The glow of triumph still lingered about Yukio as if it were a second skin. Each footstep along the confetti-covered streets felt easier, each laughter around him more acute, more vibrant. It wasn't New Year's alone that his city was ringing in—it was his.
Tonight, he had rewritten his family's past. No more hand-me-downs and empty shelves. No more excuses when the bills were due. He could already see the path before them: straight, wide, golden.
A grin spread across his lips as he walked but was shattered by another memory—a grim one.
Kaito. Haru.
His so-called friends.
He remembered the heavy water wetting his hoodie, the books that he was carrying ruined, their mocking laughter cutting more biting than the chill of the cold.
"See the poor boy trying to keep up with us."
It wasn't the rich brats who had ruffled his feathers the most that day. It was the picture of Kaito and Haru laughing with them, their eyes glinting with the same sort of cruelty that he never thought them capable of.
His fist was curled at his side, knuckles paling in streetlamp light. His winnings this evening—his cash—was shield and armor for each slur, every betrayal. He shifted back, eyes tilted toward the heavens as the last tendrils of fireworks smoke dissolved.
"Looks like lady luck's with me this year,"
He snarled, lips curling into a hard smile.
The crosswalk light blinked green. A simple, reassuring sign. He walked on uncritically, eyes still fixed on the horizon. The words spilled out almost without thinking, full of the brashness of youth and new power:
"Nothing can stop me now."
The world, it appeared, took that as a challenge.
A flash of blinding white tore at his vision. The sound of an engine drowned out his beat. He barely had time to acknowledge the shape of a truck before it filled his entire world.
Time remained at a standstill for a moment. His last thought wasn't fear. It wasn't regret. It was bitter, nearly ironic:
"I thought I was feeling lucky…"
Nothing followed.
When his eyelids opened once more, the world was gone.
No city. No roads. No pain.
Only white. Endless, smooth white.
The ground beneath him was like a bed of fog, springy and soft. There was no horizon, no sky, just the same blank canvas perpetually extending. The silence enveloped him, so complete it hummed against his ears.
"…Did I just die?"
His own voice was tiny, swallowed by the emptiness. He looked at his hands, turned them over. They were unchanged. Too commonplace.
"Or was that… just a dream?"
Fury hit him first, before fear. Hard, burning, unfair. He gouged his fingers into his skull, clenched his teeth.
"My life… my money!"
His voice cracked, echoing back from every direction.
"How am I supposed to enjoy it now? Was this a joke of the cosmos? I didn't deserve it!"
The anger smoldered hot, but grief suffocated it out moments later. He fell to his knees. The floor of fog beneath him gave way beneath his weight, forming craters where his knees fell into it. His eyes overflowed with tears.
"If I'm dead…"
His whisper was unutterably small.
"…my family?"
The question tore through him, leaving nothing behind.
That is when the light appeared.
Golden, dazzling, pouring down from on high like a tiny sun. He shielded his eyes, blinking until the radiance was sharpened into the shape of a woman.
She descended slowly, effortlessly, until she set her feet upon the white floor silently.
Her beauty was otherworldly: silken robes glowing with a hidden light, hair cascading like a cataract, four feathered wings unfolding with impossible magnificence. And as she moved, the wings dissolved into dust, glittering motes disappearing in the void.
"You must not despair at what has happened,"
She said to him, her voice calming, singing, as a windborne chime.
You no longer live, Yukio. This is a place of soul direction. You should be glad, because you have the chance to enter heaven, where you will be forever."
Yukio stared at her, stone-faced. His tears had not even evaporated yet.
".Are you kidding?"
His lip twisted into a chilly smile. He extended his index finger, pointing at her.
"Could things get any worse? I die, and now there's this cosplayer who shows up to spout trash to me?"
The angel was shocked. Her peaceful face cracked. Then, to his surprise, she blew up like an offended child.
"I….what….how dare you!"
She stuttered, hand covering her chest. Her voice lost all of its heavenly calm, shaking indignantly.
"I am no cosplayer!"
"Sure."
Yukio sighed, rolling his eyes half-laughing despite himself.
She stamped a foot. Stamped. The cloud-grass ground actually rippled beneath the heel.
"I am an angelic guardian, goddammit!"
That made him blink. He hadn't anticipated goddammit to come out of a creature dressed in shining silks.
"My name is Michibiki,"
she continued, her voice wavering between wounded pride and near-ripped-in-half tears.
"I guide souls like yours. And you will treat me with the respect I deserve."
For a moment, absurdity pierced his grief. He laughed out loud, shaking his head.
Then Michibiki stepped forward, soothing again. She held out her hand. When he didn't budge, she took him instead, pulling him to his feet. Before he could object, she hugged him in a brief embrace.
"It's normal to mourn one's life,"
She sighed, her voice calm again.
"But your family will survive. They'll mourn, yes. But they'll also remember you. That memory will keep them strong."
Her words were meant to soothe. And, against his better judgment, they did. His chest loosened slightly. He let out a shaky breath.
"Great,"
He muttered.
"So I'm dead, broke, and stuck with a clingy angel. What's next? Heaven's orientation day?"
Michibiki let him go, her serenity dropping like a curtain falling. She even smiled a little.
"Look on the bright side. You still get to spend eternity in heaven."
".Hooray,"
Yukio answered dully.
Before she could speak, another light split the void above them—brilliant, more wild, almost mischievous. A second figure plummeted, much smaller this time.
It was a boy. Not more than thirteen at best, his lopsided grin spreading across his face. His silk clothing glimmered with threads of gold and silver. Each finger was covered in rings. A portly golden chain slung against his chest, and a tilted crown rested on top of his head like a toy.
He came bursting in with a flash of glory, palms resting on hips, grinning as if they had just burst onto his own stage.
"Yoooo, Yukio, homie!"
He yelled, his voice at a relaxed high register.
"You don't wanna go to heaven. Trust me. It's, like, so dull. Total snoozefest. No fun whatsoever."
Yukio blinked.
"What… do you have to be? The patron saint of rappers?"
Before the boy could respond, Michibiki abruptly stiffened into a practiced-seeming bow. One hand plunged into her chest, her voice hushed and reverent once more.
"It is an honor to be in your presence… Lord Fukui."