In a sprawling mansion surrounded by lush greenery and intricate architecture, three men stood in one of the many rooms.
"You guys are useless," said the tall man with white hair. His twisted face and cold eyes were fixed on Simon Warfare—my dad. He looked down at the floor, his hands clenched at his sides.
Dad didn't speak. He didn't even raise his head. He knew better than to talk back to his father.
But then—
"GET OUT!"
The harsh words came from my grandfather. The same man who once held me as a baby. Who used to ruffle my hair and tell me bedtime stories. Now he stood like a stranger.
My dad turned toward me, his eyes filled with sorrow.
"Dad, I'm the one who awakened with 0.1 per day. Why do you need to come with me? I can…" My voice cracked as I lowered my head. The words wouldn't come out.
I had no one left.
My friends had stopped talking to me. And now… my own family was turning their backs on me because of my low Awakening level.
Then, I felt a hand rest gently on my shoulder.
I looked up—and there he was.
With a soft, almost trembling voice, he said, "Crayon… We're your parents. We'll always take care of you—no matter what happens. We can't leave you behind. You're my only child."
The doors suddenly swung open, and golden light spilled into the room.
A rough voice echoed, "Oh? They're still here? Why the hell are they even standing around?" A tall figure stood at the doorway, smirking arrogantly.
It was my dad's older brother.
Anger surged through me. My dad had worked so hard. He earned every coin, built this mansion, and raised the family from commoners to Barons. And now, just because the property wasn't in his name, they were throwing him out.
My dad straightened his back. His gaze locked onto his brother's eyes.
"I'm leaving. And I won't come back—even if you beg me," he said sharply, walking past his brother without flinching.
We went to our rooms and began packing. Mom had already finished hers and was now helping us with ours.
We gathered our things, walked down the polished white tiles, and never looked back.
"They might come back one day and try to take what they made," said my grandfather in the now-quiet room.
"They have no right," replied the uncle, rubbing his hands. "But if you want, transfer the land deeds and account balance to me. I'll manage them for you."
My grandfather waved his hands dismissively. "No, no. These things are safe with me. You don't need to worry."
"Alright, Father. As you say," the uncle muttered with gritted teeth. He stormed off to his room, rage boiling just beneath the surface.
---
Out on the road, Simon and Mary—my dad and mom—walked beside me across damp earth. Our footsteps left faint impressions behind us. The morning sun cast long shadows across the dirt.
I felt a lump in my throat.
They gave up everything because of me. I could never forgive myself if I didn't do something to repay them.
"Crayon," my father called gently.
I lifted my head.
"Don't blame yourself. I hate seeing you like this—with that sad look on your face."
I nodded silently.
Eventually, we reached a crowded horse carriage station. We climbed into one of the carts and began our journey to an unknown land.
I didn't know where we were going. But my father… he looked determined. I could see the fire in his eyes.
After ten hours of riding without a single meal, we entered a harsh and deserted land. Hot, dry air smothered us like a thick blanket. We drank water to stay alive as the cart rattled across the cracked earth.
Finally, after another ten hours of dust and silence, the cart stopped.
The area around us was barren—not even a tree dared grow here.
"Maria! We've arrived," Dad said, jumping down. The ground puffed dust as he landed. He unloaded the luggage and helped Mom down gently.
Both of them stood frozen, staring ahead.
I jumped down too—and that's when I saw it.
A dark, rotting wooden house stood alone. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. Its eerie silhouette made my stomach tighten.
The cart turned around and left us behind.
But strangely, in the distance, I could see faint patches of green meadow peeking through the dirt.
My dad turned and gave me a confident smile. "Crayon! We're gonna live here from now on."
His voice was full of certainty. I didn't get it—I could barely stand being near this place, let alone live in it.
But I couldn't give up—not when they were giving everything for me.
Dad took our luggage and walked toward the house. Mom followed.
They stared at the black wood, weathered and brittle from years of neglect.
I stepped up and tried to open the door.
It didn't budge.
Dad reached into his pocket. "Crayon! Here's the keeeee—" he paused as the door suddenly gave way.
Thud.
It fell flat on the ground. I stared in shock.
Dad just laughed awkwardly and slipped the key back into his pocket. Mom chuckled as she stepped over the fallen door.
"We could shoot a whole horror movie in this house," she said casually.
Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows. Dad climbed the creaky stairs, each step groaning beneath his weight.
I took a deep breath and explored the house.
There was a dusty living room, a bare kitchen with no water, and a toilet on the left.
Upstairs, four rooms with attached bathrooms. Not bad. They felt more like rentals than a family home, but we could make it work.
Dad and I returned to the kitchen. He opened his system panel and placed his hand on the tap.
"Detect," he whispered.
Blue pixels floated in the air.
> [Water connection detected]
[Water unavailable]
[Power required to activate motor]
[100 Coins needed to repair motor and connect battery]
Dad's hands trembled. He wiped the sweat off his brow.
Then—he tapped the screen.
Click.
> [Congratulations!]
[Motor repaired and battery reloaded with full power]
The lights flickered on. Dad turned the tap—and clear water gushed out.
We both sighed in relief.
I returned to the living room. Mom was sweeping dust off the couch and switching off lights.
"Don't waste power during the day," she said without even looking up. "It drains the battery."
I nodded. I couldn't just sit around watching them work.
I walked over, lifted the fallen door, and propped it against the entrance as best I could. Then I went upstairs and cleaned the rooms, tossing out the dust.
Each room had a simple setup: a big bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a toilet, and a small dining table.
It felt more like a motel than a home—but it would have to do.
---
I don't know what tomorrow holds. But this… this is the start of a new chapter in Crayon's life.