Chapter 1: Rebirth in the Waste Compartment
The stench of rot, mingled with the sharp tang of rust, stung her nostrils, and Starla White jolted awake, gasping for air. Her vision was filled with mountains of discarded parts; twisted pipes crisscrossed overhead like a web, and dripping condensation fell onto her forehead. This wasn’t the hospice ward of the Star Alliance’s premier medical center—it was the waste disposal bay of the interstellar destroyer *Odin*.
She raised her hand to her neck as if struck by an electric shock; beneath her smooth skin, a healthy pulse throbbed. Three hours ago, her fiancé Arthur had personally fed her that cup of poisoned wine; now, it had faded into nothing more than a lingering, burning sensation in her throat. The metal walls reflected her twenty-year-old self: disheveled chestnut curls smeared with grease, the knees of her work pants worn white, yet on her left wrist, a stream of glowing numbers appeared out of nowhere—03:00:27.
With every second of the countdown, fragments of memory pierced her mind like sharp needles. The champagne tower at her engagement party in her past life, the vial of poison Arthur had hidden beneath the roses, and his whisper in her ear: “The Bai family’s mining rights are worth far more than you are.” ” As the suffocating sensation gripped her throat once more, she curled up beneath the pale light of the medical pod, hearing the electronic signatures of the family elders as they signed her exile order.
“Beep! Strong will to survive detected. The ‘Silly Fate-Changing System’ has been successfully activated!” A cheerful mechanical voice boomed inside her skull, and a holographic interface instantly unfolded on the light screen at her wrist. A mission box popped up in bouncing pink-and-purple cartoon font: [Newbie Bonus: Attend the engagement-cancellation ceremony in three hours using the most absurd method possible! Reward: SS-Rank Unrestrained Spirit Badge (Permanently reduces mental attack damage by 50%)]
Starla slammed her fist into a rusty hydraulic rod, sending a shower of metal shavings clattering down into her collar. Even her poisoning in her previous life hadn’t felt this absurd. But when she caught a glimpse of the banquet hall’s lights seeping through the ventilation duct—where a family meeting to expel her was currently underway—an emotion hotter than anger surged up her spine. Since playing by the rules had earned her nothing but a cup of poisoned wine, she might as well turn the galaxy upside down.
She kicked an empty nutrient paste can at her feet; it clattered and clanked as it rolled into the depths of the darkness. By the faint green glow of the emergency light, her gaze swept across the cabin: a broken cleaning robot was stuck in a pile of scrap, half a plasma grill gleamed coldly, and a silvery heat-resistant blanket hung from a robotic arm, fluttering in the breeze. The system display popped up with a timely prompt: [Recommended Item: High-Density Trash Bag (Defense +5)]
The sound of the metal hatch unlocking suddenly echoed through the air. Starla rolled like lightning behind an abandoned engine casing and heard the idle chatter of two janitors drifting in through the c***k in the door.
“Has the exile procedure for Miss Bai been activated?”
“You bet. Young Master Arthur just signed off on it. “If you ask me, she won’t last three months on that hellhole of a mining planet...”
As the footsteps faded into the distance, Starla rose from the shadows. She had torn the thermal blanket and wrapped it around her waist, cut a neckline out of the trash bag and slipped it over her head. The silver-and-black “evening gown” shimmered with an eerie glow under the green light. She picked up a half-empty can of discarded fluorescent spray paint and smeared it across the mirrored shards on the cabin wall, using them as a lipstick. Bright orange paint oozed from the corners of her mouth, like a bolt of lightning tearing through the night.
“Warning! 02:59:01 remaining until the start of the Breakup Ceremony.” The system’s countdown suddenly turned into flickering fluorescent pink. Starla grabbed a barbecue skewer and snapped it into a hairpin, hastily gathering her tangled hair into a bun. The metal prongs of the pin glowed coldly in the darkness. From the depths of the trash compartment came the hum of a compressor, like a war drum beating for her.
Music from the banquet hall suddenly poured through the ventilation ducts, the melody of violins mingling with the crisp clinking of champagne glasses. Starla stood on tiptoe and clung to the duct grating, watching Arthur smile and raise his glass beneath the crystal chandelier as he listened intently to her cousin Joy’s sugary compliments. It was from this exact angle that she’d watched them clink glasses when the poison took hold in her past life.
She let go and dropped back to the floor, her trash-bag gown rustling. A grinning emoji suddenly popped up on the display of her wrist system: (◕‿◕✿) Host’s hatred conversion rate detected at 98%. Hidden hint unlocked: Robotic vacuum K-007 will pass through the backstage corridor in 19 minutes.
The roar of the compressors suddenly intensified. Starla pulled a twisted titanium alloy pipe from the scrap heap and adjusted the straps of her “garbage bag evening gown” against the light reflecting from the vent. Fluorescent digits on her wrist flashed into a vivid crimson 02:30:00, staining her pupils a burning amber.
“Arthur White,” she said, flashing a white-toothed grin at the rusted hatch, “is your mining concession ready to welcome a cosmic-level i***t?”
