The Successor to the Throne of God

The night was quiet, an unsettling silence that seemed to weigh heavily on the cold air of a clear, starlit sky. As he walked along the worn sidewalk, illuminated only by yellowed streetlights, heavy thoughts piled up in his mind.

"Is it worth it? All this effort, all this time… Is this really the best I can do? Or maybe… Maybe I should just accept it. Embrace mediocrity and become just another cog. Work without thinking, a machine serving something bigger—no dreams, no risks. A factory slave. Not that it's necessarily bad, but… it's not what I want for myself either."

The wind cut through the silence, bringing with it a faint sense of loneliness. He paused for a moment and lifted his eyes to the sky. The stars shone brightly, so distant and indifferent to human problems. There was something mesmerizing about that dark expanse dotted with light, as if each star held secrets he could never grasp.

Deep down, he knew that even if he tried something different, the odds of success were slim. Yet, staying on his current path felt just as hollow. The sky offered no answers, only a backdrop to his inner turmoil.

Across the street, his boss's car slowly drove away, the sound of the engine muffled by the growing distance. He glanced at the watch on his wrist.

"Three in the morning…"

The digital glow seemed to mock his exhaustion. He took a deep breath and quickened his pace, feeling the weight of yet another long day on his shoulders. He needed to get to his apartment quickly. Tomorrow afternoon, there would be another event—one of the most important—and he needed to be rested for yet another journey.

Crossing the entrance to his building, he punched in the code on the small security box by the gate. The beep echoed faintly as he pushed the metal gate, which creaked softly. The building was dark, except for a few lights on in the upper floors. He climbed the stairs slowly, each step echoing in the absolute silence.

When he opened the apartment door, he was greeted by a stillness that seemed to seep into every corner of the empty space. It wasn't like before, when the sound of the TV or his mother's voice filled the air. Now, the absence of any noise only amplified his solitude.

He dropped his backpack by the door and sighed deeply. The apartment was small, but it was enough for him. In the living room, the simple furniture was neatly arranged as always: a gray sofa with a folded blanket on it, a small coffee table stacked with a few books, and the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Practical and functional, but it lacked something—life, perhaps.

He walked to his room, kicking off his shoes before grabbing a towel from the wardrobe. In the bathroom, the sound of hot water filled the air, creating a brief sanctuary. He let the warmth relax his muscles as thoughts continued to circle his mind.

"What am I doing? Tomorrow's another day… another chance, but will it lead anywhere? Maybe it would be easier if I had someone to guide me. Someone to say, 'This is the way, this is the path.' But no, it's just me. It's always been."

He rested his hands on the shower walls, feeling the water stream down his face.

"There's still something inside me that wants to keep going, that believes there's more to this routine. But why? Why do I try so hard for something that might not even be worth it in the end? Maybe I should just stop fighting..."

Yet, no matter how much doubt gnawed at him, a spark refused to extinguish. Something in him compelled him to move forward, even without guarantees, even without answers.

When he stepped out of the shower, he dried his hair with the towel and looked at himself in the small, fogged-up mirror. His tired eyes reflected a mix of exhaustion and determination.

He slipped on a simple T-shirt and shorts before collapsing onto the bed, staring at the dark ceiling. The apartment's silence, once suffocating, now brought a faint sense of comfort. Tomorrow would be another day, with new challenges and old uncertainties, but he was still here.

"And maybe, just maybe… all this effort might still take me somewhere."

With that thought, he closed his eyes, letting sleep finally take over.

BEEP BEEP

The muffled sound of the alarm began to fill the room, pulling him back to reality. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the dim light. The faint glow slipping through the curtains announced that morning had arrived, though the sun had yet to fully rise.

He stretched out his arm and silenced the alarm with a lazy tap, glancing at the digital clock beside the bed.

"Seven forty-five…"

There were still a few hours before work, which made him sigh with relief. For a moment, he felt tempted to turn over and go back to sleep, but his habitual restlessness quickly won out. The weight on his shoulders and in his mind was already settling back in, as if the brief pause of sleep hadn't been enough to chase away his worries.

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands and running his fingers through his messy hair. The silence still reigned in the apartment, broken only by the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Outside, the distant sound of cars passing by reminded him that the world kept spinning, even as he remained trapped in his own bubble of uncertainty.

"Alright, what now?" he thought, glancing around the room. Everything was organized but soulless. The furniture felt like it belonged to someone else, someone he didn't yet recognize as himself.

He decided to get up and follow his routine. Barefoot, he walked to the window. Pulling the curtains aside, he was greeted by a partly cloudy sky, with golden streaks of sunlight illuminating the surrounding buildings. The view from the fourth floor wasn't impressive—a mix of old rooftops and an unkempt park—but there was something comforting in the simplicity of the scene.

After a few minutes of standing there, he let out a heavy sigh and headed to the kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker, and as the aroma of fresh coffee began to fill the air, he opened his phone to check notifications. Nothing interesting—messages piling up in groups he rarely interacted with, store promotions, and the reminder of the afternoon event.

"It's today…" he thought, a mix of anxiety and resignation washing over him.

As he waited for the coffee, he tidied up the apartment. He washed the mug he'd left in the sink the night before, folded the blanket on the couch, and ensured the papers on his desk were neatly stacked. Nobody would see it, but these small acts made him feel like he had some semblance of control over his life, even if it was an illusion.

Finally, with a warm cup of coffee in hand, he sat at the kitchen table and glanced at the clock again.

"I still have time..."

There was a strange comfort in having these quiet hours before facing the world outside. It felt like he could breathe a little more before putting on his mask and stepping out to endure another day. For a moment, he considered picking up a book to read or turning on the TV but decided to just stay there with his coffee, letting the world awaken slowly around him.

He knew the hours would pass quickly. And when the clock ticked closer to the scheduled time, he would have to leave the solitary refuge of his apartment and dive back into the chaos.

But for now, he allowed himself to just exist, in the stillness of that moment, without decisions to make or challenges to face. Just him, his coffee, and the distant hum of a world he wasn't sure he wanted to belong to.

Finishing the last sip of coffee, he set the empty cup on the table with a soft clink of ceramic against glass. Sitting there, with the apartment's silence as his only company, he decided to face the reality he had been avoiding for days: the bills.

He stood up, walked to the living room, and picked up a plain, worn-out notebook from his desk. The cover bore signs of heavy use—scratches and faded spots from constant handling. Slowly, he opened it, his fingers grazing over pages filled with rushed handwriting and ink smudges, a testament to his disorganized routine.

On the latest page, the month's expenses were neatly listed:

Rent: paid, though late.

Electricity: overdue by three days.

Internet: another late payment, but essential for work.

Credit card: a growing burden, with months-old debts still lingering.

He sighed, running a hand over his face as his eyes scanned the numbers. It wasn't catastrophic, but the noose was tightening with each passing month. The event that afternoon was crucial for this very reason. The payment he'd receive would cover part of the debt but not all of it.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated? We work so hard, and in the end, it's just to keep our heads above water. Nothing more."

He closed the notebook with a dry thud and left it on the desk. There was no use dwelling on it now. He needed something to clear his mind, to transport him elsewhere, if only for a few minutes.

Walking to the small shelf by the sofa, he ran his fingers along the spines of books and notebooks until he found what he was looking for: a well-worn copy of Re:Zero. The cover was slightly faded, and the pages bore signs of wear, but he liked it that way. Every mark was a reminder of how much that story had helped him escape his routine.

He settled onto the sofa, adjusting a cushion for support, and opened the book to a page marked with a torn scrap of paper.

"Back to Lugnica," he thought, as he began rereading one of the story's more tense moments.

The words quickly pulled him in, transporting him to Subaru Natsuki's world—a realm of endless challenges and constant battles against despair. He identified with the protagonist in ways he'd never admit to anyone. The sense of failure, the pressure to try again even when everything seemed lost... it wasn't so different from his real life, though without the resurrections or magical monsters.

As he read, his expression shifted between focus and faint smiles. There was something comforting about following Subaru's journey, even though it was filled with suffering. The way Subaru refused to give up, no matter how hopeless things seemed, was strangely inspiring.

Time slipped by, as it always did when he was engrossed in a good story. When he finally looked up from the book, he noticed that the sky outside had brightened, sunlight breaking through the clouds and softly illuminating the room.

He glanced at the clock on his phone: two hours left before the event. With a sigh, he closed the book, marking the page with the makeshift bookmark.

"I need to get ready."

Rising, his muscles stiff after sitting for so long, he began planning the rest of his day. Yet, deep down, he felt a little lighter. However brief, that escape into a story he loved gave him just enough strength to keep going.

Placing the book on the coffee table, he stretched his arms and took a deep breath. He walked to the bedroom, where his work uniform hung on the chair by the bed: a light blue dress shirt with the company logo embroidered on the chest, black slacks, and polished shoes.

As he unbuttoned the old shirt he was wearing, his thoughts drifted back to the novel he had just read.

"Re:Zero... How long has it been since I started reading this? Years, maybe? I still remember how impressed I was the first time. The idea of returning to life after dying was brilliant, and Subaru felt... real. A flawed character, unlike the perfect heroes I was used to seeing. But now..."

He slipped into the uniform shirt, aligning the buttons and smoothing the sleeves.

"Now, it feels like the author has completely lost his way. Subaru started as someone interesting, but over time, it became clear he's just a plot device. Everything revolves around his suffering, as if that's the only point of his character. That's not growth—it's just repetitive torture. It's like the author thinks constant misery equals depth."

He walked to the wardrobe mirror to tuck in his shirt and retrieved a belt from the drawer, threading it through the loops.

"And the other characters? Don't get me started. Emilia... the author actually dared to call her the 'perfect woman.' What a joke. She acts like a seven-year-old most of the time, and they expect me to believe she's a viable political leader? It's as if her looks alone are supposed to justify everything. A fifteen-year-old's body, a child's mind, but everyone treats her like the ideal savior? Ridiculous."

He fastened the belt, grabbed his shoes, and sat on the bed to put them on.

"And the other characters? Some have potential, but the author simply doesn't know what to do with them. Rem is a perfect example. She's so devoted it's almost terrifying. The author created such an interesting, nuanced character only to put her in a coma because he didn't know how to continue the story with her. Brilliant, right?"

He tied a quick knot on the tie that came with his uniform, tightening it around his collar. He looked in the mirror and adjusted the fabric to make it sit properly.

"And the worst part? The sheer stupidity. The characters act so illogically it's almost insulting. It's like the author needs everyone to be incompetent for the plot to move forward. That's not drama—it's lazy writing."

He picked up the ID badge from the desk and hung it around his neck, the transparent plastic reflecting the light streaming through the window.

"But even so..." He paused for a moment, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

"Even so, I can't let it go. Something about this story keeps pulling me back. Maybe it's the idea of failing and trying again, or Subaru's humanity in the earlier arcs. For all the ways the author stumbles, he nailed one thing: the feeling of helplessness and the constant fight against it. Maybe that's why I keep reading. Not for the author, but for that small sliver of truth that still lingers there."

He grabbed the backpack sitting by the door, checking to make sure everything was inside—phone, wallet, and the papers he'd need for the event—then slung it over his shoulder.

When he opened the door, the hallway was as empty as ever. He let out one last sigh before heading to the elevator.

"Re:Zero is frustrating, but... maybe I'm like Subaru. I keep pushing forward with something, even knowing I might end up in the same place. Maybe I like the feeling of fighting against the tide, even if it leads nowhere."

The elevator arrived, and he stepped in, adjusting the straps of his backpack. As the doors began to close, he cast one last glance at the sky through the hallway window.

"Maybe... just maybe... I still have something to learn from this damn story."

The man stepped off the bus in front of the building where he worked, carrying his backpack slung over one shoulder. The sun was already high in the sky, shining down on the facade of the massive warehouse that served as the company's event storage facility. The white letters on the sign above the entrance looked faded with age but were still legible enough to identify the place.

He paused for a moment on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath. The air smelled of hot asphalt mixed with the dust that wafted out of the warehouse whenever someone opened the door. It was a scent he immediately associated with work: exhausting, repetitive, but necessary.

He pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside. The interior of the warehouse was enormous, with metal shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, loaded with boxes of various sizes. Some were labeled with upcoming event names, while others seemed forgotten, covered in a thin layer of dust. In the background, forklifts moved slowly, and workers loaded and unloaded equipment.

"Rodrigo!"

The voice echoed through the warehouse, and he turned to see one of his coworkers, Marcos, waving at him from the middle of the main aisle. Marcos was a stocky man with a patchy beard and a perpetual easygoing smile. He was holding a clipboard and seemed to be in the middle of a task.

"You're just in time! I need help with the boxes in section 3. The truck's coming early today, and the team's behind schedule as usual."

Rodrigo nodded, tossing his backpack onto one of the nearby benches and grabbing the gloves he always kept there. "Got it. Just show me where."

Marcos chuckled, motioning for him to follow. "You deserve a raise, man. If it weren't for you, this place would've fallen apart ages ago."

They walked through the warehouse, passing stacks of boxes labeled with event names. Rodrigo scanned the space with a practiced eye, mentally organizing what needed to be done.

Section 3 was in the far left corner of the warehouse, a tighter area where the shelves seemed even taller. The boxes here were larger, many containing stage structures, LED panels, and other heavy equipment.

"These need to be on the truck in half an hour," Marcos said, pointing to a stack of boxes on the floor. "I'll grab the rest from section 5. Can you start here?"

"No problem." Rodrigo was used to the pace. He grabbed the nearest handcart and began stacking the boxes carefully.

As he worked, his thoughts wandered. The noise of the forklifts and the metallic scraping of boxes being dragged created a familiar backdrop he had long since learned to tune out.

"Is this what I'm going to do for the rest of my life? Organize boxes, haul equipment, and help set up events I don't even care about? Maybe it is. It's not glamorous, but it pays the bills. Sort of."

He adjusted the position of a larger box on the cart, making sure it was secure before pushing it toward the loading area.

"Hey, Rodrigo!" Another voice called out, this time from atop one of the forklifts. It was Luana, one of the few women in the warehouse, known for her efficiency and sharp tongue. "The boss is asking for you. Want to see him now or after you finish that?"

Rodrigo paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "I'll go now. If he complains, blame it on yesterday's late truck."

Luana laughed. "I'll make a note of that on the clipboard, okay?"

He chuckled back, waving as he left the cart in place and began walking toward the manager's office, which was perched on a mezzanine in the corner of the warehouse. The metal stairs creaked slightly under his feet, and he could feel the weight of another day settling in.

Deep down, he knew he didn't hate the job. It was tiring, yes, but it had its moments of camaraderie, and the chaotic environment made him feel like he was contributing to something bigger. But he couldn't deny that, at times, the urge to drop everything and chase something different gnawed at him.

Reaching the office door, he knocked twice before stepping inside, taking a deep breath. "You called, boss?"

Rodrigo opened the wooden door of the small office, which creaked slightly. The space was modest but functional: a metal desk occupied the center of the room, cluttered with papers, folders, and empty coffee mugs. A shelf full of files leaned against the left wall, while a fan oscillated in the right corner, doing little to combat the stifling heat.

On the other side of the desk sat the boss, a man named Vicente. He was short and stocky, with disheveled gray hair and a perpetually tired expression. His glasses sat crooked on his face as he examined a spreadsheet on a tablet. Noticing Rodrigo enter, he looked up and set the tablet aside.

"Ah, Rodrigo. Come in, close the door."

Rodrigo obeyed, closing the door behind him and standing for a moment. Vicente gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "Take a seat."

Rodrigo sat down, adjusting himself in the chair, which creaked under his weight. "Marcos said you wanted to talk to me."

Vicente sighed, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the desk. "Yeah, I do. Listen, I need you to take on an extra task today. The truck for tomorrow's event is having issues, and we need to reorganize some boxes to make sure everything's ready first thing in the morning."

Rodrigo frowned. "Reorganize? Isn't everything already sorted in the warehouse?"

"It should be," Vicente replied, his tone weary and tinged with irritation. "But it seems the night shift mixed some things up. Don't ask me how or why—I just know that if we don't fix this, tomorrow's event will be a disaster. And from what I've heard, it's one of the biggest of the month. The client won't tolerate delays."

Rodrigo sighed. He was used to these situations, but each new crisis felt more draining than the last. "Got it. Where do you want me to start?"

Vicente opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper covered in scribbled notes. "This is the warehouse layout. The boxes marked in red need to be moved to section 2. And if you can, check the equipment in section 5. I want to make sure everything's in working order before we load it onto the truck."

Rodrigo took the paper and studied the notes. "This is going to take a while…"

"I know," Vicente said, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "But if anyone can get it done quickly and without drama, it's you. Plus, I've already sent reinforcements. Luana will be helping you. And if you need more hands, call Marcos. I'm not leaving you to handle this alone."

Rodrigo gave a half-smile. "Good to know I still have some credit around here."

"You've got more credit than you realize, kid," Vicente said, pointing at him with a serious expression. "But seriously, try to finish this before five. I want everything ready for tomorrow morning, and I need you well-rested. We can't afford anything going wrong at the event."

Rodrigo nodded, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. "Got it. I'll start now."

He stood up, but before he could leave, Vicente called him again.

"Oh, and Rodrigo?"

He stopped at the door, looking back.

"Thanks. I know we ask a lot of you, but you're one of the few here who really makes a difference. Don't think that goes unnoticed."

Rodrigo was silent for a moment, surprised. It wasn't common to receive direct praise from Vicente. "Thanks, boss. I'll do my best."

With that, he left the office, closing the door behind him. As he descended the metal stairs back to the warehouse floor, he felt a mix of exhaustion and determination.

"Another day, another pile of problems to solve. But at least someone notices the effort. That's worth something."

Rodrigo descended the mezzanine stairs with steady steps, feeling the weight of the task that had just been dropped on him. The warehouse noise seemed louder now, with forklifts moving about, boxes being dragged, and muffled voices of employees arguing with each other. He unfolded the paper with the layout, examining the marked areas once again.

"Alright, section 2 for reorganization and section 5 for testing. It's not gonna be easy, but it's doable. Just need everyone to cooperate. Hopefully, Luana's in the mood to help today..."

As the plan began to take shape in his mind, Rodrigo carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his pants pocket. Then he walked toward section 3, where he knew he'd find Luana.

She was there, leaning against a stack of boxes, scrolling on her phone while waiting for something to do. Hearing Rodrigo's footsteps, she looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"So, what's the crisis this time? Let me guess: Vicente dumped another mess on you?"

Rodrigo stopped in front of her, crossing his arms. "Pretty much. The night shift made a colossal mess in the warehouse, mixing up boxes from different events, and now we have to fix it all before the truck gets here. Oh, and you're in charge of checking the equipment."

Luana sighed, putting her phone away. "Great. Because I had nothing better to do. What equipment?"

Rodrigo pulled the paper from his pocket and pointed to the annotated areas. "You'll handle the LEDs, the Paris tracks, and the sound systems in section 5. Test everything—connections, cables, the works. If anything's broken or out of place, let me know immediately."

Luana nodded, cracking her knuckles. "Got it. And you?"

"I'll handle the organization in section 2. I need to move the wrong boxes, clear some space, and make sure only what's needed goes on the truck. It's gonna be tight, but nothing new."

She let out a short laugh, though there was a hint of fatigue in it. "Same old, huh? We clean up other people's chaos and still get called heroes."

"Yep. But if we don't do it, who will?" He shrugged, starting to walk away. "If you need anything, call me. My radio's on channel 3."

"Got it, boss. I'll start with the tests."

Rodrigo watched as Luana headed toward section 5, clipboard and toolbox in hand. Despite her laid-back attitude, he knew he could count on her. If Luana said she'd check everything, not even a loose cable would go unnoticed.

He made his way to section 2, where the boxes were stacked almost chaotically. Some were labeled with the correct event name, but others looked like they'd been tossed there randomly.

"Alright. Step one: separate the useful from the junk. Step two: reorganize to save space. Step three: pray the truck doesn't arrive before I'm done."

Rodrigo pulled on his gloves again, letting out a long sigh before starting. He pushed the first pile of boxes aside, clearing a space in the aisle. As he moved the boxes and read the labels, he muttered to himself.

"Charity show, corporate party, fashion show... None of this has anything to do with tomorrow's event."

The work was heavy and meticulous, but Rodrigo was used to it. He moved the boxes carefully, sorting them into categories and double-checking the labels to avoid mistakes. During a short break, he grabbed his radio and called Luana.

"Luana, everything okay over there in section 5?"

"So far, so good. The LEDs are fine, but there's a loose connection on one of the Paris tracks. I'm trying to fix it, but I might need to replace the cable."

"If you can't fix it, let me know. We'll figure something out."

"Got it. Good luck over there."

Rodrigo put the radio back and returned to work. It wouldn't be easy, but with some focus and organization, they might just pull it off again.

Leaning against a metal shelf in section 2, Rodrigo wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. He looked around, taking in the now-organized space. The boxes were neatly sorted into clean rows, properly labeled and in their correct places.

He let out a long, almost relieved sigh, glancing at the last stack of boxes he had moved. "Alright... so, just to recap," he said to himself, counting on his fingers, "the night crew mixed up sound systems with LEDs, stacked Paris tracks where the drink crates should've been—because of course that makes sense—and, as a bonus, threw power cables in with the event banners."

Shaking his head in disbelief, he listed the failures. "I had to haul those damn sound systems to section 5, restack the LEDs here, reorganize the Paris tracks to avoid crushing other crates... and still had time to fix their labeling disaster. Stellar work, night crew. Really top-notch."

He chuckled to himself, though it was more frustration than amusement. Pulling off his gloves, he scanned the area one last time to ensure everything was in order. Satisfied, he grabbed the radio from his belt and pressed the button.

"Luana, this is Rodrigo. Still alive over there in section 5?"

Her reply came almost instantly, with a crackle of static. "Still breathing. Had to swap out a couple of cables on the Paris tracks and adjust some sound system connections. LEDs are perfect, at least. How's section 2?"

"Just finished. Everything's organized, labels corrected, and boxes sorted. I had to move half the warehouse, but at least it's all where it's supposed to be now." He glanced at his watch. "And I'm ahead of schedule. Vicente said the truck arrives at five, right? It's... 4:20. Got a good 40 minutes to spare."

"Plenty of time for a coffee," Luana replied with a playful tone. "Which is impressive, given the mess we had."

"No kidding. If it weren't for tomorrow's important client, I'd have left this for the night shift to deal with. Anyway, good job. Finish up and meet me at the exit. Let's wait for the truck together."

"On it, boss. Give me ten minutes."

Rodrigo turned off the radio and clipped it back onto his belt. He stretched, feeling the strain in his back after all the heavy lifting. While waiting, he grabbed a water bottle from a nearby table and took long gulps, finally allowing himself a moment to relax.

He looked around again, this time more calmly. The warehouse now seemed like an entirely different place compared to when he started working. Chaos had given way to a well-organized system, with ample space for the truck to maneuver and the boxes neatly lined up, ready for loading.

"Well, mission accomplished. Now let's just hope the event runs smoothly and no one springs another last-minute 'surprise.'"

Rodrigo pulled his phone from his pocket as he leaned against a metal shelf. The screen lit up, revealing a wallpaper of Subaru Natsuki from Re:Zero in a dramatic pose, surrounded by a dark background that emphasized his determined expression. Rodrigo couldn't help but chuckle softly.

"Subaru, the king of questionable decisions. At least you remind me my life isn't so bad," he thought, unlocking his phone.

A few taps later, he opened Fate/Grand Order. The familiar theme music started playing, and Rodrigo felt a mix of nostalgia and mild frustration. He waited for the login screen to load, scanning through the notifications.

"Ah, Halloween event… again. But it's actually kind of fun this time."

Once in the game's menu, he navigated to the event missions and started playing one of the stages. As he faced waves of enemies with his team of Gilgamesh, Shiki Ryougi, and Mash Kyrielight, he muttered to himself:

"Still can't believe I've never spent a dime on this game. Every time those tempting banners show up… But in the end, it's just a gacha. They could shut this down tomorrow if it stops making money. Better to save my cash."

He breezed through the early stages of the event, defeating mobs and collecting rewards. When he reached the final boss, he watched as Gilgamesh unleashed his Noble Phantasm, Enuma Elish, flooding the screen with golden effects and an epic soundtrack. Then it was Shiki Ryougi's turn, her silent but deadly attack cutting through the enemy.

"That's the way, team. You don't even feel like you're from a gacha game," he joked, watching the victory screen flash across his phone.

Before he could start another mission, the sound of his radio crackled, drawing his attention. He frowned slightly and grabbed the device.

"Rodrigo, you there?" It was Luana, her tone casual.

"Listening. You done with the tests?"

"Yep, and guess what? Everything's working now. A miracle, huh? Anyway, how about grabbing something to eat before the truck gets here? We still have time."

Rodrigo glanced at his watch, then at his phone. There were still about 30 minutes before the truck was scheduled to arrive.

"Good idea. Where are you?"

"By the entrance to Sector 5. I'll wait for you here."

"On my way. Give me two minutes."

He put his phone back in his pocket, pressing the pause button on the game. As much as the distraction was enjoyable, Luana's suggestion was far more appealing than standing around waiting.

"Getting a decent meal before the day goes on… now that's a win," he thought, heading toward the meeting point.

---

Rodrigo and Luana sat in the break room, a spacious and well-lit area. Across from the entrance, a large TV broadcasted a local news channel, alternating between traffic updates and an economics segment. The voices of the anchors blended with the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional beep of a microwave.

The room was well-equipped: in addition to the TV and a full kitchen with a refrigerator and microwave, there was a coffee machine and shelves stocked with utensils like plates and cups. The tables were made of light wood, paired with simple but comfortable plastic chairs. A few coworkers occupied other tables, chatting quietly or scrolling through their phones as they ate.

Rodrigo sat near a window, eating a buttered roll and sipping black coffee from a disposable cup. He stared ahead, lost in thought, as the warm aroma of coffee filled the air around him.

Across from him, Luana was enthusiastically digging into her plate. Her meal was an odd mix: fresh fruit salad on one side and a portion of pasta mixed with chunks of pineapple on the other. Rodrigo cast a curious glance at her plate, raising an eyebrow as he held his coffee cup.

"I'll never understand your… culinary experiments, Luana," he remarked, shaking his head.

She looked up from her plate, grinning as she stirred the salad with her fork. "That's because you lack imagination, Rodrigo. Pasta with pineapple is the perfect balance of sweet and savory."

"No, it's the perfect example of something that should never have existed," he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You basically blended a dessert and a main course."

Luana laughed loudly, drawing brief glances from nearby tables. "Says the guy whose idea of a gourmet meal is bread and coffee. Look at you, always so basic."

"Being basic is a conscious choice. I avoid creating culinary abominations," he retorted, pointing his fork at her plate before taking another bite of his roll.

"Go on, try it before you judge," she teased, sliding her plate toward him.

"I'll pass," he replied quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'd rather not risk my sanity."

They ate in silence for a moment, the sound of utensils and quiet conversations filling the room. Rodrigo glanced at the TV briefly, where a politician was making a speech about education. He sighed and looked away, focusing on his coffee instead.

"So," Luana broke the silence, "do you think we'll manage to get everything done on time today?"

Rodrigo paused before answering, giving it some thought. "I think so. Everything's already organized in the warehouse, and the truck just needs to load up. The biggest problem was the mess left by the night shift, and we've dealt with that."

"True," she agreed, spearing a piece of pineapple with her fork and popping it into her mouth. "Let's just hope no more surprises pop up. I don't have the patience for another crisis today."

"Welcome to the world of events," he said with a faint smile. "Crisis management is part of the job description."

Luana rolled her eyes but ended up laughing. "You've got the driest sense of humor I've ever seen. Sometimes I wonder how I even work with you."

"Because I'm efficient," he replied without missing a beat, finishing his coffee.

Luana shook her head with a smile and went back to her meal. Rodrigo turned his gaze to the window, watching as the sky outside began to brighten, signaling the start of a new day.

The cafeteria's calm routine was abruptly interrupted when the TV volume spiked, signaling breaking news. The bright red "Urgent" logo flashed across the screen, accompanied by tense music. Everyone froze mid-action, some with food still on their forks, turning their attention to the large TV mounted on the wall.

The screen showed a bustling square in chaos, with people running in panic. A visibly terrified reporter clutched a microphone, attempting to speak, but the surrounding commotion made it impossible to hear. The bold headline at the bottom of the screen was shocking:

"ATTACK IN BRASÍLIA! MYSTERIOUS FIGURE CAUSES DESTRUCTION!"

Screams and explosions echoed through the cafeteria as shaky footage captured a man standing amidst the chaos. He had an Asian appearance, short black hair, and simple, almost casual clothing, as if nothing about the situation fazed him. His expression remained blank, inhumanly calm, while lifeless bodies littered the ground around him.

"This can't be real," Rodrigo murmured, frowning, his hand still clutching an empty coffee cup.

Before the reporter could make himself understood, a desperate scream cut through the audio:

"That thing isn't human! It's a demon! He's killing everyone!"

The camera swiveled to show the scene more clearly, and the mysterious man turned his head to stare directly into the lens. His face remained unchanged, as though the massacre was nothing more than a mundane task.

"Demon?" Luana muttered beside Rodrigo, her wide eyes fixed on the screen as she slowly set her fork down.

Some in the cafeteria laughed nervously.

"Brasília being attacked? This has to be a joke!" one employee scoffed.

"Probably some kind of movie promo or prank," another added with a forced chuckle.

But the laughter stopped instantly when the screen showed a massive explosion on the city's horizon.

BOOM!

The explosion rocked the camera feed, filling the image with smoke and fire. Iconic Brasília landmarks were engulfed in flames, and towering black plumes rose into the sky. The camera shook violently as the operator ran, capturing the deafening sound of collapsing concrete.

Rodrigo's heartbeat quickened as he watched, his eyes glued to the screen. He saw the National Congress building crumble like a house of cards, enveloped in a wave of heat and debris.

"This... this is real," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

The cafeteria was silent. No one moved, mesmerized by the horrifying images on the screen.

The footage returned to the Asian man, now strolling through the destruction. The screams of the wounded and dying filled the air, but he paid them no mind. His presence was suffocating, as though death itself followed him.

"He's not even trying," Luana said in disbelief, her voice barely audible.

"How can something like that even exist?" Rodrigo asked aloud, not expecting an answer.

The camera fell to the ground, capturing a final image of the man as he raised his hand. With a simple gesture, another explosion obliterated everything in the square.

The broadcast switched back to the newsroom, where the anchors looked visibly shaken. The lead anchor, a middle-aged man in a gray suit, was pale and sweating as he clutched trembling papers. Beside him, a younger woman with her hair in a tight bun struggled to maintain composure, her wide eyes betraying her shock.

"R-reinforcements are on their way," the anchor stammered, trying to steady his voice. "The Brazilian Army is mobilizing forces to contain this... this individual. Helicopters, ground troops, and heavy artillery are being deployed to Brasília as we speak."

The co-anchor nodded stiffly but was interrupted by a worried-looking man entering the frame. He leaned in to whisper something to both anchors, who immediately fell silent, their expressions darkening.

"We've just received new footage," the co-anchor announced, her voice quieter, as if dreading what they were about to show.

The broadcast cut to aerial footage from a military helicopter. The steady shot revealed the devastation below—Brasília, or what remained of it, was cloaked in smoke and fire. Once-proud buildings, symbols of the nation, were now unrecognizable. Some lay in ruins; others burned uncontrollably.

Inside the helicopter, the camera showed a soldier kneeling beside an open window, adjusting a sniper rifle. The soldier wore tactical goggles and exuded cold focus, his breathing calm and measured.

"Target acquired," the sniper said, his voice detached and professional, transmitted clearly through the TV.

The camera turned and showed the same Asian man from before, calmly walking through the wreckage. He seemed unfazed by the helicopters circling above. His posture was relaxed, hands in the pockets of his black pants, as if he were taking a casual stroll through the destruction.

"The target is 800 meters away," the sniper reported, adjusting his aim once more.

The helicopter pilot spoke over the radio, likely coordinating with other troops. "We're in position. Wind is steady. You have a green light to fire."

In the cafeteria, Rodrigo gripped his empty coffee cup tightly, his eyes glued to the screen. He could feel the tension in the air, as if he were in the helicopter alongside the soldier.

The sniper took a deep breath, aligned the shot, and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The gunshot echoed through the broadcast, and the camera tracked the bullet as it sped toward the man. It was a perfect shot, aimed directly at his head.

But then, something impossible happened.

Before the bullet could hit him, the Asian man simply raised a finger and stopped it in mid-air. There was no explosion, no sign of strain. The bullet hovered mere inches from his face, spinning slightly, reflecting the light of the surrounding flames.

In the helicopter, the sniper froze, staring at the scene through his scope. "What the...?" he muttered, his professional composure shattered.

The man looked directly at the helicopter, as if he could see the sniper through the lenses. For the first time, he smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile; it was cold, cruel, the smile of someone about to toy with another's life.

With a simple gesture, he pointed at the helicopter. The bullet he had stopped was flung back at unimaginable speed.

BOOM!

The broadcast cut to static as the camera caught the explosion of the helicopter. The deafening sound reverberated through the cafeteria, leaving everyone stunned.

Rodrigo set the cup down on the table, his heart pounding. "He... he took down the helicopter with a single bullet," he whispered, disbelief lacing his voice.

Luana, sitting beside him, was pale, her fruit salad forgotten on her plate. "That... that can't be real," she said, her voice almost a gasp.

The news cut back to the studio. The anchors sat in stunned silence, clearly unsure how to continue. The lead anchor, a middle-aged man in a gray suit, stared directly into the camera, speechless for several seconds. The silence was as heavy as the destruction that had just unfolded.

The cafeteria, still steeped in initial silence, began to buzz with hesitant, nervous voices.

"That's gotta be fake," a man near the door said, trying to sound confident. He wore a uniform similar to Rodrigo's, but the sweat on his forehead betrayed his unease. "It has to be! There's no way that's real—it's movie stuff."

"Exactly!" another chimed in, standing up with a forced smile. "It's gotta be some viral campaign or... or a movie they're shooting. Powers like that? That's anime, cartoon stuff!"

Laughter erupted, some clearly nervous, others desperately trying to dispel the suffocating tension. People exchanged glances, seeking confirmation that this couldn't possibly be true.

Rodrigo remained still, his eyes locked on the screen, even though the broadcast had returned to the anchors. He seemed disconnected from the voices around him, lost in a deep and unsettling thought.

Luana, on the other hand, was visibly panicking. Her wide eyes darted between the screen and Rodrigo as she clasped her hands tightly, her knuckles white. When she turned to Rodrigo, what she saw made her even more uneasy: his face showed no obvious emotion, but the absolute silence and intensity in his gaze were unnerving.

"R-Rodrigo..." Luana murmured, trying to get his attention. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried pure fear.

He didn't respond immediately, as if every fiber of his being was absorbing and analyzing what he had just witnessed. His silence was deafening compared to the nervous chatter of those around them.

Finally, he blinked slowly and turned his head toward her. His normally calm eyes now burned with an intensity Luana had never seen before, as though he were perceiving something no one else could.

"Rodrigo, what was that?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He took a moment to respond, but when he did, his voice was firm, almost cutting. "I don't know... but it wasn't a movie. That was real."

Her face froze in shock. "H-how can you be sure?!" she pressed, her voice rising. "People don't do things like that! Powers like that don't exist!"

Rodrigo took a deep breath, looking back at the screen. "I don't know how or why, but that wasn't fake," he said, his words precise and deliberate. "The way things exploded, the timing of people's reactions... it's real. The world is changing."

Others in the cafeteria continued debating, some still laughing nervously, others casting skeptical glances at Rodrigo.

Luana slumped into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands. "If this is real... what do we do? How do we handle something like this?"

Rodrigo closed his eyes for a moment, organizing his thoughts. The weight of something inevitable pressed down on him. When he opened his eyes, his expression carried a quiet determination.

"First, we wait and see how this unfolds," he said, his voice low but steady. "Then... we adapt."

Luana stared at him, confused and terrified. "Adapt? What do you mean, Rodrigo? This isn't an action movie or a video game!"

He sighed, glancing around the cafeteria, noting how many people were still clinging to denial. "It doesn't matter what this is," he replied. "If this is the start of something bigger, the ones who can't adapt will be the first to fall."

Luana stared at him, speechless. As frightening as his words were, there was something in his tone that made her believe him.

In the background, the TV began showing footage of other cities around the world descending into chaos—explosions, screams, and destruction filling the screen. Rodrigo turned away for a moment, only to meet Luana's gaze again.

"It's going to be a long day," he murmured. For the first time, a trace of genuine concern broke through his calm exterior.

The silence in the cafeteria was absolute, almost tangible. No one dared to look away from the television. Even the hum of the air conditioning seemed to have vanished in the gravity of the broadcast. On the screen, the Asian man, now identified as Akuro, held the camera with a neutral and unsettlingly composed expression. He wore simple clothing, but there was something in his presence that conveyed authority and a quiet, menacing threat.

He continued speaking, his voice calm and almost didactic, as though he were explaining the rules of a game to children.

— Good afternoon, everyone. At this very moment, my army is eliminating the rest of the world's nations.

The words came out devoid of emotion but carried an oppressive weight. The silence was briefly broken by hushed murmurs in the cafeteria, only to die out when Akuro paused, adjusting the camera slightly and staring directly into it, as if locking eyes with every single viewer.

— Let me get straight to the point. My name is Akuro. I am here for one simple reason: I am searching for potential successors to the throne of a God.

In the cafeteria, some people exchanged nervous glances. "Successors to the throne of a God?" The phrase was so absurd that no one knew how to react. Yet Rodrigo remained fixed on the screen, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed every word.

Akuro paused again, letting the tension simmer in the silence.

— Those who are chosen will have glowing marks above their heads.

At this, the cafeteria erupted into hushed whispers, many glancing around as if expecting to see someone with such a glowing mark immediately. But Rodrigo stayed motionless, his focus unwavering on the television.

— The chosen ones will have the option to make wishes to start — Akuro continued, his voice eerily calm, cruelly at odds with his words. — However, I must make it clear: these wishes are limited.

There was something in his tone that hinted at strict rules, perhaps even hidden traps in the process. Rodrigo crossed his arms, his mind already racing through possibilities and implications.

— Let me be clear — Akuro said, his voice turning colder — only ONE of the chosen can succeed the throne of God.

In the cafeteria, expressions ranged from disbelief to panic and morbid curiosity. But Akuro's next words hit the hardest.

— Now, the finer details will be disclosed once the chosen are gathered. As for the rest...

He paused, a cold smile curling on his lips.

— They will die, like the vermin they are.

The image froze for a moment, the camera shaking slightly before cutting to static.

Silence reclaimed the cafeteria, heavier than before. It was as if the air itself had been sucked out of the room. No one dared to laugh or dismiss this as a joke. Even the skeptics, who minutes ago had shrugged it off as a hoax, were now pale and visibly shaken.

Rodrigo took a deep breath, his eyes still glued to the now-static screen. He processed the information differently than everyone else. While Luana stared at him, her expression a mixture of terror and a desperate need for guidance, he remained eerily calm.

— This… this can't be real… — someone muttered in the background, their voice trembling.

— And if it is? — Rodrigo finally spoke, his voice slicing through the heavy silence. He looked around, meeting the frightened gazes around him. — If this is real, what are we going to do? Just sit here and wait to die?

His words were harsh but undeniable. The entire room stared at him, many unable to respond.

Luana, her voice shaky, finally managed to speak:

— Rodrigo… what does this mean? Do you think… do you think one of us could be one of the chosen?

Rodrigo closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply before replying.

— I don't know, Luana. But… — He opened his eyes again, his expression hard and resolute. — If he's telling the truth, we need to be ready.

She looked at him, searching for comfort in his resolve, but all she found was determination. Rodrigo knew their world was about to change forever, and he wasn't going to be caught off guard.

The silence was suddenly interrupted by a faint, almost melodic sound, like distant bells. In the middle of the cafeteria, a golden glow began to pulse, illuminating the room with a warm, rhythmic light. Everyone froze, their gazes drawn to the phenomenon.

— What is that…? — someone whispered, disbelief heavy in their tone.

Rodrigo stood motionless, still facing away from the others, lost in his own thoughts. But he noticed something odd. The murmurs had ceased, and when he turned to look, every face in the room was fixated on him.

— What? — he asked, frowning.

Luana, sitting beside him, seemed frozen, her eyes wide and locked on the top of his head. Her mouth opened to speak, but no words came out.

— Luana? — Rodrigo pressed, his voice firmer now, a hint of unease creeping in.

Finally, she managed to lift a trembling finger and point above him.

— R-Rodrigo… on your head…

Confused, he raised a hand as if to touch whatever was there, but he felt nothing. It wasn't until he caught his reflection in the darkened television screen that he understood. A glowing golden mark hovered above his head, pulsing like a living star.

His eyes widened for a moment, and he instinctively took a step back, as if trying to distance himself from his own reflection.

— No way… — he muttered, the reality of the situation starting to sink in.

The others in the cafeteria began backing away, some knocking over chairs in the process, but their eyes never left Rodrigo. Murmurs spread like wildfire.

— He… he's one of them.

— This can't be happening.

— What does this mean for us?

Luana finally managed to move, grabbing Rodrigo's arm tightly, her face a mix of fear and concern.

— Rodrigo, you saw what that man said. You're one of the chosen.

He looked at her, his hands clenched into fists, trying to process everything.

— This doesn't make sense… — he murmured, glancing back at the reflection. — Me? Chosen for what?

His mind swirled with questions. Rodrigo never thought of himself as special or destined for greatness. He had his struggles and frustrations but had always believed he was fated for an ordinary life.

His eyes widened for a moment, and he instinctively took a step back, as if trying to escape his own reflection.

"It can't be..." he murmured, the reality starting to set in.

The others in the cafeteria began to back away, some knocking over chairs in the process, but without taking their eyes off Rodrigo. Whispers began to echo through the space.

"This doesn't make sense..." he muttered, turning his gaze back to the reflection. "Me? Chosen for what?"

His mind was in turmoil. Rodrigo wasn't exactly someone who saw himself as special or destined for something grand. He had his problems, his frustrations, but he had always believed he was condemned to a normal life.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fearful and suspicious stares around him.

"Alright..." he finally said, trying to regain control. "This may not be what it seems. Maybe it's a mistake..."

"This isn't a mistake, Rodrigo!" a voice shouted from across the cafeteria. "You saw what that lunatic said! Those who aren't chosen will be killed!"

The tension in the room spiked exponentially. Some people began to murmur about what they should do, others just stared at Rodrigo as if he were an alien.

Luana tightened her grip on his arm, her eyes locked on his.

"Rodrigo, we need to leave. If anyone sees you like this..." She didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was clear.

He took another deep breath, trying not to let panic take over. Looking around, Rodrigo realized the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. If he stayed there much longer, he could become a target.

"Alright, let's go." His voice was low but firm.

He turned and began walking toward the exit, but the tension in the room was palpable. People stepped back, clearing a path, but he could feel their eyes boring into his back.

As he and Luana crossed the hallway toward the exit, he heard one last whisper behind him.

"Is he going to save us... or condemn us?"

The screen that appeared before them wasn't like any ordinary display. It materialized out of nowhere, as if the air around them had distorted, creating an invisible wall that now transmitted a clear and imposing message. The words shone with an eerie intensity, as if carrying an immense weight. The screen hovered in front of everyone in the cafeteria, casting its cold light on the terrified faces of those present.

Rodrigo stopped abruptly, his foot still in mid-air as he moved toward the exit. His eyes were fixed on the screen, and his body froze for a moment, as if time had slowed down. He didn't know what to do, what to think, or even what to feel. Luana's panic beside him intensified, her fingers tightening around Rodrigo's arm as if he were her anchor in the chaos. She was visibly terrified, her breath short and erratic.

The others in the cafeteria, once curious and incredulous, were now in complete silence, their eyes fixed on Rodrigo. Fear hung in the air. Some began to tremble, others moved away as if fearing that being near him might make them guilty too. A sense of claustrophobia began to take over the room—the cafeteria now felt like a cage, where everyone was being watched, judged, like pieces in a game far bigger than any of them could understand.

Rodrigo couldn't process what was happening. He looked at the screen again, the words repeating almost mockingly, as if the fate of billions of people were now being decided by his hand.

"The chosen ones have been selected. Before they are brought, they must choose whether those who were not chosen should live or die."

These words echoed in his mind like thunder, reverberating and turning into something he couldn't shake off. He was one of the chosen, and that meant he now had authority over the lives of those around him—and probably many others beyond that. He looked at Luana, whose eyes were filled with despair, and felt a pang of anguish. He didn't know what she thought, but he knew, just like him, she didn't know what to do. The anguish in her eyes mirrored his own.

But more than that, there was something strange, something Rodrigo couldn't pinpoint. He knew he should feel something—anger, fear, sadness, anything. But no. He only felt emptiness.

What was this? He wasn't insensitive, he wasn't a monster... or was he?

He looked back at the screen. The words were still there, shining with a cruel clarity. And then, like a crushing weight, the question appeared. A choice.

[Do you wish to spare the lives of the unchosen?]

[Yes/No]

Rodrigo stared at the screen for long seconds. The question seemed simple, but he knew it wasn't. "Yes" meant he was deciding the survival of everyone around him. But... if he said "No"... how many lives would be erased by his choice?

The dilemma was overwhelming, yet he couldn't feel a genuine conflict within himself. He was paralyzed, as if part of him were distorted, as if the weight of this decision was irrelevant in the face of something much greater.

He looked around, and everyone was waiting. Waiting for him to answer. Waiting for him to decide the future of their lives.

— Rodrigo... — Luana finally managed to whisper, her voice low, filled with fear. She looked at him with an expression of desperation, her hands trembling as he remained motionless.

The sound of her voice snapped Rodrigo back to reality, and he felt a wave of frustration rise within him. How was he supposed to decide? And why couldn't he feel anything? Where was the anger? Where was the fear? It was as if he were watching everything from the outside, as if he were being forced to make a decision without truly understanding the gravity of it. He felt... empty. Like a shell, devoid of a soul.

Everyone's eyes were on him now. The silence had become deafening, and with a painful certainty, he knew this wouldn't just be a choice of life or death. He had the power to shape this new world — but would he be able to bear the weight of it?

Rodrigo looked back at the screen, staring at the options. The golden glow of the choice seemed like a trap, a dark promise that nothing would be the same after he made this decision.

Why couldn't he feel anything?

He focused on his breathing, trying to push away the cold sensation surrounding him. And then, in that moment, he understood. He wasn't empty. He was... anesthetized. As if he had been deprived of any genuine emotion by something greater than himself. Something that was manipulating his actions, as if he were a pawn on a chessboard, with no control over his own fate.

And then, with a muffled sigh, he raised his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he prepared to touch the screen.

The answer was before him.

Rodrigo stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on the void in front of him. The golden glow of the screen around him seemed to intensify, as if reality itself were shaping itself to his choice. He was silent, not just physically, but internally, as if he were in an isolated space where the sound of the outside world couldn't reach. His words had been thrown like a distant order, almost lifeless, and in doing so, he felt a strange sense of detachment. It was as if his own voice wasn't his, as if he were watching everything from outside, unable to connect with the moment.

He looked at Luana, who still seemed frozen in place. The panic in her eyes was evident, but there was something more there now, something Rodrigo couldn't define. Maybe it was a mix of disappointment and worry, or perhaps just fear of the unknown, of what was to come. He felt a slight pain in his throat, a tightness in his chest, but the sensation quickly faded, as if it were just another momentary reaction to something that made no sense. She was lost, just like everyone else there, not knowing what to do, and he... well, he didn't know what to feel anymore.

With a heavy sigh, Rodrigo withdrew his hand from Luana's head. The gesture was quick, almost automatic, but when his fingers brushed her hair, he felt a strange vibration, a cold and distant sensation that made him hesitate for a second. It wasn't love or friendship, but something deeper, something he didn't want, something he couldn't explain. And then, he pulled away from her, his steps firm and quick, as if distancing himself from what he feared most: the weight of his own emotions.

The golden light around him began to shine more brightly. The choice was made. And what he thought was a simple decision soon revealed itself to be something much more complex, something he couldn't control, something beyond his understanding. The golden flashes spread through the air, surrounded by an energy that seemed to distort the space around Rodrigo. He felt a chill run down his spine, but didn't stop. The screen with the question disappeared, and all that was left was the deafening silence.

Rodrigo stopped in front of the table where the others were, turning with a distant look in his eyes. His eyes were empty, devoid of the spark they once had, as if the weight of the decision had consumed him.

"Let the older ones deal with this..." he said, his voice calm, almost monotone, lacking the impact of someone carrying a heavy burden. It was more like a statement than an order.

He took a step forward, the sound of his shoes echoing strangely in the stillness of the cafeteria. He didn't look at anyone else, didn't seek comfort or explanations. He had already made his choice. He didn't need to justify it. The silence hung in the air, and he felt the tension from everyone around him. No one dared to say anything. No comment on what he had just decided. Just the weight of the decision he would carry — and now it was out of their hands.

Then, Rodrigo turned his gaze to Luana, who still seemed petrified, watching him as if she were waiting for an answer, an explanation. Something more. He took a deep breath and, in a low but clear tone, said:

"Tell Vincent... that he owes me a hell of a lot of money."

The words fell into the air, and for a moment, the silence was broken only by his voice, which seemed out of place in the growing chaos. He didn't know exactly why he said it. Maybe it was just a way to ease the tension, to reclaim some sense of normalcy amidst the surreal. But as he looked at Luana, he realized she wasn't paying attention to his words anymore. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, as if she were trying to process everything that was happening around her.

Rodrigo took another step back, his eyes shifting away from Luana as he distanced himself further, feeling the golden light around him intensify. The screen with the question was no longer visible, but he could feel the presence of a new force, an energy pulsating in his mind, as if a key had been turned, unlocking something he didn't yet understand. He wanted to think he was in control, but he knew he was far from it. The choice had been made, but now he felt the weight of something much greater.

A sense of discomfort washed over him, something he couldn't describe. He looked toward the door of the cafeteria, as if seeking an escape from all of this, but he knew there was nowhere to run. He was trapped. Everyone was.

The golden light around Rodrigo seemed to intensify even more, as if it were beginning to manifest in a more physical way. He could feel the energy in his bones, pulsing through his body, taking over his mind. The choice he had made — the selfish choice, the choice that could have been more noble, but that he couldn't fully understand — was now reflecting in him in a tangible way, in a way that he didn't know how to control.

Rodrigo was completely lost. He could feel his body, but he had no idea what was happening. Everything around him was white, an intensity of whiteness so sharp it seemed to cut through his eyes like blades. His eyes burned as if the light was consuming them, and he blinked, trying to adjust, but there was no escape. The light seemed to envelop everything, making the environment infinitely empty and boundless. He tried to look around, but the space seemed like a mirror, an endless copy of the same scenario. Nothing changed, nothing helped him understand where he was or what was happening.

His mind was still racing for answers, but before he could process everything he had just experienced, a deep and mysterious voice echoed in the void:

"God candidate, Rodrigo Machado de Assis has been selected."

Rodrigo froze. The voice seemed to come from all directions, but he couldn't see anyone, nor anything, except for the empty whiteness. He took a deep breath, trying to regain at least some control over himself, trying to process the words he had just heard. "God candidate?" He didn't know what to think. How was he the chosen one? What did that mean?

Then, the figure appeared. It was a dark being, immensely contrasting with the environment around it. It appeared to be made of a dark, undefined substance, a shadow that made no sense in this immaculate setting. The figure was indistinct, as if it were a personification of darkness itself, a form that stood out and defied the whiteness around it. Rodrigo tried to focus, but his eyes were blurred by the light, making it hard to see. The figure seemed to move, but in such a fluid manner that it was almost as if it wasn't moving at all, just there, observing.

"Well, can we wrap this up?" The voice from the figure was deep, laced with boredom. There was no emotion, just an evident lack of patience. "You have three wishes," the entity continued, as if reading from a well-practiced script. "You can wish for powers, change bodies, wish for a harem, like an idiot did, have something... and the list goes on."

Rodrigo stopped, watching, more surprised by the creature's tone of disdain than the options it was presenting. The being was clearly bored, as if dealing with a repetitive process, with no emotion or interest. The idea of "wishing for a harem" seemed so absurd and out of place that Rodrigo couldn't help but wonder if he was actually hearing that. He shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts, while absorbing the offer the creature was making.

The figure before him seemed completely indifferent to any doubt or shock Rodrigo might be feeling. It continued, its lifeless tone echoing in the empty space:

"You can ask for anything. Some ask to become immortal. Others ask for endless riches. Some even ask to revive people. The wishes are limited only by your imagination... or your blindness."

Rodrigo, still in shock, looked around. He knew he was facing something much greater than anything he could comprehend, but the gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in. What should he do? Was he in control? Or was he just another pawn in this unknown game? He didn't know what to choose. He thought of the consequences, the implications of his choice, but at the same time, everything felt so... surreal.

The options the being was offering didn't seem real. It was like he was in some sort of limbo, where anything was possible, but nothing felt important. He could wish for anything. And yet, the emptiness he felt in his chest grew with each passing second, as if none of the options could fill him.

"Please," he said, breaking the silence with a voice that sounded weak, even to himself. "Tell me... what happens if I don't make a wish?"

The creature, which until then had seemed indifferent, gave a slight sigh. The sound echoed in the space, creating a reverberation that felt endless. When it spoke again, the tone was lower, almost as if explaining something:

"If you don't make a wish, you will be erased. A failure, an anomaly that doesn't fulfill its purpose. There's nothing left for you here. But if you make your choice, you'll be part of something greater. The choice is yours, but the consequences are yours too."

Rodrigo felt a shiver run down his spine. The threat of being erased made him reflect, but he knew he had to make a choice. The idea of being erased didn't seem as bad as the thought of living with the consequences of an irreversible mistake.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push away the panic. This was the only moment he had control over his life, and he knew he couldn't waste it.

"I... want power. I want power to change things. To do something I want."

The being's voice echoed again, almost as if it had been expecting that answer.

"Choose your form of power. This will... be interesting."

Rodrigo still didn't know exactly what to choose, but he felt as though his decision was now being written. He was about to enter something much greater than he could comprehend.

Rodrigo, still with his mind buzzing with doubts and questions, couldn't help but question the being before him. He felt there was something crucial that wasn't clear, something he needed to understand before making any choice. The being before him, immensely distant, seemed to think Rodrigo had already done his part, but Rodrigo's doubt couldn't be ignored.

He took a deep breath and, with surprising calmness given the situation, asked:

"Akuro mentioned that the wishes are limited... What exactly does that mean? What can or can't I do?"

The being, which had shown indifference up until now, seemed to hesitate for a brief moment, as if evaluating whether it should answer the question. Its dark presence seemed to react slightly, a faint glow appearing within its shadowy form. The figure in front of Rodrigo was not just a shadow, but something that transcended the very concept of space and time. It was an entity that seemed to understand all possibilities, and yet none at all.

"Limitations," the entity began, its voice carrying a peculiar weight, "means there are rules... or restrictions. I cannot simply grant you something that could unbalance the very universe itself. I am not an omnipotent being, just someone who facilitates wishes for candidates like you. It's not about sheer will... It's the wishes themselves that are limited by your power and choice."

Rodrigo listened attentively, but was more confused than ever. "But you said I can wish for anything...," he started, frowning. "Why then say there are limitations?"

"Because... even the most powerful wishes come with a price," the being replied, with a softness that seemed to reveal its own frustration. "You can wish for power, yes. But that power has limits. You can wish to change the course of your life, or even the reality around you. However, with every wish made, you are interfering with greater forces that may not be pleased with your choices."

Rodrigo thought for a moment. The idea of changing the course of his life, or even reality, seemed incredibly tempting. But he was beginning to understand that this wouldn't come without costs. He wasn't just making a random wish; he was dealing with forces far beyond his understanding.

"So, my wishes could affect more than I can control?" Rodrigo asked, feeling the weight of his words. "And what happens if I surpass these limits? What could I lose?"

"You could lose everything," the figure replied coldly, without a trace of emotion. "Those who exceed their limits are erased, not just from your world, but from all of reality. And everything you've built, all the choices you've made, will vanish as if they never existed. However, you can decide how much you're willing to risk."

Rodrigo felt a chill run down his spine. He knew he was facing something monumental, something much larger than he could control. Every word from the being seemed to echo in his mind, making him question his decision even more.

"I can't just wish for something without consequences, can I?" he said, more to himself, trying to process everything that was being revealed.

"Exactly," the being replied. "But you have the freedom to choose. However, each wish has a price. What you choose now may not be what you desire in the future. So, think carefully."

Rodrigo closed his eyes, deep in thought. He was on the brink of a choice that could change everything. Each wish could bring him closer to the power he sought, but it could also be the beginning of his destruction. The words of the being echoed in his mind, and he knew that any choice he made now would be irreversible.

Rodrigo, still trying to understand the implications of his choices, formulated a more specific question, one that could give him more control over the wishes and their consequences. He needed to find a way to use his wishes more strategically, without getting lost in the limitations imposed by the situation.

"Can I... limit the powers of my wishes? Like, could I wish for something like Shiki Ryougi's powers, but without the ability to use the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception without restrictions? Would I have to work to increase my strength over time, instead of having it all at once?" Rodrigo asked, his expression serious as he tried to understand the wish system.

The entity before him remained silent for a moment. The being, cloaked in abstract darkness, didn't seem in any hurry to answer, as if it were contemplating the nature of the question and the impact this choice would have. The entity's black hands began to move with mechanical precision, as if manipulating something invisible, perhaps a screen or a system beyond Rodrigo's comprehension. The movement of its hands resembled typing on a keyboard, and soon the entity's fingers began to glow faintly, as if it were processing complex information.

Rodrigo remained silent, waiting. He knew he was facing a unique opportunity, but also an immense risk. He watched the being before him, trying to catch any hint of what it was thinking, but the entity remained unperturbed, its expression unreadable.

Finally, after what seemed like long seconds of analysis, the being responded, its voice slow and emotionless, but with a tone that indicated a certain consideration.

"Interesting," said the entity, a faint glimmer in its black eyes. "Limiting one's own powers is not something common among candidates, but it's not impossible. If you desire a power but wish to impose a limit on how it can be used, yes, that can be done. For example, you could ask for Shiki Ryougi's powers and limit the use of the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. This would reduce the risk of becoming entirely dependent on the ability and allow you to grow over time. The true strength would come from your effort to perfect it."

It paused, as if contemplating Rodrigo's question more deeply. "However," the entity continued, "this choice also has its own implications. If you limit a power in exchange for evolution and effort, it means most of your development will depend solely on your own willpower. If you don't put in enough effort, you may never reach the full potential of the power you've requested. And furthermore, the evolution of the power might take longer than you think. What you must understand, candidate, is that no wish is purely simple. Every choice has a consequence. This is one of the limitations of wishes."

Rodrigo processed the information, his mind racing to organize all the possibilities. He knew that the choice to limit his powers could be a double-edged sword. On one hand, it meant that he would have more control over his strength, but it also meant that his progress would be slower and dependent on his own effort. On the other hand, it could be an advantage in the long term, allowing him to grow in strength more gradually, without becoming excessively powerful all at once.

"So, I could really start with a power like Shiki Ryougi's but control the use of the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception?" Rodrigo asked again, wanting to make sure he wasn't over-imagining things.

"Yes," the entity replied, its voice still monotone, but with a touch of approval, as if it were testing his understanding of the process. "You can start with the powers, but you will have to learn to use them wisely and responsibly. Your wish will be limited, but you can grow stronger over time, if you put in enough effort."

Rodrigo took a step back, feeling the weight of the choices he was about to make. He knew that the future was now in his hands. He had the chance to shape his journey, not just with immediate power, but with the ability to control his ascent. He wouldn't have to be a sharp weapon right away, but he could forge his own path carefully, balancing power with effort.

Rodrigo remained silent for a long moment, his thoughts whirling in his mind. He knew that absolute power could be a double-edged sword, and that making a hasty decision could lead him to overload, not to mention the unforeseen consequences that could arise. Akuro was of immeasurable power, but he wasn't invincible. It wasn't just raw power that made a victory, and Rodrigo knew this.

He had already discarded many powers that had come to mind. Shiki Ryougi with her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, for example, would be incredibly useful, but it would also come with a heavy burden — the unlimited use of such a destructive power could leave him out of control. Becoming Alien X, like from Ben 10, was also a tempting possibility, but Rodrigo knew it wasn't a wise choice. The power to manipulate the multiverse, even with all its limitations, could make him excessively confused and difficult to master. He needed something that would allow him to control his journey, something efficient but not overwhelming.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, an idea emerged, quiet but sure, like an answer to an unspoken question. He thought of Subaru Natsuki, a character who, though not the strongest in terms of physical or magical ability, possessed one of the most impressive and rare abilities in fiction — Return by Death. The power to rewind time, to start over after death, and correct mistakes. This ability had enormous potential, not just to survive, but to learn and grow stronger with every setback.

The truth was, despite his lack of physical power, Subaru's ability didn't just make him capable of facing any situation, it forced him to evolve with every attempt, every "death." He wasn't an invincible hero, but a hero who learned from mistakes, pain, and loss. And that, for Rodrigo, was the most precious of powers. It was a skill that wouldn't overload his body or force him to carry the immense burden of an uncontrollable power. He could shape his path slowly, correcting mistakes and strengthening himself in the process.

Rodrigo closed his eyes for a moment, the words flowing through his mind, almost like an absolute certainty.

"I want Subaru Natsuki's body, with only the Return by Death, without the other abilities from the other arcs," he said softly, more to himself than to the entity before him.

The entity, which had remained silent until that moment, began moving its hands again, its motions flowing as though manipulating something ethereal. The light around Rodrigo intensified, and he felt a wave of warmth coursing through his body. His breath quickened, as if the weight of the wish was being imbued within him, as if he were being fused with the essence of the power he had requested. Subaru Natsuki's body, with its characteristic appearance, and the power of Return by Death began to fit almost naturally within him.

Rodrigo felt a slight tingling at the back of his neck, a sign that the transition was happening. He knew that from this moment on, his ability to revive after death would be his greatest advantage. This meant he could make mistakes without paying with his life — or, more importantly, he could explore his options and find the best way to deal with Akuro and the other competitors.

He was aware, however, that the ability would also bring its own challenges. Every death, every attempt to start over, would force him to learn, change, and grow. But for now, this was exactly what he needed — a way to survive and adapt in a world that was now full of unimaginable choices and powerful opponents.

As the light around him dissipated, Rodrigo found himself breathing harder, feeling the energy of his new power starting to adjust to his body. His body now possessed that of Subaru, and with it, the ability to die and restart, to alter the course of his own story.

Now, with two wishes remaining, Rodrigo knew that each choice would be more difficult than the last. But for now, he had made the right choice. Return by Death would be the key to surviving the next steps — the key to his journey, where he would learn to be more than a mere spectator or hero, but someone capable of controlling his own destiny.

With this power in hand, Rodrigo looked ahead, thinking about how to use it. And, more importantly, how he would use his last two wishes to not just survive, but thrive in this new world.

Rodrigo focused for a moment, the thoughts turning like gears in his mind. With Return by Death already in his possession, he had the ability to restart, to learn from his mistakes, but that wouldn't be enough. He needed something more, something that would expand his options and bring versatility. And soon the idea came to him.

Unlimited Blade Works, the ability of Shirou Emiya from Fate/Stay Night. The ability to create an endless array of weapons from a mental projection, each representing a part of his being and experience. This skill would give Rodrigo an immense range of options, not just in combat, but in many situations he might encounter. He could project the weapons he needed most at the moment, without relying on external resources or finding the objects in question. More importantly, he could create something for every situation that appeared in his path — whether in battle or not.

Rodrigo knew that this ability had its limitations, of course. But, with his Return by Death power, he could test his projections without permanent consequences. If he failed or needed to improve the technique, he could simply try again, perfecting his ability to project the weapons and shape them to his needs. It was the versatility he sought, something that would make him more adaptable to the challenges he would face.

With the decision made, he turned to the black entity, which remained still, watching him with an expression that seemed far removed from any emotion.

"I want the Projection ability, Shirou Emiya's Unlimited Blade Works," Rodrigo said, his voice firm.

The dark being made a gesture with its hands, as if typing on an invisible keyboard, and the light around Rodrigo began to shine intensely. He felt a slight tingling sensation in his arms and palms, as if something was starting to materialize within his essence. He knew that soon, he would be able to summon any weapon his mind could conceive, all forged from his experience and imagination. The blades, the swords, the spears—everything he needed, he could create.

The sensation of power growing and expanding within his body was overwhelming, yet pleasant. Rodrigo could feel the possibilities unfolding before him, and the strength of his mind now had the power to shape reality around him, crafting weapons that could defeat any foe or help him achieve his goals.

But the dark being, who had been silently watching, interrupted his moment of focus.

"Interesting. Just one more wish, and you will have what you desire. However, remember, your wishes have limits. Even the strongest must understand the weight they carry," it said, its voice echoing in a way that seemed to have weight and depth beyond any human comprehension.

Rodrigo nodded, feeling the intensity of his newfound power and thinking about what he could do with his last wish. He knew he had to be careful. Now, with Return by Death and Projection within his reach, he had a solid foundation of abilities. But there were still so many options, so many possible paths.

His heart raced. The final wish. The last great step in his plan. He needed to think carefully.