In the blink of an eye, the wonderful weekend quietly came to an end. It was once again that dreaded time of the week that both students and workers loathed the most—8 a.m. on a Monday.
In a middle-level school within the campus area of De Mu Star, the classroom was unusually quiet. The students who had already arrived were either lying on their desks catching up on sleep, or furiously scribbling on the smart-screen tablets attached to each desk, trying to finish their homework.
Dong Boyun and Smith were thankful they had both completed their assignments on the evening before the weekend began. Otherwise, given how obsessively they had played Delicious Pop Mania over the weekend, they'd be frantically cramming homework right now too.
There were still around ten minutes left before class started.
According to their recent gaming experience, one match of Delicious Pop Mania—without the beginner tutorial—took about five minutes.
The two exchanged glances and saw the same thought reflected in each other's eyes: There's still time. Want to squeeze in a game?
The decision was made in a heartbeat. They swiftly activated their smart screens and opened Delicious Pop Mania.
Behind them, a cheerful, bold female voice teased, "Weren't you two obsessed with Dungeon Rush just a while ago? You were even watching replays and walkthroughs between classes!"
Dong Boyun was the first to turn around and chuckle, "Sister Ru, we found a new game. This one's easier to play—no need to wait until we're home and in our gaming pods."
The girl was Chen Ru, who knew a thing or two about games. She stared at their screens for a bit but didn't see anything particularly compelling, so she concluded, "Let me guess—this weekend you two got wrecked by monsters while duo-queuing, and now you need a safe haven so badly you're even playing brainless smart-device games?"
Smith turned his head too, still smiling with the satisfaction of clearing another level. His tone was calm and polite, "Chen, I know you're better than us at Dungeon Rush, and you have more authority when it comes to gaming opinions. But as players, shouldn't we stay open-minded? Even our teachers say we should try new things. Just because smart-device games weren't fun before doesn't mean this new one can't be good."
Chen Ru instinctively wanted to refute, but when she thought about Smith's usual temperament, she held back.
Smith was known for being short-tempered. For him to respond calmly to criticism, and even give a reasonable explanation for why this game was different… made Chen Ru wonder—maybe the game really was pretty good.
With that thought, Chen Ru stopped judging and looked more carefully at their screens.
On Dong Boyun's screen was a 5x5 grid, filled with hand-drawn versions of familiar snacks. The visuals were kind of cute.
At first glance, Chen Ru couldn't figure out what type of game it was or how to play it.
Then she saw Dong Boyun swipe one tile to swap it with another. As three matching icons lined up, they vanished.
Ah! So that's how it works.
Chen Ru got it—it was a match-three elimination game. Align three of the same item, and they disappear from the board.
Then she noticed more: matching four of the same would not only eliminate them but also grant a special item; matching five would give an even stronger special item!
The difficulty of Delicious Pop Mania increased progressively. At this point, the levels Dong Boyun and Smith were on were far from easy, and their moves had become much more cautious.
Suddenly, Chen Ru said, "Dong Boyun, that piece—yeah, move your hand two tiles to the right. Right there, swap those."
Dong Boyun's eyes lit up. "Oh, you're right!"
That move would align five identical pieces, triggering the creation of a "Storage Mechanical Arm" (large-area effect) item!
With this tool, passing the level would be a breeze!
As the game made its elimination sound effects, Chen Ru excitedly said from behind, "See? I told you! Matching five gives you this huge—uh, what's this item called again? Doesn't matter! This thing just helped you hit all the level objectives in one go."
The five minutes flew by. Dong Boyun and Smith were already deeply immersed, and now with Chen Ru joining in, the three of them continued—two playing, one watching—until the very last second before class.
Right before the bell rang, Chen Ru heard Dong Boyun teasing her, "Didn't you have major prejudice against smart-device games just now? And now look at you, cloud-gaming with us!"
Chen Ru playfully raised a hand to smack him, but Dong Boyun wiggled his eyebrows and dodged right as the bell rang, narrowly escaping.
Before the teacher entered the room, Chen Ru gave it a serious thought. To be honest, she hadn't even realized how captivated she'd become watching that little grid.
Maybe the game really was… addictive.
Maybe after class, she'd download it and give it a go herself?
Outside Chu Qing's Room, γ-393 Star
In the narrow corridor, a janitor-style cleaning bot was tidying up the public area. Because the equipment was old and poorly maintained, it let out a faint click-clack noise. The air still carried the faint musty smell from the freshly cleaned floor.
An old lady with silver hair, a kind face, but dressed in trendy, modern clothing stood there holding a pack of twelve promotional nutritional drinks. She spoke with authority, "Take it. No need to be polite with your grandma."
Chu Qing hesitated. "Grandma, these are perfectly good nutrition packs. You could use them yourself."
Before her stood her neighbor, Grandma Lucia. Just like in the original host's memories, Lucia often found excuses to bring food to Chu Qing, feeling sorry for the girl who had lost her parents young.
Seeing Chu Qing still hesitating, Lucia simply grabbed her hand and shoved the whole box of nutrition packs into it.
"You're still the same," she sighed. "I've told you, I'm used to eating cooked food. I can't stand these drinks. Got them as a bonus when shopping. If you don't take them, they'll go to waste. Listen to me, keep them."
Chu Qing opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted again by Lucia: "Don't tell me to resell them. I'm an old lady living alone—I don't know anything about that. What if I get scammed? Look, you just graduated. It's a rough and confusing time. Don't be so polite about this stuff. If you really want to thank me, just don't forget me when you make it big."
With that, Lucia slung her small purse over her shoulder, clicked her high heels, and walked off in style.
Chu Qing clutched the box of nutrition packs and walked back into her room, touched.
Before crossing over, she had also been an orphan. She remembered her old neighbors—how kind they were. They used to bring her food, drinks, and daily supplies. They even took turns attending her parent-teacher conferences in high school so she wouldn't feel alone.
Chu Qing had always tried to give back—helping them with chores or tutoring their kids.
Maybe it was karma. Not long after, their neighborhood got redeveloped, and everyone received a large compensation payout.
That money allowed Chu Qing to stop working part-time and focus entirely on her studies. She got into her dream school and finally had the means to chase her goals.
Now, even after transmigrating, she had once again met such wonderful neighbors.
The original host's bank balance was pitifully low. Even if Chu Qing survived on the cheapest nutrition packs, her funds wouldn't last long.
She had been considering going back to the host's old part-time job to make ends meet—at least until the game brought in income.
But Grandma Lucia's timely delivery had saved her from that predicament.
This meant she didn't have to juggle both game development and a job. She could focus entirely on updating the game.
Chu Qing made a silent vow: once the game started making money, she'd become a wish-granting fairy and fulfill whatever dreams Grandma Lucia had.
[You've gained a download from "De Mu Star".]
[You've gained a download from "De Mu Star".]
[You've gained a download from "Huo Ji Star".]
Chu Qing had been closely monitoring the game's backend data since launch.
At first, the numbers were disappointing. Not just the downloads—even the store views were dismal.
She knew this was due to the low credibility of smart-device games. But still, it made her anxious.
After half a day, things began to shift. At first, just a slow trickle in views. Then, the download count changed from 0 to 1—and continued steadily climbing.
Now, the game had been live for 1 day and 8 hours, and downloads had reached 999.
Just one more to reach the threshold for a launch bonus reward.
Almost there.
Chu Qing held back her excitement.
[You've gained a download from "Helen Star".]
There it was.
[Congratulations! Your game Delicious Pop Mania has surpassed 1,000 downloads within 3 days! You've earned the special [Featured Push Reward] from the platform.]
[Would you like to use it now?]
But Chu Qing chose [No].
Because of timing.
With her sharp instincts, she had observed from star network data that people tended to watch food streams during lunch, and dramas or novels before bed.
Only during the morning commute did people have nothing to do—prime time to capture attention.
In the interstellar era, transit systems were so efficient that average commute time was under ten minutes, with everyone guaranteed a seat.
That ten-minute window? Useless to most, but a golden opportunity for Chu Qing.
—Perfect for a quick round of Pop Mania, and unclaimed by other content.
Such users typically lived in mid-tier star zones. And since most planets within a zone followed similar time schedules, without major time zone differences, the best time to deploy her featured push would be at 8 a.m. in those zones.
The current time on her low-tier star, γ-393, was 9 a.m.
Mid-tier stars were two hours behind.
So in one hour, it would be 8 a.m. there.
Chu Qing adjusted the release schedule.
[Your game Delicious Pop Mania has been rescheduled to go live at 10 a.m. (γ-393 Star time). Confirm?]
[Confirm.]
When a game first launches, relying solely on luck for visibility limits reach.
Now, with a featured reward push, Chu Qing believed the game was on the verge of real virality—and that user payments for in-game tools would skyrocket.
She smiled to herself.
The real journey was just beginning.