Death was a spiritual event, James had once written that in his lyrics.
It wasn't merely the surge of pain. Not just the moment when your heart stopped beating and your body refused to function.
True death gnawed at existence itself. It erased every trace, every memory. The cruelest consequence imaginable.
And yet, when James finally experienced it for himself, he found it… not so terrible.
At least now he wasn't hungry. He no longer had to dread the chaos of his future. No longer had to torture himself over friendships that had ended so bitterly.
Death wasn't frightening at all. It was peaceful.
If only for a moment.
Because after what felt like endless darkness, his sight returned.
First, he saw a vast expanse of gray sky. Not because of clouds, but because gray seemed to be its natural color.
Then, tilting his gaze downward, he noticed an enormous screen—a square hologram—displaying five men dressed like medieval nobles, their faces shrouded in black cloth.
And further below: a crowd. Men and women, perhaps between eighteen and forty, all clad in gray overalls, staring up at him as one.
What? Why?
What had he done?
"Number 362855." A mechanical voice called out from behind him. "You have been summoned!"
Suddenly, both his arms were seized. His captors were tin-can-shaped robots with comically simple designs, floating without legs. "You have been summoned," one repeated.
"No!" another voice cried out. This time it belonged to a middle-aged woman. Her gaunt face had gone pale, her faded blue eyes trembling. "No! Anyone but her!"
She tried to rush toward James, but the crowd quickly restrained her.
As the woman screamed and struggled, James found himself dragged forward.
Too stunned to think, he simply followed, powerless to resist.
The robots pulled him toward a black, circular building.
As they went, James noticed the peculiar architecture around him: low, dark-colored buildings, stark and oppressive.
One robot shoved him inside. He expected a chamber the size of a basketball court, but was instead swallowed by total darkness again.
He stood there, groping at the air. Nothing.
Then a light appeared—a small, steady spotlight—slowly revealing his surroundings.
The darkness peeled away into an abstract white expanse, dreamlike, without clear direction above or below.
And then—
[Participant Identified!]
An interface materialized, dotted laser beams sweeping across his body.
[Gathering information…]
[Information acquired!]
[General Identity]
ID Number: 362855
Height/Weight: 155 cm / 50 kg
Age: 14
—
[Technical]
Vocal Range: 12/100 (Very Weak)
Timbre: 10/100 (Very Poor)
Charisma: 15/100 (Extremely Unlikable)
Expression: 10/100 (Lacking)
Endurance: 18/100 (Below Average)
—
[Popularity]
Popularity Points: 0%
Fan Loyalty: 0
—
[Final Assessment Result: D+]
[You will be placed in Segment D]
What? What assessment?
Was this his personal data? But that height and weight…
Sure, he had been underfed recently, but starvation couldn't possibly shrink his height.
[Induction Protocol will now commence]
[Please pay close attention!]
The interface flickered out. In its place floated a sphere with a human face.
Yes—a floating sphere with a face, staring directly at him.
"Uwah!" James nearly stumbled backward.
The sphere chuckled. "Did I scare you?"
Its voice wasn't mechanical like the robots that dragged him. No, it sounded almost natural. Perhaps a girl's voice, perhaps a boy's. High-pitched, slightly feminine, but clear and oddly pleasant.
"Don't be afraid." Thin, gray-tinted arms stretched from the sphere. "Do you have a name, Little Girl?"
What did it just say?
James snorted. Oh, sure. He was a loser, yes, but calling him a girl just to mock him?
He didn't care who was hiding behind this cursed ball—he considered that kind of sexism a crime on its own.
So he started to bark back. "How dare you—" And froze. What the hell?
His eyes went wide. Not only had his proud, bass-heavy voice vanished, but what came out was a squeak. Small. Timid.
James glanced down at his hands. Thinner than he remembered, rougher on the surface, but their shape… far more delicate.
"I…" He tried again. The same voice rang again.
And then strange memories poured into his mind.
Memories of a frail girl, born unlucky in the Outerworld. Raised in G City. Forced to endure crushing work quotas every single day.
A girl named Kyra Maddison.
The girl whose body he now inhabited.
James knew the word: transmigration.
One of his old bandmates had been obsessed with pop culture, constantly bombarding him with novels, comics, and gacha games.
Eventually James had given in, sampling just enough to learn the 'holy trinity': reincarnation, regression, and transmigration.
So… was that happening to him now?
But… why a girl?
"Do you have a name, Little Girl?" the sphere pressed, its smile too sweet to be genuine.
James swallowed. Should he give the girl's name? Or his own?
But what if revealing his real name was dangerous?
With reluctant hesitation, he muttered, "Kyra Maddison."
The sphere's face lit up. "Maddy, then." It spun and bobbed like an excited child. "Now, Maddy, do you know what fun thing we're about to do?"
"Um…" James searched his brain. If this really was transmigration, then surely he had landed in some novel he'd once read.
But damn it—he couldn't remember which. He had only skimmed such stories, dismissing them as a waste of time.
And look where that arrogance had landed him now.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Perfect." The sphere grinned wider. "Then we can learn together."
A holographic screen flickered to life, playing a video like a classroom film about ancient creation myths.
"In the beginning, there was only the First. The source of light, the reason for all that exists. From His hand, the green earth was born. Animals and plants thrived in perfect harmony, pure and untainted.
"But the First was not satisfied. The world needed caretakers. Thus mankind was created—shaped in His image. Beautiful, but fragile. Their hearts quickly soured. Their souls thirsted for war, greed, and hatred. Soon, they defiled the world that had been meant to remain sacred."
The image shifted: rivers of blood, humans clashing with blades, flames consuming forests.
"The First grew wrathful. But He did not annihilate mankind—He was too merciful. Instead, He sent His chosen envoys, the noble Archangels, to guide and oversee. The Archangels purged the earth of human greed and delivered rightful punishment."
Towering winged figures appeared briefly, their faces veiled in blinding light.
"From that moment, mankind lived as lowly creatures. That was grace. You were granted the chance to atone through suffering, rather than vanish into oblivion. You should be grateful."
The sphere's voice dropped, a whisper edged with menace.
"And yet, the First remained magnanimous. From among your rotten kind, He sometimes selects worthy souls. They are given a chance to prove themselves, to serve the Archangels as Divas. An honor you do not deserve, but one you may receive—if you submit."
The hologram dissolved, leaving only the sphere, its thin smile cutting deep into James's ears.
"So be grateful, Number 362855. You still have a chance. Your suffering… is but a small price for the dignity your kind once betrayed."