I'd always known I was going to die doing something stupid.
I just didn't think it'd be on a Monday.
The spreadsheet on my monitor blurred as I rubbed my eyes for the hundredth time that night. Overtime. Again. My boss had that special talent for making "optional" sound mandatory, and I had that special talent for being too much of a coward to say no.
"Just finish the quarterly report, Kai. It'll only take an hour."
Three hours ago.
I saved the file, grabbed my bag, and stumbled out of the office building into the cold night air. The streets were nearly empty. Smart people were home, asleep, living actual lives. Me? I was twenty-five and my biggest accomplishment was knowing which convenience store sold the cheapest instant ramen.
Living the dream.
I crossed the street, already fantasizing about collapsing into bed, when I heard it. A deep, mechanical roar that made my stomach drop.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
I looked up. My brain, still running on spreadsheet fumes, immediately jumped to the most logical conclusion for someone who'd read way too many webnovels during work bathroom breaks.
Truck-kun had finally come for me.
The bright headlights bore down, and I actually laughed. Of course. Of course this was how I'd go. Hit by a truck, wake up in a fantasy world with cheat abilities and a harem of...
Wait.
Those aren't headlights.
The roar grew deafening. I craned my neck back and saw it: a small plane, engine on fire, spiraling directly toward me like the universe's worst punchline.
"Are you SERIOUS?!" I shouted at the sky.
The plane didn't answer. It just kept falling.
My last thought before impact was incredibly profound and meaningful:
At least it's not a fucking truck.
---
Dying hurts less than you'd think.
Or maybe I was already dead before the pain could register. Either way, I opened my eyes expecting... well, nothing. Void. Darkness. Maybe some kind of judgment thing if the religious folks were right.
Instead, I got what looked like the DMV.
I sat up slowly, patting my chest, my arms, my face. Everything felt solid. Real. I wasn't a ghost, wasn't some floating consciousness. I had a body, the same average build I'd had in life, wearing the same wrinkled work shirt and slacks.
Around me, dozens of other people sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs, all wearing the same confused expression I probably had. The room was sterile, fluorescent lights humming overhead, and there was even a little ticket dispenser by the door.
"Number seventy-three," a melodious voice called out.
I looked down. The ticket in my hand read: 73.
Great. Even in death, I had to wait in line.
I stood and walked toward the counter, my shoes squeaking on the polished floor. The woman behind it was... wrong. Not in an obvious way, but in that uncanny valley sense where everything looked perfect but felt off.
Too symmetrical. Too flawless. Skin like porcelain, hair like spun gold, eyes that reflected light in a way human eyes didn't.
She smiled at me with all the warmth of a customer service robot.
"Name?"
"Uh, Kai. Kai Moran."
Her fingers moved over a tablet I couldn't quite focus on. "Cause of death: aviation accident. Time of death: 11:47 PM. Soul quality: average. Processing status: error."
I blinked. "Error?"
"You weren't supposed to die yet." She said it like she was telling me my credit card was declined. "Clerical issue. The plane was meant to crash three blocks over."
"I... what?"
She looked up, and I realized her eyes weren't just reflective. They glowed faintly, like embers. "Regardless, you're dead now. Reversal isn't cost-effective. You've been assigned to Alternative Processing."
"What does that..."
"Next!" she called, already looking past me.
Before I could protest, hands grabbed my arms. I jerked back and found myself staring at two more impossibly beautiful people. Men this time, tall and statuesque, with the same eerie perfection. They wore white uniforms that seemed to shimmer.
"Come along," one said, his voice pleasant and empty.
They pulled me toward a door I hadn't noticed before. I tried to dig my heels in, but they were strong. Way stronger than they looked.
"Wait, where are you taking me? What's Alternative Processing?"
The door opened into a corridor that definitely shouldn't exist. It stretched impossibly long, the walls gleaming like mother-of-pearl, and through massive windows I could see...
Sky.
Not normal sky. This was gold and purple and pink all at once, with structures floating in the distance that defied geometry. Spires and palaces and gardens suspended on nothing, connected by bridges of pure light.
"Welcome to the Divine Realm," one of my escorts said with practiced boredom. "You've been assigned as a servant to the Court of Lumira, Goddess of Light and Order. Congratulations."
I stared at the impossible vista, my mind trying and failing to process it.
"This is heaven?"
The other escort actually laughed. It wasn't a nice sound.
"For us, maybe. For you?" He looked me up and down with thinly veiled disgust. "Let's just say you'll be earning your keep."
They dragged me down the corridor, past more windows showing more impossible beauty. We passed other... beings. They had to be angels. Wings of white and gold, halos that rotated slowly above their heads, beauty that made the receptionist look plain by comparison.
Every single one looked at me the way you'd look at a bug.
No, worse. Like I was something unpleasant they'd stepped in.
One angel, a woman with platinum hair and ice-blue eyes, wrinkled her nose as I passed. "Another mortal?" Her voice was melodious and dripping with contempt. "Lumira's standards really are slipping."
My escorts said nothing, just kept pulling me along.
We reached another door, this one massive and ornate, carved with scenes of angels standing triumphant over prostrate humans. Real subtle.
"Through here," one escort said, shoving me forward. "Try not to embarrass yourself too badly."
The door opened.
I stumbled into a great hall that belonged in a cathedral, all vaulted ceilings and stained glass depicting divine battles. At the far end, dozens of humans in plain gray robes scrubbed floors, polished columns, carried trays.
Servants.
Slaves, more like.
"You'll receive your assignment shortly," the escort said behind me. "A word of advice, mortal. Keep your head down, do your work, and don't look the angels in the eye. It offends them."
The door closed.
I stood there, alone in this beautiful nightmare, watching my fellow humans scurry about like frightened mice.
One of them, a girl maybe a year or two younger than me with tired eyes, glanced my way. She mouthed two words:
I'm sorry.
Then she went back to scrubbing.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard laughter. Musical, perfect, and completely devoid of kindness.
I'd died and gone to heaven.
Lucky me.