Chapter 72: The God of Death's Suspicion

The golden light of Natsuki’s soul faded from the cosmic ether, leaving behind a silence in my office that was heavier and more profound than any I had ever experienced. The lingering energy from my forbidden act of creation hung in the air, a shimmering, amethyst haze of broken rules and reckless love. I remained slumped in my throne, the divine strength that usually animated me completely gone, replaced by a deep, hollow ache in the very core of my being.

I had given him the perfect life. A world of beauty, a destiny of heroism, a path paved with friendship and luck. I had done everything a goddess could do to ensure his happiness.

It felt like the cruelest punishment I could have ever devised for myself.

“That was… extravagant.”

Isao’s voice cut through the silence, not with its usual mocking lilt, but with a low, dangerous quietness that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. He hadn’t moved from his chair, but the playful, chaotic energy that always surrounded him had vanished, replaced by the chilling stillness of the grave. He was no longer my partner-in-crime; he was the God of Death, and he was looking at me with eyes that had witnessed the end of stars.

“He was a prime candidate,” I said, my voice coming out as a weak croak. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to sit up straighter, to reassemble the shattered pieces of my divine composure. “A soul with high potential. I merely gave him a package that reflected that potential. It was a premium service, a discretionary upgrade.”

“A premium service?” Isao repeated, his voice dripping with a sarcasm so cold it could have frozen hell. He rose from his chair, not in a swirl of smoke, but with a slow, deliberate movement that felt infinitely more menacing. “Akane, I saw the logs. You didn’t just give him a premium package. You created a unique legendary class on the fly. You custom-built a world that’s practically a vacation resort, devoid of any real, character-building threats. The amount of divine energy you expended could have powered a small sun for a century. You didn’t just bend the rules; you shattered them, melted them down, and forged them into a golden crown for that one, single soul.”

He glided across the floor until he stood before my throne, looking down at me. The sheer difference in our power, something I usually forgot in our playful banter, was suddenly, suffocatingly present.

“So, I’ll ask again,” he said, his silver eyes boring into mine. “Who was he?”

“None of your business!” I snapped, my tsundere defenses flaring up like a cornered cat. “I am the Goddess of Reincarnation! My decisions are my own! I don’t need to justify them to you or anyone else!”

“Don’t you?” he countered, his voice dropping to a whisper that was more menacing than any shout. “When your ‘decision’ flags every alarm in the divine network? When the Over-Council gets an alert that a minor goddess is playing favorites on a cosmic scale?” He gestured to the air, and a faint, red rune pulsed for a moment, an echo of the celestial alarms I had tripped. “This isn’t just your business anymore, Akane. You’ve made it theirs. And you’ve made it mine.”

My bravado faltered. The Over-Council. I had completely forgotten about the celestial bureaucrats, the ancient, stuffy deities who enforced the rules with mindless zeal. I was in deep, deep trouble.

But even the thought of facing their wrath wasn’t as terrifying as the look on Isao’s face. It wasn’t just anger or concern for the rules. There was something else there, a darker, more personal emotion churning in the depths of his eyes. It was a possessive, wounded look. It was jealousy.

“Why?” he pressed, leaning closer, his voice a low, insistent murmur. “What’s so special about that one mortal? I’ve seen you reincarnate heroes, kings, and geniuses. You’ve never so much as given them an extra skill point without a proper reason. But for this one… this boy… you risked everything.” He spat the word ‘boy’ like it was a curse. “What did he have that the billions of other souls who pass through here don’t?”

I couldn’t answer. How could I explain? How could I put into words the memory of shared ramen, of a goofy smile, of a love so simple and pure it felt more real than my own divinity? How could I tell him that this one soul wasn’t just a number, but the ghost of a boy who held the missing half of my own, long-forgotten heart?

“He was just… a good person,” I mumbled, looking away.

“They’re all good people!” Isao’s voice rose, a crack of thunder in the quiet room. “That’s the whole point! Your job is to be impartial! To weigh their lives and give them what they’ve earned, not what you feel they deserve!”

He was right. Every word was a dagger of truth, and I had no shield to deflect them.

Seeing my silence, his expression shifted again, the anger softening into something that looked suspiciously like hurt. “I’ve never seen you like this,” he said, his voice returning to a low murmur. “Not even when you were plotting your grand revenge against that other one. That was a game to you, a spectacle. This… this is different. This matters to you.”

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he gently brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. His touch was as cold as marble, but it sent a jolt through me. “Don’t throw away your godhood for the ghost of a mortal, Akane. They’re fragile. They break. And all you’ll be left with is the memory of dust.”

He pulled his hand back and retreated to his chair, the confrontation over. The black smoke of his form swirled with agitation. He had given his warning. The ball was in my court.

For a long time, I just sat there, his words echoing in my mind. He was right. It was foolish. It was dangerous. I should let it go. I should wipe the memory, delete the monitoring feed, and go back to my work. That was the smart thing to do. The safe thing.

But since when had I ever done the smart, safe thing?

With a trembling hand, I gestured towards the main console. “Celeste,” I commanded, my voice barely a whisper. “Open a dedicated monitoring channel to World #1024-Caelum. And… label it ‘Post-Reincarnation Quality Assurance.’”

“That is the flimsiest excuse you have ever come up with,” Isao muttered from his chair without even looking at me.

“Channel opened,” Celeste confirmed, ignoring him.

The main screen shimmered, and the sterile interface was replaced by a breathtaking view. A sky of impossible blue, dotted with massive, floating islands lush with vibrant, alien flora. Waterfalls cascaded from their edges, falling through the clouds into the mists below.

It was the world I had made for him.

And there he was.

Natsuki appeared in a gentle pillar of golden light, materializing in a meadow of glowing flowers. He looked exactly the same, yet different. The subtle heroic glow I’d given him made his features sharper, more defined. He was wearing the simple traveler’s clothes I’d assigned, but on him, they looked like the attire of a prince in disguise.

He blinked, looking around with wide, amazed eyes. But there was no fear. Only wonder. A wide, goofy grin spread across his face as he stared up at the floating islands. It was his smile. The exact same one that used to make my heart skip a beat.

A small, fluffy creature with wings like a butterfly and the face of a rabbit hopped up to him, tilting its head. This was a ‘rabbi-fly,’ one of the friendly native creatures of Caelum. Natsuki knelt down, his expression soft, and held out his hand. The rabbi-fly sniffed his fingers and then nuzzled against his palm. The [Beloved by All] skill was already working.

Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unstoppable. Seeing him there, so alive, so real, in the perfect world I had crafted for him… it didn’t bring me peace. It intensified the ache a thousand times over. It was a paradise I could never enter, a happiness I could never share.

I was so engrossed in the sight that I didn’t notice Isao had moved until he was standing behind my throne, his cold presence a shadow at my back. He said nothing. He just watched the screen with me, his silence a heavy, judgmental blanket.

On the screen, Natsuki laughed as the rabbi-fly tickled his hand. It was a sound I hadn't heard in eons, a sound I thought I'd forgotten. But my soul remembered. I thought of my own ridiculously long life, of the countless souls I'd processed, the worlds I'd overseen. It all felt like gray static compared to the brilliant, painful color of this one memory.

The forbidden seed in my heart wasn’t a seed anymore. It was a raging, thorny vine, wrapping itself around my very being, and its thorns all whispered the same impossible, dangerous thing.

I have to see him.