John awoke.
But it wasn't the same as the countless other times he had opened his eyes.
This time, something was different.
He wasn't in the vast, blank void that had greeted him after death. He wasn't in his sprawling mindscape filled with combat arenas, elemental fields, or roaming dream-beasts. He wasn't surrounded by projections of anime legends or his favorite battle-hardened sentinels.
No.
This time... he saw stars.
Everywhere.
A galaxy surrounded him—waves of light and vibrant colors stretching across the heavens in spirals of impossible beauty. Nebulas pulsed with hues of crimson, violet, and blue. Stars shimmered like scattered diamonds cast across a velvet sky.
For a long moment, he simply stood still—blinking once, then twice.
"I... what is this?"
He slowly turned in place, awestruck. The black void he had known for so long was gone—transformed into a canvas of cosmic wonder. For the first time in what felt like eternity, he felt something stir deep in his chest.
Not fear.
Not excitement.
Just... wonder.
And beneath that wonder, something colder. Quieter.
He placed a hand over his chest and frowned.
"Hm. Detached..."
The word echoed.
It wasn't sudden. It wasn't painful. But now, in this unfamiliar beauty, he realized how numb he'd become.
Endless time training, watching, and recreating. His only companions were battles, memories of anime, fragments of old emotions, and projections of the people he once admired.
He had shaped the void into his home.
But home wasn't warmth anymore.
Home was just... constant.
That thought lingered as a sound ripped through the cosmic sky behind him.
Shhhhhhhhrip—
A jagged rift opened, splitting the space like torn silk. White light surged from it, pulsing with gravity and force.
He barely had time to react before the void grabbed him.
No ground. No sky. No resistance.
Just pulling.
He didn't scream.
He didn't panic.
He'd trained for this.
John twisted midair, letting the rush of motion carry him, adjusting his body instinctively. And then—impact.
But he landed on his feet.
The world solidified around him. He stood tall, breathing steady, arms lowered.
The room was white.
Endlessly white. Smooth. Silent. Featureless.
And yet, it felt more real than anything he had created in his mental domain.
And standing before him was a woman.
She wore a flowing gown of white and silver that shimmered with faint ethereal light. Her hair seemed woven from moonlight itself, and her eyes—wide, anxious—lowered quickly as she bowed low before him.
"I... I beg your forgiveness," she said, voice soft and sincere. "For your isolation."
John tilted his head, expression calm.
"...Forgiveness?"
He blinked slowly, the emotion not quite reaching his heart. "What... do you mean by 'my isolation'?"
There was no anger in his voice.
Just... curiosity.
Detached. Hollow. Faintly polite.
"I ask forgiveness on my end," he continued after a pause, his tone steady and without shame, "if I sound emotionally empty. It's not something I can help anymore."
He placed a hand to his chest again.
"My emotions have become numb... after so much time in my home."
At that word—home—the woman's head snapped up. Her eyes widened in what could only be described as stunned disbelief.
"...Your home?" she whispered.
John blinked again. His head tilted slightly, slowly—almost like a confused Pikachu hearing something strange. His voice remained steady.
"...Is it really that shocking?"
The woman stared at him for a long moment, lips slightly parted. Then, quietly, she answered:
"Yes. It is. Because no one... no one has ever called the void their home."
John's expression remained unchanged.
"I see."
For a moment, the silence between them was deafening. The white space felt more than empty—it felt like a breath held too long.
But John stood unbothered, arms relaxed at his sides.
"...Then I suppose I'm an anomaly."
The woman still stared at him, unmoving, her luminous eyes wide with disbelief.
"...You really called it home," she whispered again. "The void. A place meant to be empty. A space without form, time, or sensation. You shaped it into something beautiful..."
John said nothing at first. He merely waited, observing. There was something in her eyes now—guilt... pain... no, shame.
She inhaled slowly, as if bracing herself, and finally began to speak.
"You... weren't supposed to go there."
That caught his attention.
He blinked once. "What?"
"You were supposed to be led to the afterlife," she explained, her voice trembling with something like sorrow. "To the heaven designated for souls like yours. You had built enough good karma in your short life—your compassion, your empathy, your selflessness. The moment you gave up your life to save that child..." She swallowed. "That single act created a karmic shockwave. A radiant burst of self-sacrifice that echoed across realms."
John's eyes narrowed slightly.
"But you never made it."
She lowered her head again, trembling slightly now.
"There was... a mistake. A crack. A gap in the transfer."
She clenched her hands together.
"You slipped through. And instead of ascending to peace... you were lost. Cast into the void. Alone."
The room felt colder now.
He stood perfectly still, trying to process the meaning behind her words.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
She flinched.
"I've... watched helplessly since. Countless times I tried to correct it. To reach you. But the void doesn't obey divine laws. I couldn't pierce it. I couldn't pull you out. And now..."
Her voice broke.
"It has been one billion years."
Silence fell like a stone.
John blinked slowly.
One. Billion. Years.
It wasn't a number. It was eternity. He had been alone in a space with no time, no death, no warmth, no company—only himself, his memories, his creations. A mind that should have crumbled.
Should have.
Instead, he exhaled calmly.
"...Huh."
The woman looked up at him in shock again.
"You're... not angry?"
He tilted his head, thoughtful. "I'm surprised. But not angry."
Her mouth opened slightly in disbelief.
John continued, voice gentle—almost peaceful. "Sure, I missed out on heaven. Peace. Family. But... because of your mistake..." He lifted his hand, fingers curling inward slightly as he looked at his palm. "I had time. So much time."
He looked up and met her gaze.
"I grew stronger. Mentally. Spiritually. I created my own piece of freedom. My own happiness. I forged an entire world from nothing. I faced myself, my memories, my fears. I learned, trained, imagined."
He smiled softly now.
"I may have numbed my emotions... but I haven't lost them. Not fully."
He took a step forward.
Her knees nearly buckled under the weight of her guilt, but before she could fall again, his hand reached out—gentle, warm—and took hers.
She gasped slightly as he lifted her upright, his grip steady but kind.
"It's okay," he said softly, his voice now laced with something warm and real. "Everyone makes mistakes."
She stared at him, tears beginning to form.
"But it's not the mistake that defines you."
He gave her hand a small squeeze.
"It's what you do after that matters."
His eyes glowed faintly, like stars behind calm waters.
"So smile, alright?"
He gave a faint grin.
"Everything's going to be fine."
Her lips trembled as she slowly nodded, eyes shimmering. And for the first time in a billion years, the woman before him—guardian of souls, bearer of divine regret—smiled.