In her previous life, Serena Blackwood spent every waking moment fawning over her family—enduring, yielding, swallowing every grievance—just to hear four simple words on her fifteenth birthday: “Happy birthday.”
That was all the system needed to extend her life; that was all she asked for a long, quiet existence.
She gave them her heart, her lungs, her everything.
They couldn’t even give her four syllables.
The quest failed; she died in misery.
Reborn in an instant, Serena Blackwood snapped awake and flipped the table on the spot.
“Biased relatives? Get lost.”
Once, she’d clung to the “family affection” meter to survive.
Now she couldn’t care less.
Every soul who wanders into her livestream is her family now.
When the docile girl they used to ignore started streaming fortune-telling, the same relatives who once looked down on her poured in to watch the circus, waiting for her to make a fool of herself.
Someone sneered, “A decent girl picking up cheap tricks—she’ll disgrace herself sooner or later.”
Serena Blackwood’s eyes were ice, her voice reckless and wild.
“I read fortunes with real skill, rack up popularity to keep breathing—who are you to judge?”
The crowd came ready to roast her.
Then prophecy after prophecy hit the mark; every divination proved dead-on.
Big shots from every corner flooded in, fawning and protecting her—she became the collective baby of the internet.
The family that once froze her out now clawed at their hearts in regret.
The high-and-mighty male lead drowned in remorse and launched a marathon chase, only to find himself in a crematorium of his own making—no second chances, no way back.
