When my eyes opened, the first thought should have been am I alive? But reality struck harder: damn it, why am I not dead? Was this some kind of hell, forcing me to live again in a fate that refused to break?
The place around me was unsettlingly familiar. The cracked walls, the scent of smoke, the shadows that clung to every corner—it looked exactly like the lair where the underworld king had once resided, the same place where I had died. My chest tightened. Was this a cruel echo, a mockery of my end?
Then a voice resounded, deep and mocking:
"Hehe, human… you are here solely because of your existence."
I narrowed my eyes. "Oh, now what is this? Some kind of alternate world? Everything the same, except now there are superpowers? Not bad, I suppose."
I didn't curse, didn't scream for revenge. Something in me whispered caution. Perhaps I was hypnotized, though the world wasn't developed enough for such tricks. I refused to believe this was just a coma or a mystical dream. No, this was real.
The voice grew clearer. "Lost human, this is the trial of judgment. Here you will be sent to heaven, hell, or reincarnation."
Two figures descended before me. One was majestic, grand, aloof—his presence radiated authority, like a mountain that could crush the sky. The other was carefree, almost playful, as if the majesty beside him did not exist at all.
I asked, "What are the procedures? How does one enter these judgments?"
The majestic figure's voice was solemn. "You need sin to enter hell. No sin to enter heaven. Sin can be weighed against virtue. Finally, one who is neutral—neither virtue nor sin—will gain the chance to reincarnate."
I rolled my eyes inwardly. Neutral? Impossible. Who could balance perfectly between sin and virtue? That path was a myth.
The majestic figure gestured to the carefree one. "This is my assistant. He will recite your sins."
But before the assistant could speak, I raised my hand. "No need. I'll recite them myself."
That surprised them both. Their brows lifted, as if they hadn't expected a mortal to face his own ledger.
I began. "I didn't use a magic pen myself. I replaced the pens of my classmates with faulty ones, so their answers would vanish. I kept my own good pen, and the topper beside me used his good pen too. I sabotaged the rest, laughing as they failed while I succeeded."
I smirked faintly. "And to sit near that topper, I lied about my name to the teacher. I investigated the campus surroundings, learned the seating arrangements, and tricked my way into the perfect spot. Every detail was calculated."
Their expressions remained unreadable, so I continued. "Later, there was a man who wanted to save thousands of people. Noble, selfless. But I twisted his path. I made him kill those thousands without realizing it until the final moment of his life. He died in despair, never knowing he had been my pawn. And I… I laughed at his ignorance."
The mighty figure listened, each sin weighed against my apologies. For every crime, I whispered regret. For every betrayal, I offered sorrow. And then, in a voice that shook the air, the majestic one asked the souls in heaven:
"Do you forgive him?"
A chorus answered in unison, their voices bright and harmonious:
"We forgive him."
Their faces shone with happy smiles, but behind those smiles lay unspoken thoughts. We suffered injustice because of him. Yet because of his actions, a path was paved for us to ascend to heaven. Sin is the footrack of humanity. They did not speak this truth aloud, only carried it silently in their minds.
Outwardly, they gave forgiveness. Inwardly, they acknowledged the irony—that their suffering had been born of his sins, but those very sins lifted them upward.
The majestic figure nodded gravely, though he did not know their hidden thoughts. He pointed to a staircase, vast and gleaming, leading to a gigantic door unlike anything in the underworld. "Ascend. Walk through the trial of judgment."
I bowed slightly to the assistant. "Thank you for guiding me." Then I stepped toward the door. My heart lifted. Perhaps heaven awaited me.
But as I disappeared into the light, the majestic figure turned to the carefree one with reverence. The carefree one smirked. "As the Lord of Judgment, I announce: he stated all his crimes and truths. By virtue, he could ascend. But he tried to bribe the Lord of Judgment with flattery. Therefore, he is neutral. He shall be reincarnated."
The majestic figure frowned. "How did he pass through the path of reincarnation so easily?"
The carefree one shrugged. "I don't know. He walked it himself. What I do know is that he didn't commit as many crimes as he was capable of. No single man can fully control himself. He will be reborn in a place where his nature can be unleashed. Whether insignificant or world‑devastating, that is the fate of talent. And I am no exception to that belief."
Meanwhile, I—Flick—was smiling to myself, convinced heaven awaited me. I had seen the majestic figure's expression, heard his solemn words, and even been polite to the carefree servant. I snickered, thinking this was my retirement, my reward, my enjoyment after a brutal life.
But the truth was cruel. It was not because I bribed the majestic lord. It was because my malicious intent, hidden beneath my apologies, added one final sin at the last second. My plan to ascend to heaven shattered. Another life awaited me. Another cycle. Another chance to suffer or to devastate.
I remained blissfully ignorant, stepping forward with hope. The figures watched in silence. And somewhere, in the echo of judgment, I could only feel pity for the current me.