's face full of colors.

  ? ? ?

  Less than five minutes.

  I was panting, my clothes starting to feel heavy from paint stains cooling on my skin. I wiped sweat on my temple with the back of my hand, only to realize I was actually adding a purple streak there.

  In front of me, the main target had been successfully neutralized.

  "Okay... okay... Papa surrenders," he mumbled while raising his hands high, a sign of total surrender.

  Surrender? Impossible!

  Right when I was about to launch a counterattack, a baritone voice from the television in the living room penetrated the commotion in our room. That voice was so firm, bringing an aura that suddenly froze the atmosphere.

  "Live report from the center of Mardius region. Today, new history is once again etched under the Emperor's radiance."

  I froze, still gripping my orange plastic pistol.

  On that screen, a strange flying object cut through clouds at stable speed. Its shape was long. Its body like a real ship, complete with hull curves. But it floated. No wings like planes I usually saw from the house yard every day.

  I was stunned.

  Flying ship?

  What the hell is that! Is that real? Is that an alien ship?

  Its metal gleamed, its surface so smooth without a single visible screw. That was the peak of technology I'd ever seen besides the jet plane I saw when coming to this world. Similar to a flying aircraft carrier.

  That ship landed gracefully on a platform surrounded by thousands of cheering people.

  The vehicle's door opened. Cold air on screen seemed to creep into my room.

  A fairly old man with dark purple hair stepped out.

  He wasn't wearing a modern suit or futuristic military uniform I imagined. Instead, that man wore a long robe of black velvet fabric that looked very heavy. Large gold medals engraved with ancient symbols clinked on his chest.

  At his waist hung a sword with a ruby-studded hilt. An object more suited to be in a museum than beside anti-gravity technology.

  "Duke Arcas's visit to Viscount Mardius region for the annual celebration is seen as a strategic step to strengthen coordination between the southern and central regions of the Empire, especially amid political dynamics that have become increasingly sensitive lately."

  "Duke?" I mumbled quietly.

  Dad also glanced at the screen. He used the edge of his shirt to wipe the green stain on his cheek, but his eyes stayed on the TV.

  "Hm? Oh. He's a great person who has vast land under the Emperor."

  Dad said it as if he was explaining that the sun is hot.

  But in my head, it felt different.

  All this time, every time I saw fairly advanced technology around me, like street lights that turn on by themselves when dusk falls, I always assumed this world was already socially advanced. Although I once concluded the island where I live is led by one system.

  But I wasn't sure because I might have misunderstood my dad's words. A world with technology this great couldn't still be stuck in 15th-century political mentality.

  It should be that way, right?

  However, the scene on that screen destroyed everything.

  I'm not just on a remote island. I'm under the big umbrella of an empire that might be bigger than I imagined. I've seen world maps, so I know how vast this world is. Even wider than my previous world.

  I swallowed.

  This information is quite heavy.

  It took several seconds until everything really entered my head. Then small pieces started connecting themselves.

  Mom.

  The women I'd met so far.

  I almost never saw adult women showing as much skin as I used to see on Earth. There are exceptions, Sector Two for instance. There, some girls wore shorter skirts, bolder styles.

  Is it because Sector Two is like a big city, so it's freer? Because big cities are usually looser with norms.

  At that time I thought it was all just about taste. About cultural differences.

  Turns out not.

  "So..." I asked unconsciously. "Humans now are ruled by one person? The Emperor?"

  Huh?

  Wait... Wait! What did I just say! Would a kid my age ask something like that?

  A kid my age shouldn't string together questions like that. Not with a tone like that.

  Sure enough, Dad froze hearing my words. He furrowed his brow as if weighing something in my face.

  My heart pounded hard. If he asks, what should I answer? Reflection? It just came out? Imitating speech style of TV characters?

  "Of course," he finally answered, making me aware again. "All humans under this sky are in the Empire's protection."

  His tone wasn't angry or even surprised. He seemed to explain something that everyone should naturally know.

  Is there no rebellion? Or general election? Isn't that a bit strange?

  I nodded slowly, as if just understanding a basic lesson.

  Duke above Viscount.

  Viscount above Baron.

  Baron above common people.

  And at the peak, one name.

  A neat hierarchy. Straight from top to bottom. Modern on the surface. Feudally structured inside.

  One system. And if so...

  Click.

  The bedroom door opened.

  "Sera, Mama brought something for..."

  Mom stood in the doorway with a tray of cookies in her hand.

  Her gaze swept the room slowly. Walls full of blue, red, and green splashes that looked like paintings. Then toward me. Blue stain still stuck to my temple.

  Lastly, to Dad.

  Green paint dried right on his nose.

  Mom looked down. The tip of her hair fell, covering part of her face. She took a slow breath, then exhaled soundlessly.

  But... the corner of Mom's lips rose slowly.

  "Looks like you two had fun~"

  Dad and I exchanged glances.

  She wasn't asking. She was stating a certainty. Her tone was so calm, the kind of calm that made my neck hair stand. And her smile... how could that smile still look that sweet?

  ? ? ?

  Twenty minutes later.

  My world changed from battlefield to forced labor.

  Mom sat gracefully on my bed while sipping her tea and enjoying the cookies she brought earlier. The television was still on quietly, but her attention was only on us two.

  Dad and I knelt on the floor, each holding wet rags and buckets of soapy water. We scrubbed the walls at full speed before that paint hardened forever.

  Although actually, the paint was very easy to remove with water.

  "Mom..." I called in the meekest tone possible while wiping a blue stain that wouldn't go away. "Sera's tired..."

  "Hmm." Mom took the next cookie bite.

  "My hands are already sore..."

  Mom sipped her tea, making a calm slurp sound. "Hmm."

  "Besides, this was Dad who started first."

  Her cup stopped. "That won't work, Sera."

  "Mama~"

  "So sweet!"

  "But..." She put her cup back down with a delicate sound on the saucer on her lap. "The answer's still the same."

  Her finger stroked my doll as if checking whether any dust dared land there.

  A neat rejection!

  I wanted to try again.

  But... Dad approached slowly, whispering right in my ear while his hand was still busy scrubbing. "Psst. Sera, tell your Mom... Papa has urgent business. Want to go out for a bit."

  I glanced at Mom, who was still absorbed in her cookies.

  Then at Dad.

  Then back to Mom.

  Dad... is he really trying to escape? Leaving me alone to clean up this mess? How dare you try to run away. Alright, since you want to escape, as a good child I'll help you!

  "Um... Ma." I cleared my throat slightly. "Dad says there's important business. He said it's about his dignity and future as a man."

  The atmosphere immediately changed. I could feel it.

  The rag in Dad's hand stopped.

  Mom still held her cup. She sipped a bit more, slowly, as if nothing was strange. Only after that did she put it down neatly.

  "Oh?" She looked at me. Not at Dad. "Important business?"

  "Y-yes," Dad answered quickly from behind me. "But... I-I didn't say anything about dignity."

  I turned slightly. "Dad said it was a crisis earlier."

  "Huh?"

  "I see." Mom leaned her back gracefully. Her hands folded lightly on her lap. "If it's really that important... go ahead."

  Dad froze.

  "But," Mom continued in the same melodious tone, "if you go out, no need to come back~"

  I glanced at Dad.

  Our gazes met for a split second. Dad immediately cleared his throat quietly. His eyes jumped to the door, then toward Mom. The rag in his hand suddenly moved faster.

  "Which part isn't clean yet?" he mumbled quietly, facing the wall again.

  I pointed to the upper corner still leaving red stains. Dad followed my finger's direction. One heavy sigh came from his nose. He pulled a small chair closer, climbed carefully, then started scrubbing that part without further comment.

  And in that corner, Mom took the last piece of cookie with a smile that didn't change at all.

  I haven't even eaten that cookie yet. This is all because of my dad.

  "Very good," she mumbled quietly, almost like talking to herself. "This is clean like the saying. Clean is beautiful."

  Dad and I didn't answer.

  Just the sound of cloth scrubbing on walls was heard.

  A few seconds later, Mom stood and checked the results briefly.

  "Hm. Not bad," she said while carrying her plate and empty tea cup.

  "Next time, if you two want to play with paint again... Mama thinks the bathroom also needs renovation. Maybe the kitchen too. Mama feels you two have talent."

  Dad's hand almost slipped.

  I pretended to be busy scrubbing the wall harder than necessary.

  Mom stepped toward the door calmly. Each step light as if just finishing a satisfying small matter. At the doorway, she stopped briefly without turning.

  "Oh, yes."

  We both reflexively tensed.

  "Make sure the bed is clean too. Paint leaves marks if left."

  Silence.

  Then she really left the room. The door closed with a gentle click.

  That day I spent cleaning the room, even forgot to watch the movie I always waited for.