Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

The elevator lights remained as bright as ever, but the underground residential level beyond was just as dim and dreary as usual. The chaotic graffiti and patches of rust hardly evoked anything beautiful, yet Hestia was still happy.

Because life was no longer monotonous.

Walking through puddles and scattered trash, she skipped lightly, as if playing the hopscotch game she had learned as a child.

Her body leaped gracefully, spinning slightly in the air. Her skirt swayed with the breeze before she landed softly again.

People often used messy environments and ruined, derelict scenes to highlight the sorrow and cruelty of the world, but that perspective was misguided.

Those who truly lived in such surroundings didn’t see it that way. They knew that the smoke-filled restaurant on the corner was run by a chef with excellent culinary skills. They understood that while the ground might be littered with trash and puddles, it was stable—it didn’t sink or collapse. The passersby, unsettling to outsiders, were, to them, familiar faces and people they could strike up a conversation with at any moment.

For those who had long endured such circumstances, this wasn’t hardship—it was simply life.

Perhaps this outlook was a form of numbness or a mistaken attitude, but at least it allowed them to live without excessive sorrow in such conditions.

Overly sensitive rabbits die young.

For some reason, this phrase came to Hestia’s mind. Its original meaning might not have been this, but thinking this way wasn’t entirely wrong either.

She had long been accustomed to being overlooked in life. Being bullied and ridiculed was just a normal part of her daily routine. The worse the environment, the more hostility people carried. Her classmates weren’t great, but she understood that if they all came from affluent families, they might behave more gracefully and politely.

She had seen such a world when she was younger.

Her older sister attended one of those so-called elite schools, where daughters of nobility and children of wealthy families gathered. As a child, Hestia had accompanied her sister to some events, witnessing that environment firsthand.

It was precisely because of these memories and insights that she could draw certain conclusions through comparison.

The anxiety of a family was contagious. Parents burdened by the struggles of life and scarcity of resources were more prone to arguing over trivial matters, and this impatience inevitably transferred to their children.

A slight dip in academic performance or even a minor mistake could trigger a tirade. It was the most effortless form of parenting—no need to patiently analyze the reasons, no need to navigate the fragile and complicated emotional world of their child. Simple and brutal.

After a long day of grueling work, parents were emotionally and physically drained. Expecting them to invest significant effort in their children’s education was unrealistic. And if they did, it was likely fueled by frustration and despair.

Being introverted and timid, Hestia often turned to learning and introspection, or retreated to a corner to quietly lick her wounds. She constantly sought ways to understand the chaos of the world around her, because only by grasping the reasons behind it could she ease the anxiety in her heart, even just a little.

The unknown was always terrifying. But once understood, even if she couldn’t change it, at least she could find some peace and a direction for solving the problem.

Lost in thought, reflecting on the day’s events, Hestia found herself standing in front of her home.

Oh no, she thought, realizing she had forgotten her original plan.

She stared at the narrow door before her, suddenly remembering she was supposed to visit Grandma He’s house.

Still, since she was already here, she decided to go inside. After all, she hadn’t stayed here in nearly a month.

Swiping her key card, she unlocked the dusty door and called softly, “I’m home.”

Of course, there was no response. She took off her shoes, found the slippers she used to wear, and stepped into the dark apartment, turning on the lights.

The small living room was cluttered with various items, just as it had been when she left. A thin layer of dust covered the floor and the tabletop.

Hestia made her way to the innermost room, which had once been her parents’ bedroom but was now hers. With her family gone, she was the sole resident and master of this home.

Pushing open the door, the room looked exactly as it had before. Family photos still hung on the walls: her mother smiling gently, her father looking slightly hesitant, her sister gazing off to the side with an air of aloofness, and herself nestled in her mother’s arms, looking lost and uncertain.

She flipped onto the bed, fumbling around until she retrieved a small box hidden beneath the mattress.

Sitting at the head of the bed, Hestia opened the box to reveal a tiny lamp base.

Channeling magic into it, she activated the lamp. It lit up and projected a lifelike image: her family, laughing and chatting on a grassy field before turning to smile at the camera.

The entire projection lasted no more than 30 seconds, but the laughter and joy felt so distant, so alien, that it gave her a sense of estrangement.

Hestia silently watched for a while before turning off the lamp. She no longer cried as she did when she was a child.

At the bottom of the box was a diary her mother had left behind, recording snippets of her and her sister’s lives as they grew up. Three-quarters of it was devoted to her sister, while she herself only occupied the remaining quarter.

Compared to her dazzling sister, there wasn’t much to say about her younger self.

“Today, Themisia started attending St. Ingo Academy, the top-ranked high school on Verdant Veil Planet. I’m worried about how she’ll adapt to the environment, as most students there come from exceptional backgrounds or are rare geniuses.”

“The mid-semester school event began, and I finally got to visit the academy. To my surprise, Themisia is quite popular at school. She commands her classmates like a leader—such pride and confidence, qualities I don’t possess.”

“The teacher called me. Themisia’s exceptional talent may make her a significant figure in the future, and they asked me to rein her in a bit, as some parents complained that she’s too domineering, causing their children distress.”

“I asked Themisia about it. She said the other party provoked her first, and she merely retaliated. After learning the teacher had called me, Themisia seemed upset.”

“The issue was resolved when the other parents apologized, admitting they hadn’t raised their child well.”

“I don’t know what happened. Themisia said the other party must have had a change of heart. Although this explanation feels far-fetched, I began to realize that this child was growing beyond my control.”

“Themisia’s growth far outpaced our expectations. In her second year, at the Winter Festival, she claimed dual first-place titles on the competition field and stage. The entire academy erupted in cheers, and the teachers and principal congratulated us, saying she was destined to become a legend, a rising star.”

“As graduation approached, Themisia traveled with a group to the Feather Constellation in the Federation’s central region to participate in the entrance exams for top-tier universities there.”

“The entrance exams concluded, but Themisia returned home unhappy. For the first time, she asked about Hestia’s well-being and spent a long time sitting by her bed.”

“Themisia locked herself in her room for days afterward. When she finally emerged, she began saying strange things, as though she was preparing to leave for a faraway place. Perhaps she realized how distant the central constellation was and that she wouldn’t be able to stay with us anymore.”

“Themisia is gone…”

Hestia closed the diary and placed it back in the box.

After her sister’s death, their mother fell gravely ill, draining most of the family’s finances. They moved to the lower residential district of Arpeggio City to escape the memories that caused their mother such grief.

Her sister’s image had shifted through different stages in Hestia’s mind. As a child, she had been a dependable older sister and a comforting presence, taking her out to play and buying her small gifts. But as her sister entered middle and high school, she grew cold, seemingly burdened by Hestia’s timid nature.

In her final days, however, her sister’s personality changed drastically. She became incredibly gentle, sharing many stories from school, teaching Hestia how to deal with bullies, and how to leverage adult influences—lessons Hestia never managed to learn.

Ultimately, her sister ended her life at home without leaving a note.

After her sister’s passing, everything in the family began to change, leading to their current circumstances.

“I didn’t experience any terrible misfortune or cruelty. It’s just that my birth was an accident… You wouldn’t understand that, Hestia, but you’re different from me. You’ll have a much brighter future.”

These were Themisia’s final words to her.

Lying in bed, lost in memories, Hestia unknowingly drifted into sleep, only to wake half an hour later.

She got up and went to the bathroom, intending to splash her face with cold water to wake herself up before heading to Grandma He’s house. It was late, and she didn’t want to worry her.

The cool water dampened her face and dripped away. In the dimly lit bathroom, Hestia turned off the faucet and looked up. The Hestia in the mirror smiled at her, her eyes glowing faintly with a purple light.

What was that?!

Her heart raced as she blinked furiously. The mirror’s reflection returned to normal. Even when she channeled her magic to manifest her abilities, her eyes only glowed blue, her hair remaining black.

The earlier vision seemed like a fleeting illusion. After ten minutes of futilely inspecting the mirror, Hestia gave up.

Perhaps she just missed those from her memories too much.