At the royal palace, the 65-kilo "Tank" body didn't just wake up, it practically launched itself off the bed. My original eyes snapped open, glowing with a residual celestial fire.
And there, right in the center of my forehead, was a permanent, pulsing Golden Star-Mark. It wasn't a tattoo; it was a divine business license burned into my very soul. I was officially a Divine Franchisee.
But I wasn't there to enjoy it yet. Milabuella, still piloting my body, had other plans.
By afternoon, a carriage pulled into the Agro Capital with the speed of a racing chariot. The door flew open, and out stepped... Me. Well, my body. But it was a version of "Me" I barely recognized.
"Oh, heavens! The humidity in this territory is absolutely dreadful for the pores!" my own voice shrieked, but in a pitch so high and airy it made my ears ring.
