Am I dead? Again? Fucking Braxton. I knew I should have hit him harder.

My thoughts wandered through an endless void, detached from pain or sensation. No body, no weight—just consciousness floating in a vast emptiness that felt strangely comfortable.

Like drifting in a warm ocean at night, except without the water. Or the night. Or anything tangible at all.

The darkness wasn't uniform, I realized. Faint wisps of color swirled in the distance—blues and purples that reminded me of nebulae in deep space photographs.

A soft golden light bloomed in the distance, growing brighter until it coalesced into a figure that approached with the casual confidence of someone who owned the place—which, considering where "here" was, she probably did.

The light around her pulsed with each step, as if the very fabric of this non-reality responded to her presence.

She was a goddess. Tall and curvaceous, with skin seemingly spun from moonlight and hair flowing like liquid starlight. Her Grecian-style chiton, a fabric so sheer and strategically draped, revealed more than it concealed, accentuating her divine form. Her eyes contained galaxies, supernovas burning within their depths. With each blink, I could swear I saw the birth and death of stars.

"So," she said, her melodic voice vibrating through the void instead of just inside my head, creating ripples in the darkness like stones thrown into a still pond, "this is the man who thinks he can out-scumbag the gods."

"Nel," I replied. "You're... taller than I imagined."

She circled me, movements as fluid and predatory as a big cat. The void seemed to bend around her, reality itself warping in her wake.

"And you are far more breakable." Her lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her cosmic eyes. A smile that promised amusement at my expense. "I must say, I'm impressed. You actually completed the quest. Apollo owes me five hundred souls. He was so sure you'd fail."

She ran a finger along my metaphysical outline, leaving a trail of golden sparks that tingled like static electricity.

"So why am I here? Is this the afterlife, part two? The sequel nobody asked for?"

"Think of it as a... performance review. A backstage meeting." She waved her hand dismissively, trailing stardust through the void. "Your consciousness was knocked loose. It makes it easier for us to have a little chat, face-to-face."

Her expression turned serious, the cosmic mirth fading from her eyes. "You're progressing faster than the projections indicated. The acquisition of the [Kingmaker's Aura]... that was an unexpected variable."

Her voice dropped an octave, resonating with power that made the void around us tremble. "The narrative is shifting. Adapting. The other gods are watching more closely now."

Nel leaned in, her scent—like ozone and ancient wine, with notes of something alien and incomprehensible—overwhelming my senses. The smell of divinity, I supposed. "You're spending a great deal of energy on these mortal women. The purple-haired one. The blue-haired one. The pink-haired one you just acquired."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, cosmic fires burning hotter within them. A hint of something almost like jealousy flickered across her perfect features. "Don't forget who your true partner in this is. They are tools for the narrative. I am the one writing the script with you."

Is my own goddamn System getting jealous? What is my life? This is a new low—or high—even for me.

"They're assets," I responded coolly, refusing to be intimidated despite her overwhelming presence. "The Queen and the Healer. Necessary for the kingdom."

"See that you remember that." She placed a hand on my 'chest'—an odd sensation considering I had no physical form here. Her touch sent a jolt of warmth and power through my consciousness, like being connected directly to a star.

The energy radiated outward, filling every corner of my metaphysical being with renewed strength. "Your performance has been... satisfactory. But the next act will require more than just clever tricks and brute force."

Her eyes seemed to peer beyond me, seeing something I couldn't. "The stage is set for a new conflict. New players. New enemies." Her voice softened, becoming almost intimate. "You'll need me more than ever, Scumbag."

Her form began to dissolve back into light, galaxies swirling within her being. Stars and nebulae became visible through her increasingly transparent form. "It's time to wake up, my King. The supporting cast is getting worried."

The void melted away like watercolors in the rain. Sound returned first—a gentle, rhythmic rumbling beneath me, the hum of an electric motor, and soft, concerned breathing close to my ear. Then sensation—a dull, throbbing ache radiating from my ribs, my elbow, my head. Every part of me hurt.

Each breath felt like someone was driving a nail between my ribs. My nose throbbed with a special, pulsing agony that suggested Braxton definitely hadn't held back. The taste of copper lingered on my tongue, and my throat felt raw, as if I'd swallowed sandpaper.

My head, however, was pillowed on something soft and warm. It smelled amazing. Like vanilla and a combination of fruity shampoo, faint floral perfume, and her natural scent.

I buried my face deeper into the softness, a groan of pure, animal comfort escaping my lips despite the symphony of pain playing through the rest of my body.

The pillow beneath my head let out a soft, breathy moan. "Mmmh..." The sound vibrated against my cheek, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine.

My eyes snapped open. All I saw was the soft, mint-green fabric of a sweater, rising and falling with steady rhythm. I wasn't on a pillow. I was on a lap. A very soft, very comfortable lap. I twisted my head slowly, wincing as my neck protested the movement. My cheek was resting on the top of Emi Aoyama's thighs, my face mere inches from her stomach.

From this angle, looking up, I could see the delicate curve of her jawline, the sweep of her blue eyelashes, and the concentrated furrow of her brow.

Emi was whimpering, her eyes squeezed shut, face a mask of embarrassment and concentration. A faint, pale green light emanated from her hands, which hovered over my chest.

The light pulsed in rhythm with her breathing, strengthening and fading like the tide. Wherever the light touched my skin, the pain receded slightly, replaced by a gentle warmth that spread through my injured muscles.

I closed my eyes again, pretending to still be unconscious. The comfort was too good to give up, and I wasn't above milking an injury for all it was worth. The tactical advantages of playing weak were endless, and the softness of her thighs was a bonus I hadn't anticipated.

"Thank you, Emi," I murmured, my voice rough and gravelly, like I'd been gargling glass.

"This is your Aspect, right? It feels... warm."

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