: The Fallen Youth

2

The mechanical voice sounded again: "All players, please return to your homes according to the Number Tag in your hand."

I subconsciously reached into my pocket and pulled out a Number Tag with "1001" written on it.

Following the mechanical voice's instructions, I arrived on the tenth floor of the apartment building.

A very wealthy family seemed to live on the 10th floor; their apartment took up the entire level.

My eyes lit up instantly!

'Doesn't that mean there's so much to clean!'

I have severe OCD and mysophobia. Ever since I was a child, I've loved cleaning and can't stand the slightest speck of dirt.

After becoming a housewife, it got even worse. I only feel at ease when my home is perfectly clean.

I once washed a black piece of clothing until it turned white and scrubbed the floors until they shone like a mirror. The dishes in our house were always arranged in perfect, neat rows, as if they were standing in formation.

My Husband and Daughter found it unbearable and often argued with me about it.

Looking at the massive house before me, I suddenly felt I had a new space to fully unleash my talents.

A moment later, the door swung open from the inside. The sight that greeted me was an absolute disaster.

Flickering lights, a living room splattered with some unidentifiable red liquid, black mold peeling from the walls, and a sofa caked in dust and grime.

My eyebrow twitched. My gaze locked onto the teenager sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

He had a mop of curly yellow hair, five or six studs in his ears, and wore ripped jeans with a chain attached.

He had the complete look of a juvenile delinquent.

He heard the door open and looked up at me, his eyes filled with a crazed bloodlust. "You're back. I'm hungry. Hurry up and make dinner! I want Braised Eyeballs and Stir-fried Human Hands."

The live comments began to gloat.

"Damn, she ran into the instance's second Main Boss right at the start. This newbie's luck is really something else."

"Looks like she's a goner. She's dead if she does and dead if she doesn't, unless the rookie actually chops off her own eyeballs and hands, hahahaha."

Seeing that I wasn't moving, the teenager pulled a knife from his waistband and pointed it at my throat.

It wasn't that I hadn't seen him move. Instead, my face darkened as I stared, fixated, at his feet on the coffee table.

'I suddenly understood one of the missions in this parenting simulation. As the Mom, my job is obviously to save this degenerate teenager!'

: The Taste of a Mother's Love

3

As a mother, there's one thing I can't stand: a school-aged kid who goes astray!

Dressing up like a delinquent at such a young age!

I'll make you taste what a mother's love is all about!

I snatched up a nearby Feather Duster and smacked him hard on the leg. "Is that any way to talk to me? I'm your mother! And what is this nonsense? Putting your feet on the coffee table! What if we had guests over? How would that look? Get them down!"

The boy's phone dropped from his hand. He looked up and stared at me, his face blank and utterly bewildered.

"Holy shit, does this newbie have a death wish? How dare she treat the second boss like that?"

"The second boss is probably going to bite her head clean off. This is too gory for me, I'm out, I'm out."

Oblivious to the stream of comments, I grabbed him by the ear and hauled him to his feet!

"What are you looking at? What I say, goes! If you don't clean this coffee table right now, I'll be the one cleaning your clock! And another thing, what on earth are you wearing? What is that ridiculous Gaudy Emo Hairstyle? Why weren't you at school today? Are you asking for a beating?"

: The Masochistic Son

4

The teen's expression changed. The scene the bullet comments were hoping for didn't happen. Instead, I thought I saw a hint of confusion in his eyes... and was that enjoyment?

A mechanical game voice sounded in my ear: [Son's Favorability has increased to 30.]

Hearing the system announcement, my face filled with confusion. 'Could it be that this cheap Son of mine is a masochist?'

This strengthened my suspicion. 'The mission of this parenting simulation game must be to fix this dysfunctional family!'

The teen stood up and obediently went to find a cloth to wipe the coffee table.

I reached out and smacked him on the head again. "Get that yellow hair of yours cut, now! And throw out all that junk on your ears! What I say, goes!"

[Son's Favorability has increased to 50.]

I looked down at my hand, my suspicion now solidified. 'One smack raises his favorability by 20. He really is a masochist!'

I ordered him to clean with me. If the house wasn't spotless, he absolutely wasn't allowed to eat dinner!

Soon, under my strict commands, he obediently put a clean cover on the sofa. I replaced the burnt-out lightbulb, and I painted over the moldy walls with a fresh coat.

The house was soon sparkling clean.

Looking at the clean home, my mood instantly improved.

Realizing I still didn't know my Son's name, I kicked him lightly on the butt. "Get out your homework and textbooks. I want to see your academic progress!"

[Son's Favorability has increased to 60.]

The textbooks and homework were spotless. They had clearly never been used.

'Just as I thought. The stereotype that problem kids are all slackers is spot on!'

I rolled my eyes in disgust, smacked the back of his head a few more times, and forced him to write his name.

Looking at his crooked handwriting, I learned that my cheap Son was named Leo Sinclair, was 14 years old, and was in his second year of junior high.

I grabbed the Feather Duster and began supervising his studies and homework. For every single character he wrote wrong, he got a harsh swat!

When it came to dealing with problem kids, I was an old pro.

My own child in the real world also liked to skip class and get into fights in junior high. But under my strict supervision, his grades shot straight up!

Uncut jade does not shine. I would never allow my child to be a slacker!

Not even in a game!

After my series of maneuvers, his favorability toward me reached 80.

The clock on the wall soon neared five o'clock. Leo Sinclair's face, which had been normal, suddenly turned ashen. A black mist swirled around him, and he asked me in a sinister tone, "Mom, aren't you going to pick up my little sister from school?"