The afternoon sun felt too bright. The world felt too normal. How could everything look the same when my entire life had just fallen apart?
I kept walking without any direction, just trying to put distance between me and that building. Eventually, my feet carried me somewhere familiar.
The park.
Of course I'd end up here. This was where I was supposed to meet Shia this morning. Where I was going to finally confess everything.
My chest tightened at the thought.
"Why did I come here?" I muttered to myself.
The park was packed with couples. They were everywhere, holding hands, sharing food, taking selfies together. Some were sitting on blankets having picnics. Others were just walking around, lost in their own little worlds.
It was Valentine's Day. Of course they'd all be here, showing off their happiness.
I found an empty bench and collapsed onto it. The happy laughter around me felt like it was mocking me, but I couldn't blame them. They didn't know my world had just ended.
I leaned forward and stared at the ground. For some reason, looking down helped. Maybe because I didn't have to see all the happy couples. Maybe because the simple pattern of dirt and grass was easier to process than everything else.
After a few minutes, I pulled out my phone to check the time.
12:45 PM.
Fifteen minutes left before the system pulled me back to that other world.
"Just fifteen more minutes," I whispered.
Part of me wanted the time to pass faster. I didn't want to be here anymore. Every second in this world was another second of remembering what I'd seen, what I'd heard. The pain in my chest kept getting worse, like someone was slowly twisting a knife deeper and deeper.
At least in that other world, I'd have different problems to worry about. Life-threatening problems, sure, but anything was better than this.
Damn.
I then pulled out my phone and started scrolling through random news websites. Anything to take my mind off what just happened.
While I was reading some article about traffic delays, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I jumped a little and turned to see who it was.
A middle-aged man was sitting next to me. He had an average face with black hair that was starting to turn gray in places. He was looking at me with what seemed like concern.
"Um, can I help you?" I asked, trying to sound normal.
"Are you okay?" he asked simply.
What kind of question was that? Did I look that bad?
"What do you mean?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew.
He pulled his hand back from my shoulder. "You've still got tears on your face."
Shit. I quickly wiped my eyes with my sleeve, embarrassed that a complete stranger had noticed.
While I was wiping my face, he asked, "Did something happen?"
"No, it's nothing," I lied.
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
We sat there in awkward silence. I could tell he didn't believe me, but he didn't push it either. He just sat there, looking out at the park full of happy couples.
The silence didn't last long. The old man suddenly spoke up.
"You know, I had a son about your age once."
Was I supposed to say something? I wasn't really in the mood for conversation, and my social anxiety was already making me uncomfortable.
"Oh," was all I managed to say.
He continued anyway. "His name was Asher. Asher Herein. He was such a kind boy. Always helping everyone around him."
I nodded slightly, not sure where this was going.
"He even tried to help bad people become better," the man went on, staring at something in the distance. "Always believed everyone deserved a second chance."
That was actually pretty admirable. Kids like that were rare these days. Most people only looked out for themselves.
Then his voice got quieter. "But his kindness got him killed one day."
I felt my stomach drop a little. That took a dark turn.
Though I guess it wasn't that surprising. The world could be cruel. Being kind to everyone didn't guarantee you'd live a happy life. Bad things happened to good people all the time.
Still, I believed you should try to be kind anyway. Even if it didn't always work out.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said quietly.
The man turned to look at me directly. "Good. Now tell me, boy, what did you learn from what I just told you?"
I blinked. Was this some kind of test? Why was this stranger giving me life lessons in the park?
Well anyway, I opened my mouth. "Well, sir—"
Before I could finish, the middle-aged guy suddenly pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it straight at my stomach.
"You can stop with the 'sir' business," he said calmly. "Name's John, by the way."
Fuck.
My hands shot up instinctively. "What—"
"Put your hands down," he cut me off. "Nobody's going to notice and come running to save you. Look around. Most of these people are wrapped up in their own little worlds. And this bench?" He gestured slightly with his free hand. "Pretty well hidden by all these bushes and trees."
He had a point.
Actually, I wasn't even raising my hands to signal for help. It was just reflex. That's what you do when someone points a gun at you, right? Some kind of universal instinct.
I slowly lowered my hands.
"Good," John said, his voice steady. "Now listen carefully. In the next five minutes, someone's going to be murdered here. And I need you to stop it."
My brain stuttered.
A murder? In five minutes? And he wants me to stop it?
Was this guy serious? Did he escape from a psych ward or something?
He leaned forward a bit. "Hear me out. A murderer is going to show up in the next five minutes. He's going to try to kill a high school girl. Your job is to save her. If you don't do what I say, I'll kill you right here."
I stared at him for a moment, then said flatly, "Go on."
His eyebrows went up. "What?"
"I said go on. Kill me. I don't care at all."
I'd already died once. Dying a second time wouldn't change anything. Plus, I'd be leaving this world in a few minutes anyway when the system pulled me back. What difference did it make?
John's face changed, showing something I couldn't quite read. "You sure about that? Because I will pull this trigger if you tell me to."
"Yeah," I said. "Go on."
For a second, nothing happened. Then suddenly, he pulled the trigger.
The moment he did, I closed my eyes without thinking.
But nothing happened.
No gunshot. No pain. No sound at all.
What?
I slowly opened my eyes.
John didn't have a gun anymore. It had disappeared completely. He was just sitting there, watching me with sharp, focused eyes.
"Interesting," he said. "You're interesting, Michael. I'll give you that. You're brave, at least."
I blinked, totally confused now.
The person who'd just threatened to kill me was now praising me for being brave? And even more confusing, he knew my name.
How the hell did he know my name?
"How do you-"
Before I could finish my question, John cut me off again. "I know what you're thinking right now, Michael. Let me introduce myself properly."
He paused, then continued. "My name is John Victoria. I'm a salesman for the Transmigration Association."
The words hit me like a brick.
Wait.
What?
Salesman for the Transmigration Association?
This guy...
So that's how he knew my name.
That's why he... hold on.
A thought suddenly crashed into my head.
No way.
"Were you the one who sent me to that shitty novel world?" I asked.
He tilted his head slightly. "Yes and no."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I did play a role in your transmigration," he admitted. "But it wasn't a big one. My part was pretty minimal, actually. I just sold your soul."
I felt my blood run cold. "You... what?"
"Sold it," he said simply, like he was talking about selling a used car. "I sold your soul. That's my job as a salesman, you know?"
Fucking hell.
He sold my soul?
Rage flooded through me all at once.
"Who the fuck gave you the right to sell my soul?" I practically shouted. "Did I say you could? Did anyone?"
He shrugged casually. "Nobody gave me permission. I just did it because I wanted to."
"Because you wanted to?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "What kind of reason is that?"
He didn't even acknowledge my anger. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. He lit it up with practiced ease and took a slow drag.
After blowing out a stream of smoke, he finally said, "Relax, kid. I did it for your own good."
For my own good?
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
He took another drag, letting the smoke curl up into the air. "After you died, your soul was heading toward reincarnation. The world you were going to end up in was way more dangerous than the one you're in now. I just... redirected things. Grabbed your soul before the process finished and sent you to that novel world instead."
I blinked.
Wait, seriously?
So I was originally supposed to end up somewhere even worse than this?
But how could I know he wasn't just making this up?
"You're wondering if I'm lying," he said, before I could even finish the thought.
My eyes widened. "You can read my mind?"
"Yeah, actually," He took another casual puff.
I sat there for a second, processing that. Then I sighed. "Okay, fine. Let's say I believe you. But why that world? Why send me into a novel? Couldn't you have picked literally anywhere else?"
"Simple," he said. "I made a huge profit by sending your soul to that world. Good enough reason for you?"
"What the..."