When I opened my eyes—

  or rather, when I was finally able to see—

  There was nothing but white all around me.

  No walls.

  No ceiling.

  No floor.

  Just an endless, blinding void that stretched in every direction, swallowing up distance, swallowing up sound, swallowing up meaning.

  It wasn’t bright in the painful sense. It was simply… absolute.

  Except—there was something.

  I was sitting on a chair.

  In front of me was a small wooden table. The wood grain was visible, warm and ordinary, almost comforting in its mundanity. And on that table—

  a single cup of tea.

  Steam curled lazily upward, the only movement in an otherwise frozen world.

  “…Is this some kind of prank?” I muttered, glancing around again. “Or… am I kidnapped? Or—wait—do people still say kidnapped when it’s an adult? Maybe abducted is the right term.”

  My voice echoed faintly, dissolving into the white.

  I sighed and rubbed my temples. “What am I even thinking? I need to get out of here.”

  That was when I heard it.

  “Slurp.”

  I froze.

  “Slurp. Slurp.”

  The sound echoed softly, oddly vivid in the emptiness.

  “Huh?”

  “Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.”

  It didn’t take long to find the source.

  Someone was sitting across from me.

  A woman.

  Or at least, the shape of one.

  She wore flowing robes that shimmered faintly like mist under moonlight. The fabric shifted gently even though there was no wind. Her posture was relaxed—completely at ease—as if this strange white void were nothing more than a quiet afternoon tea room.

  Her face…

  I couldn’t see it.

  Something blurred it, as though reality itself refused to focus. The more I tried to make out her features, the more they slipped away, like looking at someone through frosted glass.

  But one thing was very clear.

  She was eating noodles.

  She held a bowl in one hand and chopsticks in the other, happily slurping away without the slightest concern for my existential crisis.

  That bowl looked oddly familiar. Simple porcelain. Slightly chipped rim. Something about it tugged at my memory…

  Still, she was the only other presence here.

  If anyone had answers, it was her.

  “Um, excuse me,” I called.

  No response.

  She just kept slurping.

  “Excuse me!” I said louder this time.

  Finally, she paused. The chopsticks hovered mid-air.

  She sighed.

  Then she lifted her head—well, probably lifted it. The blur shifted in my direction.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Young man,” she said, her voice smooth and faintly annoyed, “don’t you think it’s rude to interrupt someone while they’re eating?”

  “…Ah. Sorry.”

  The apology came out automatically. Old habits die hard—even when you’re possibly dead.

  So I waited.

  The air—or whatever counted as air here—was unnervingly still. No breeze. No temperature. No smell. Not even the faint scent of the noodles reached me.

  Time felt strange. Stretching. Compressing. Meaningless.

  Eventually, she finished. She set the empty bowl down gently on the table and took a slow sip of tea.

  Only then did she speak.

  “Well then. You may ask your questions.”

  I cleared my throat.

  “So, um… what’s going on here? Who are you? Where are we? Why am I here?”

  The words tumbled out in a rush.

  She chuckled softly. The sound was warm—almost musical.

  “Young man, slow down, slow down. We have plenty of time. I will answer everything. But first…”

  She lifted a slender finger.

  “Take a breath.”

  I inhaled.

  Exhaled.

  The action felt unnecessary, but it steadied me anyway.

  “Alright,” I said more carefully. “Then… what’s going on here?”

  She placed her cup down with deliberate grace.

  “First of all,” she said calmly, “you’re dead.”

  I blinked.

  “…I’m what?”

  Before she could elaborate, I shot up from my chair.

  “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!”

  My voice tore through the white void, echoing infinitely. The absurdity of the situation hit me all at once. Dead? Just like that? No warning? No dramatic final words?

  After flailing in disbelief for a solid ten seconds, I slowly sat back down.

  “…Okay.”

  I stared at the tea cup.

  “That actually explains a lot. The white space. The random tea table. The mysterious noodle lady.”

  I glanced at her.

  “So… is this where you decide whether I go to hell or not?”

  She laughed again. This time, it was softer—less amused, more reassuring.

  “Oh? Thank you for the compliment.”

  I froze.

  “…Wait. You can hear my thoughts?”

  “Of course,” she replied lightly. “And yes, since you are wondering—”

  A faint shimmer passed through the air.

  “I am a goddess.”

  She paused, letting that settle.

  “More precisely, the Goddess of Reincarnation.”

  Her voice carried a quiet authority now.

  “Trista.”

  I swallowed.

  “Right. Makes sense. I’m talking to a goddess. Totally normal day.”

  If this was a dream, it was very committed to the bit.

  Trista’s blurred face tilted slightly. I had the distinct impression she was smiling.

  “Now, about your death.”

  Her tone shifted—still calm, but tinged with something almost apologetic.

  “You did not die from illness. Nor from an accident.”

  A brief silence followed.

  “It was… a clerical mistake on our end.”

  “…Excuse me?”

  “A misfiled soul. A processing error. Your lifespan record was prematurely concluded.”

  She bowed her head slightly.

  “I am terribly sorry.”

  “Oh.”

  That was all I managed.

  I stared at her. She stared—probably—back.

  She tilted her head.

  “You are… surprisingly calm for someone who was accidentally killed by divine error. Most people scream. Or demand compensation.”

  I let out a dry chuckle.

  “Living a good life? Maybe. But happy?”

  The word lingered.

  “Not so much.”

  Her voice softened.

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  I hesitated.

  If she could read my thoughts, she probably already knew. But somehow, saying it aloud felt necessary.

  “As you probably know… I was an orphan.”

  The word still stung, even here.

  “My parents left me at an orphanage when I was a baby. Or so the sisters said.”

  Memories surfaced like old photographs.

  “The older kids bullied us. Took our food. Took our blankets in winter.”

  I clenched my hands unconsciously.

  “I learned early that the only way out was studying. So I did. Hard.”

  Scholarships. Exams. Sleepless nights.

  “I got into a good school. Then a good university. Worked part-time jobs just to survive. Eventually, I landed a stable job in Tokyo.”

  From the outside, it looked like success.

  Promotion letters. Performance bonuses. A neat apartment.

  “But honestly?”

  I laughed weakly.

  “I was just tired. My life was a checklist. Study. Work. Sleep. Repeat.”

  The void felt quieter somehow, as if listening.

  “When I was in kindergarten, during Parents’ Day, everyone’s moms and dads would cheer when they answered questions.”

  I swallowed.

  “I had no one.”

  That memory had never left me.

  I remembered standing there, holding up my drawing, pretending not to care that no one clapped.

  “I realized then—I was alone in the world.”

  My voice trembled.

  “I wanted someone to be proud of me. Anyone. I worked harder and harder, thinking maybe if I achieved enough… someone would notice.”

  The promotions came.

  The praise came.

  But warmth never did.

  “My whole life, I was chasing something I couldn’t name.”

  I looked down at my hands.

  “I guess… I was chasing warmth.”

  By the end, my vision blurred.

  Tears slipped down my cheeks.

  It felt ridiculous—crying after death.

  I wiped them away with the back of my hand.

  “Ghosts can cry, huh?” I muttered. “Guess that’s new.”

  For a long moment, Trista said nothing.

  Then—

  “Poor child.”

  Her voice was different now. Softer. Almost… motherly.

  Not pitying. Not distant.

  Gentle.

  The white void didn’t feel as cold anymore.

  After a while, I steadied myself.

  “So… what happens next?”

  She folded her hands gracefully on the table.

  “First, let me properly introduce myself.”

  Her presence seemed to expand slightly, like a quiet sunrise behind clouds.

  “I am Trista, the Goddess of Reincarnation.”

  The words resonated—not loudly, but deeply.

  “And as you have already guessed…”

  The teacup trembled faintly as if responding to her power.

  “I will not be sending you to punishment.”

  A pause.

  Nor to oblivion.

  Instead—

  “I am going to reincarnate you.”

  The word echoed through the endless white.

  Reincarnate.

  A second chance.

  A new beginning.

  For the first time since arriving here, something stirred in my chest. Not fear. Not disbelief.

  Hope.

  It was small. Fragile.

  But it was there.

  And in that endless white void, it felt brighter than anything else.