Chapter 1

My parents, because I wasn't "perfect" enough, implanted an AI chip in me.

They said it would completely transform me.

After the chip was implanted, I became the perfect daughter they'd always dreamed of.

But the side effect was that every day, I'd forget something.

I forgot the taste of Mom's homemade soup.

I forgot my favorite video game.

I forgot my childhood friends.

Eventually, I forgot my parents.

When I saw them again, my eyes were smiling, but I spoke in a cold, mechanical voice, "Excuse me, who are you?"

They froze.

They stared at me, speechless for a long time after I said that.

"..." Mom's voice was a little impatient. "Lily, what act are you putting on now?"

I searched my memories, but there was nothing there.

I genuinely didn't recognize them.

So I firmly shook my head. "That's correct."

"Lily," Dad's face darkened instantly. "What kind of joke is this?"

"I know!"

He frowned, as if something occurred to him. "Is it because you don't want to go to school tomorrow, so you're deliberately pretending?"

My face still held the perfect smile I'd practiced countless times, and I replied in a flat, mechanical tone, "I apologize, but I genuinely don't recognize you."

"I am not afraid of exams, nor am I afraid of starting school. I am the newest model of the Perfect Daughter System."

"I do not lie to anyone."

My tone was polite yet utterly unfamiliar.

After speaking, I checked the synchronized time inside me.

"According to my schedule, it is now bedtime. Sufficient rest is required to ensure optimal efficiency for school tomorrow." I turned sideways and walked past them. "Please move aside."

My shoulder lightly brushed Mom's arm.

She seemed to flinch.

She instinctively tried to stop me, but I easily dodged her.

The programming inside me told me I couldn't waste a single moment.

I walked directly to my bedroom.

Behind me, there was dead silence.

Before closing the door, I caught a glimpse in my peripheral vision.

They were still standing there, watching me.

Dad's shoulders slumped, and Mom raised a hand to cover her mouth.

The lights cast their long shadows across the empty living room floor.

Then, I heard Dad's voice, very low. "What's going on?"

...

I had no interest in listening to the rest.

The lock clicked shut.

I sat on my bed and pulled up my memory index.

Pale blue data streams appeared in my vision.

All input information, from the day of implantation, was categorized and clearly organized.

Yesterday's math formulas, last week's English vocabulary, last month's piano sheet music...

Every memory was clear.

But no matter how I searched, I couldn't find the two people who had just claimed to be my parents.

Suspecting an overload error, I scanned my brain space again.

[Self-check complete. System operating normally. Memory bank intact. Logic module functioning correctly.]

It seemed those two were indeed a cognitive error.

I genuinely didn't recognize them.

I lay down and closed my eyes.

Faintly, I felt a hollow emptiness somewhere.

That feeling was very sad.

But my brain told me it wasn't important.

...

Actually, I did have some impressions of before.

I was born into a dual-income household; both my Mom and Dad were high school teachers.

Since I was their only child, they usually doted on me.

But such a combination naturally meant they were stricter with their own child.

They always wanted me to be first in everything, to excel at all costs.

Yet, I seemed to be born without that particular knack. My grades were average, my competition results mediocre, always falling short of their expectations.

But I had my own strengths.

I was lively and outgoing, always friendly to others.

When they were stressed from work and bickering at home, I would always squeeze in between them, cracking jokes and sharing funny school stories, which always managed to calm them down for a while.

All the neighbors liked me. When Mrs. Henderson from downstairs came back from grocery shopping, I'd help her carry her bags up. When I saw Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Miller, I'd wave and smile from afar, offering to help with anything I could.

If a classmate was being bullied, I'd stand up for them.

Even my homeroom teacher said I was a good kid.

I always thought that counted as a form of excellence.

But my Mom and Dad didn't see it that way.

They admired Mrs. Davies' daughter, Sophia, more.

She was three years older than me, an incredibly accomplished older girl.

Always in the top three of her class, grade 10 piano, a stack of competition certificates.

I'd met her before.

She was refined and well-mannered, always speaking softly.

But I always felt she lacked a certain spark; she always spoke in a rigid, textbook manner.

To be honest, I didn't dislike her.

But I hated my parents for constantly comparing me to her.

One evening at dinner, Mom brought up Sophia winning an award in a physics competition again.

I felt a pang of discomfort and stirred the rice in my bowl, deliberately changing the subject. "Mom, I got chosen to lead our class during the school sports day parade this year! Isn't that great?"

The table fell silent.

I thought they'd praise me.

But instead, Dad just put down his fork. "All this superficial stuff, what's the point?"