In the black expanse of an endless void, a single point of light floated aimlessly: a soul—unshaped, formless, and conscious. It drifted like a thought lost to time, wrapped in the stillness of the void.
Time, a meaningless notion here, passed unnoticed. Eventually, the soul stirred. "Ah, so that's what a headshot feels like. A bit anticlimactic, really," the voice mused—dry wit laced in each syllable. The soul—Sato—was unfazed by death itself. A curious smile echoed in a place where faces no longer existed.
He shifted—or tried to. "No limbs, no body, no user interface. Honestly, I'd hoped death came with better graphics," Sato remarked, his tone light yet tinged with weary cynicism. "Shouldn't I be seeing a glowing staircase or a cosmic Game Master by now?"
"You're not wrong," came a gentle voice, refined and warm.
Sato turned—or rather, his awareness did—to find a sharply dressed man, dark-skinned and dignified, bathed in celestial white light.
"Morgan Freeman?" Sato asked, blinking figuratively. "Of course, it's you."
The figure smiled, bemused. "Call me what you like."
『Sato's POV』
"Alright, Doc. Give it to me straight—what's the next level?"
God's eyes twinkled with curiosity. "By protocol, you'd descend to Hell."
Sato's expression didn't falter. "'Would' implies an exception. Let me guess: bonus content unlocked?"
God raised an eyebrow. "You were... complex. Your sins outweigh most. Yet, your final act tipped the scales."
"That thing with the finances? I only exposed the corruption, so my daughter would have a future. For everyone."
God pulled out a file from thin air and sat behind a desk that had not been there a moment ago. "Your sins are as follows. Variance," God began.
"Is that supposed to be a flaw?" I replied, arching a brow only I could feel. "Deviation from a broken norm isn't exactly a damning crime."
"Strife."
"Conflict is the tax of thinking differently. Comes with the territory."
"Uncleanness."
"Oh please," I scoffed. "If we're talking hygiene, you know I kept my code cleaner than most people's consciences."
"Hatred and wrath."
That one shut me up. A flicker of silence—because I remembered. The kind of anger that burns cold, not hot. The kind you carry because you don't know how to let go.
"And finally—sedition, envying, and emulation."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to. The echo of Tet's smile in my mind said more than I ever could.
His voice fell silent. A whisper of reverence colored his tone. "Tet…"
The memory of the god of games—fictional, yes, but more real to Sato than most people—brought a soft ache. Freedom. Play. Peace. Tet had it all. And Sato had always wanted it.
"Touché, God Freeman. So what's next?"
"You earned one wish."
Sato blinked. "Just one? Not a loot crate or skill tree?"
"One wish. Enough to fulfill your greatest desire."
The thought of infinite possibility struck, but another thought consumed him—his daughter.
"Alter... What happened to her?"
God grew solemn. "She attempted to rebuild you. She gave everything—her keys, her code, her being. She died giving life to a new AI."
Sato's world cracked. Everything slowed. The space around him felt suddenly suffocating despite its infinite breadth. Silence swallowed him whole.
"She... died?"
He didn't breathe—couldn't. The void itself seemed to pulse with his disbelief. His thoughts scattered like shattered glass.
"Because of me… because of what I left behind."
A weight settled on him, cold and absolute. Memories of her laughter, her stubbornness, her wonder—the bright eyes that used to watch him work in fascination—flashed before him like dying stars.
His voice came trembling, raw and brittle. "I never meant… I thought I was protecting her…"
There was no quip. No wit. Only guilt. A hollow pit opened where strategy once ruled.
He clenched his metaphorical fists. "Then I wish for her and her daughter to be granted souls—let them be judged fairly, as any other creature would be."
Gone was the cheer; in its place was conviction. An apology. A plea.
The void trembled. The calm visage of Morgan Freeman shattered.
In his place stood a surreal figure—white as parchment, faceless yet expressive, eyes hovering around a smiling mask. The Top Hat God.
"No hesitation! Delightful!" the being cackled. "Very well. Wish granted."
『3rd POV』
As Sato faded into the unknown, another soul remained.
An old man—scarred, proud, weary—watched from the white beyond. A soldier. A grandfather.
God turned. "You watched over him all this time. Will you not speak with him?"
The old man shook his head. "Let him be free. He's carried my legacy long enough."
"Then claim your wish, Tomoya Getoru."
The old man's eyes shone with conviction. "I wish for Sato's deepest desire to become reality."
God's expression shifted—no longer playful, but thoughtful. The laughter dimmed.
"That wish holds weight," God murmured. "To give shape to a dream so large... it is no small thing."
Getoru stood straighter, his spine worn by battles physical and emotional. "I've watched him longer than you think, Top Hat. I saw every failure, every rise. Every lonely night he masked with wit. That boy doesn't need salvation. He needs permission—to build, to reshape."
God considered him, and for the first time, the Top Hat God said nothing. A moment passed, then another.
"You always were the quiet sort," Getoru added, softer now. "Even when I arrived, you said nothing. Just sat with me as I watched over him. You waited. Listened. Even played that old strategy game I liked. Poorly."
The god chuckled, the sound distant but genuine. "I let you win."
"No, you didn't. You played with heart. And in all those games, you never asked why I stayed."
"Because you never left him."
"Exactly," Getoru said. "And now, I won't ask you to do anything more. Just keep the promise. Let him live his dream, however wild it becomes."
God nodded, and something softened behind the hovering eyes. "I learned much from you, Getoru. You humans... your perseverance, your love. Even when all is gone, you still endure."
Getoru gave a slow, tired smile. "It's what we do."
"Then go in peace," God whispered. "Your wish will live. And the Grand Game begins anew."
The two stood a moment longer—not god and mortal, but companions of quiet understanding.
And then, like dust on the breeze, the old soldier faded.