"Hey, Lucy, before you leave for the day, turn in that report," an old man in a pristine black suit said, voice carrying the easy authority of a long habit.
Lucy, sitting at his desk and diligently typing away, glanced up with a practiced smile. "Yes, sir. I'm almost finished with it."
The old man—Lucy's boss—nodded once and disappeared back into his office, the door clicking shut behind him.
As soon as he was out of sight, the smile slipped from Lucy's face, leaving behind a look of quiet resentment.
'Damn, I hate this stupid job... and these stupid reports,' he thought bitterly, raking his fingers through his long black hair in frustration.
But no matter how much he hated it, none of that anger mattered. The simple truth was this: he got paid too well to care.
Lucy leaned back in his chair with a sigh, staring at the ceiling for a moment before dragging his gaze back down to the screen. He had always been quick to learn, whether it was riding a bike, fixing cars, or even teaching himself to code. It didn't matter what it was—if it needed doing, he could figure it out. Given enough practice, there wasn't much that stayed out of reach.
He was young—only nineteen—but that hadn't stopped companies from practically breaking down his door to recruit him.
'Ah, money, how I love you,' he thought with a sheepish grin, pushing the lingering bitterness aside.
Fueled by visions of paychecks and a slightly more tolerable tomorrow, Lucy threw himself back into the report. The hours crawled by, the glow of his monitor the only thing keeping him company.
At last, long after the halls had gone quiet, he finished the assignment and gathered his things. Another day survived.
Lucy had enough money to drive to work every day, but he always chose to walk.
The truth was, despite the paycheck and prestige, his job was isolating. Demanding. Suffocating. His parents had died while he was still in high school, and between climbing the career ladder and drowning in assignments, he'd never had the time, or maybe the energy, to make real friends.
So his walks home became his only chance to be around people. To feel alive. To pretend, even for just a little while, that he was part of something.
Today, the walk was perfect.
The weather was warm, with not a single cloud in the sky. The city streets hummed with the rhythm of life—cars rolling by, conversations rising and falling, footsteps tapping along cracked pavement. The sidewalk was full of strangers going somewhere, doing something. And in the distance, laughter spilled into the air like music.
Lucy breathed it all in and let himself smile. This was the part of the day he looked forward to.
As he turned a corner, something caught his eye.
On the side of the road, a woman stood beside a car, its hood popped open. She crouched near the engine, brow furrowed, clearly out of her depth.
'Perfect opportunity, ' Lucy thought. He felt that familiar tug of curiosity and walked over, flashing a polite grin.
"Hey, do you need any help?" he asked, his voice friendly.
The woman turned around, brushing her hair out of her face. Her soft brown eyes met his, and strands of chestnut hair framed her features, though they were streaked with grease and sweat. She looked him over, pausing just long enough to size him up. Then she offered a crooked smile.
"Yeah, actually. My car broke down, and I have no idea what I'm doing here," she said, her tone light, almost playful.
Lucy chuckled, stepping a little closer. "Well, lucky for you, I'm a master with tools. Let me take a look."
He moved up beside her, glancing down at the open engine—and that's when he felt it.
Cold, sharp pressure poked into the small of his back. A chill ran up his spine.
The woman's voice dropped, losing all warmth. "If you scream, you die. Now give me your wallet."
His heart jumped, pounding violently in his chest. Lucy had never feared death—not really, but that was because he'd never met it. Not like this. Not with a gun jammed into his back by someone he was just starting to trust.
'What the actual hell?! Am I going to die at the hands of a beautiful lady? Oh my god, what about my money?!'
He swallowed hard, whispering in a shaky voice, "It's in my back pocket. Please take it. You can have it all."
She reached around, fingers slipping into his pocket—and then, just as suddenly, someone from the crowded sidewalk bumped into her.
The shove was slight, accidental, but it broke her stance.
The trigger slipped.
A deafening bang split the air.
Pain exploded in Lucy's stomach as the bullet tore through him.
Lucy collapsed to the ground, his legs giving out beneath him as fire tore through his gut.
The world tilted, spinning violently around him; the sounds of the street were warped and distant, as if he were underwater.
Somewhere above him, he heard screaming, Footsteps, a car horn blaring, the woman's voice cursing under her breath, but none of it felt real.
He pressed his hands to his stomach instinctively, feeling the sticky warmth gush between his fingers.
'Is this it...? Am I... dying?'
Panic clawed at his chest, wild and animalistic, but it was distant too, muted by the numbness already creeping up his limbs. His vision blurred, the bright blue sky above him bleeding into white.
'It's not fair...'
He never got to spend the money he earned. Never got to fix his broken life.
Never even got to say goodbye.
The weight of all the things he hadn't done crushed him harder than the pain ever could.
His breathing grew shallow. Each gasp burned.
'At least... at least it was quick,' he thought grimly, trying to laugh, but it came out as a choked, wet cough.
And then—
The world shattered.
It was as if someone had pulled the floor out from under him, ripping the city, the sky, his very body into pieces. One moment he was dying on a grimy street, and the next—
He was falling.
Through darkness. Through silence. Through something deeper than space itself.
He didn't know how long he had fallen. Seconds? Minutes? Years?
And then, just as suddenly as it began, he stopped.
Lucy stood—or floated, maybe—in a place that defied explanation. A vast, endless expanse of silver mist stretched out in every direction. Stars flickered in the distance like blinking eyes. Strange colors bled across the dark sky: deep purples, golds, hues he couldn't even name.
Before him, four thrones towered high above the mist, each one occupied by a figure. Gods, he realized instinctively. He didn't know how he knew, but the truth of it burned in his bones.
They were watching him.
Judging him.
A voice, ancient and immense, boomed from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
"Draft complete. Pick 4000: Lucian Gray, human, designated to the Goddess of Rebirth."
Lucy stared up at them, still clutching his stomach out of reflex, even though the wound was gone.
'Gone...?'
'What the actual hell is happening...?' he thought weakly.
But deep down, in the part of him that had always known life wasn't fair, another thought crept in.
'And what does pick 4000 mean?!'