Chapter 36: Creative Problem Solving

Isao's words echoed in my mind long after he left. You can't fix this alone.

He was right. I returned to my office, but the crushing weight of impending cosmic deletion was gone. In its place was a familiar feeling, one I hadn't felt since I was staring down a glitter-covered dragon: determination.

I was Akane, the Goddess of Reincarnation. But more than that, I was the Head of Creative Problem Solving. And this was the biggest, most creative problem of them all.

I couldn't fight the Defragmentation Protocol head-on. It was a fundamental process of the universe. But I could slow it down. I could run interference. I could, in essence, throw so much new, chaotic, beautiful paperwork at it that it would get bogged down for the next few millennia, giving me time to figure out a real solution.

My work took on a new purpose. Every soul that crossed my desk was no longer just a number; it was an opportunity. An opportunity to create a story so unique, so filled with unquantifiable mortal nonsense, that the cleanup program would choke on it.

The soul of a retired accountant who dreamed of adventure? I didn't send him to a fantasy world to fight goblins. I reincarnated him as the captain of a pirate ship crewed entirely by talking penguins in a world where the currency was heartfelt compliments. The system wouldn't know what to do with that.

The soul of a shy librarian who wished she'd been more outgoing? I reincarnated her as the lead singer of a galactic rock band whose music could literally heal desolate planets. Her first concert was scheduled for a world the Protocol had flagged for imminent deletion. Let's see it delete a planet in the middle of a sold-out stadium tour.

I turned my divine duties into a form of guerrilla warfare. I approved requests for the most bizarre, trope-defying lives imaginable. A slime who wanted to run a therapy clinic for monsters. A hero whose only power was the ability to bake emotionally supportive cakes. A demon king who was really into urban planning and sustainable agriculture.

I was no longer just a bureaucrat. I was an artist, and my canvas was reality itself. I worked with a joyful, manic energy. The boredom was gone, replaced by a sense of righteous, creative defiance.

With every soul I sent out, I felt like I was sending a message to the cold, unfeeling program that was threatening everything. A message that said: "You can't just delete these files. They're not just data. They're stories. And they're messy, and illogical, and beautiful. And they are worth saving."