The God Realm had a problem.
It wasn't war.
It wasn't rebellion.
It wasn't even an existential collapse of reality.
It was analytics.
Aurelia, Goddess of Luck, stared at the translucent golden chart floating in front of her throne. The numbers dipped gently downward, like a polite insult.
Not a crash.
Not a freefall.
Just… decline.
The most humiliating kind.
She flicked the chart with her finger. It refreshed. The line dipped again.
"…I hate this era," she muttered.
Her throne—crafted from interwoven probability threads and pure fortune—responded by squeaking slightly as she shifted. That had never happened before. Thrones were not supposed to squeak. That was how you knew things were getting bad.
Aurelia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, golden hair spilling down like liquid sunlight. Her expression was beautiful, tired, and deeply offended by reality.
"Less believers," she read aloud. "Reduced spontaneous prayers. Decline in 'gratitude uttered after survival.' Fewer people whispering my name after near-misses…"
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Do mortals just not almost die anymore?"
The answer, unfortunately, was no.
They still died plenty.
They just credited someone else.
A burst of laughter echoed across the divine plaza.
Aurelia didn't need to look to know who it was—but she did anyway, because self-inflicted suffering was apparently her new hobby.
On a floating terrace not far away, several newly empowered gods were gathered like a cosmic podcast panel.
The God of Anime reclined dramatically, hair defying at least seven laws of physics. Every time he moved, sparkles appeared. Not metaphorical sparkles. Actual ones.
"I'm telling you," he said, striking a pose, "tragic backstories are in this century."
The God of Cosplay nodded enthusiastically, his outfit shifting between elaborate designs every few seconds. "And outfits. Mortals worship effort. The more impractical, the better."
Between them lounged the newest addition to the pantheon, legs kicked up, radiating smug divinity.
The God of Webnovels.
"Consistency," he said, wagging a finger. "That's the secret. Repetition. Cliffhangers. Wish fulfillment. Suffering, but in a fun way."
Aurelia's eye twitched.
"And reincarnation," the God of Anime added cheerfully. "They love reincarnation."
"Especially vehicular," said the God of Webnovels.
At that cue, a large, boxy divine being cleared his throat.
Truck-kun.
Recently promoted.
Still adjusting.
"I… don't really understand why I'm here," Truck-kun said, voice rumbling like an apologetic engine. "I was just… doing my job."
The God of Webnovels clapped him on the side. "Oh, you're doing great. Mortals literally wish for you now."
Truck-kun froze. "They… what?"
"Daily," said the God of Cosplay.
"Enthusiastically," added the God of Anime.
"Sometimes in comments," the Webnovel God finished. "With emojis."
[A/N: Drop Your Wishes for Truck-Kun In Comments ]
Silence followed.
Truck-kun processed this.
"…I don't know how to feel about that."
Aurelia stopped listening.
Her divinity flickered again—barely visible, but she felt it like a pulled muscle in her soul.
Luck was no longer dramatic.
Luck wasn't flashy.
Luck didn't get fan art.
Luck didn't trend.
People didn't pray to survive anymore. They prayed to restart.
She leaned back in her throne and exhaled slowly.
"Of course," she murmured. "Why rely on subtle probability manipulation when you can get hit by a truck and start over with cheats?"
Her gaze drifted downward, past the God Realm, past layers of reality, into the endless sprawl of mortal worlds.
Magic realms.
Cultivation empires.
Beast-dominated lands.
Futures made of steel and neon.
All of them shared one thing.
Mortals loved risk.
They just wanted the illusion of control.
Aurelia straightened.
Her eyes sharpened, gold deepening into something ancient and calculating.
"…Fine," she said softly.
If mortals wouldn't acknowledge luck in survival—
She would make them acknowledge it in loss.
Her fingers moved, weaving divine power—not brute force, not miracles, but something precise. Elegant. Dangerous in a polite way.
A system.
Not a servant.
Not a tool.
An authority.
One that enforced rules.
One that punished arrogance.
One that rewarded faith, desperation, and absurd optimism in equal measure.
A structure that traveled.
Observed.
Recorded.
A place where mortals would voluntarily place their fate on the table and say—
Let's see.
Aurelia smiled, slow and bright.
"This won't interfere directly," she said to herself. "No cheating. No favoritism. Just… opportunity."
Her divinity flowed into the forming construct, stabilizing it, shaping it.
A window appeared.
Then another.
Then a final line of text formed at the bottom, sharp and smug even before consciousness fully bloomed.
The system pulsed.
Alive.
Somewhere, far below, in a filthy alleyway of a world that did not matter yet, fate shifted slightly.
Aurelia leaned back, satisfied.
"Let's see who you choose," she murmured.
The system acknowledged her.
And began searching.