“Nooooo! Let me out! Old man!”

A little forced but effective.

Time to reward myself with some of that delectable pasta.

As much as I hate forcing my sweet to be in such an uncomfortable environment, pushing her only serves to make her far more powerful than she can ever imagine.

I place my hands together and put them on the pot to reheat the pasta. The scent alone is beyond enchanting, more so than any Elven spell or anything those pitiful gods could call weapons.

But alas, despite my best efforts to instill confidence in my pride and joy, and yet that awkward underestimation of her own capabilities only further exacerbates my hunger. I have given her every, any and all things she could ask for, including the opportunity to work independently within her means and earn her own efforts, but I still cannot compreshend why she has such a low self-value. Prying further seems to worsen the main core of the problem, which further strains my desire to consume, causing me to toss the ladle back into the sink after licking it clean, of course.

While eating pasta, I overheard two girls arguing about leaving their clothes on, which is expected considering Girly's awkward situation. In the end, as expected Girly to hide away in a tub facing away from Ophii.

Wispy thinks that being related can help strengthen a weak friendship. I estimate their bond is around 30 out of 100.

However, that estimation cannot consider time amongst a peer as a factor in increasing bonds. By the end of this week, it has the potential to rise by upwards of 85% with the circumstances I lay ahead. Exactly as planned, yet the ease of Girly’s agreement to our verbal despite her initial reluctance bothers me.

I wash down the remains of the pot licking it spotless, drop it into the kitchen sink for my daughter to clean and return to my couch. In four minutes, she'll finish cleaning the bathroom, and she's dressed in a onesie, reminiscent of when she was an infant and I made a mess. If it had not been for that day, then I could not enjoy the luxury of her endearing but all together futile protests.

For many trivial, but a treasure like no other to me, one with little to gain.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The pile high mess of my lethargy reminds me of the students in Ophi’s classroom, subjects of noninterest, including that imperfect teleporter. Each one lacks that crucial element that makes them so fun to watch.

The degrading symbiotes progress halts to a still and within the week they should act soon enough.

False.

Without the teleporter, they lack enough utility to move their pieces properly thus I must watch for their move and with the end of the next month, approaching their actions become far more necessary because they must learn that crucial essence of mortals.

What?

Desperation.

That uncontrollable will to survive by all means. Animals understand survival instinctually, but these dolls lack history, struggle, and desire. Stagnant dolls fiddling with the same tools as they always had.

They may live, but they are certainly not alive.

That is what I desire. Yet the fail.

With increasing desperation comes the first taste of urgency because in your world they would call it the end. What marvels will come, what shall they create, and how entertaining they will dance. In forty days’ time, I shall find out whether these flesh dolls and their creator holds so dear are as necessary as they told me.

If my late summoner believes in salvation, then I damnation.

“3 2…1 and.”

“Ah! Papa, that was for Kyrie!”

On schedule, as usual.

So, she has transitioned from my friend to the comfortable use of the girl’s name in only a matter of minutes. Just how much more can you exceed my expectations, my dear Ophi? Looks like I miscalculated once again.

“Damn old man, ya can’t eat what’s mine!

“You’re welcome to get it back if you wish.”

“Papa! That’s gross.”

“Yes, my perfect, cute, adorable, all forgiving saintess princess?”

“Why didn’t you wash the dishes after you finished?”

“Uh…I forgot?” Shrugging as the pouting on her face causes my stomach to well with great pains of joy.

“Papa!”

“Sorry sorry. I’ll do it next time.”

“That’s what you said the last hundred times.”

“Ya kept count?”

“I mean, he kinda makes it a habit to not do it, so I just started doing it.”

“Huh, that ain’ right. Ya gotta make him do it this time then, or he’ll keep pinnin’ it on ya.”

Puffing up with red flushed cheeks full of angry clouds, yet she still went over to clean them. “You’re cleaning the dinner dishes next time, Papa.”

“Yeah yeah. I might do it.”

“Papa!”

“I make a Schrödinger promise.”

Then comes her confused yet enticed expression at an unfamiliar word she hasn’t heard before. I feel the warmth of contentment inside seeing the struggle on her face between wanting to ask and staying angry, more than even the hot pasta could..

“A promise is a promise, so you can’t go back on it.”

“Yep yep.”

Ah, that curiosity, that endless adventurous thirst for purer and cleaner, reasons to get rid from any outside poison.

How invigorating. Which reminds me.

A swift end. A pointless struggle.

Progressia, which do you choose?

Till that end, continue to entertain me. You and your Potential Aces.