The end comes sooner than expected.
Yes. I am dying now.
I do not clearly remember how I died.
I could not feel it. It was too simple, too sudden.
I had no special talent. I had no great personality.
I was nothing more than an ordinary person, one of countless "nobodies."
Was that why?
Or maybe—
My soul had rusted away after a life that was too normal, too empty.
I even feel detached, as if this has nothing to do with me.
Is the word "worthless" made for someone like me?
Ah…
Why do I feel regret?
Do I want to live? No. That is not it. I have no attachment left.
I had no family. I just drifted through life. No one will grieve for me.
Then why do I feel frustration?
I had no goals. Nothing I admired. I lived without direction. That is why emptiness filled my heart.
Then… perhaps I should close my eyes.
Yes. That is fine. That is enough.
If I close my eyes…
It will all end.
Just as peaceful sleep begins to cover my vision—
Thump.
Something beats.
At the same time, in my chest, where cold wind seems to blow, a sharp discomfort rises, like pain.
Why is regret filling me?
Regret? That makes no sense. It is a contradiction.
I did nothing. I achieved nothing. How can someone like me feel regret?
Wrapped in the calm of death, I let my fading thoughts wander.
What am I regretting? I achieved nothing.
I did nothing. I had no passion, no hobby, nothing to burn for.
Then, like a revelation, the answer comes.
I could do nothing. That is my regret.
I lived, but I built nothing.
I left nothing behind.
I had no mark on the world—nothing I could proudly call proof of my existence.
I will disappear.
As nothing, I will fade away.
That truth hurts more than anything.
Ah… how foolish.
Only after losing my life do I realize my own meaning. How stupid I was.
I can't die.
I don't want to die. I can't die yet.
How selfish.
Only after giving up my only life do I finally understand my desire.
Yes. I can't die yet.
I can't die. I don't want to die like this.
This body has achieved nothing.
This soul has burned for nothing.
A flame lights in the furnace that once only smoldered.
Yes. I can't die yet.
At least—before I disappear—at least…
I must achieve something.
Otherwise, what was the point of living…?
——————
"How disappointing. Such a weak sense of self. To find yourself only after dying."
What—!?
At the sound of a voice, my eyes snap open. I see nothing. Only a voice echoes from somewhere.
"If you had just rotted away, you would not need to suffer such useless regret. Humans truly are a troublesome species."
Such an arrogant tone.
As if the speaker stands far above everything, looking down on all.
"Who… are you?" I ask.
"Hm? Ah… no one in particular."
No one? From someone with such overwhelming presence?
Is it humility? Or mockery?
The voice continues to speak.
"I am… how should I put it? A scoundrel who toys with souls like yours."
"…What does that even mean?"
"It means exactly what it sounds like. I am a troublesome being who is always hungry for amusement. That's all."
There is no warmth in the voice. It sounds arrogant, yet flat, like a cold announcement.
"Anyway, enough about me. The problem is you. Your final cry of despair drew me in."
"Me…?"
"Yes. Your regret and wailing called out to me while I slept in boredom. You woke me up. Quite a nuisance, really."
…I feel a little ashamed. It was not a noble cry or deep faith, but such dark feelings that summoned this being. I feel sorry toward the unseen speaker.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Everyone has such worries, except for one case. If anything, you were just very late."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. Now then—back to the point. You have died. Your body and mind are gone. Your soul will soon fade as well."
"Normally, I would have no reason or duty to stop that. But a pure soul that awakens to self-awareness only at the edge of death is far too rare to waste."
Pure? Am I really pure? I feel more like a broken record, repeating regrets and complaints.
"So, because we have spoken like this, I will let you suffer the fate known as 'reincarnation into another world.'"
…What?
"It seems to mean being reborn as someone else and living a second life."
Seems to? That sounds far too careless.
What is with this voice anyway? It is lazy, reckless, and extremely suspicious!
"Don't say that. It's popular these days. Even people I know are obsessed with it. 'The human I sent became a peerless hero,' or 'The strongest handsome man I designed became a prince.' It's all the rage."
What is this voice talking about!?
"Apparently, the real fun is giving humans power far beyond them, throwing them into another world, and watching them struggle. Bad taste, really. I can't tell how it's different from illegal dumping."
This tone is not that of a participant. It sounds like a higher being, playing with all things from above.
And if this voice knows such beings…
"Well, deciding without trying isn't good. You never understand unless you try."
"So, I've decided. From now on, I will use you as my otherworld reincarnation toy."
What!? Wait a second—what are you saying!?
I can't keep up. Reincarnation? A toy? What does any of this mean!?
"Your name… is unnecessary. Your mind is weak, but removing it would be bad. Hmm. With such a thin sense of self, even special powers would be wasted. Then… let's do this."
The voice continues.
"■■■■■■. Become a hero, and save the world."
…What?
A hero? Did you just say hero?
"Among many worlds, there is one that is being burned away and heading for destruction. You will be summoned there as a hero and help save it."
"But you are far too unreliable. As an existence, I mean. I could sell you to a guardian and force you to serve, but you seem like you'd die quickly."
The voice speaks with shocking rudeness and dangerous calm.
"You have no self. Is that the fault of modern consumer society? Such a bland soul. You won't shine easily."
"—Alright. I've decided your reincarnation partner. In a way, it's your complete opposite. An existence at the peak of individuality and ego."
In that instant, the world shifts. My consciousness is swept away at terrifying speed, endless information rushes past like shooting stars.
"You will be summoned as a hero to an organization called Chaldea, the Human Order Continuation Security Organization. A place in a futureless world where human history is being incinerated."
"You will become a Servant, bound to the last Master of humanity, a human named Fujimaru Ritsuka, and act as a blade to save the world."
Save… the world?
Is that possible? Me? Such a dreamlike feat?
"With half measures, sending you would be meaningless. Without an overwhelming privilege, you would become something that 'doesn't matter whether it exists or not.' That is just trash."
"That's why you will reincarnate as the hero among heroes—one called the King of Heroes. It is the perfect vessel to polish your soul. Since he was 'created by the gods,' giving him form as a Servant is easy. …His friend would be even easier, but sadly, he has no room to grow."
"Wait—something like that—!"
"From now on, you will abandon everything except being yourself."
My consciousness fades.
"What you become, and what happens to the world, depends on your effort."
The voice grows distant.
"Do your best. ■■■■■■. No—"
My awareness sinks slowly—
"'The King of Heroes, Gilgamesh'…"
————
A space filled with blue. I close my eyes against the white lightning.
The light fades, and a single man stands there.
Clad in golden full plate armor, with spiked golden hair, and crimson eyes that look down on everything with cold disdain.
"Y-you are…"
His presence is overwhelming. Just standing is all I can manage.
Still, I force my trembling throat to speak.
He is the unmatched blade that will aid the journey to save human history.
A warrior who becomes sword and shield.
A reflection of a Heroic Spirit, engraved into human history.
His name is—
--
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