My divine throne was starting to feel less like a seat of power and more like a glorified office chair I was permanently glued to, complete with divine-grade lumbar support that did absolutely nothing for my existential ache. After stamping my billionth soul for reincarnation - this one wanted to be a sentient slime in a world with no predators and infinite food, yawn - I’d had enough. My brain needed a vacation. And I knew just the place: the ridiculously over-the-top, dramatic world I'd custom-built for Jin Kageyama, my chuunibyou masterpiece.
Of course, I couldn't just go. That would be irresponsible. Un-goddess-like. I had to justify it to the cosmic void and, more importantly, to myself. "This is a quality assurance check," I declared to my empty, opulent office, the sound bouncing off the ridiculously high marble pillars. "A field study to ensure the narrative integrity of my creation and observe the protagonist's development firsthand. The ‘Shadow's Lament’ arc is entering a critical phase and requires direct oversight." It sounded incredibly official, especially the part I made up just now. My real motive? I was so bored I'd started rating souls based on the creativity of their final thoughts. The slime guy got a 2/10.
With my flimsy excuse firmly in place, I got to work. Escaping the divine office was the easy part. Creating a body was the fun part. I closed my eyes and focused, drawing on the raw, shimmering energy of creation. I couldn't just use a pre-set mortal template; this had to be special. I imagined a character sheet floating in front of me, rapidly filling it out. Hair: spun silver, ridiculously long. Eyes: deep amethyst, because nothing says ‘mysterious’ like purple eyes. Outfit: an elegant, long-sleeved white dress with intricate embroidery that looked completely impractical for… well, anything besides looking pretty and getting stained.
When I opened my eyes, a mirror of polished light showed me the result. "Ugh, so cliché," I grumbled at my own reflection. I looked like the poster child for a high-fantasy princess who probably gets into trouble every five seconds and needs a brooding hero to save her. Still, I had to admit, it fit the world's dramatic aesthetic perfectly. I’d given Jin Kageyama a world steeped in gothic romanticism; showing up in jeans and a t-shirt would break the immersion.
"Okay, ground rules for this ‘inspection’," I told my new, annoyingly pretty face, pointing a slender finger at the mirror. "Rule one: absolutely no interfering. I’m just an observer. No dropping hints, no accidentally using divine power to trip up his enemies, nothing. Rule two: don't tell anyone I'm a goddess. ‘Mysterious traveler with a convenient case of amnesia’ should work. Rule three: try not to cringe too hard at the dialogue I wrote. I was sixteen when I designed this world, I have to cut my past self some slack." A fourth, unwritten rule floated in my mind: find the best bakery in the capital city. A goddess needs her sweets.
With a final nod, I pinpointed Jin Kageyama’s world, a tiny, glowing orb shimmering with shades of purple and black in the vast sea of realities. I focused on the capital city, a place I’d named ‘Nocturne’ in a fit of dramatic flair, and pushed my consciousness into the vessel. The transition was always a trip. It wasn't a physical fall, but a sensory explosion - a kaleidoscope of colors that had no names, the sound of collapsing stars and nascent nebulae, the feeling of a thousand different histories brushing against my new skin.
A stomach-lurching tumble through dimensions later, I found myself standing on solid ground, the sensory chaos resolving into simple, mortal sensations. I was in a grimy alleyway. The smell of rain-slicked cobblestone and distant, frying street food filled the air, mixed with the less pleasant aroma of damp refuse. The sounds of a bustling, pre-industrial city echoed around me - the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer, the layered chatter of crowds, the rumble of a horse-drawn cart over uneven stones. My ridiculously pristine white dress, which had seemed so appropriate a minute ago, now felt like a giant, glowing target.
I peeked out of the alley, my heart giving a little, unfamiliar flutter of excitement. This was it. Buildings with dark timber frames leaned against each other, their slate roofs slick with recent rain. People in dull, practical tunics and leather boots bustled past, their faces a mixture of purpose and weariness. It was exactly as I'd designed it, yet so much more real. I could see the worn-down heels on a merchant's boots and the genuine smile on a child's face as they chased a pigeon.
I was a tourist in my own creation. And it was terrifyingly, exhilaratingly perfect.
"Okay, vacation - I mean, quality assurance - start!"
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