Evan didn't sleep.
He lay on his dorm-room mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling while rain ticked against the window like a faulty metronome. The clock on his desk clawed past three, four, five. Every time he closed his eyes the blue Super Dad System panel floated behind his eyelids, repeating the same two sentences:
[Daily Quest: Provide a clean, warm blanket before nightfall.
Reward: +100 SP, +1 Vitality.]
By six he gave up on rest, showered off the cold ache that had settled into his bones, and checked the small pile of cash he kept for emergencies. Twenty-six dollars, half in wrinkled singles. Nowhere near emergency level, especially with lab fees due next week, but it would have to stretch.
1 — The Blanket Hunt
Campus stores wouldn't open until nine. Evan stuffed his notebook into a messenger bag and slipped into the damp dawn, legs shaky from too much caffeine and too little certainty. Mist clung to hedges along the walkways, muting the buildings into gray silhouettes.
He tried to plan: buy blanket; ask Mira for a real conversation; find out if Nora was truly his; figure out next steps if she was—
The list spiraled until his phone buzzed with a new system pop-up.
[Tutorial Tip: Quests measure sincerity, not price. Homemade solutions acceptable.]
Homemade? Evan paused outside the engineering hall. The student makerspace kept a fabric 3-D loom for research on smart textiles. He had access as a lab TA—one of the few perks that came with unpaid grading shifts. A newborn-sized throw from recycled cotton yarn might not look store-bought, but it could be warmer than any clearance-rack fleece.
He hurried downstairs, badge scanned, lights flicked on. The loom sat dormant beneath a sign that read AUTHORIZED STUDENTS ONLY – CHECK IN WITH TECH BEFORE USE. At this hour there was no tech. Evan's keycard logged him in anyway.
He loaded a spool of soft teal yarn left over from a robotics project, selected a baby-blanket pattern from the touchscreen menu, and watched the machine whir to life. Threads danced under programmable needles, row after row, while he typed lecture notes one-handed to kill time.
Thirty minutes later the loom spat out a rectangle of tight herringbone weave, edges curling slightly. Evan trimmed stray fibers, rubbing the cloth between his fingers. Soft. Light. Warm. A sense of rightness flooded him—part pride, part System confirmation he hadn't even earned yet.
[Crafting credit detected. Quest item quality: High.
Bonus: Blanket gains "Soothing Aura Lv 1"]
He exhaled. The words felt like a pat on the back from the universe itself.
2 — First Contact
River Loft looked even sadder in daylight. Moss patched the foundation; yesterday's storm had pelted trash into corners of the stoop. Evan knocked on the buzzer labeled "M. Ainsley," heard nothing, and gave the metal box the recommended smack. A distorted bzzzzt answered, followed by Mira's cautious, "Yes?"
"It's Evan."
A pause. The lock clicked.
Apartment 12-B smelled of powdered detergent, stale air, and baby lotion. Half-unpacked boxes formed a wall around a fold-out crib. The overhead bulb buzzed like a trapped moth. Mira wore the same green hoodie, hair freshly washed but still damp at the ends. She looked both better and worse in morning light—eyes clearer, cheeks less pale, yet the fatigue now impossible to ignore.
Nora lay on a heap of towels serving as makeshift playmat, fists batting at nothing in particular. The baby spotted Evan and kicked, as if recognizing last night's umbrella man.
He knelt, offering the folded blanket with both hands. "Thought she could use something warmer."
Mira accepted it, rubbing fabric against her cheek, surprise blooming into evident relief. "This is… really nice. You didn't have to spend money on us."
"I didn't," he admitted. "Made it in the lab."
Her eyebrows shot up. "You wove a blanket before breakfast?"
"Prototype loom. Long story." He cleared his throat. "May I?" He gestured toward Nora.
Mira hesitated for half a heartbeat, then nodded. Evan slid his hands beneath the baby's shoulders and hips, lifting gently. Nora weighed almost nothing, but the gravity of holding her slammed into him. Her eyes—hazel flecked with green—studied his face as though trying to solve a puzzle.
He wrapped the new blanket around her torso. The fabric settled, and Nora's tiny limbs stilled. A sigh, almost content, puffed past her lips.
[Quest complete. +100 SP earned. Vitality +1.
Parenting XP +20.]
Warmth—different from body heat—spread up Evan's arms, as though the blanket conducted something richer than cotton. Mira must have noticed his soft smile. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. She likes it." He rocked slightly, stunned at how natural the motion felt. "Works better than my differential equations at least."
A small laugh escaped Mira, the first genuine one he'd heard from her. She eased onto the only chair, gaze flicking from Nora to him. "Evan, about last night. I owe you context. It's… complicated."
He swallowed. "I'm ready to listen."
3 — Stories Unspooled
The tale came haltingly: a freshman mixer, a wrong digit on a napkin, a positive pregnancy test four weeks later. Parents who followed doctrine over empathy. Savings drained on prenatal vitamins, rent, and a stroller bought second-hand. Mira spoke without blame, but each detail settled on Evan like wet cement.
He offered no excuses—there weren't any worth speaking. Instead he told her the truth of his half-remembered night, the search for the right phone number that never materialized, the regret shelved under coursework and scholarship deadlines.
When words ran out, silence filled the gap. Nora dozed in his arms, blanket's soothing aura doing its subtle work.
Mira broke the quiet first. "I hadn't planned on tracking you down. I was determined to manage alone, and then last night—there you were, practically falling out of the sky."
He managed a wince-smile. "Rain tends to push destiny around, I guess."
Her lips twitched. "Cheesy, but maybe true."
Evan's phone vibrated. Another system panel appeared, lines crisp and urgent:
[Main Quest Unlocked: Establish ongoing support plan.
Requirement 1: Provide 30 days of consistent childcare assistance.
Requirement 2: Contribute ≥ 50% of monthly living costs.
Progress trackers will begin at 18:00 today.]
Thirty days. Fifty percent. Numbers he understood—metrics, not metaphors. For the first time the challenge seemed concrete instead of cosmic.
He glanced up to find Mira studying him, and realized he'd paused mid-conversation. "Sorry," he said, pocketing the phone. "Thinking about next steps." He inhaled, steadying himself. "I can help—financially, practically. We can set schedules so you get nights off, and I'll pick up tutoring gigs to cover my share."
"You have a full course load."
"Tutoring fits around classes. And I, uh, code freelance algorithms sometimes. Pays okay."
Mira's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "I want partnership, not charity."
"Agreed." Evan shifted Nora into the crook of one arm and extended the other hand. His palm felt absurdly formal, but the gesture mattered. "Partners?"
She slipped her hand into his. "Partners." Her grip was warm, calloused at the base of the fingers from hours rocking a stroller handle.
[Bond Level: Co-parents 10/100 established.
New feature: Shared Quest Log enabled.]
Tiny fireworks of text winked in his peripheral vision, but he stayed focused on her steady gaze.
4 — Supply Run
An hour later they faced a whiteboard Mira had salvaged from the recycling bin, marker squeaking across its surface as they drafted a survival plan:
Evan: pick up part-time grading shift; schedule tutoring ad; secure clean diapers in bulk.
Mira: contact temp agency about remote data-entry work; apply for campus daycare waitlist.
Shared: nightly hand-off at 8 p.m.; one meal cooked together daily.
Every bullet point felt oddly thrilling, a co-op game manifesting in real life.
Nora protested hunger right on cue, blanket sliding as she squirmed. Evan passed her to Mira, who expertly balanced bottle prep and marker capping in the same motion. Watching mother and child sync their rhythms, Evan felt both awe and the pinch of responsibility tightening like a new shoe.
"Mind if I run to the market now?" he asked once Nora settled. "We're short on supplies."
Mira nodded, scribbling grocery list at the whiteboard's edge. "Grab whatever's on sale. And maybe… decaf coffee."
He saluted, heart lighter than it had any right to be, considering tuition balances and looming finals.
5 — Chance Encounters
On the way out, he nearly collided with Lucas Grant at the building entrance. Lucas—towering, perfectly dry despite continued drizzle—pushed a parcel locker closed, earbuds in. He blinked in surprise. "Wood? What brings you to this side of town? Your math temple's two blocks east."
Evan's gut clenched. Rival wasn't the right word; Lucas was a living benchmark against which half the engineering department measured themselves. Not cruel, just relentlessly competitive.
"Helping a friend," Evan said, keeping voice neutral.
Lucas's eyes flicked to the stroller parked by the stairs, then back. A smirk hovered. "Didn't peg you as a babysitter."
"Life's full of surprises."
Lucas shrugged. "True. By the way, Professor Calver extended the grant proposal deadline. Thought you'd like the heads-up."
Evan's pulse jumped. He'd forgotten entirely amidst blankets and system prompts. "Thanks," he managed, already recalculating time.
Lucas slid on his hood and strode into the mist, shoes spotless where Evan's were water-stained.
Evan watched him disappear, aware of the System's faint hum waiting for new variables. He shook off rival anxieties—blankets first, grants later.
6 — Market Math
The downtown discount store smelled of detergent and aisle wax. Evan navigated with single-minded purpose, tossing necessities into a plastic basket: size-two diapers, travel wipes, bulk formula, a jar of mashed carrots that claimed NO ADDED SUGAR.
The total hit forty-two dollars. His emergency cash fell short by sixteen. He stood frozen at checkout until the cashier—a middle-aged man with smiling eyes—cleared his throat.
A notification bloomed:
[Side Quest available: Offer to organize shelf inventory for 1 hour.
Reward: Store credit equal to missing balance.]
Evan blinked. Shelf inventory? He pictured himself rearranging soup cans for sixty minutes. On a normal day he'd dismiss the hallucination. Today the system had earned credibility.
He addressed the cashier. "Could you use help stocking? I've got time."
Ten minutes later he was cutting a cardboard carton open, stacking canned beans in neat pyramids. The task proved oddly soothing—pure order, no theory. Exactly sixty minutes passed before the supervisor thanked him with a signed voucher.
Payment processed, bags in hand, he left the store with three dollars to spare.
[Side Quest complete. SP +30.
Trait gained: Budgeting Sense Lv 1.]
7 — Unexpected Visitors
Back at River Loft, Evan climbed the stairs two at a time. Voices echoed from 12-B—Mira's and a second female voice. He entered to find Mira seated with a petite woman in a blazer, laptop open between them.
"Megan, this is Evan," Mira introduced. "My employment counselor."
The counselor offered a brisk nod. "We're finalizing paperwork for remote data entry." She clicked through a form, then turned to Evan. "We'll need co-parent contact info."
Co-parent. The word hit him harder than he expected. He supplied phone and email, feeling vaguely like signing up for a marathon without training.
Megan packed her laptop, congratulated Mira on "proactive resource seeking," and left a pamphlet titled University Family Support Network on the counter. After she departed, Mira exhaled as if held breath had lasted days.
"I haven't felt this supported in months," she said, voice fragile. "Thank you—for making space."
Evan slid grocery bags onto the table. "Room's tiny. We'll make space anyway." He unpacked diapers; Mira's grin widened.
8 — Early Evening
The sun broke through drizzle at four o'clock, turning dirty windowpanes into amber panels. Evan finished sterilizing bottles while Mira sketched a budget in her notebook. Nora dozed peacefully, cheeks plump from hour-old formula.
A new system line appeared:
[Daily Bonus: Take a family photo before sunset.
Reward: Memory Token x1]
He smiled. Low stakes, high sentiment. "Photo time?"
Mira laughed, surprised. "We're all a mess."
"There's good lighting."
He propped his phone on the stack of diaper boxes, set a timer, scooted beside her on the floor. They leaned close, Nora nestled between them in the teal blanket. The camera flashed.
[Memory Token acquired.
Buff: Family Bonding +5% for next 24 hr.]
They inspected the picture: Mira's hoodie, Evan's crooked grin, Nora's tiny fist mid-yawn, sunlight haloing them. Imperfect and perfect at once.
9 — Night Settles
At seven-thirty, Evan gathered his things. He had a statistics recitation to prep and a sleepy campus to cross before curfew. Mira walked him to the door, Nora in the crook of her arm.
"Thank you," she said again.
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow and the next." Her smile held steady confidence now. "Partners."
He touched Nora's blanket once more, feeling its warmth despite cool evening air. The baby opened drowsy eyes, and—for a second time—those hazel flecks locked on his. The Super Dad System chimed softly, words gentle as lullaby:
[Parental Affinity +2. Total Affinity: 4/100.]
Nora's eyelids dipped; she surrendered to sleep. Evan wasn't sure if she'd remember the moment, but he knew he would.
He stepped into the hallway. Flickering bulbs buzzed. The building seemed less grim now, though nothing physical had changed—only context. He descended the stairs, blanket quest complete, mind braced for the marathon ahead: grant applications, daycare fees, and thirty consecutive days of unflinching support.
Outside, night erased the last of daylight. Across the street, Lucas's silhouette passed under a streetlamp, phone pressed to his ear. Evan watched him disappear around a corner. Rival, friend, future headache—who knew? For now, the system whispered a single line:
[New Notification pending… Details will unlock at midnight.]
An omen or a promise. Either way, Evan pushed his shoulders back, turned toward campus, and let the rain-fresh wind carry him forward—blanket threads still warm against his fingertips, stars hidden behind cloud but shining all the same.