The warmth of victory still clung to Yukio like a second skin. Every step down the confetti-strewn streets felt lighter, every sound of laughter around him sharper, brighter. It wasn’t just New Year’s his city was celebrating—it was his.

  Tonight, he had rewritten the story of his family. No more patched-up clothes or empty cupboards. No more excuses when bills piled up. He could already see the path stretching out in front of them: clear, wide, golden.

  A smile tugged at his lips as he walked, but it faltered when another memory intruded—a colder one.

  Kaito. Haru.

  His so-called friends.

  He remembered the weight of water soaking his hoodie, the books in his arms ruined, their mocking laughter cutting sharper than the sting of the cold.

  “Look at the poor kid trying to keep up with us.”

  It wasn’t the rich brats who had hurt him most that day. It was the sight of Kaito and Haru laughing along with them, eyes glittering with the kind of cruelty he never thought they were capable of.

  His fist clenched at his side, knuckles pale in the glow of the streetlamps. Tonight’s winnings—his money—felt like armor against every insult, every betrayal. He tilted his head back, looking up at the sky as the last smoke trails of fireworks faded into nothing.

  “Looks like lady luck is on my side this year,”

  He muttered, lips curling into a grim grin.

  The crosswalk light blinked green. A simple, familiar signal. He stepped forward without hesitation, eyes still fixed on the horizon. The words slipped out almost without thought, full of the certainty only youth and newfound power could carry:

  “Nothing can stop me now.”

  The universe, it seemed, took that as a challenge.

  A flash of blinding white tore across his vision. The roar of an engine drowned out his heartbeat. He barely had time to register the shape of a truck before it filled his entire world.

  For a heartbeat, time slowed. His last thought wasn’t fear. It wasn’t regret. It was bitter, almost mocking:

  “I thought I was feeling lucky…”

  Then, silence.

  When his eyes opened again, the world was gone.

  No city. No asphalt. No pain.

  Only white. Endless, soft white.

  The ground beneath him felt like a mattress made of mist, springy and weightless. There was no sky, no horizon, only the same blank canvas stretching into forever. The silence pressed in on him, so complete it almost hummed in his ears.

  “…Did I just die?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  His own voice sounded small, swallowed by the emptiness. He looked down at his hands, turning them over. They looked the same. Too normal.

  “Or was that… just a dream?”

  Rage hit him before fear could. Hot, sharp, unfair. He clutched his head, teeth gritted.

  “My life… my money!”

  His voice cracked, echoing back at him from every direction.

  “How am I supposed to enjoy it now? Was this some kind of cosmic joke? I didn’t deserve this!”

  The fury burned bright, but grief smothered it quickly. He sank to his knees. The mist-like floor gave way slightly, depressions forming under his weight. Tears blurred his vision.

  “If I’m dead…”

  His voice was a whisper now.

  “…what about my family?”

  The question tore through him, leaving only emptiness.

  That was when the light appeared.

  Golden, dazzling, pouring down from above like a miniature sun. He shielded his eyes, squinting until the radiance resolved into the shape of a woman.

  She descended slowly, gracefully, until her feet touched the white ground without a sound.

  Her beauty was otherworldly: silken robes that shimmered with an inner glow, hair cascading like a waterfall, four feathered wings unfurling with impossible majesty. And when her feet landed, the wings dissolved into dust, glittering motes fading into the void.

  “You should not despair over what has happened,”

  She said, her voice gentle, melodic, like a chime carried on the wind.

  “You are no longer alive, Yukio. This is a place where souls are guided. You should rejoice, for you have the chance to enter heaven, where eternity awaits you.”

  Yukio stared at her, deadpan. His tears hadn’t even dried yet.

  “…Are you serious?”

  His lip curled into a humorless smile. He jabbed a finger toward her.

  “Can it get any worse? I die, and now some cosplayer shows up to spout nonsense at me?”

  The angel froze. Her serene expression cracked. Then, to his surprise, she puffed up like an offended child.

  “I….what….how dare you!”

  She sputtered, hand to her chest. Her voice lost all its celestial calm, wobbling indignantly.

  “I am no cosplayer!”

  “Sure.”

  Yukio rolled his eyes, half laughing despite himself.

  She stamped a foot. Stamped. The cloud-like ground actually rippled beneath her heel.

  “I am an angelic guardian, goddammit!”

  That startled him enough to blink. He hadn’t expected goddammit to come out of a being dressed in glowing silks.

  “My name is Michibiki,”

  she continued, her voice wobbling between offended pride and barely concealed tears.

  “I guide souls like yours. And you will treat me with the respect I deserve.”

  For a moment, the absurdity of it broke through his grief. He actually chuckled, shaking his head.

  Then Michibiki stepped forward, softening again. She held out her hand. When he hesitated, she took his instead, pulling him gently to his feet. Before he could react, she wrapped him in a sudden hug.

  “It’s normal to grieve over one’s life,”

  She murmured, her voice calmer now.

  “But your family will survive. They’ll mourn, yes. But they’ll also remember you. That memory will keep them strong.”

  Her words were meant to soothe. And, against his better judgment, they did. His chest loosened slightly. He let out a shaky breath.

  “Great,”

  He muttered.

  “So I’m dead, broke, and stuck with a clingy angel. What’s next? Heaven’s orientation day?”

  Michibiki let him go, her composure returning like a curtain lowering. She even managed a small smile.

  “Look on the bright side. You still get to spend eternity in heaven.”

  “…Hooray,”

  Yukio said flatly.

  Before she could respond, another light split the void above them—brighter, wilder, almost playful. A second figure descended, much smaller this time.

  It was a boy. No older than thirteen at most, with a lopsided grin plastered across his face. His silk robes gleamed with threads of gold and silver. Rings sparkled on every finger. A chunky gold chain swung against his chest, and a slightly crooked crown tilted on his head like a toy.

  He landed in a burst of brilliance, hands on his hips, grinning like they’d just stumbled into his personal stage.

  “Yoooo, Yukio, buddy!”

  He called, his voice high and casual.

  “You don’t wanna go to heaven. Trust me. It's, like, super boring. Total snoozefest. Zero fun.”

  Yukio blinked at him.

  “What… are you supposed to be? The patron saint of rappers?”

  Before the boy could respond, Michibiki snapped into a bow so sudden it looked rehearsed. One hand pressed to her chest, her tone reverent once more.

  “It is an honor to be in your presence… Lord Fukui.”