In the middle of a dimly lit room sat an old television resting directly on the floor, its screen flickering with the grainy glow of what looked like a 1980s superhero show. Behind it stood a tall display case packed with action figures, each one modeled after a hero dressed in black, wearing a crow-like mask. Stacks of worn comics featuring the same character were piled on top of the case, their covers faded from constant rereading.
In front of the TV sat a young man with pale skin and baggy eyes, a white blanket draped over his head like a cloak, as he slurped instant noodles while leaning closer to the screen.
"The Dark Guardian is so cool," he muttered, voice muffled behind the cup, "he's the kind of hero that doesn't jump into the spotlight, always watching, always in the background, more of a detective than anything."
He sighed, a tired but genuine smile tugging at his lips.
"I aspire to be like that. People grow out of wanting to be a superhero, but me? I got obsessed with them specifically, The Dark Guardian, this show basically raised me."
He didn't know when the obsession started, maybe it didn't matter, what mattered was that it kept him going, something to look forward to, something to escape into. While other kids admired flashy, loud heroes, he fixated on the quiet one, the sidekick who never took the spotlight but always ended the fight the moment he appeared.
The Dark Guardian, the shadow who struck faster than the hero could react.
Makoto often wondered, "what if I could be like that?"
He'd imagine saving a damsel in distress, something overly dramatic and cheesy like,
"Save me, Makoto! I'm in danger!"
And he'd leap from a hundred-foot tower, swooping down through the night to catch her at the last second.
These fantasies replayed in his mind every day, every morning before school, without fail.
It had become a routine habit a place of comfort, the closest he ever came to feeling like a hero.
At school, Makoto spent most of his day as nothing more than a background mob. He never tried to stick out, he always chose the back of the classroom, and he isolated himself from his peers whenever he could. He preferred reading his comics, losing himself in the worlds that made more sense than the one he lived in.
Of course, he wasn't boring. He had extracurricular activities, track and field and the chess club, just enough to keep the other kids from seeing him as some emo weirdo. He interacted with people only when he chose to, only when it served the persona he needed to maintain.
But school, more than anything, was just a way to pass time. It kept him sane, kept him from overcrowding his mind with his childish delusions. No matter how much he spoke with his club members, no matter how carefully he maintained his mob life, the idea of becoming a superhero kept gnawing at his chest.
This constant feeling that the life he was living wasn't enough, that something inside him demanded more. He wanted adrenaline, excitement, something to jolt him out of his self-contained boredom.
He wanted to be the Dark Guardian.
That desire, that obsession, carried him to the edge of his school's rooftop. In the end, his delusions got the better of him. He jumped, fully believing he would land softly and strike a pose like some hero from his comics.
Instead, he died pathetically.
At least, that was how most of Makoto's life went before he suddenly found himself standing in a white room, facing what looked like God.
"Pffffttttttt, this is so funny, hahahahahah, absolutely ridiculous. Never in my immortal life have I seen a human die this way. This is actually so stupid," the figure in front of him said, its body shifting like ever‑changing fog.
"So wait, you're telling me you got so self‑deluded you actually thought you'd jump and live? This story just keeps getting better, ahahahahah."
"Yeah yeah, laugh it up, God," Makoto muttered.
The fog flashed through bright new colors every time it laughed, like it was glitching through emotions.
"Ahem, ahem," it said as it cleared its throat. "I am not what you humans call God, per se. I am something you would refer to as… hmm, let's see… ah, I've got it. A shepherd. Yes, call me a shepherd. I look after your species until you die, then I guide you peacefully into the afterlife."
Makoto frowned. "So you're basically God."
"Wrong," the fog said. "I am not omnipotent, omniscient, or omnipresent. I just do paperwork and soul‑handling. God has much better things to do than babysit mortals."
The fog shifted again, this time a confused pattern of colors. "But you, my friend, are a problem. You died prematurely, so I have absolutely no clue what to do with you."
Makoto took a seat on what he thought was the ground and immediately began to drift upward.
"Woaaah, I thought this was solid ground, what the hell is happening?"
The fog swirled gently. "Well, this room is not a physical place. Think of it as what you humans call the cloud."
It paused, then brightened. "Hmm, I like that name. Yes, Cloud. That shall be your new name."
Makoto blinked. "What are you even talking about? Weren't you just explaining how this place works? You're going off topic."
"It will not matter," the fog replied. "You will not be here long enough for me to bother explaining it to you. I have decided what to do with you. I shall send you to another world, one much like your own, though the technology will not be as advanced. Yes, this will be fun, especially with a mind like yours."
Makoto rubbed his forehead. "What are you on about? I cannot believe God has such a weird personality."
"Ahem, listen carefully, young Makoto," the fog said. "You died at sixteen in your old world, so I will reincarnate you into another. You will start from scratch. When you arrive, you will not need to worry about language. You will automatically understand it. And I will leave a little surprise for you when you are born. I think you will like my gift."
"Wait, wait, hold on. Are we talking actual reincarnation?" Makoto asked, his eyes lighting up.
"Yes, it is reincarnation, similar to those isekai mangas you humans obsess over. But time is running out. I cannot keep you here for long. We were not even supposed to have a conversation. The big man upstairs is getting antsy. Still, I will give you one more thing before you go."
The fog extended a hand made of shifting vapor and pressed it against Makoto's chest. His entire being lit up with violent light.
"I am not supposed to do this," the fog murmured, "but I think your story could be fun. Go and entertain me, Makoto. And try not to die. Oh, and do not bite your tongue on the way down."
"Don't bite my tongue? What does that even meannnnn woooooaaahhh—"
Reality snapped like wet paper. Makoto's astral body was yanked forward at a speed beyond anything his mind could process.
Around him, stars exploded then stitched themselves back together. Entire galaxies spun into existence then vanished. A sun collapsed into a supernova. A million particles shot past him like streaks of light. Time reversed, stopped, then lurched forward again.
"Woaaaaaaaaah, this is getting weirddddddd," Makoto screamed as his body stretched like noodles and twisted through a cosmic tunnel.
Then, suddenly everything went dark—
And the sound of a young child crying echoed faintly in the void.