Just Another Normal Day… Right?

Why does it always have to be me…

I’d just spent eight straight hours fighting to save a twelve-year-old girl’s life. Yuki Tanaka. Eight exhausting, nerve-shredding hours while her family sobbed in the hallway. Eight hours that ended in failure because her idiot of a primary doctor had slapped on a lazy diagnosis without bothering to run basic tests. A simple appendicitis turned into full-blown peritonitis.

The alcohol I’d downed afterward still burned in my stomach. Three bars. Enough whisky to knock out an ox. Enough to drown the promise I’d made to save her. Enough to dull the image of her parents’ faces when I told them their daughter wasn’t coming home. Enough to make me forget that no matter how many degrees or years of experience I had, sometimes we show up too late to fix someone else’s screw-ups.

I was crossing the street toward my apartment when I heard the scream.

A raw, desperate shriek from above. I looked up at the fifteen-story building in front of me and saw a figure tipping over the edge. A girl. Young — fifteen, maybe sixteen.

“Shit!”

My ER reflexes took over, cutting through the haze of alcohol and fatigue. I sprinted, calculating trajectory, impact angle, timing. My brain switched into overdrive, already assessing probable injuries.

She plunged past me, missing by barely a meter, and crashed into the massive hedge bordering the building. The sound was horrific — branches snapping, flesh colliding, and then a heavy, suffocating silence.

“Goddammit!”

I dove into the bushes, ignoring the thorns tearing my jacket. She was curled up, blood trickling from her forehead and mouth. Alive, but in critical condition. Multiple fractures likely, definite head trauma, possible internal bleeding.

“Hey, kid! Can you hear me?”

Her eyelids fluttered open. Beautiful hazel eyes, brimming with tears and pain. She tried to speak but only coughed up blood.

“Shh, don’t move. I’m a doctor.”

People who’d witnessed the scene were already calling for help.

“Listen to me, kid. Jumping off a building doesn’t solve problems. It just turns them into someone else’s.”

She stared at me, surprised. Probably expecting comforting words, soft sympathy. Yeah — wrong guy. I’ve always been blunt. Brutal honesty is my style.

“Family trouble? Bullying? Let me guess… some little bastards made your life hell, adults looked the other way, and you thought dying would fix everything?”

Her eyes widened. Nailed it. Twenty-five years of reading patients like open books.

“Well, congratulations. You really botched your first flight. And guess what? Tomorrow those same bastards will keep living their carefree lives, while you’ll be dead — or, best case, paralyzed for life. A real Greek tragedy!”

I checked her pulse while talking. Fast but steady. Pupils reacted normally to light. Good. But her leg… yeah, that angle wasn’t right.

“Does anything hurt in particular?”

She managed to whisper, “Everywhere…”

My gaze landed on the silver cross hanging from her neck, smeared with blood. And then came that familiar surge of anger. The kind that had lived inside me for years.

“Once again, you protect the guilty and punish the victims. Nice job, you cosmic joke! Your justice is as fake as you are!”

The words slipped out automatically. My relationship with the divine had always been… let’s say nonexistent. God, to me, was a comforting bedtime story humans told themselves to explain the unexplainable.

But something was off.

I looked around. Where were the pedestrians? The cars? Tokyo’s usual background noise? Sirens? The street was empty. Silent. Even the building lights seemed frozen.

“What the hell…”

The world began to dissolve. Buildings faded, the street vanished, the girl in my arms evaporated like smoke. I was standing in a void, surrounded by golden clouds.

“What the actual fuck is going on?!”

Before me stretched what looked like a colossal administrative hall. Dozens of counters lined up to infinity, each staffed by indistinct, shadowy figures shuffling through papers. The atmosphere was hushed, surreal. No sound reached my ears despite the busy scene.

Others waited in lines, but no one acknowledged anyone else. Everyone stared blankly ahead, trapped in their own bubble.

“Excuse me! Can someone explain what the hell this is?!”

No response. I tried calling out to several people — nothing. Like I didn’t exist.

Then a voice echoed inside my head: “Counter number 847. Ethan Russell.”

I turned. A glowing sign read 847, with a blinking arrow pointing the way.

“Oh, great…”

I approached the counter, where a creature waited — humanoid, but unnervingly mannequin-like. It wore a perfectly tailored suit and flipped through a thick file.

“Mr. Russell, I presume?”

“Listen, I don’t know where I am or what’s happening, but I’d really appreciate an explanation — ”

“Please, have a seat.”

A chair materialized behind me. I jumped, nearly falling.

“How the hell did you —”

The clerk ignored me and kept reading.

“Let’s see… Ethan Russell. Born March 15, 1974, Lyon, France. Studied medicine in Paris. Specialized in emergency care. Transferred to Japan in 2010. Promoted to department head in 2020.”

“Are you going to recite my entire biography? And who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Long-term bachelor. Devout atheist. Personality…” He paused, meeting my eyes. “...abysmal. To put it mildly.”

“Wow, flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Excessive alcohol consumption following…” He flipped a few pages. “...the death of patient Yuki Tanaka, twelve years old, a few hours ago. Generalized peritonitis caused by her doctor’s misdiagnosis. Intense guilt. Self-destructive tendencies —”

“Enough!”

I shot to my feet, rage boiling.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, but you have no right to dig through my private life! And more importantly…” My voice dropped, sharp as a scalpel. “You have no right to violate doctor–patient confidentiality. Those records are private, damn it! I don’t care where I am — this is a lawsuit waiting to happen!”

The clerk watched me with an unreadable expression.

“Mr. Russell… you’re dead.”

The silence that followed was deafening. I stared, waiting for the punchline. But his face remained stone-cold.

“Dead? What are you talking about? I’m alive!”

“Stroke. Brought on by stress, fatigue, and alcohol. You suffered a cerebral event while attempting to save that girl. Death was instantaneous.”

I collapsed back into the chair. Dead. I was dead. That explained the frozen street, the fading scenery, this bizarre limbo.

“And… the girl? The one who jumped?”

He checked another sheet.

“Died of her injuries an hour after arriving at the hospital. Thanks to your first aid, she remained conscious long enough to apologize to her family and thank them for their love. She also thanked you, Dr. Russell. Her last words were, ‘Say thank you to the grumpy doctor.’”

My throat tightened. Two girls dead in one day. One I couldn’t save in time. Another who at least got to say goodbye. Small consolation, but still.

“So, what happens now? Heaven? Hell? Purgatory?”

The clerk closed the file, his look softening into something almost like pity.

“Your case is… unusual, Mr. Russell. My superior wants to speak with you personally.”

“Your superior?”

“Office Number One. Central Bureau. Follow the golden corridor to the end. You can’t miss it.”

I stood, still numb. Dead. I was actually dead. And apparently, someone important wanted a word.

“One more thing, Mr. Russell…”

I turned back.

“Mind your language. You’re about to meet someone… very influential.”

I shrugged and walked down the indicated hallway. Influential or not, if they thought death would make me any less sarcastic, they were in for a surprise.

I was still Ethan Russell — grumpy, cynical, and utterly unimpressed by authority.