The moment Aster dropped the word "poison", it felt like my soul has left my body. My survival instinct quickly kicked in, and I yanked the bottle out of my mouth with my shaky little hand, but the maid grabbed my hand with her rough hand and forced the bottle back to my mouth.

"I don’t have all day to serve you. Just finish the milk quickly." she snapped at me and stared at me as if I were nothing more than a bug.

I struggled desperately to free myself, but the weak, underdeveloped muscles of my infant body betrayed me, and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop myself from swallowing more of the milk.

In desperation to break free, I held my breath, hoping it might trick her into removing the bottle. But after barely thirty seconds, my useless body rebelled against me, and my lungs started burning for air. A fierce coughing fit rattled through my useless frame. My situation forced the maid to finally pull the bottle away. Her face shifted from cold indifference to pale horror as I gasped and coughed.

“What’s happening?” she muttered, her once firm grip turning shaky. Her trembling hands lifted me up closer to her, and she started rubbing circles over my back, trying to soothe the violent coughs. Her panicked face didn’t seem to match the expression of someone who would knowingly feed me poison. But then, who was responsible?

My mind racing of the thought about Who would poison a newborn’s milk? And why would someone target an infant? My mind raced with a dozen of horrifying possibilities. Had that old man I saw earlier, decided to end my life to erase the stain of an unwanted child from his history? Or was it his wife? Maybe she was desperate to secure her own children’s inheritance, willing to poison an innocent infant just to clear her family’s future from any complications. The thought sent a cold shiver through me, the idea of being so unwanted—so despised—that they’d rather kill me than acknowledge I existed.

But what could I do? I was helpless, caught in the body of a baby, vulnerable and powerless. Already, my vision blurred as I imagined my death, slow and agonizing, from the poison that flows through my veins. Just as despair began to settle in, Aster’s voice cut through my thoughts.

Analysis complete: methamphetamine detected in small quantity.

Methamphetamine? The name was unfamiliar to me yet sound something lethal. Was it some kind of hidden poison that would kill me quietly, without arousing suspicion? My pulse quickened again as my mind racing through the terrible possibilities. So, this is it, I thought bitterly. This is how I die again—a cruel, pointless end, not even a week into this new life.

Stop panicking, idiot. It’s not potent enough to kill you, so calm down.

The words hit me like a splash of cold water and relief washed over me, followed by a surge of irritation that burned through my fear.

“Then why didn’t you say so sooner, you jerk?”

I wanted to yell, though I knew he could hear every furious thought. I’d been bracing for death, and he’d casually let me go on thinking I was doomed. But the relief was only temporary. If methamphetamine wasn’t enough to kill me, why was it there at all? The mere fact that they’d chosen this drug meant someone wanted me impaired in some way. Methamphetamine—it might not kill me quickly, but what would it do over time?

“Aster, if it’s not lethal, then… what exactly does it do?”

He paused for a moment and replied with a clam voice.

It’s a neurotoxin. A slow-acting one designed to damage your mental growth and the nervous system. In short, if you keep taking it, you’ll be a mindless husk—a forever infant.

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The words struck me harder than any fatal poison could have. My body went rigid, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. A poison that would slowly dismantle my mental health… It is sentence to a living death. The fear was so raw that it sent shivers through me and my newborn body quaking about the thought of the result.

If I kept drinking the milk, my mind would be locked in this infantile state, never maturing, never understanding, never able to fight or think for myself. A prisoner within my own body, I would live out my days as a hollow shell—a husk. No freedom. No choices. Just an existence without any purpose, like an empty vessel waiting to be discarded. My pulse hammered in my ears as the horrifying image of that future burned into my mind. How could anyone do this to a child? To me?

But then, what if I refused to drink it? The realization clawed its way into my thoughts, spreading a different kind of terror. If I didn’t consume the milk, I’d starve to death in this tiny, helpless form. I’d be faced with a cruel, inescapable choice—an endless, empty life or a swift, silent death. No matter which path I took, I was cornered, left with no freedom to escape this cruel fate. The worst part was the question gnawing at me: Who would want this? Who would poison an infant?

I was suffocating under its weight, and my tiny fingers curled in frustration. Each breath felt heavier than the last, as if the very air I drew in were a poison tightening around me. Is this how I am going to die again? The whole situation felt hopeless and unbearable until a spark lit- Aster. He may be a jerk, but he is also a genius. If he could travel with me across dimensions, then maybe—just maybe—he could find a way to counter this poison too. Gathering the little hope, I forced my thoughts in his direction.

“Aster, can you do something about the poison?”

His sarcastic voice cut in as if he had been waiting for my struggle to become interesting.

I was just waiting for your useless thoughts to settle down.

Relief flooded through me, but my stomach twisted with a bad feeling like the calm before the storm.

“Wait—what are you planning?"

I barely finished the question before his cold, clipped response cut through.

Activating Phase One.

Phase One? I barely had time to process his words before an agonizing heat ignited in my heart, spreading through my entire body leaving a feeling like I was being burned alive. My heart pounds like crazy, sending heat waves through my veins. It felt like my cells were tearing apart and rebuilding, nerve by nerve. I wanted to cry out and scream until the pain finally stopped, but the intensity left me breathless.

"Aster, what... what did you do?”

Modifying your genetic code. This phase is originally set for your first birthday. But to counter the poison, we’re starting it early. It may hurt a bit, but bear with it.

The detachment in his voice nearly shattered me. Just a bit? My whole body felt like it was on fire, and he was calling it "a bit."

"Jerk, I feel like I’ve been set on fire!"

Stop whining like a child, he replied coldly. It may hurt, but this will ensure your survival—and make you superior to others. So, consider yourself lucky.

“Lucky?”, I thought bitterly, biting down a wave of nausea. If this is luck, I’d hate to see what he considers misfortune.

Warnings kept flashing through my mind, one after another, each one grimmer than the last: Heart rate unstable. Temperature exceeding safe limits. Just when I was sure the pain would be the end of me, the unbearable burning subsided, replaced by crushing fatigue, as though every cell in my body had gone through an intense workout. My vision blurred, spots dancing in front of my eyes. I felt a strange sensation, almost as if I were floating above my own body. Is this how it feels to die? Again?

“What… what’s happening to me?”

Congratulations on surviving, idiot. I was nearly certain you’d die, but you managed to hold on. Well done.

I could almost feel the smirk in his voice, and I clenched my fists under the lingering pain.

"You... did you do this knowing I might not survive? You reckless maniac!”

Of course,” he replied smoothly, as if the answer were obvious.

To gain poison resistance, it’s essential to undergo genetic modification.

“You—!”

Now your body is stronger enough to resist the Methamphetamine.

“Stronger?” I could barely contain my frustration.

“You nearly killed me!”

Nearly, but not entirely. You’re alive, and that’s what matters.

I want to curse him, but I felt nauseous, and I vomited all over the maid, who is still holding me in her arm. The sudden release of pressure in my stomach brought a sliver of relief, but Maid’s horrified gasp cut through my daze, and she recoiled, her face twisted in disgust.

“Filthy brat!” she spat, a hint of rage seeping through her shock. She roughly deposited me back into the cradle, her eyes glinting with disgust as she wiped at the mess on her dress.

“Bastard, you’re as worthless as your mother.”