A quiet year and Time Skip

As my sobs finally quieted, Mom gently rubbed my back, holding me close. Her warmth, her scent, her presence—it was all so familiar, so comforting.

She pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and wiped the lingering tears from my cheeks. "Don't cry, baby, okay?" she murmured, her voice as soothing as ever. "Mama's here."

I nodded weakly, still a little shaken, but the overwhelming sadness had been replaced with something else—peace.

She smiled, her golden eyes full of love. "Good boy. Now, it's time to eat."

And then… well, yeah.

Breastfeeding.

Look, I know I've technically been doing this for a while now, but no amount of mental preparation makes it less awkward when you have the mind of an adult. But let's just not focus on that.

Instead, I let my mind drift as I reconnected with the system.

[You okay now?] the system asked, its tone surprisingly softer than usual.

"Yeah," I replied internally. "I just… needed that."

[You mean the hug or the milk?]

"Shut. Up."

The system cackled.

I sighed. "You're awfully chatty today."

[Well, forgive me for being concerned. You did just have a full-blown breakdown.]

I rolled my eyes but couldn't deny that the system had been oddly considerate this whole time.

After a brief pause, it spoke again.

[So, what now?]

I closed my eyes, thinking back to my conversation at the campfire.

My purpose was clear now.

I wasn't just going to live in this world—I was going to thrive.

Live happily.

Fulfill Mom's dream.

Build a family… and yeah, a harem too.

But most importantly—

I was going to protect Mom. No matter what.

A small, determined smile tugged at my lips as I nestled against her warmth.

"Now?" I answered internally.

"We get to work."

Time skip( A year Later)

A year passed in the blink of an eye, and things were finally starting to feel normal.

I was sitting in my mom's lap, her arms wrapped around me as she hummed a soft lullaby. The gentle rhythm of her voice and the comfort of her embrace made everything feel safe. But there was something stirring within me—something I needed to do.

I looked up at her, my heart pounding in excitement. Then, with all the effort I could muster, I finally decided to do it. I took a deep breath, focused all my energy, and said my first word.

"Mama."

Her eyes widened, and her hands froze mid-motion. She blinked a few times, her face caught between disbelief and joy. Then, it hit her—I had just spoken.

"Mama?" I said again, a little more confidently this time.

The smile that spread across her face could have lit up the entire room. "My baby… My baby said his first word!" she cried, almost in disbelief, before showering my face with kisses.

I giggled and squirmed in her arms as she celebrated. I could feel the warmth of her happiness radiating around me, and it made my heart swell.

Later that evening, at dinner, Mom couldn't wait to share the news with Dad. As we sat down, she leaned over to him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Guess what?" she grinned.

Dad, looking at her expectantly, asked eagerly, "Was it Dada?"

Mom, clearly relishing the moment, smirked. "Nope. It was Mama," she said smugly, as if she had just won a major victory.

Dad froze, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw his hopes crumble before my eyes. He slumped dramatically in his chair, his face falling into an exaggerated pout.

"Mama? Really? Not Dada?" he muttered, sulking as he crossed his arms.

I couldn't resist. I looked up at him, my lips curving into a cheeky smile.

I was going to annoy him.

So, I repeated, "Mama!"

His face twisted with an exaggerated sigh, and he shot me a pleading look. "Please, just say Dada," he begged, his voice almost pitiful.

I snickered and kept my game going. "Mama."

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of Dad's "sulking" and begging, I could see he was on the verge of losing all hope.

So, with one last burst of excitement, I said it.

"Dada!"

Dad's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he practically jumped out of his chair in joy. "YES! Finally!" he cheered, his voice loud enough to echo in the house.

I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing.

I had to admit, annoying him was too much fun.

I glanced inward, where the system was having its own fit of laughter.

[You're evil, you know that?] the system teased.

I just grinned.

"Sorry, Dad," I thought. "It's too fun messing with you."

And Dad, who had been so hopeful, still couldn't help but chuckle at my mischievous grin. He ruffled my hair, and I saw the love in his eyes, the warmth that came from the simple joys of being together as a family.

I might have been a little evil, but the happiness I felt in that moment was real.