The night had grown deep.
The constant sound of passing vehicles slowly faded as the hours crept forward. Engines that once roared through the streets became distant murmurs, until even those disappeared into the silence.
One by one, the lights in the neighborhood went out.
Windows darkened.
Doors closed.
Curtains drawn.
The world was quietly surrendering itself to sleep.
Another day had come to an end.
For some, it had been a satisfying one—a day filled with small victories, laughter, and the comforting fatigue that came from living fully.
For others, it ended with disappointment. Plans that failed. Efforts that bore no fruit.
But for the young man lying silently in the dimly lit room, it was neither.
To him, it was simply the end of another meaningless day. A day that would never matter.
Ever since the accident that severed his spinal cord, life had become something else entirely.
Not living.
Not dying.
Just… existing.
At first, there had been hope. Doctors. Treatments. Rehabilitation. Endless advice from people who believed time would heal everything.
But years passed.
Hope faded.
And the constant cycle of frustration, despair, and helplessness slowly ground away at him like waves eroding a cliff.
The rollercoaster of emotions never truly stopped.
Hope.
Disappointment.
Anger.
Acceptance.
Then back again. Over and over.
Until eventually, even those feelings began to dull.
What remained now was something quieter. Emptier.
The young man who once dreamed, planned, and fought for a future had long since disappeared. In his place was little more than a hollow shell.
A body that breathed.
A mind that wandered.
And a life that felt like it had stopped moving forward years ago.
Outside, the last passing car rolled down the street before vanishing into the distance. Silence settled over the neighborhood.
The world had fallen asleep.
In the quiet darkness of his room, he stared at the ceiling.
Most people used moments like this to pray. To thank God for the day that had passed… and to ask for protection through the night.
But he had nothing to thank God for.
And nothing left to ask.
Years ago, he had prayed.
With desperation. Patience. Stubborn faith.
But year after year, those prayers seemed to vanish into empty silence.
No answers. No miracles.
Just more days, the same.
His own fate had slowly worn down what little belief he once held.
And the world around him had not helped.
He still remembered the final days of his grandmother, a devout woman who had spent her entire life praying faithfully. Even as illness consumed her, she never stopped whispering prayers beneath her breath. Yet suffering was the only answer she received.
Then came the accident that took his younger brother.
Sudden. Cruel.
That was the moment the last fragile thread of faith finally snapped.
To him, God simply did not exist.
And if such a being did exist… then it could only be a cruel one.
The young man exhaled quietly and reached for his phone.
The screen lit up in the darkness. 11:47 PM.
He sighed.
The shortness of breath, the tight feeling in his chest, throbbing again.
For the past year, his health had only been deteriorating by the day.
He stared at the numbers for a few more seconds before placing the phone back beside him.
With no tomorrow to look forward to, slowly, he closed his eyes.
The world faded as darkness devoured his consciousness.
But then, a blinding light pierced through his eyelids, causing him to flinch in surprise.
He raised his hands for cover and slowly opened his eyes, curious to see what was happening.
The world around him was white—walls stretching in every direction, impossibly clean, impossibly quiet. Nothing moved except for the faint glow that seemed to pulse from the surfaces themselves.
A path of light appeared before him, stretching toward what looked like a door at the far end. Inviting him, calling him forward with gentle insistence.
Without thinking, he stepped onto it and followed the glowing line, each footstep silent against the ethereal surface, until he crossed the doorway.
What unfolded beyond that threshold felt unreal—like a scene no human eyes were ever meant to witness.
He froze.
Before him was a balcony, smooth and seamless, seemingly made entirely of glass. Its edge dropped away into the void. Across the platform, the universe stretched out endlessly.
Galaxies spun lazily in the distance, punctuated by drifting nebulae and twinkling stars, their glow painting the infinite horizon with soft colors.
Between him and that impossible horizon flowed a river of light, wide and curved, arcing from the left and disappearing to the right. Its ends vanished into nothingness, as though the universe itself bent to accommodate it.
Within the luminous arc moved millions of tiny lights, flickering like fireflies, drifting along the glowing current.
Standing near the edge of the balcony, facing the center of the luminous river, was a figure.
Its form was difficult to define—neither fully human nor fully light—but it radiated a calm authority that made the young man hesitate.
For a few moments, He didn't move—then several of the firefly-like lights appeared and swirled around him, guiding him forward.
Tentatively, he took a step.
The glowing swarm, leading the way.
Slowly, he approached the figure, each footstep heavy with the weight of the unknown.
When he was close enough, the figure turned to face him.
"Welcome, wandering soul," the voice said—warm, yet carrying an echo of eternity.
Taken aback, he replied, "Thanks, I guess... But where am I? Is this some weird dream?"
The figure spread its arms slightly in a gesture that was both inviting and solemn.
"This place? The space between the realm of the living and the dead."
He tilted his head in confusion. "Between the realm of the living and the dead? Did I die?"
"Indeed," the figure nodded. "You just passed away peacefully in your sleep."
He let the words settle without emotion.
"I see..." He reckoned his time would come soon, so he wasn't surprised.
At least my only wish came true, he thought to himself.
Then he added, "So… am I here to hear my verdict before being thrown into the pit of eternal fire? I wonder just how heavy my sins were." He couldn't help but let out a sarcastic remark.
The figure chuckled—a sound that resonated softly, as though echoing across the infinite river of light.
"No. I am not the judge of the underworld."
With a graceful wave of its hand, a swarm of the glowing firefly motes gathered around the figure, their colors shifting from pure white to deep dark hues.
They twisted and spiraled, forming a moving tornado of light.
The figure continued, "I am the guide of souls, the one who watches over the cycle of life."
Then it gestured toward the vast river of light stretching below them.
His eyes followed. Instinctively.
"This is the river of souls; the path every soul must traverse to lose all memory of its past and be reborn in a new vessel."
He stood still in silence.
It sounds familiar to him. But where did I hear it again? He asked himself, trying to remember.
He shrugged the thoughts off, then spoke.
"I see… then why am I here? Shouldn't I be traversing that river like the rest? losing my memories sounds like a good thing, at least for me."
The figure stayed silent for a while, thinking.
It studied him for a moment longer before speaking once more.
"The fact that your spirit was summoned here in the celestial realm, in the same appearance as your mortal body, can only mean one thing: you have been chosen," it explained.
Its answer confused him even more. Me? Chosen?
"For what? By whom?" He asked, confused.
"Even I do not know the reason. Only the One who rules above all knows," the figure answered solemnly, "I am but a mere guide."
What kind of... he sighed. Are the heavens toying with me even in my death? The thought pricked him.
Searching for clarity, he pressed, "Why me? What am I supposed to do?"
"I do not have an answer, just as I did not have answers for those who came before you." The figure replied, voice calm but firm.
Before me? The words caught his attention.
"That means… I'm not the only one?"
"Indeed," the figure confirmed. "You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Special cases such as yours appear once in a while."
Silence followed as he became lost in his own thoughts.
"So… what's going to happen to me now?" He couldn't care less. He knew he never had a choice in the first place.
"For special cases such as yours, the soul is sent to a different world," the figure answered his question, firm as usual.
He stayed silent. Staring at the figure for a moment longer before shifting his gaze to the universe stretched on the horizon.
Different world. Isekai?
A small smile appeared on his face—for the first time in a long time, his dead, empty eyes flickered back to life at the thought.
"By different world," he said slowly, his palms rubbing against each other, "did you mean a fantasy world full of magic… or some parallel universe drowning in chaos and suffering?"
The figure studied him quietly before answering.
"Yes… and no." It turned slightly, its gaze drifting toward the luminous river. "That world is indeed one where the concept humans call magic exists."
His eyes brightened even more. Head slightly nodding. Repeatedly.
The figure paused, as though choosing its next words carefully.
"As for chaos and suffering…" Another moment of silence followed before it continued.
"You see, men were given free will so that they may choose how to live their lives. The worlds below follow a simple principle—what humans often call cause and effect."
His expression changed a bit. Excitement was disappearing in his face.
But he remained silent. No intention to interrupt.
Seeing this, the entity continued.
"Whether the world descends into chaos or flourishes in peace is no longer the will of the celestial realms."
Silence followed. But inside his mind, the words continued to echo.
Cause and effect.
A bitter thought surfaced almost immediately. Is he telling me that the pain and suffering I endured for half of my life… was the result of my own actions?
The idea pricked at him.
Part of him knew it made sense.
The world was full of accidents, choices, and consequences tangled together in ways no one could fully understand.
Yet another part of him resisted the thought instinctively, searching for something—someone—to blame.
Fate. God. The universe itself.
But after a moment, he exhaled quietly.
There was no point digging through the ruins of the past. What had already happened could never be undone.
His gaze drifted back to the endless river of drifting lights below the balcony.
If what was unfolding before him truly was a second chance… Then it was an opportunity he had no intention of wasting.
Slowly, he lifted his head and looked back at the figure.
"So... what happens next?" he asked, the faintest trace of curiosity returning to his voice.
The figure swiped its hand from left to right, and a massive screen materialized in front of him, covered in names, descriptions, and symbols—countless skills, each glowing faintly as if alive.
"For now, choose. These skills will help you in your new life. But you may only select three unique skills, one extra skill, and one ultimate skill," the figure explained.
"Whoa..." His mouth opened a little at the sight.
It was something he had only seen in anime.
This is it... he thought to himself.
Excitement swirling inside him, he began scrolling.
"Let's see, hmmm."
Most skills seemed tailored for combat. Nothing sparked his interest.
"Not this. Not this... hmmm." He kept scrolling through hundreds of skills on the screen, the screen's light reflected in his eyes as he fell into total focus.
I just wanted a simple life. Slow. Healthy. Satisfying.
Not endless battles. Of chasing fame and glory.
The silence stretched.
Then the figure spoke again, soft but firm:
"Anything catch your interest yet?"
He looked up, shaking his head.
"No… not yet. Please… give me a little more time."
The figure inclined its head, serene.
"Very well. Take your time." Turning, it faced the river of souls once more, a silent guardian watching the flow of lives.
Minutes passed.
He finally paused; eyes fixed on the glowing options.
"Oh... Artisan Touch, let's see." he read the description of the skill.
Every creation the bearer makes would improve dramatically in quality.
"Ohohohoho... perfect. This is all I need, I swear." A satisfying smile tugged on his lips.
He scrolled once more.
He still has four skills left to pick, but at this point, he doesn't care. He got all he needed.
Just then, another skill caught his eye.
Shadow Manipulation, below it was another skill with the same vibe: Shadow Manifestation.
Those two skills seemed to be calling a certain side of him.
The one who loves ninjas and samurai.
Hmmm... why is their description a question mark? He wondered.
He looked at the other skills; they all have clear descriptions. Only those two skills have question marks.
Well... it doesn't matter, I'll just pick it as it sounds cool.
"That makes it three, now for my extra skill and ultimate skill. hmmm..." he muttered to himself.
He moved on to the extra skill section.
He stopped at a certain skill. Grace of Liora.
Grants its bearer immunity to instant death, resistance to poison and disease.
He whistled before he realized it.
"Only a fool would skip this skill... this is hell of an OP skill." Excitement could be heard in his voice as he picked the skill.
Satisfied, he moved to the ultimate skill section.
It is full of awesome skills, but he didn't care. They are all for heroic and war-freak characters. Totally not his style.
After scrolling for a while, he stopped.
"Oh... what's this? Eye of Providence?"
He proceeded to read the description.
A high-level appraisal ability effective on both living and non-living things. Also functions as a locator within a certain range.
"Bingo!" He exclaimed.
This is the perfect partner of Artisan touch... with them combined, it spells money. He smiled just thinking about it.
"I was hoping for something like Great Sage, but couldn't find it." The only regret he has, but he decided to settle with the skills he picked.
"I'm done," he called out to the figure
"Have you made your choices?" It asked, turning slowly to face him.
"Yeah... I'm satisfied with my choices," he replied, a faint certainty in his voice.
"Good. Well then."
With a wave of its hand, the skills he had chosen lifted from the screen and sank into his chest. Instantly, his body glowed, a warmth and pressure radiating from deep within—as if something was being etched into the very core of his soul.
Moments passed, and the glow slowly faded. The strange sensation ebbed away, leaving only a subtle pulse, like the echo of a heartbeat he hadn't felt before.
The figure regarded him and nodded.
"It seems you are now ready to venture into the new world."
Its voice drew the young man back from wandering thoughts.
"What… just happened?" he asked, confused.
He busily checked his body.
Then the figure spoke to calm him down.
"The skills you chose have merged with your soul."
The figure raised its hands, and a glowing firefly alighted gently on its palm.
"Focus your sight on this." It suggested.
Following the figure's instructions, he leaned closer, his eyes following the firefly's delicate movements.
Suddenly, a translucent screen appeared before him.
Name: Human Soul
Description: A spiritual form of a mortal.
"What you see is the effect of your ultimate skill." The figure explained.
"I see… so, this is how skills work," he muttered, half in awe, half in thought.
"Indeed," the entity confirmed. "From now on, it is up to you how you choose to use them—for better or for worse."
Just then.
A deep, resonant bell rang through the space, reverberating against every wall and surface.
His vision blurred, tilting and spinning as dizziness claimed him.
"Looks like your time is up," the figure said, voice calm yet final.
"Wait… what do you mean?"
The young man tried to speak, to ask more questions, but his consciousness was already slipping away.
"Let us not meet again too soon," were the last words he heard.
And then… everything went dark.