The white void didn't go away.
Hiroshi was still standing in nothing, still wearing his FamilyMart uniform, still trying to process that he'd died and was now apparently getting isekai'd. And now there was a glowing blue screen floating in front of him.
Because of course there was.
"Oh no," he said. "There's paperwork."
The Entity materialized again, same glowing humanoid shape, same complete lack of features. "Please review the terms and conditions of your dimensional relocation."
"Terms and conditions?" Hiroshi stared at the screen. "Is there a privacy policy too? A EULA?"
"This is a binding soul contract. Please read carefully."
The screen was dense with text. Archaic language mixed with magical terminology mixed with stuff that looked straight out of a legal document. Hiroshi's anxiety activated immediately.
He started reading.
"Party of the First Part agrees to Soul-Binding Covenant pursuant to Section 3.2 of the Interdimensional Relocation Act..."
"Mana Integration Protocol, Section 7.3, requires adaptive resonance calibration..."
"Expendable Contingency Protocols shall activate in accordance with Appendix K..."
There was a page counter at the bottom. 1 of 47.
Forty-seven pages.
"You've got to be kidding me," Hiroshi muttered. He scrolled down. The text kept going. More clauses. More subsections. More words he didn't understand.
"What's a Soul-Binding Covenant?" he asked. "That sounds permanent. What does that bind my soul TO, exactly?"
"The System."
"Which system? What system? Can you be more specific?"
"The System," the Entity repeated. "It governs your new existence."
"That's not an answer! That's a tautology!"
The Entity didn't respond.
Hiroshi kept reading. Or trying to. His brain was starting to spiral. Every clause raised ten more questions. Every answer he got wasn't actually an answer.
"Planar Resonance Adjustment must maintain minimal viable threshold..."
"Okay, what about this," he said, pointing at the screen. "Mana Covenant Subsection 7.3—what does THAT mean?"
"Mana integration protocols."
"You just said the same words in different order!"
The Entity waited. Patient. Infinite patience. Probably because it had all the time in the universe and Hiroshi was the one who was dead.
He was only on page four.
Hiroshi's hands were shaking. His anxiety was doing that thing where it fixated on details because if he understood EVERYTHING, then maybe he could control the situation. Never mind that he was dead in a white void negotiating with a cosmic entity. Details were safe. Details made sense.
Except these details didn't make sense.
"How long do I have to read this?" he asked.
"As long as you need."
That sounded generous but wasn't. Time was meaningless here. He could read for hours or years and it wouldn't matter. He was dead. Time was just another thing that didn't apply anymore.
Hiroshi kept scrolling.
"Karmic Debt Resolution procedures..."
"Hero Protocol Compliance Standards..."
"In event of termination, contingency measures..."
Wait. Termination of what? The contract? Him?
He noticed something. Certain phrases kept repeating. "Contingency." "Expendable." "Minimal viable threshold."
"What does 'minimal viable threshold' mean?" he asked.
"Baseline functional parameters."
"That's gibberish! You're giving me gibberish!"
"The language is precise. Your comprehension is limited."
That stung. Hiroshi's jaw tightened. "So I'm too stupid to understand my own soul contract?"
"You are insufficiently acclimated to magical terminology. This is expected."
Expected. Right. The Entity had done this before.
"Previous candidates," Hiroshi said slowly. "You mentioned previous candidates. What happened to them?"
"Some accepted. Some declined."
"What happened to the ones who declined?"
"They returned to death."
Hiroshi's stomach dropped. Or would have, if he still had a stomach that could drop. "And the ones who accepted?"
Pause. Brief, but noticeable.
"They proceeded to their assignments."
"That's not an answer about whether they survived—"
"Would you prefer to return to being dead?"
There it was again. The question. The weight of it pressed down on him.
He was dead. This was post-death negotiation. His alternative wasn't going back to his apartment and his job and his anxiety. His alternative was nothing. Peaceful, quiet, eternal nothing.
And honestly? Being dead had been peaceful. No anxiety. No spiraling thoughts. No job interviews to fail. Just... rest.
But.
The kid was alive. He'd saved the kid. That had felt—not good, exactly, but meaningful. His life had been garbage, but that last moment had counted for something.
Maybe a second chance was worth the risk?
The Entity's glow seemed brighter. "Previous candidates took less time to decide."
Oh. There it was. The subtle pressure. Don't be difficult. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Just sign.
Hiroshi recognized the trap immediately. His anxiety, his people-pleasing, his pathological need to avoid confrontation—they were all pushing him toward compliance. Even knowing it was manipulation didn't stop it from working.
He was going to sign. He knew he was going to sign. Because refusing would mean saying no, and saying no felt worse than signing a contract he didn't understand.
His brain hated him for it.
A glowing pen appeared in his hand.
Hiroshi stared at the signature line. His hand shook.
Just sign it. Overthinking is why your life sucked anyway. What's the worst that could happen?
Don't answer that. Never ask what's the worst that could happen.
"There are so many clauses I don't understand," he said. One last attempt. "Expendable Contingency—what does that even mean?"
"Operational parameters for edge cases."
"You know what? Fine." Hiroshi's laugh was dark. Tired. "There's a protocol for selling your soul. Of course there is."
He signed. His name glowed in blue light on the screen.
The contract flared. Bright blue, almost blinding. The pages folded inward, collapsing, condensing into a single point of light.
Then the light shot into his chest.
Pain. No—not pain. Warmth. Then heat. Then burning. Something foreign settling deep into his core, integrating, becoming part of him.
Blue screens exploded across his vision.
[SOUL CONTRACT BINDING COMPLETE]
[DIMENSIONAL INTEGRATION: IN PROGRESS]
[MANA ADAPTATION: INITIALIZING]
[STATUS WINDOW: UNLOCKED]
[CLASS DESIGNATION: PENDING]
Too many. Too fast. Hiroshi tried to read them but they cascaded, overlapping, overwhelming.
"Welcome to the Nexus of Ascension, Hero Candidate."
Hiroshi's head snapped up. "Wait. CANDIDATE? That implies—"
The white void tore apart.
Not gradually. Not gently. It ripped open, edges peeling back, colors and light bleeding through the cracks. Reality fragmenting.
"—that I can FAIL?!"
"All candidates can fail," the Entity said, already fading. "That is the nature of selection."
"Wait! WAIT! What happens if I fail?!"
"Contingency protocols activate."
"WHAT CONTINGENCY—"
The void shattered.
Hiroshi was pulled through, yanked by invisible force, tumbling through a vortex of colors and sensations that didn't have names. Gravity lurched. His stomach dropped and rose and dropped again. Reality bent around him.
Behind him, the Entity's glowing form receded into white nothing.
Ahead, voices. Multiple people talking. The smell of incense and old stone.
The dimensional transition snapped into place.
Hiroshi hit solid ground.
His knees buckled. His vision swam. Everything was too bright, too loud, too real after the void's emptiness.
He gasped. Actual air. He could breathe again.
Slowly, his eyes adjusted.
He was kneeling on polished marble. A throne room. Massive. Ornate. Glowing crystals embedded in the walls cast golden light everywhere. Banners hung from the ceiling, emblazoned with symbols he didn't recognize.
And standing in front of him were three people in armor, staring at him.
One of them, a guy with perfect hair and an actual glowing sword, frowned. "Another one? I thought we already had our full party."
A woman in white and gold armor crossed her arms. "They said four heroes. We're four. Why is there a fifth?"
The third person, younger, maybe eighteen, stepped closer. Squinted at Hiroshi. "Why is he wearing a convenience store uniform?"
Hiroshi looked down at himself. Still in his FamilyMart polo. Still had his name tag on.
Great. Perfect. Exactly how he wanted to make a first impression.
He opened his mouth to explain—or apologize, or something—when a new voice rang out.
"HEROES! Welcome to the Kingdom of Luminaris!"
An old man in elaborate robes stood at the base of a massive throne. Arms spread wide. Beaming. Behind him, a king sat watching, expression unreadable.
"You have been summoned to save our world from the Demon Lord's army!"
The three armored people straightened, hands on their weapons, faces set with determination.
Hiroshi just stayed kneeling, trying not to throw up from dimensional travel, still processing that he'd just signed away his soul and could apparently fail at being a hero.
This was going to suck.
He knew it was going to suck.
And he'd signed the paperwork anyway.