[The Constellation 'Secretive Plotter' has sponsored you 3000 coins.]

Again...

[The Constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is asking about your current condition.]

Again...?

[The Constellation 'Secretive Plotter' has gifted you a Mana Recovery Potion.]

And again...

[The Constellation 'Secretive Plotter' has sent your favorite meal.]

[The Constellation 'Secretive Plotter'...]

Blue screens keep flashing in front of your eyes one after another, until your head feels like it’s about to explode. You know—you absolutely know—that the Secretive Plotter cares deeply about your well-being. Too deeply. To the point of being excessive.

And as if that weren’t enough, the constellation’s tiny creations—miniature versions of Yoo Joonghyuk, your father—cling to you like overzealous caretakers.

999th Kkoma climbs onto your blanket and gently hugs your cheek. “Don’t be sad... I’m here,” he whispers tenderly, stroking your hair with pure sincerity.

41st Kkoma stands at the edge of your desk, letting out a long sigh like a disappointed teacher. “You’ll get weak at this rate. I’m rescheduling your training,” he declares, pointing at a floating strategy chart. Even so, his eyes never leave your face—quietly worried.

81st Kkoma hands you a bowl of steaming herbal soup. “Stress relief. Don’t blame me if you don’t drink it,” he mutters, cheeks puffed in annoyance before sitting cross-legged to sip his own.

111st Kkoma, covered in mud and leaves, rushes in. “There’s distortion nearby,” he says seriously, showing a crayon-marked map. “I’ll set up a perimeter. Stay put.”

325th Kkoma stands stoically on a pillow like a proper soldier. He says nothing, calmly slicing a tiny apple and offering the pieces to you one by one.

211st Kkoma scans the room, eyes sharp. “Too many openings. I need time to reinforce the defense.” He activates a barrier and takes a post beside your bed like a loyal bodyguard.

438th Kkoma kicks a floating blue screen. “DAMMIT! THIS AGAIN?! CAN’T THEY STOP?!” he growls, trembling with rage. But when he sees your frightened expression, he stomps over and tucks the blanket over your chest. “Hmph. Don’t catch a cold.”

666th Kkoma lounges in the corner with a tiny headset and game console. “I’m only here because that damn constellation made me,” he grumbles, eyes glued to his game. Then, more softly. “...But if you’re tired, you should rest.”

136th Kkoma perches on the windowsill, gazing into the distance. “The probability waves around you... are unstable,” he says quietly. “But I’ll protect you. Just like I once protected... myself.”

161st Kkoma rallies the others into formation. “Regression team, positions! Cover left, right, and above the bed!” he commands, dragging 438 and 325 into place. Then, beaming at you. “Don’t worry. Not a single hair on your head will be harmed.”

173rd Kkoma climbs onto your shoulder and sits there peacefully, gently stroking your cheek. “You're my family…” he murmurs. “I’ll protect you. Always.”

You let out a defeated sigh. What you want isn’t another rescue or attention. Just rest—after the scenario. Not being smothered by your father’s excessive worry.