Darkness didn't feel endless this time.
It felt warm.
Soft.
Familiar.
He frowned before even opening his eyes.
"…I'm not dead?"
The ceiling above him was cracked in the exact same place he remembered. The faint glow-in-the-dark sticker he forgot to peel off years ago still clung stubbornly near the corner.
His room.
His bed.
His body.
He slowly sat up, heart pounding—not from pain, but from confusion.
The white space was gone.
The goddess was gone.
The truck—
He flinched.
Right.
The truck.
He pressed a hand against his chest. No wounds. No blood. No pain.
"…It was a dream."
A very detailed one.
He almost laughed at himself.
"A goddess of love? Seriously?"
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, needing something normal. Something real.
8:16 AM.
Wednesday.
Everything looked ordinary.
Too ordinary.
He unlocked his phone and opened the news app without thinking.
Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe it was fear.
The headline was near the top.
High School Student Killed in Traffic Accident
His smile faded.
He tapped it.
The article loaded.
Yesterday afternoon at approximately 4:32 PM, a male high school student was struck by a truck while crossing—
He stopped reading.
His name was there.
His age.
His school.
The world felt distant.
The phone slipped from his fingers and landed on the bed.
"…No."
He grabbed it again, scrolling faster.
Witnesses. Ambulance. Declared dead at the scene.
Yesterday.
Yesterday, he died.
He stumbled out of bed and walked to the mirror.
His reflection stared back at him.
Same face.
Same messy hair.
Same scar on his chin.
He touched the glass.
Cold.
Solid.
"I'm alive," he whispered.
"Yes."
The voice came from behind him.
He froze.
Slowly, he turned around.
She stood near his desk as if she belonged there.
Silver-blue hair falling gently over her shoulders. Golden eyes calm and unreadable.
But the white divine dress was gone.
She was wearing a school uniform.
His school's uniform.
Neatly pressed.
Perfectly fitted.
"…You can't just appear in my room," he said weakly.
"You are alive," she replied instead. "As promised."
He stared at her. Then at the phone in his hand.
"So it wasn't a dream."
"No."
His thoughts tangled together.
"I died."
"Yes."
"And now I'm just… back?"
"I adjusted the circumstances."
"That sounds illegal."
She tilted her head slightly.
"It was necessary."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"Wait. The news says I'm dead."
"You were."
"People saw it."
"Yes."
"And you're calm about this?"
"I am a goddess."
He stared at her uniform again.
"…Why are you dressed like that?"
"I have enrolled in your school."
His brain refused to process that sentence.
"You what?"
"I will attend your class starting today."
He blinked slowly.
"You're joking."
"I do not understand humor well yet."
He covered his face.
"You're telling me that after dying, I wake up, find out I'm legally dead, and now I have to go to school with the Goddess of Love as a transfer student?"
"Yes."
She stepped closer.
"You agreed to teach me."
"When I thought I was hallucinating!"
"Yet you accepted."
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
She wasn't wrong.
"That's not fair."
"Love is rarely fair."
He stared at her.
"…You practiced that line, didn't you?"
She paused.
"A little."
Despite everything—the death, the news article, the impossible situation—he almost laughed.
Almost.
"So this is my second life?"
"Yes."
"And your condition is that I teach you about love."
"Yes."
He exhaled slowly, feeling reality settle in like an uncomfortable truth.
Outside, morning sunlight slipped through his curtains.
Cars passed on the street.
The world continued like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't died yesterday.
He looked at her one more time.
"…This is insane."
She met his gaze calmly.
"Then let us make it meaningful."
Silence lingered between them.
Then she added softly—
"Class starts in one hour."
He stared at her.
"…I should've stayed in bed."
"That option has expired."