Isaac blinked a couple of times, calibrating how absurd the scene was.
The floating heavenly office had filing cabinets that disappeared into the clouds and a smell of new paper mixed with… jasmine? Not exactly what you expect after getting electrocuted by coffee.
"Seriously?" he muttered, checking his impeccable suit. "Twenty-seven years without a single mistake, closing impossible deals… and I get killed by coffee and exposed cables. My whole career went to hell thanks to an express short circuit."
"An efficient ending, if you look at it from a technical side," commented the man at the counter, without lifting his eyes from the papers. "Fast, clean, no unnecessary drama."
Isaac slowly turned his head. "Clean? I left half a floor smelling like a burnt toaster."
The man looked up and smiled with an almost bureaucratic courtesy, the kind bank managers use when approving a loan that's going to ruin your life.
"Welcome to the Department of Special Transitions. My name is irrelevant. Yours, Isaac Smith, is what matters. You have a direct ticket to the world of To Be Hero X."
Isaac didn't move. He adjusted his tie, still flawless, as if death didn't have enough power to wrinkle it.
"Wait, wait." He raised his hand as if stopping a meeting. "I die in the most pathetic way possible, and now you're telling me I'm going to… what is that? A theme park? A cheap video game? A canceled anime?"
"It's a world. With its own rules. And no, it's not canceled," replied the man without flinching.
"Before you depart, you have the right to one unique wish. Whatever you ask for will be yours when you arrive."
"A wish?" Isaac tilted his head with an almost professional smile. "No fine print? No hidden clauses? Because if I'm going to land in a world full of guys in capes and ridiculous suits, I'd at least like to be prepared."
"There's no fine print. But there are consequences. There always are."
Isaac didn't ask for absolute power, nor immortality, nor endless wealth. He thought about it as if someone had offered him a new job: coldly, weighing risks and opportunities. His fingers drummed on the counter.
"Interesting. I suppose I'll need something… efficient. Something that adapts to any situation." He paused, looking him straight in the eye. "I want a system that evolves with me. That doesn't limit me, that learns."
The man nodded, as if he had expected something far more selfish.
"You'll have it. That system won't just adapt to you… it will also adapt to the world you're going to. And you'll have to figure out how it works on your own."
Isaac threw his arms open, indignant.
"Figure out how it works? I also have to read the manual? I don't even know what the hell To Be Hero X is!"
"The best manuals are written along the way," the god replied with a hint of mystery.
Isaac let out a long sigh, like someone signing a contract that's way too ambiguous.
"Perfect. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?"
"Wish granted. And for your information: Wi-Fi not guaranteed."
The office began to blur, as if someone had spilled water on the painting of the world. Isaac, instead of screaming, just shook his head as he fell through a hole in the floor.
"Great… I died because of coffee and now I'm an express package heading who-knows-where. I just hope they at least have good Wi-Fi."
Meanwhile, God went over an endless list of names while adjusting his tie with a distracted gesture.
"Next. Number 666," he said in a neutral voice, without looking up.
Off to the side, a newly arrived young man with chiseled muscles and a forced grin kept shouting:
"Aesthetic! I'm pure muscle, sir! Look at me, aesthetic to the death!"
God clenched his teeth, barely holding back a sigh.
"These clowns again…" he muttered in annoyance, flipping through the papers as if searching for an eraser to cross the loudmouth off the list. "Crushed by their own ego and they still think they're impressive."
The man kept waving his arms as if he were in a gym.
"No one's more aesthetic than me! I'm going straight to Valhalla!"
"Valhalla, heaven, hell… they all end up the same," God grumbled with a look of contempt. "Noisy trash, useless idiots who can't shut up even after they're dead."
He glanced at his list again and, unfazed by the shouting, snapped his fingers.
"Out of my sight."
The floor beneath the "aesthetic" guy opened like a trapdoor, and a second later, silence returned to the heavenly office.
God calmly straightened his tie and murmured:
"I hope the next one has at least two neurons connected."
Elsewhere… Isaac opened his eyes, disoriented. The first thing he saw was a nipple, huge and far too close. He tried to turn his face away, but his mouth was already sealed as if with biological glue.
"What? Oh, for the love of God!" he wanted to shout, but only a clumsy babble came out.
A sweet, warm taste flooded his mouth. He swallowed on reflex. Then he realized.
"No, no, no, no! I'm sucking! I, Isaac Smith, the man who drank twelve-year whiskey in crystal glasses, now… now I'm a damn suction pump!"
He tried to move his head away, but his chubby little hands could barely move the air. All he managed to do was cling even tighter to the woman's breast as if begging for a refill.
To make matters worse, the hand holding his head didn't help at all: it was firm as a hydraulic press, making sure he didn't escape a single millimeter.
"Fantastic! The nipple's got me locked in! This isn't reincarnation—it's a feeding hostage situation."
He lifted his gaze and saw the young woman's face: soft, beautiful, smiling. His new mother.
"Oh great. On top of that, she's cute. And me… glued to her nipple. This can't get any worse."
A few pats on the back made him burp with an adorable sound. "Wonderful! I went from million-dollar deals to burping milk. Thanks, 'god,' really. Divine-level dark humor."
The woman cradled him and kissed his forehead, ignoring his indignant stare. He wanted to say something dignified like "I demand my system now," but all that came out was a drooly gurgle.
"Perfect. No voice, no dignity, and no decent drink. Level one… literally? Fantastic, Smith, what an upgrade!"
He closed his eyes in resignation while still swallowing milk against his will.
"Alright… god, wherever you are… if this was your joke, you've got me glued to a nipple. Happy now?"
In a distant plane, among black clouds and golden lightning, God watched the scene as if it were a luxury reality show. He had a glass of wine in his hand and a wide grin.
"Ah, Isaac… and to think you asked for a system that adapts to you. Don't you find it adorable that it starts by adapting to your liquid diet?"
He snapped his fingers and a floating screen showed the baby struggling uselessly.
"Come on, enjoy the tutorial. The milk's free—don't be ungrateful!"
Then he raised his glass, toasting to himself. "Welcome to the world of heroes, Isaac Smith. This is only the beginning."