White.
Not heaven, not hell, just a blank room that went on forever. A single desk sat in the middle, stacked with paperwork and a mug that read World Management Division. Behind it, a man in a gray suit looked like every overworked office drone in existence.
"Take a seat," the man said without looking up. "You're early."
The young man blinked. "Early for what?"
"Reincarnation," the man replied, shuffling a stack of forms. "You died thirty-eight minutes ahead of schedule. I handle rescheduling."
"…You're God?"
"An administrator," he corrected flatly. "Capital G handles bigger things. I just deal with accidents like you."
The man put his pen down and finally met his eyes. "Three requests before transfer. Keep them reasonable."
The young man folded his arms. "Before I start, where exactly am I being sent?"
The bureaucrat flipped through a binder so thick it looked older than time. "World ID 3017-J. Human realm. Twenty-first-century civilization, high supernatural saturation. Multiple pantheons, angels, devils, dragons." He paused. "You'd know it as High School DxD."
He stared for a long second. "…You're kidding."
"Nope."
"That's the world where teenagers level cities by accident."
The man shrugged. "Every world has its quirks."
He exhaled slowly. "Alright, fine. Let's start."
"I want a Sacred Gear," he said. "Something strong enough that no one can ever control me."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Define strong."
"Strong enough that devils won't collar me and angels won't sanctify me."
The bureaucrat tapped a pen against the folder. "Innovate Clear. Longinus-class. Creates and stabilizes personal space, an inner world that follows your will. Defensive by nature, absolute when mastered."
"A world that's mine alone," he said quietly. "I'll take it."
"It mirrors your heart," the man warned. "Lose control, lose the world."
"I'll keep it stable."
The bureaucrat made a note. "Next?"
"I want to remember everything. My life, my knowledge, all of it. No blank childhood."
"That'll make infancy unpleasant," the man said. "Full adult awareness, newborn body. Painful combination."
"I'll adapt. Ignorance gets people killed."
Another note scribbled. "Third request?"
"No divine family, no political strings. Just drop me somewhere quiet, somewhere no one important will find me."
"An orphanage, then. Kuoh Town. Small, unnoticed. Peaceful, for now."
He nodded. "That'll do."
The bureaucrat stamped the final page with a dull thunk. "Transfer approved. Any last words?"
"Yeah." He smirked faintly. "Tell your department to stop recycling souls into worlds that kill teenagers for fun."
The man raised his mug. "If I could, I'd transfer myself out first."
Light flooded the room, cold and weightless. He felt his body dissolve, his thoughts stretch thin, and then collapse into darkness.
Sound returned first. Crying. Footsteps. A woman's voice humming softly. He couldn't move much, infant muscles, but his mind was sharp. The language was Japanese. The ceiling was old wood. Through blurred vision, he caught a sign by the doorway.
Kuoh Orphanage.
So the bureaucrat had kept his word.
Something pulsed deep in his chest, faint but steady, a second heartbeat. Not divine. Not holy. Just power waiting to be shaped.
Innovate Clear.
A world of my own.
If this world ran on chains, then he'd forge one they couldn't hold.
He closed his eyes, letting the caretaker's warmth fade into background noise, and began to plan.