The night was clear enough to see the faint arc of the Milky Way. Renji Asano adjusted the strap of his satchel as he walked home from the convenience store, plastic bag rustling against his side. He'd finished his degree in business management three weeks ago and hadn't yet figured out what came next. Every day since graduation had been the same: long walks, job listings on his laptop, frozen dinners, and sleep.
At twenty-one, he was supposed to feel like the world was opening, but instead it felt like someone had quietly locked the doors.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He thumbed it to his ear.
"Yo," came a familiar voice. His old classmate, Daigo, casual as always. "You sound half-dead."
Renji sighed. "Just tired. Thinking too much. I feel… stupid, I guess. Four years of university, and I never even made time for a girlfriend. Who graduates without at least one?"
Daigo barked a laugh. "That's on you, man. Don't act like no one was interested. Remember Ayaka? She had a thing for you for, like, a whole year."
Renji frowned, adjusting the satchel strap again. "What? No way. She never—"
"She did. Everyone knew. You were too busy cramming spreadsheets into your brain to notice."
Renji shook his head, embarrassed heat creeping up his neck. "Guess I blew it."
"You think?" Daigo teased. "Maybe next life you'll figure it out."
Renji chuckled weakly, tilting his head back toward the sky. "Yeah. Maybe next life—"
The stars sharpened above him, scattered like glass across black silk. A streak tore across the heavens, brighter than any shooting star. For a moment he smiled, ready to make a half-hearted wish. Then the streak grew, swelling into something jagged and burning. His stomach dropped. That wasn't a star.
"Hey, Daigo—"
He barely had time to flinch.
A fragment of metal, blackened at the edges, split the night. Rusted plating, tangled wires, and the faint ghost of a corporate logo flashed above him. The shriek of air tearing apart was the only warning before impact.
It hit him square in the chest.
Renji's world collapsed inward in an instant. The plastic bag burst across the pavement, cans and wrappers bouncing into the gutter. His phone clattered down beside them, screen shattering, still buzzing with Daigo's voice.
And then silence.
Renji opened his eyes to a room that shouldn't exist.
A waiting room.
Three sides of the square were lined with benches, stretching end to end in polished wood. A pale white glow lit the walls with no visible source. At the far side sat a desk piled high with paper towers, stamped scrolls, and quills scattered like weapons.
The quills moved on their own. Scratching, scribbling, scratching again—lines of text filling page after page, though no hand guided them. Every so often, one stopped, lifted into the air, and flung itself onto a neat stack at the desk's edge.
A door creaked open to Renji's left. Something waddled through—a squat creature with too many knees and a hunched back, its arms buried under towers of parchment. It gave Renji a single beady glance before shuffling to the desk, dumping its load, and trundling back out without a word.
Behind the desk sat… something else.
The figure was hazy, its outline shifting as if it couldn't decide on a shape. At one moment a man in a suit, the next a woman in robes, then a featureless silhouette. Only its posture was constant: seated, hunched over the desk like an exhausted clerk.
It looked up as Renji blinked awake.
"You're the first human I've met to be killed by cosmic litter," the figure said in a dry voice. "That's… something, I guess."
Renji froze, still lying across one of the benches. "What… what?"
The figure waved lazily at the desk. "Debris. Orbital junk. A whole satellite decided your ribcage looked like a landing pad. Efficient, really. One in a million."
Renji sat up, clutching his chest. There was no blood, no pain. He patted himself down, half-expecting to find the wound. Nothing. His body felt intact, but weightless.
"Am I—dead?"
"Congratulations," the figure said, clapping once without enthusiasm. "Dead, processed, and filed. Well, almost filed. That's my job."
Renji stared. "You're… a god?"
"That's one way to put it." The figure leaned back, the outline shifting again. Its voice was flat, like someone reading stage directions. "I pick up people who get cut off early. Shuffle them somewhere useful. You're one of the lucky ones."
"Lucky?" Renji's voice cracked. "I just got crushed to death by trash from space."
The figure snapped its fingers. A scroll unrolled across the desk, glowing faintly. "Which brings us to business. Application time."
"Application?"
"Yes." A quill materialized and dropped into Renji's lap. "Champion of the Unnamed God. You apply, I approve, you move on."
Renji held the quill like it might bite him. "You're joking."
"Sadly, no." The god shoved the scroll across the desk. "Go on. Fill it in. Don't worry, the questions are very important."
Renji glanced down. The first line blinked at him.
Question 1: Do you prefer cats, dogs, or existential dread?
"…What?"
"Answer honestly," the god said.
Renji muttered under his breath and scribbled "cats."
The next line shifted into view.
Question 2: Boxers, briefs, or commando in battle?
Renji nearly dropped the quill. "What kind of question is this?"
"A crucial one," the god intoned gravely. "Heroes live and die by their undergarments."
Renji groaned and scrawled "boxers."
Question 3: How many spoons would it take to conquer an empire?
Renji gritted his teeth. "This is insane."
The god yawned. "Answer the question."
He scrawled again: Too many.
Question 4: What's your ideal number of wives?
Renji choked. His ears burned as he wrote: One is enough.
The scroll drifted back toward the desk. The god glanced at the answer and snorted.
"Just one? Ambitious. Most of my champions write at least five. Aim higher next time."
Renji pressed a hand over his face. "Unbelievable."
The figure skimmed the scroll, nodding. "Not bad. Serviceable. Your spoon answer could use work, but we'll let it slide."
"That's it?" Renji demanded. "I spent five minutes filling in nonsense, and now what? No trial? No test of courage?"
The god stamped the scroll with a glowing seal. "You want to run around with a banner in a lightning storm? Didn't think so. This makes the paperwork faster."
Renji's jaw dropped. "You're skipping the whole trial thing? Just like that?"
"Trials are overrated. Besides, you look tired." The god flicked the scroll into a stack and waved a hand.
A glowing screen appeared before Renji.
[Status Window]
Name: Renji Asano
Title: Champion of the Unnamed God
Level: 1
Skills:
Divine Endurance (Passive)
Command Presence (Passive)
Adaptive Insight (Active)
Inventory (Basic)
Conditionally Sealed Skill: Underwear Compatibility Check [Locked]
Attributes:
Strength: Average
Agility: Average
Vitality: Above Average
Intelligence: High
Charisma: High
Renji frowned. "Underwear compatibility? What the hell kind of joke is that?"
The god said nothing, just shuffled papers, clearly enjoying itself.
The screen shimmered and warped, the text reshuffling itself.
[Status Window??]
Name: Cosmic Pancake Victim #001
Title: "Champion," allegedly
Level: Baby Steps, Don't Fall Over
Skills:
Divine Endurance: Like bubble wrap, but less useful.
Command Presence: People might listen if you shout.
Adaptive Insight: One cheat per fight. Batteries not included.
Inventory: Bottomless bag… currently contains nothing and despair.
Attributes:
Strength: You lift, bro? No.
Agility: Trips on flat ground.
Vitality: Built Ford Tough (not guaranteed).
Intelligence: Smarter than a goldfish, probably.
Charisma: Hot stuff… in certain lighting.
Renji threw up his hands. "What is this garbage? I didn't ask for any of these descriptions!"
The god leaned back in its chair. "What, you don't like my edits? I thought they added personality."
"This isn't funny!" Renji snapped. "If I'm supposed to be your champion, shouldn't you take this seriously?"
The god tilted its head, featureless face unreadable. "Why? You'll figure it out. Gear? Money? Training? What do I look like, a charity? You're mine, paperwork and all. I'll be keeping an eye on you."
Renji stiffened. "Keeping an eye—? No. Don't. I don't need that."
"Too late. Once you're stamped, you're stamped. You're my champion now. That means everything you answered on that form is binding… in ways you won't see yet."
Renji narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to—"
But the room began to dissolve. The benches faded, the desk melted, the quills clattered to the floor. The absurd creature waddled back in just in time to pick up a tower of parchment before vanishing with it again.
The god's outline blurred until only the voice remained.
"Good luck, champ. Try not to die too fast. Makes the paperwork messy."
The floor vanished.
Renji fell, weightless, down into blinding light. The last thing he managed to mutter was:
"…I already hate this god."