System Space
This was a completely enclosed room, without windows, yet it didn't feel oppressive.
The walls were painted a warm off-white, adorned with ancient Greek-style scrollwork patterns.
The floor was covered with a thick, soft, dark blue carpet, upon which an astonishing number of pillows and cushions were scattered haphazardly, made of various materials, from smooth silk to fluffy faux fur, seemingly constructing a haven of comfort one could sink into at any moment.
What was most striking were the ubiquitous "Tribbie" dolls in various forms throughout the room—chibi versions, ones dressed in different little outfits—sitting or lying down, occupying every corner of the room like a silent, loyal guard.
Beside a rustic wooden table in the center of the room, Tiripis, referred to as "Big Tribbie," was sprawled out. Her thick red hair resembled flowing flames, with several strands hanging down onto the object she was fiddling with.
She was wearing a pure white dress, interspersed with delicate blue patterns, and a golden belt outlining the waistline of a mature woman.
At this moment, this beautiful and mature-looking woman was tinkering with the object in her hands with focused concentration, like a little girl, unconsciously humming a soft, tuneless melody.
Just then, the door, which was integrated seamlessly into the wall, silently slid open.
Madam Herta's figure appeared in the doorway. She was still in her usual attire, creating a subtle contrast with the room's warm color palette.
She had come to check on the condition of this particular Chrysos Heir.
Tribbie keenly heard the movement and abruptly lifted her head. The moment her ruby-like eyes recognized the newcomer, they burst forth with dazzling brilliance!
"Mama!"
She cheered, instantly dropped the work in her hands, and like a joyful little bird, stood up and rushed toward Black Herta!
Her movement carried the urgency of trust, completely disregarding the actual height difference between the two (Tribbie's figure was tall and mature, even slightly taller than Black Herta). She gave Black Herta a solid, full embrace and affectionately rubbed her cheek against the top of Black Herta's head.
Black Herta stumbled slightly from the sudden, enthusiastic hug, a trace of helplessness flashing across her face.
Forced to endure this overly burdensome "motherly love," she mentally pressed a hand to her forehead:
(Here we go again... Mother... What exactly do I have in common with her mother? Hair color? Eye color? Temperament? We're not even remotely alike!)
Although she was relentlessly complaining internally, seeing the pure, unadulterated joy in Tribbie's eyes, Black Herta ultimately swallowed her attempts at explanation. She raised her hand and somewhat stiffly patted Tribbie's back, soothing her in a tone that was as gentle as possible: "Alright, Tribbie, I'm here."
Just then, Tribbie noticed a small figure following behind Black Herta—pink hair and blue eyes, Cyrene cautiously peering out.
"Wow!"
Tribbie's eyes widened even further, filled with surprise and delight, as if she had discovered some rare treasure.
She immediately let go of Black Herta, which made Black Herta secretly sigh in relief, and then she spread her arms and rushed toward Cyrene!
"Little Sister! Little Sister has arrived!"
Cyrene was completely stunned, tightly hugged by this fiery red-haired older sister, her entire face buried in the other's soft chest that smelled faintly of flowers.
(Eh?! Wait! Little Sister? Me? Whose little sister am I?)
Her mind went blank. She could only feel the strength of the tight hug and the suffocating (in a physical sense) enthusiasm, her cheeks instantly turning crimson, leaving her completely flustered.
Watching this bizarre scene of blooming affection unfold before her eyes, Black Herta's mouth twitched uncontrollably again.
(Now even a little sister has popped up... What exactly is the structure of this cognitive disorder? Random adoption?)
Cyrene finally managed to struggle out a tiny gap from Tribbie's embrace and cast a pleading look at Black Herta, her azure eyes filled with the panic of "What in the world is going on?!"
Black Herta helplessly rubbed her forehead, deciding to change the subject. She directed her gaze toward the table Tribbie had been busy at and asked in a tone as natural as possible: "Tribbie, what were you... just doing?"
Sure enough, Tribbie's attention was successfully diverted.
She loosened her grip on Cyrene somewhat, but still kept one hand tightly around Cyrene's waist as if afraid she might run off. With the other hand, she excitedly took Black Herta's hand and, like a child presenting a treasure, happily led the two toward the table.
Black Herta carefully avoided the various Tribbie dolls scattered on the floor and followed her to the table.
Tribbie pointed at the objects on the table, her tone cheerful: "Mama, look! I was doing crafts!"
Black Herta looked in the direction she pointed, and then her gaze froze, her mouth twitching again in that familiar manner.
Lying quietly on the table was an object.
It was definitely not the crude work typically seen in a child's craft class.
The structure... was exceptionally intricate!
The main body was constructed from a type of lightweight wood and thin, silver-gleaming metal sheets. The lines were smooth, the layers distinct, and the tail even featured miniature thruster structures.
This was clearly an extremely well-made—Rocket Model!
The exquisite craftsmanship and rich detail made it look nothing like a handmade item, but rather an artwork polished by professional equipment in a high-end workshop.
It was hard to imagine that Tribbie had crafted this by hand using simple materials.
Black Herta's eye twitched slightly as she looked at the model, which was completely out of place with the room's classical, cozy style.
(A rocket? Making a rocket in this environment?)
Meanwhile, Tribbie was holding Cyrene, naturally placing Cyrene on her joined legs, cradled in her arms, her chin affectionately resting on the top of Cyrene's head.
Cyrene was physically stiff, her cheeks flushed, so awkward she didn't know where to put her hands or feet.
Black Herta decided to probe deeper into Tribbie's cognitive world. She chose her words carefully and asked, "Hmm... Tribbie, why do you call Cyrene 'Little Sister'?"
Hearing this, Tribbie tilted her head, her long red hair cascading to one side like a waterfall. She wore an expression of innocent near-ignorance and stated matter-of-factly, "Little Sister is just Little Sister!"
Her tone was straightforward, devoid of any logic.
Black Herta patiently continued to press: "Then... why do you think I am 'Mama'?"
Tribbie tilted her head again, answering in the same pure and unquestionable tone: "Mama is just Mama!"
(...Oh, come on.)
Black Herta felt a wave of powerlessness.
This was like talking to a brick wall; effective communication was impossible.
She changed tack, deciding to test Tribbie's view of the outside world: "Tribbie, do you want to... go out? Leave this room and see the outside?"
In Black Herta's view, given Tribbie's intense curiosity and enthusiasm for her and Cyrene's arrival, she should logically yearn for freedom.
However, Tribbie's answer once again surprised her.
"I don't want to!"
Tribbie shook her head almost instantly, answering decisively without the slightest hesitation.
Black Herta was taken aback for a moment, then quickly pressed: "Why don't you want to?"
For the first time, a look resembling a "frown" appeared on Tribbie's bright face. She mumbled, her voice carrying a hint of resistance and... fear?
"Outside... is very dangerous. I don't want to go out."
She even countered by asking Black Herta, her eyes full of confusion, "Why should I go out?"
Black Herta fell silent for a moment.
She looked around the room—cozy, comfortable, piled high with dolls and cushions, yet completely sealed off.
It was safe, but it was also a magnificent cage.
"Because of freedom."
Black Herta's voice was soft, yet carried a certain power. "You could see different sights, experience different things, instead of just being trapped in this small corner of the world."
Listening, Tribbie showed a troubled, thoughtful expression. She looked at Black Herta, then down at Cyrene in her arms, as if weighing an extremely difficult choice.
Finally, she shook her head vigorously, raising her voice like a petulant little girl:
"No—way!"
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