"Eight thousand five hundred won," the shop clerk said, scanning the last item with a tired flick of his wrist. The card beeped against the reader. "Thanks for your patronage."
The customer gave him a polite smile and walked out. Saturo, the clerk, slumped against the counter and glanced at his phone.
"Two more hours…" he muttered, eyes heavy. If I miss tonight's new episode of Jobless Reincarnation, the guys will spoil everything for me.
The hours crawled. When the clock finally struck closing time, Saturo nearly shouted in relief. He locked the shutters, stuffed the key into its slot, and bolted toward the bus stop. Breathless, he leapt aboard the last bus just as the doors hissed shut.
Leaning back against the seat, Saturo allowed himself a smile. "At least I'm free for the next two days," he thought. "Maybe I should drag the college buddies out for dinner." He typed a quick message into their group chat. A chorus of "okays" and emojis followed.
By the time he reached his apartment, exhaustion clung to him like sweat. He stripped, showered, and let the steam wash away the day's grind. Dressed in soft clothes, he threw together a bowl of ramen, slurped it down, and rinsed the bowl before collapsing into bed with a long sigh.
Phone in hand, he tapped open the anime he'd been waiting for. When the credits rolled, he exploded. "Damn!" he shouted at the ceiling. A storm of messages erupted in the group chat as he and his friends debated every twist and turn. Only after an hour of heated discussion did he switch off the screen and let sleep claim him.
---
Morning came late. Saturo stretched, blinked at the clock — 10:20. "Too much bingeing," he muttered, dragging himself up. He brushed, bathed, and cooked a quick meal. By half past twelve, he was sprawled on the couch, flipping idly through his phone, already thinking of dinner at ten with his friends.
When night came, Saturo arrived at the restaurant first. The air buzzed with chatter and sizzling food.
"Saturo!" a voice called. A friend waved enthusiastically from the entrance. Saturo grinned and waved him over. Soon the table filled with familiar faces, laughter rising with each shared memory.
"Remember when the principal lost it and tried to take it out on us," one friend said between chuckles, "only to get nailed in the crotch by a stray ball?"
The whole table burst into laughter. "Serves him right!" another howled.
The night passed in warm cheer. One by one, his friends departed until Saturo was left alone, savoring the lingering joy. Realizing he'd missed the last bus, he sighed and decided to take the shortcut through the alleys.
At first, his steps were light. The glow of the evening still lingered in his chest. Then—
A scream. Sharp. Terrified.
Saturo froze. He edged toward the sound, peering around a corner. A woman. Men surrounding her. A flash of steel. Blood.
Heart hammering, Saturo stumbled back. Don't get involved. Just leave. He turned to run—only to crash into a trash bin, the metallic clang echoing through the alley.
The killers' heads snapped up.
"Shit!" Panic surged. Saturo sprinted, feet pounding, but footsteps thundered behind him. The crack of a gun split the air. Pain tore through his body, hot and sudden. He fell hard, blood spilling, the world spinning away.
As darkness closed in, fragments of his life flashed before him. Laughter with friends. Anime marathons. Regrets too small to matter until now. Then—nothing.
---
Light.
Saturo's eyes fluttered open. He was lying in a white, endless expanse, before a massive tree whose branches stretched into infinity. Confusion churned in his chest.
Wasn't I… dead?
"I welcome you here," a deep, resonant voice said. The tree itself was speaking.
Saturo staggered to his feet, staring wide-eyed. "W–what is this place? Who… what are you?"
"This," the tree said, "is another world. And I am its creator."
The words shook Saturo's mind.
"This world is young — only two centuries old," the tree continued. "Its people live in scattered towns, some blessed with strength, others ordinary. Here, nobles and rare commoners wield sword aura — a power of spirit made visible. Each aura shines with its own color, a mark of lineage and identity.
"But this world needs kings. Builders. Leaders to forge nations from scattered towns. That is why I summoned you."
Saturo swallowed. "Me? Build… kingdoms?"
"Yes. You, and ninety-nine others who died as you did. Each of you will be given a chance to rule. To unite. To conquer."
"...Ninety-nine?!" Saturo blurted. His head spun. "There are that many of us?"
"There are fewer than two thousand settlements," the tree said. "You will all begin at the same level, no matter the form you choose. And I have placed guides among the people — but whether they follow you is up to your will."
Saturo's pulse raced. A hundred rulers. Thousands of settlements. An entire world.
"To aid you," the tree said, "I grant you the King System. It will guide you, reveal what you must know, and record your legacy. But before you begin, you must establish your family's foundation — name, sword technique, traits, and aura color. These will distinguish your bloodline from all others."
Saturo hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Alright… my family name will be Valenhardt" He paused, thought, then gave his answer.
"Interesting," the tree rumbled. "Now, your family's sword technique. Give it a name, the number of phases, and their types — attack, defense, or control."
Saturo furrowed his brow. "I'll call it Celestial Severance. Eight phases. First and sixth, control type. Third and seventh, defense. The rest — attack."
"Their forms shall be as you wish," the tree replied. "Now, your family traits."
"I want… white hair, amber eyes, and a stare that pierces the heart."
"Then so it shall be. Lastly — your family's aura color."
"White," Saturo said with a faint smile. "To match the hair."
The branches of the tree stirred as though in approval. "It is done. Now, choose: will you be reborn as an infant, or enter this world as an adult?"
Saturo thought for a moment. "What's the age of coming of age here?"
"Fifteen."
"Then I'll start at twenty."
The tree's voice softened. "Very well. You will awaken in my temple, where the people await the arrival of a chosen one. They will honor you — but respect must be earned. Do you have any final questions?"
Saturo clenched his fists. "No… I think I understand."
"Then go," the tree said. "Forge your kingdom. Shape this world. And may your legacy endure."
As Saturo's body began to fade, he heard only the rustling of leaves, carrying him into the unknown.
___