CHAPTER 157: WHEN A SYSTEM SAYS ’BE A MOTHER’

In the deepest control chamber of the Tower, Lilith stood still.

Her eyes were fixed on the projection panel displaying Nathan—

surrounded by Monster Girls whose gazes were no longer innocent.

But Lilith didn’t move.

She didn’t try to stop them.

She simply clenched her fists in front of her chest.

"This is my fault," she whispered.

Her voice was barely audible in the room filled with flickering screens.

"I was only supposed to observe," she continued quietly.

"Not to save.

When the dimensional war erased their realities...

my task was simple: record.

But I... I saved them."

Her eyes closed.

Her shoulders trembled slightly.

"I pulled Domina and Livia from a burning Rabielm.

Morvessa from a world destroyed by the monster-bat race.

Validia... she was nearly dead when I teleported her body..."

Lilith bowed her head.

"If someone has to be punished, let it be me.

Not Nathan. He doesn’t know anything.

He’s just... my son."

Her fingers hovered above the screen, trembling—not from fear, but from the memory of warm skin. She remembered the feel of Livia’s horns when she brushed them gently. Of Domina’s soft cheek against her lap when she fell asleep mid-ramble. She’d touched them not as a manager... but like a mother petting her kittens. But could she really call herself that? She’d saved their bodies, but never gave them truth. Not even names they could trace back. Her chest tightened. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was that strange ache she used to feel... the first time Nathan ever called her "Mom" without a system prompt.

[DING.]

A system panel appeared beside her.

[Command: None.]

[Override Protocol: Active.]

Lilith’s eyes widened.

"...You’re not giving me instructions?"

[Correct.]

"...Why?"

The next system text appeared slowly.

[You wished to become a mother.

Then begin... by accepting them as your children.]

Lilith bit her lip.

Tears fell from her eyes—

but she quickly wiped them away.

"...I understand."

---

At the Blue Fang Guild headquarters...

David leaned against the wall, staring at Sophia who stood tall in front of him.

"You sure you want to go in?" he asked flatly.

Sophia nodded. "I’ve cleared the 10th floor. I want to continue."

David pointed to the room beyond the glass door.

"The test is in there. Go."

Inside the room, a large crystal orb sat atop a pedestal.

Two evaluators stood casually nearby, like they’d seen too many average results to be impressed.

"Place your hand on the orb," one of them said.

Sophia stepped forward.

Her hand touched the cool surface of the crystal.

At first, the orb glowed a bright blue.

But not long after...

the light dimmed.

Then turned black.

Cracks began to spread.

"Eh?!"

The orb shattered—

exploding into shards.

The shards sparkled around her like a dress of broken stars—sharp, glittering, and weightless. Some pieces brushed her skin, but she didn’t move. It almost looked erotic, how the crystal dust clung to her collarbone, caught in her neck’s sweat, and slid past the hem of her tank top. But Sophia wasn’t blushing. Her fingers twitched once. That was all. Inside, something ancient stirred—not a monster, not a spell... but longing. Not for power. But for a voice. For a boy. For a house with broken windows and warm laughter. She looked at her hand again, lips parting. "...Nathan..."

Everyone froze.

Even David raised an eyebrow.

"...What the hell was that?"

Sophia simply stared at her hand.

No injuries.

---

In a small room full of memories, Lily hugged a little bunny plush tightly in her arms.

The fabric was faded.

One ear had a patch.

One of its eyes was slightly crooked.

But Lily held it like the most precious thing in the world.

"You gave me this when I passed the middle school entrance exam..."

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Back then I said I didn’t want it. Said I didn’t need toys. I asked for lip balm."

She hugged the plush closer.

"But... I kept it."

Her hands trembled slightly. The bunny doll’s fabric smelled like dust, detergent, and one faint trace of Nathan’s cologne—the one he stole from their father’s collection. She pressed her cheek against its chest, imagining it was a hug from someone too big to fit in a memory. Her pajamas slipped slightly as she shifted, revealing her shoulder—but she didn’t care. She was too old for dolls, but too young to hate her feelings. Her thighs pressed against the carpet, legs folded like a girl stuck between bedtime and heartbreak. "You said you’d stay till I graduated..." she whispered. "Then I blinked. And you were... gone."

"Come back, you idiot..."

She let out a small laugh— but it trembled.

"Smile like you used to. Sit in this house. Don’t rent an a apartment... don’t leave me..."

She didn’t cry. But her face was still as a statue.

Only her eyes blinked slowly— as if waiting for someone who once promised... never to leave.

---

In the Tower’s system chamber...

Lilith stared at the screen now flashing a bright red notification.

[Warning: Earth Guardian #01]

[Summon Order: Floor 100]

[Reason: Forbidden Memory Access / Origin Unlock Triggered]

Lilith took a deep breath.

"So... I really have to face them."

She reached out, trying to cut through the air with her finger—attempting to use her dimensional slicing ability.

[Ding!]

[Dimensional breach not permitted]

Sure enough, the black rift she started to form faded instantly.

She sighed.

"Then...?"

Her eyes shifted to a nearby platform.

"...Old-fashioned way," she muttered.

She stepped onto the transport platform at the center of the room.

Her reflection shimmered faintly on the metal floor—

a mother, a guardian, and a sinner... all in one form.

As the platform began to rise, she whispered softly:

"Please... don’t hate me, sweet girls."

The white light consumed her.

The light surrounded her, Lilith’s clothes began to dissolve—converted into data. Her skin shimmered under the system’s cleansing veil. She was bare again—like when she first arrived in this dimension, built from stolen stardust and overwritten fate. The sensation was warm. Too warm. Like she was being reborn. But this time, not as a tool. As a mother. As someone who had touched too many heads, brushed too many cheeks, without ever saying "I love you." Her nipples stiffened in the artificial breeze—stupid, absurd. But she didn’t cover herself. Not anymore. "Let them see who I am," she thought. "I’m done hiding."

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