"I... am... human..."
Selfish. Greedy. Full of a kind of bitterness that sees everyone else as a mirror for my own faults. I live in a city where love has become a pastime and marriage a balance sheet. Affection is traded like coin; promises are signed with pens dipped in interest.
"Everyone fears death. Some fight it. Some welcome it."
And me? I'm no different.
Her name is Sumi. She isn't striking or forgettable—just someone with plain, familiar features: hair that falls to her shoulders without fanfare, a face that won't stop traffic but won't be ignored either, hands callused from too many late-night deadlines. She sits in a cramped office, hunched before a flat monitor that glows like a pale sun. The blue light sketches hollows beneath her eyes and paints her skin with patient gray.
"I live alone. No one loves me. No one worries if I make it home tonight." Her voice in her head is small but stubborn. "Still, I dream. Not the grand kind of dream, but the kind that keeps you moving—of warmth, of enough money to sleep without counting bills, of a life that makes the mornings worth getting up for. But the world has other plans. Reality chews and spits me out. I have this rotten job and a life stitched together from overtime and instant noodles."
She watches the clock above her monitor more than she watches the screen. Time drips. Her eyes burn with fatigue; her stomach gnaws with hunger; her limbs ache for sleep—but the keys keep clacking. She works because the bills don't care about dreams.
Thoughts drown her like cold water. Then a voice cuts through the haze.
"Sumi, the boss wants you in his office," a co-worker calls from the doorway.
"Huh? The boss?" A small flare of irritation. "Why now? What does that jerk want?"
She exhales, pushing her chair back with a slow, tired motion. Her body feels heavier than it should for someone who moves through the day like a ghost. She drags herself up the stairs, each step a small rebellion against the weight pressing at her shoulders.
When she stands before his door, it looks larger than it should—polished wood that smells faintly of cigar smoke and power. She knocks, careful and a little afraid.
"Come in," the voice says.
She opens the door. He sits behind his desk, sleeves neatly cuffed, a smug smile already waiting like a practiced expression. The office is all leather and trophies, all the things she has no time to own.
"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair with the kind of politeness that hides other things.
She sits. Her tired eyes find his, and in them she reads a patience sharpened into intent.
"D-did you call me, boss?" Her voice trembles a fraction. She forces a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Oh yes. I wanted to speak with you," he replies, voice smooth as oil.
Even his presence seems to press the air narrower. Her shoulders draw in; her stomach folds.
"You said you're in debt, yes?" he asks, leaning forward as if this is a simple file on his desk.
"Y-yes..." The confession slips out, small and raw.
"In that case," he says, a curl of satisfaction tugging at his lips, "I've decided to help you pay it off."
Hope flares—bright, ridiculous—and Sumi's eyes widen like someone waking to find the sun in their hands.
"H-huh...? Really...?" Her breath catches. Could this be the wind turning?
"Yeah," he says, and the smile grows colder. "But on one condition."
"...Condition?" Her voice is thin, wary.
He rises, and the act of him moving across the room makes the distance between them feel like an ocean. He circles the desk and stands behind her; the air around him smells faintly of expensive cologne and consequences.
Then, without ceremony, his hand finds her chest.
The touch is both brazen and precise, a claim more than a question.
"If you spend one night with me," he whispers.
Her body moves before her mind can catch up. Instinct—sharp and hot—snaps into action. She yanks his hand aside—CRACK!
"AHHHH!!! YOU BITCH!" he howls, clutching his broken finger as rage warps his face.
Pain answers her immediately. His boot rockets into her stomach; her world tilts and she slams against the floor. Warm copper floods her mouth.
'It hurts. God, it hurts,' she thinks, every breath a jagged edge.
He doesn't stop. He steps forward and drives his heel into her ribs like a man laying claim to something. She curls, the room blurring at the edges, hands trembling as she fights to rise.
Then her eyes snag on the desk. A small silver blade lies there, half-hidden beside a bowl of apples—ordinary, useless, suddenly everything.
She lunges. Fingers close around the handle; the metal bites into her palm.
The boss stumbles back, shock and fury flashing across his face. "W-what are you trying to do, you bitch?!" he spits.
'What am I trying to do?' her thoughts scream back, icy and fierce. 'No—what were you trying to do, you fucking bastard?'
Memories rush like a storm: every shove, every leer, every night she swallowed the shame to keep breathing. Always… always the same ugly weight. Was it her fault she was born a woman? Was she only ever meant to be a toy to be used and thrown away? She had swallowed it, pretended it didn't hurt, because living felt like the only option.
'But because I'm alive, all this happens. So fine.'
The knife shakes in her grip. The boss's face collapses into a mask of fear as he backs away. "If you do anything, I'll kill you!" he snarls, voice thin with panic.
She bares her teeth, jaw clenching until the muscles burn. Her hand tightens. The world narrows to cold metal and the hollow ache beneath her ribs.
Then—without fanfare, without a prayer—she brings the blade to her throat.
Warm blood gushes, hot and vivid. The sound of it is too loud in the small room. Color drains from the ceiling and crawls across her vision. Her knees fold; the floor rises to meet her like an old friend.
The boss screams, a raw animal sound, and bolts. The door slams. Footsteps fade.
'Alone. Just like always,' her mind whispers, soft and small.
If there is an after, she wants nothing of being human again. Human life—so brittle, so noisy, so full of ache. She wants only quiet. Peace. No more crying. No more being used.
Then a new sound threads through the silence: not a sound but printed words in the empty air of her thoughts. A voice, clinical and clear, female-toned and utterly strange, speaks in brackets.
[Request Accepted]
[Process of Reincarnation Started]
'Huh… what is this voice…?' she wonders, the question barely formed on a thin last breath.
A curious sensation rolls over her—not ice, not fire, but like sinking into water that is not water. The pain in her neck recoils and is gone.
[Pain Nullification]
Panic flares for a heartbeat. 'I can't feel my body…?'
[Human Body Canceled]
[Searching for New Form of Life]
[Searching for New World to Exist]
A pause. Then—
[Success]
A white so bright it feels like a scream fills her sight. Thoughts fray; the edges of everything unravel. Her mind loosens its grip on the world.
And then—darkness.
She opened her eyes... and the world was nothing but dark.
"Eh...? What... Where am I? What's going on? Shouldn't I be dead?" Her voice came out small, squeezed by the dark.
[Negative. You are currently three feet underground.]
"...What?" Sumi breathed, shocked and confused.
[You are currently buried beneath the surface.]
"Why?! And—wait—who the hell are you?!" she demanded.
[I am a Voice. A voice that exists because you exist.]
"Huh... a voice? What are you talking about?"
[I am a Voice born from the wish you made at the end. It pierced reality and I was formed. My role is to guide you in your new life and assist your evolution.]
"...Evolution...wish?" Sumi echoed, blinking into the black.
[Yes. Right now, you are merely a seed.]
"A... seed...?"
[Correct. You are the seed of a flower called Veromu. It is a godly rare plant, thought lost to time.]
"...Wait. So you're telling me—I died and got reborn as a seed?!" Her tone slid between disbelief and a laugh that wanted to be fierce but failed.
[Yes.]
"Whattttt?!" she shouted, half-laughing, half-crying.
[You requested not to be human.]
"Yeah, but of all things—a flower seed?!" Her hands—if she still had hands—would have flown to her face.
[It was the most suitable life form for you.]
"...You've gotta be joking," she muttered, letting out a long, tired sigh.
"Alright... so you're like some kind of cheat skill or system?" she asked, trying to make sense of it.
[I am a voice created to guide you. I exist because of your loneliness. Normally I communicate as text in your mind, but to keep you company, I have been given a voice.]
"...I see. So… are you a girl or something?"
[You could say that. I have a feminine tone.]
"Yeah, you sound like one. Do you have a name? Something I can call you, or is it just 'Voice'?"
[I do not have a designated name, but you may give me one if you wish.]
"A name, huh..." She thought for a moment, the gap of silence in the dark feeling oddly like a chance.
"How about... Aries?"
[Name Accepted: Aries]
"Good. You accepted it. And what am I even doing? I should be panicking right now!"
"Aries, tell me—how do I get out of here?" Panic rose in her words.
[You can't.] Aries replied simply.
"...Huh?" The black pressed in. Her heart thudded uneven.
[In your current state, you are incapable of movement. You are in the first stage of growth.]
"EEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHH?!?!?!" Sumi screamed into the void, a raw, surprised sound that bounced back at her.
And so, Sumi's second life as a flower began.