In Room 405
The door creaked open as Esper and Hana stepped into Room 405.
There, on the hospital bed, lay a fragile little girl—no older than four. Transparent tubes ran into her tiny body, connecting her to cold machines that hummed and beeped in a mechanical rhythm, as if mocking the feeble heartbeat within her chest. Around her bed stood her parents and grandparents, their eyes veiled with tears, their lips trembling with smiles—smiles of desperation, brave masks desperately trying to comfort the child who was slipping further away.
Her breathing was ragged, each inhale a painful struggle, each exhale a finality.
Esper's gaze trembled. She turned to Hana.
"Wh… what is happening to her?"
Hana's voice came quiet, heavy like the toll of a bell.
"Her end is near. Her soul will soon leave the vessel."
Esper clenched her fists. "You told me that already… but… why? Why does she look like she's in so much pain?"
The little girl's tiny chest rose and fell, each breath rasping like glass cutting into her throat. Watching—feeling helpless—Esper's heart twisted.
"She appears in pain," Hana whispered, "because her soul refuses to let go. It has not accepted its end."
Esper froze. "But death is only a passage… a vessel left behind. You said one continues, reborn into another. Why—why would her soul deny?"
Hana's eyes narrowed, her reaper's sight piercing deeper than flesh. Silvery flows of mana shimmered faintly in the room—tiny threads connecting the girl's spirit to those around her.
"Her soul is bound now. Tied by threads of love to her parents, to her grandparents. That is why her struggle hurts more than her illness. Separation is agony to one who has never known death—especially in a world where immortality lingers in every breath."
On the bed, the girl stirred. Her dry lips parted.
"Mu…maaa…" she whispered through broken breaths.
Her mother, choking on tears, immediately leaned down and stroked her hair with trembling fingers.
"Yes, dear, I'm right here. Just stay calm… everything will be alright." Though her voice quivered with unbearable pain, she forced it to be gentle—steady—for her child.
"Am… am I going to be… alright?" the little girl asked, gasping between every fragmented word.
"Yes," her mother forced the lie with a smile, tracing her daughter's cheek. "Everything is going to be alright."
The girl's gaze shifted.
"Daddy…" she croaked.
"Yes, my princess," her father said warmly, though his lips trembled as if they, too, were breaking.
Her tiny hand jerked upward, fingers barely managing to move.
"I… I love you…" she whispered, her words shattering into the room.
The father bent low, clutching her hand against his heart. His voice cracked—yet his warmth never faltered.
"I love you more, my angel."
A pause. Silence heavy as the weight of fate. Then the girl's dulled eyes wandered, and her weak finger pointed—straight at Esper and Hana standing unseen in the corner.
"Is… is that them? The ones… who came… to take me?"
Esper's breath caught. Her heart pounded like thunder in her ears. Ordinary humans could not see reapers. Yet this child, trembling between life and death, saw them both.
Her words stunned the room. Tears welled in every eye, her family clutching her tighter in confusion, grief, and silent understanding. Only the mother, sinking into despair, clutched the child and whispered brokenly into her hair:
"No one is taking you away, my love. Mommy's here. Always here…"
Esper, shaken to her very bones, turned to Hana.
"Hana…?"
But Hana, with the quiet gaze of eternity, only whispered back:
"She sees us… because her soul already walks on the threshold."
"Maybe it is the time for the extraction" hana walks towards the kids as with her gentle hands she strokes her cheeks and leans
"I am....sorry" hana then summon her scythe again seeing that Esper shocked as she raised the scythe
"Wait.....no! " Esper with her scythe stops hana strike
"What are you doing!" Hana said looks frustrated
"What am I doing? I am asking what are you doing!" Esper raise her voice
"I am just extracting her soul that's all if her soul is attached by love then the only thing we can do is cuts the ties of such emotional attachment" hana explains so esper can understand that
"But, Extracting of soul need not to be that dreadful.... I...I.. don't want be that kind of reaper " esper while hesitating said
"Then how can we extract her soul!, this is the only way.... You are taking the human emotion lightly....it can't be served being talking understanding and if you still going to stop me her soul soon be courrpted and become the dark soul we fought before do you want that to happens" hana scold esper
"I...I..." As esper understanding the situation lower her scythe
"It is good that you care about them but as a reaper we can't attached our sentimental with them"
With that she strike her sycthe to girl chest which cuts all the ties as it strikes
Girl breath starting to fade away slowly slowly as her eyes shine begains to fade her colors
"Maybe… it is time for the extraction."
Hana's calm words echoed like the toll of a judgment bell. Slowly, gracefully, she stepped closer to the child. Her gentle hand caressed the girl's pale cheek, a kindness almost too human for one who ferried souls. She leaned down, whispering softly, her voice barely audible through the rhythmic beeps of the machines.
"I am… sorry."
With that, dark light shimmered into existence. Hana's elegant hand tightened, and from nothingness her scythe unfurled—long, gleaming, its edge glinting with the weight of inevitability. Esper's eyes widened, horror flooding through her as Hana raised the weapon high.
"Wait… no!" Esper's panicked cry sliced the room, her own scythe flaring into her grasp as she crossed the blades—stopping Hana's strike inches before it descended.
Hana's eyes shot toward her, frustration breaking through her calm mask.
"What are you doing!"
Esper's voice trembled but was fierce, echoing louder than it ever had before.
"What am I doing? No—what are you doing!"
For a moment, silence bound the room as the child's small breaths rattled faintly, caught between life and death.
"I am fulfilling my duty," Hana said coldly, "extracting her soul. That is all. When love binds a soul too tightly, when it clings, when it refuses release, the only way is to cut through those ties. Mercy is not in waiting. Mercy is in release."
Esper shook her head, her grip on the scythe unsteady but unyielding.
"But extraction doesn't need to be so… dreadful. So cruel. I… I don't want to be that kind of reaper. I can't bring terror into her last moment."
Hana's tone sharpened, her voice like iron cutting through Esper's hesitation.
"Then tell me, Esper—how else? How can we extract her soul? Do not think human compassion will untie the bonds of mana. You take emotion too lightly. Attachment is no fragile thing—it holds like iron chains. And if those chains bind too long, her soul rots in struggle. Soon, it will twist, corrupt, and fall into the dark abyss. Do you want another dark soul to rise? Do you wish for her to become the very horrors we've fought against?"
Esper's heart throbbed painfully in her chest. The memories of tormented, corrupted souls flickered in her mind—wretched, monstrous echoes of what were once human lives. She could not allow this child to suffer such a fate.
"I… I…" Her trembling grew still, her scythe lowering with reluctant surrender. Her lips quivered. She could not speak further.
Hana's stern gaze softened for a brief moment.
"It is good that you care for them," she said quietly. "But as reapers, we must never let sentiments bind us. To hesitate is cruelty itself."
And with a smooth, decisive motion, Hana brought her scythe down—not in violence, but in liberation. The blade silently pierced through the child's chest, yet no blood followed. Instead, the glowing threads of mana snapped one by one, the soul's chains unraveling.
The girl's parents gasped as though sensing something unseen. They clutched her hands tighter, whispering her name through broken sobs.
The little girl's breaths grew softer… softer still. Her eyes, once shimmering with innocent light, began to dim. The color drained gently from her face as her fragile body loosened its hold on life.
But for a fleeting moment, her lips curled into the faintest smile. As if, at last, something deep inside her had found peace.
Her chest fell in one final exhale. The hospital monitors blared their shrill tone of ending.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then the shrill monotone of the heart monitor cut through the air. The girl's tiny chest no longer rose. Her small hand slipped loosely from her father's grip.
"No… no, please…" Her mother's voice broke instantly as she gathered the girl into her arms, shaking against the cold truth. "Wake up, my baby… please… don't leave me."
The father leaned over, clutching both of them, his body trembling as tears streaked down his face.
"My princess… my sweet princess…" he whispered, his voice cracking and breaking with every word.
The grandparents, older eyes heavy with quiet sorrow, stood clasping each other's hands so tightly their knuckles turned white. Silent tears traced their wrinkled cheeks as they watched their daughter and son-in-law collapse in grief.
The room became a place of quiet devastation—sobs and whispers filling the air where a child's laughter would never return.
Esper stood with her scythe lowered at her side, frozen, her throat closing as she watched the family's world break apart before her eyes. She wanted to speak, to comfort, but her presence was invisible—a shadow watching silently.
She pressed her lips together until they hurt. A storm swelled inside her chest.
This is what it means to be a reaper? Watching love shatter and pretending it means nothing?
Her hands trembled. She looked away, unable to bear the sight any longer.
A soft voice reached her.
"You see it now," Hana murmured, stepping beside her. Her scythe dissolved into nothingness, her features calm, though her eyes carried their own depth of weariness. "Death is cruel to those left behind. But for the departed, mercy lies in release. That is the truth of our duty."
Esper turned, her lips parting as if to argue, but words failed her. What could she even say in the face of such grief?
Hana placed a hand on her shoulder, steady and firm, yet surprisingly warm.
"You have a gentle heart, Esper. That is not a weakness. But you must learn—caring and helping are not the same. If you carry their grief with you, it will bury you."
Esper closed her eyes, fighting the weight pressing against her chest.
Hana's hand lingered for a final moment, then she stepped back. Her form began to blur like fading smoke, the veil between the realms calling her away.
"Take your time here in the human world," Hana's voice echoed faintly as her presence dimmed. "Grieve, if you must. Understand yourself. But know… in the end, you must choose what kind of reaper you will be."
And then Hana was gone, leaving Esper alone in the silent shadow of Room 405—surrounded by sobs, clinging hands, and a love broken too soon.
Esper stood frozen, torn between the weight of duty and the tremors of her heart, the questions within her louder than ever.