Unknown Soul – POV
I looked at the man, shock plastered across my face.
"You've got to be joking, right? This has to be a dream… or maybe a bad drug trip or something?"
My eyes pleaded with him, hoping—desperately—that this was all some weird illusion. Hell, I was actually hoping I was high just to explain this bizarre situation.
The man sighed and asked a question that made me doubt my own sanity.
"Do you want your memories back? It might make all of this easier to digest."
I stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Maybe I really was dead. Maybe this was the afterlife. And this being in front of me—he must be some sort of god.
"Are you… God?"
The man looked at me like I'd just insulted his mother—and all her ancestors too.
"Oh, definitely not. Calling me a god is like comparing a pea shooter to a dozen nuclear bombs."
I blinked. If he was using that kind of comparison, then this guy had to be far more powerful than anything I could understand.
"Look, kid, I know you've got a ton of questions. But things would be a hell of a lot easier—for both of us—if you got your memories back."
I raised an eyebrow.
"If you're beyond a god, wouldn't it be easy to give me my memories back without asking? So why are you asking?"
He looked amused.
"Just because I'm something beyond gods and outer gods doesn't mean I lack basic decency or respect for others, kid. When you've got the power of the entire omniverse in your hands, being polite is the least you can do."
I looked at him, then sighed.
"Damn it… fine. Give me back my memories. Being ignorant isn't helping."
He gave me a nod of respect.
"Sometimes, kid… there's a reason they say ignorance is bliss."
Then he snapped his fingers.
I felt a jolt run through my body—memories rushing in like a tidal wave. My entire life flashed before me: from elementary school to high school, my hobbies, getting into college and reaching junior year. My friends. My family. My first girlfriend, Emily. The tender moments we shared in college. The night we plan to finally going to… well, go all the way before I died.
And how I died.
Most importantly… I remembered my name.
Alistair Maxson.
I took a moment to calm myself, grabbed the delicious lemonade, and drank it like I'd been stranded in the Arizona desert.
Then I stopped.
"If I'm dead… how the hell am I drinking lemonade?"
Christopher smirked.
"Because being a soul doesn't stop you from enjoying the good things in life. That lemonade—aside from being strawberry—is also infused with a special soul-nourishing effect. It helps stabilize and refine the soul."
I stared at the glass like it was a priceless artifact.
"Oh… is this one of those traps where I unknowingly drank some hyper-expensive, soul-nourishing lemonade, and now I'm in your debt for all eternity?"
The man laughed—his laughter shaking the entire room like an earthquake—as he wiped a tear from his eye.
"No, kid. I'm not pulling that on you. Sure, multiverse gods would kill each other over that lemonade, but to me, it's just regular stuff. Like something you'd grab at a local store."
"Oh. Well, thanks for the drink."
I poured myself another glass and chugged it down like I wasn't sipping something powerful deities in higher dimensions would slaughter each other for.
After polishing off the glass—and the rest of the bowl—I looked at the man and said the one thing on my mind.
"So… I died a virgin. Do I get extra points for that?"
He smirked.
"Sorry, kid. This ain't heaven or hell. We don't give points for being a virgin—or not being one."
"Aw, that's disappointing. Can I go to heaven anyway? Y'know—for bonus points?"
"Nope."
"Damn shame."
I stared at the man, playing the waiting game. I figured my fate was already sealed—might as well be patient.
Then he cut the silence with a question I thought I already knew the answer to.
"Do you know how you died?"
"Wasn't it a heart attack? Or maybe silent poisoning? Or maybe my body just said, 'nah, I'm out'?"
"Nope. You died in a way that's close to Kazuma from that one funny anime."
At that, I shot to my feet and slammed my hands on the desk.
"There's no fucking way I died like that guy! I'm not some pathetic NEET who couldn't handle the sun! I actually held a girl's hand. I had romantic entanglements! Sure, I was a virgin, but I did way better than him!"
Christopher laughed, then looked at me seriously.
"Kid… the way you died is part of the reason why you're here. And trust me—it's both hilarious and so sad that the gods of your universe didn't want you anymore. They literally sent you to me as an apology and a gift."
"Okay… so how did I die, then? How is it comparable to Kazuma, of all people?!"
"Do you remember Robert? Your upstairs dorm neighbor?"
I thought back. Robert… oh yeah. A massively obese white guy with more jiggle than muscle. People called him a real-life Discord mod. Sunlight practically burned him, and he always smelled… off.
"What about him? I was always polite to the guy. How's he responsible for my death?"
Christopher waved his hand, and a folder appeared on the desk in front of him. He opened it and began reading aloud.
"Alistair Maxson. Heir to the Maxson fortune, estimated at $800 billion in net worth from generations of wealth and smart investments. Known for his business intellect and interest in spiritual matters, anime, novels, and art. Loved by his family. Has a younger sister and brother who adored him. Chose to hide his identity while attending a prestigious college, blending in with scholarship students instead of those from elite families. Hoped to scout talented people, elevate their standing, and invest in their ideas. Loved his father and grandfather—who often repeated a certain saying."
Hearing that triggered a memory. My father and grandfather used to say it during dinners or big family events.
"A Maxson must prove their worth."
Christopher smiled. "A saying that aged well, I must say."
I nodded. "Alright… but what does any of that have to do with how I died?"
He gave me that damn smirk again.
"I'm getting to that, kid."
"Alistair Maxson," he continued, "was known for dating one of the most beautiful girls in school—Emily, aka 'Sunshine Emily.' Maintained excellent grades, solid athleticism, and used family wealth to create a charity fund for veterans with PTSD and disabilities."
He flipped the page, skimmed it briefly, then started laughing again as he turned the folder toward me.
Then, just as I was about to look, he said it.
"And died from the accidental collapse of the ceiling due to shoddy construction… caused by Robert falling from above—while pleasuring himself to AI-generated images. At nearly 500 pounds, he crashed through and landed on Alistair, killing him instantly."
I froze.
Christopher leaned back, still chuckling.
"AKA: death by gooner, kid."
And just like that…I passed out.