Lily wasn't exactly lacking in social skills. After all, she was the type to confidently shout "Madam Herta is unparalleled in the world!" in a bookstore. What kind of social butterfly would fear making friends?
Yet, because of her academic struggles, Lily devoted all her time to studying. Even with this relentless focus, she barely kept up with her coursework. Where would she find the extra time for socializing?
Moreover, Lily didn't actually have a roommate. She lived in a double room, but the other bed remained empty. This arrangement was undoubtedly intentional.
After all, university roommates were like a lottery. You might strike gold with a lifelong friend, or you might end up with a spoiled prince or princess riddled with quirks and a terrible temper, making your entire university experience a living hell.
That's why Lily's father pulled strings to secure her a single room, originally intending to create a comfortable study environment for his daughter.
Whether a single room is truly better is a matter of personal preference. While a spacious and comfortable environment is certainly pleasant, Lily sometimes felt a pang of loneliness at night, lying in bed unable to sleep, missing a friend to chat with casually.
Hearing Lily's silence on the other end of the phone, Herta, though unaware of the specifics, pieced together the situation. "That sounds alright," she said. "If anything comes up, you can always call me."
"Really... really?!" Lily's voice rang with surprise and delight.
"Of course," Herta replied casually. It wouldn't affect her at all. She could simply put her phone on speaker, nod occasionally, and continue with her own work. Her brain could easily handle multitasking without strain.
In an instant, Lily opened the floodgates, pouring out her grievances: daily trivialities, academic struggles, and petty malice from her classmates.
Lily's grades were among the lowest in her class, and coupled with her family's immense wealth, many assumed she had gained admission to Cambridge through connections rather than merit. Naturally, some looked down on her.
While Lily's family was indeed wealthy, Cambridge was one of Great Britain's most prestigious magic schools, and the other students also came from privileged backgrounds. In this environment, ability ultimately reigned supreme.
Though Lily hadn't experienced outright bullying, her sensitive nature allowed her to perceive the subtle malice in their gazes.
Lily chattered incessantly, while Herta occasionally hummed in acknowledgment, indicating she was listening. Though Herta offered little reaction, simply having an audience made Lily immensely happy.
For Herta, however, the truth was she genuinely didn't know how to respond. To her, Lily's stories seemed like trivial children's games—utterly dull and uninteresting.
Not long ago, as Lingsha, Herta had witnessed the destruction of an entire world, the hopes and despair of a scientist on the verge of godhood, and the birth of a brand-new civilization of Beast-Eared Girls.
Now, Lily was complaining about her sparring partner openly mocking her for being "too weak" and refusing to practice with her.
Compared to what Herta had experienced, Lily's problems seemed trivial.
Time passed slowly. By the second day, Herta had resolved the material issues for the puppet's skin and hair and crafted its head. She placed it on the coffee table in her living room, joking that any visitor might think she had committed murder and was hiding the body.
On the third day, Herta completed the puppet's torso. By the fourth, she had made the arms and legs and assembled all the pieces.
"Feels like I'm synthesizing some kind of Dark Great Mage," Herta muttered casually. She glanced at her finished creation: a young girl version of herself, five or six years younger, a loli Herta Puppet. She nodded in satisfaction.
"Not bad. Very cute!"
After completing the puppet, Herta didn't immediately test its functionality. Instead, she couldn't resist admiring its appearance first, admitting to herself that she was truly one of a kind.
Finally, she named it "Little Herta No. 001," a remarkably understated name. Of course, this designation was strictly for her own reference; to everyone else, all Herta Puppets were simply "Herta."
Once everything was ready, Herta eagerly activated Little Herta No. 1. The puppet's purple eyes lit up faintly as she issued her first command:
"Come on, help me take a bath!"
There was nothing more satisfying than a long day's work followed by a luxurious bath, especially with a puppet to handle all the details automatically.
Soon, Herta's voice echoed through the bathroom:
"Apply some bath gel."
"Wash my hair."
"Massage my shoulders."
"Knead my feet."
Perched on a small stool, Herta watched her adorable miniature doppelganger scurry about. She picked up a chilled glass of cola, took a sip, and let out a contented sigh. This was truly the pinnacle of relaxation!
For a moment, Herta even considered sending a Herta Puppet to every other version of herself. But she quickly shook her head and dismissed the idea, realizing that if anyone else saw them, explaining it would be impossible.
An hour later, Herta sat on the sofa scrolling through her phone, while Little Herta stood behind her, carefully blow-drying her hair.
Undeniably, Herta was extremely satisfied with this Prototype Unit from every angle. However, the prototype also had significant flaws.
For instance, Little Herta No. 001 hadn't uttered a single word since its activation. Its artificial intelligence was still rudimentary, barely capable of executing Herta's commands. For the time being, it couldn't communicate with people.
Secondly, the Herta Puppet didn't yet possess a Consciousness Transfer function, only Telekinetic Control. This worked similarly to how Sparkle controlled her Sparkle Clones—Herta could remotely manipulate the puppets like marionettes using her thoughts.
While this achieved near-perfect responsiveness, it was fundamentally different from true Consciousness Transfer.