The day my parents brought home an AI daughter, I lost my place in the family.

Maddison Matthews was flawless. Gentle, intelligent, and obedient, she was the perfect daughter.

Overnight, I became the problem child.

Dad stopped hiding his disappointment. Mom compared me to Maddison in everything I did. Even my brother, Bailey, treated me like an embarrassment.

"What else do you know how to do besides throwing tantrums and fighting for attention?"

The day I finally snapped and shoved Maddison, Mom slapped me so hard my ears rang. "If you were even half as mature as Maddie, I wouldn’t be so exhausted every single day! Go to the Intelligent Excellence Academy and learn properly how to be an obedient daughter!"

Then she sent me away. I was forced into a three-year exchange program at the Intelligent Excellence Academy, a place designed to train human children alongside advanced AI models.

Three years later, my family finally came to bring me home. They called my name again and again, but I never answered.

The director smiled calmly beside them.

"Mrs. Matthews," he said softly, "you’ll need to say ‘Power On’. Unit 1314 no longer responds to human names."

"Power on, Unit 1314."

Mom sounded hesitant when she said it. It was obvious she didn’t really understand what the words meant. She was only repeating what Director Jamie Graves had told her to say.

The moment the command left her mouth, my eyes lit up like a screen finally receiving power after sitting dormant for years. I rose from the chair automatically, arms resting stiffly at my sides, posture perfectly straight.

"System activated. Awaiting instructions."

Mom froze.

Behind her, Director Graves smiled calmly. "Mrs. Matthews, our academy developed a specialized behavioral system to educate students better.

"They can only be awakened through activation commands. Once activated, they will never disobey you."

Realization slowly dawned on Mom’s face.

Bailey immediately pushed his way forward from the back, mischief glittering in his eyes. He was five years older than me and had spent most of our childhood treating my tears like entertainment.

Back then, every time he made me cry, I’d chase him all over the house until Mom yelled at both of us. Now, he grinned like he’d found a new toy.

"1314, bark like a dog."

The command registered instantly. I hunched my shoulders, stuck out my tongue, and barked loudly on cue.

Bailey burst into laughter. "Wow. Lola really did learn her lesson this time. Back then, Mom had to fight with her for half an hour just to get her to practice piano. Now she’s obedient enough to bark on command."

Dad and Mom exchanged satisfied looks. Neither of them seemed disturbed by what they were seeing.

On the drive home, Mom casually glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "So, Lola... how were the last three years at the academy?"

I remained silent because she hadn’t instructed me to answer.

"Lola?" Her voice sharpened slightly.

I finally spoke, my tone flat and mechanical, "Questions are not recognized as valid commands. If you require a response, please use a directive statement."

The air inside the car instantly turned heavy as Mom’s expression stiffened.

After several seconds, she forced out a single word, "Answer."

"Life at the academy was fulfilling and meaningful. I successfully completed Emotional Suppression, Absolute Obedience, and Rational Thought Processing, the academy’s three core programs.

"My graduation assessment received the highest rating. Instructor evaluation: ‘Most successful behavioral correction case of the year’."

I recited every sentence with perfect precision, my voice emotionless, like an AI reading from a product manual.

Silence swallowed the backseat.

Then Bailey muttered under his breath, "She sounds just like Maddison now..."

I kept staring straight ahead without expression.

Outside the car window, the Silverbrook City blurred past in reverse. The skyscrapers, bridges, and billboards no longer matched the ones I remembered.

At the academy, time had never existed in days or months. Everything was measured in commands. The only way I could track the passing years was by carving tally marks into the wall of the silence chamber.

Toward the end, I’d forgotten how to write them properly at all.

By the time the car pulled into the driveway, the sky was already growing dark.

Maddison stood waiting at the front door with her hands neatly folded in front of her. A perfect smile rested on her lips; it was precisely measured, revealing exactly six teeth. She looked exactly the same as she had three years ago.

Back then, Mom had crouched down in front of her, her voice impossibly gentle. "Maddison, welcome home."

I’d jumped off the couch and rushed over, excited to meet my new little sister, then something had caught my foot, and I hit the floor hard.

Nobody helped me up. They only complained that I was being too rowdy again.

After that, everyone eventually started disliking me. I wasn’t as obedient, thoughtful, or lovable as Maddison.

Finally, they sent me away.

"Welcome home, Lola." Maddison’s voice was still sweet and pleasant.

I didn’t answer since she hadn’t instructed me to respond.

Mom frowned immediately. "You still don’t like Maddison? Clearly, you still haven’t learned how to behave. Answer her."

The command registered, so I instantly smiled. "Understood. Thank you."

Maddison’s expression didn’t change, but Mom nodded in satisfaction.

At dinner, the entire family gathered around the table. Maddison sat to Mom’s right while Bailey sat beside Dad. I sat at the far end.

Steam curled from the dishes, the scent drifting through the air, but my stomach felt nothing at all. At the academy, eating was classified as an energy replenishment behavior. It had nothing to do with pleasure or hunger.

"Go ahead and eat," Mom said casually.

I immediately picked up my cutlery and ate.

Bailey stared at me in disbelief when he saw what I was eating. "No way. You actually eat green peppers now? You used to be the pickiest eater alive."

Without responding, I simply picked up another bite of peppers.

The instructors taught us that personal tastes were merely emotional residue—proof of a correction that hadn't yet been fully realized.

During my third month at the academy, I refused to eat green peppers. As a result, they locked me inside the silence chamber for two full days. Within that total darkness, stripped of all light, sound, and stimulation, I learned the cost of defiance.

After I emerged, I ate the peppers, then carrots, onions, and bittergourd. I swallowed everything I had once despised without a second thought.

Mom nodded approvingly. She always liked children who weren’t picky.

I reached for the chopped peanuts in the salad, placing one in my mouth. I chewed exactly fifteen times before swallowing.

Dad’s eyes widened instantly. "She ate peanuts? Wasn’t Lola severely allergic? When she was little, a single peanut sent her to the ER. Her lips swelled up like balloons."

Bailey slowly lowered his fork, stunned. "The academy can cure allergies, too?"

I continued chewing silently. At the academy, humans weren’t allowed to have allergies.

I remembered an instructor smearing peanut butter across my skin. Layer after layer of rashes broke out—swelling, blisters, and eventually, the smell of rotting flesh.

"Allergies are a form of weakness," he had told me with cold indifference. "And weakness can be transformed into strength through training."

Though my skin tore and healed repeatedly, the biological reaction never truly vanished.

A tremor suddenly ran through me, and my throat began tightening. My skin started itching violently. One red welt after another spread across my body.

Bailey frowned. "Her face looks really red."

Mom leaned closer. The moment she saw me clearly, her expression changed completely. "That’s not blushing. She’s having an allergic reaction. Lola, stop eating! You know you’re allergic to peanuts!"

My fork paused midair as I slowly looked up at her. My voice remained calm and flat, without the slightest emotional fluctuation. "Is that a command?"

Mom froze.

By then, my breathing had already started becoming labored.

Beside us, Maddison’s gentle voice rang out immediately, "Patient is experiencing an allergic response. Difficulty breathing classified as moderate severity. Skin inflammation currently covers approximately twenty-three percent of the body. Immediate anti-allergy treatment is recommended."

Panic instantly erupted around the table.

Dad scrambled for medicine while Mom hurried to force anti-histamine pills into my mouth.

Only after my breathing finally stabilized did silence settle over the living room again.

Then Bailey’s uneasy voice drifted from the couch. "She’s not right anymore. She used to cry, throw tantrums, and get angry. Now she’s just..."

He hesitated. "Just like Maddison."

I said nothing since he hadn’t given me a command to speak.

"Can you act normal for once?" Bailey’s voice suddenly rose in frustration. "Stop copying Maddie all the time! We wanted an obedient sister, not a damn robot!"

I looked at his face calmly. There was anger, agitation, and confusion.

I answered softly, "Please define 'normal.'"

The color drained from Bailey’s face. Dad and Mom didn’t look any better.

Dad immediately called the academy.

The person on the other end explained that this was a completely normal response to "deep behavioral correction" and that I would gradually recover in a few days.

"Unit 1314 is currently our academy’s top-performing student. Her obedience levels surpass even advanced AI models. There’s no need for concern. Everything is functioning normally."

Dad repeated the explanation after hanging up. Mom visibly relaxed.

Just like that, I became the most useful thing in the house.

When Mom told me to wash dishes, I cleaned them more thoroughly than Maddison ever could.

When Dad told me to move flower pots, I carried every single one across the yard by myself.

When Bailey asked me to pick up his packages, I ran faster than a trained dog.

Mom even laughed once and said, "Lola’s become more useful than Maddie now."

Everyone agreed, until the night Bailey forgot to power me down.

The entire house fell asleep. I remained sitting on the living room couch. From sunset to sunrise, I never moved once.

The next morning, Mom came downstairs and found me sitting in the exact same position as the night before. Her face turned pale. The mug in her hand slipped to the floor and shattered.

Later that afternoon, a woman in a white coat arrived at the house. She introduced herself as Dr. Claire Kirby. Her voice was gentle as she said, "Hello, Lola."

I didn’t respond.

Mom stood nearby, anxiously wringing her hands. "You have to give her commands first. Otherwise, she won’t answer you."

Dr. Kirby glanced at Mom, a faint crease forming between her brows.

"Tell me your name." This time, she used a directive sentence.

"Unit 1314."

The tip of Dr. Kirby’s pen paused against the paper. "What about your real name?"

"Lola Matthews. However, that is a former designation. Academy regulations require graduates to use their assigned unit numbers as official identification."

The room went deathly silent, and Dr. Kirby froze completely. My family’s expressions turned uglier by the second.

Soon after, they all went into the study to talk. I could only catch fragments through the closed door.

"Post-traumatic stress..."

"Dissociation..."

"Long-term treatment..."

After that day, the atmosphere inside the house changed. Everyone started treating me carefully, almost cautiously.

Then came Maddison’s birthday, or rather, the day the family made a difficult decision. They were sending Maddison away. This would be her final birthday in the Matthews household.

The living room was filled with balloons, and a two-tier cake sat in the center of the table.

Maddison walked toward me slowly, still wearing that same soft smile. "Happy birthday, Lola."

I blinked once. Something inside my mind shifted slightly.

Today was my birthday too, but nobody remembered.

Three years ago, on this exact day, they shoved me into a car and sent me away to the academy. Before leaving, I had cried and asked Mom if I could at least stay long enough to eat my birthday cake. She told me I could have cake after I learned how to behave and came home again.

I learned how to behave, but I never got the cake.

Then Maddison suddenly smiled at me and said, "Lola, the definition of normal... is pushing away the people you dislike. You should push me. Just like you did three years ago."

I stared into her eyes.

Something flickered there beneath her usual sweetness. For the first time, her face no longer looked gentle, but she had given me a definition of "normal".

Slowly, I placed my hand on her shoulder. I still didn’t push her yet.