Empty Hero

The world around Akira Takashi was a blur of muted colors and indistinct shapes. He blinked slowly, his eyes struggling to focus on the hazy figures moving past him. The steady hum of the office was a constant backdrop—a symphony of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and distant conversations that blended into an unremarkable drone.

Sitting hunched over his desk, Akira stared blankly at the spreadsheet filling his computer screen. Columns of numbers and data scrolled endlessly, but their meaning eluded him. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, motionless, as if waiting for a command that would never come.

He rubbed his temples, feeling the dull ache that had settled there days ago. Or had it been weeks? Time had become an indistinct concept, marked only by the deadlines that loomed ever closer. The project he was working on was critical—at least, that's what his boss had told him in no uncertain terms. But Akira couldn't summon the energy to care.

When was the last time I slept? he wondered absently. The days and nights blurred together in a continuous cycle of work, a relentless march that left him numb. He glanced at the framed photograph on his desk—a snapshot of his younger self, smiling brightly with friends at university. That version of him felt like a stranger now.

A sharp knock on the partition of his cubicle jolted him back to the present. He looked up to see his supervisor, Mr. Sato, peering down at him with a disapproving frown.

"Takashi-san, the projections for the third quarter—are they ready?" Mr. Sato's tone was clipped, impatient.

Akira straightened in his chair, forcing a semblance of alertness. "I... I'm just finalizing them now," he replied, his voice devoid of any real conviction.

Mr. Sato sighed, his eyes narrowing. "They were due an hour ago. The board meeting is in thirty minutes. We can't afford any delays."

"I understand," Akira mumbled, lowering his gaze back to the screen. "I'll have them to you shortly."

Without another word, Mr. Sato turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the ambient noise of the office. Akira released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The weight of expectations pressed heavily on his shoulders, but the urgency that should have spurred him into action was absent.

He closed his eyes, rubbing them gently. Why can't I just focus? he thought bitterly. Why does everything feel so... empty?

Opening his eyes, he stared at the spreadsheet again. The numbers swam before him, meaningless and cold. He used to take pride in his work, finding satisfaction in solving complex problems and contributing to the company's success. Now, it all felt hollow.

His phone vibrated silently beside him, the screen lighting up with a message from his mother.

"Akira, hope you're eating well. Don't forget to rest. Love, Mom."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it quickly faded. He hadn't visited his parents in months. Each time his mother called, he found excuses—too much work, deadlines, meetings. The truth was, he couldn't bear the thought of facing them, of pretending that everything was fine.

What would I even say? That I'm a shell of who I used to be? He shook his head, pushing the thought aside.

The minutes ticked by, and the pressure mounted. Akira knew he should be working, that the projections needed to be completed. But his hands remained still, his mind blank. A sense of detachment settled over him, as if he were watching himself from a distance.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles turning white. The office around him seemed to warp and waver, the fluorescent lights flickering ominously.

What's happening? Panic flickered through him, but it was muffled, as if submerged under layers of apathy.

The sounds of the office grew distant, muffled as though he were submerged in water. Akira's heartbeat thundered in his ears, each pulse pounding relentlessly, growing louder and louder, as if it were trying to tear free from his chest. His head swam, and the world began to spin in a dizzying blur. He reached for his desk to steady himself, but his trembling hand missed its mark. His legs buckled beneath him, refusing to cooperate.

Panic clawed at the edge of his consciousness. Was this it? A sharp pain shot through his chest, followed by a numbing coldness that seeped into his bones. The dizziness intensified, and his vision blurred—darkness creeping in like ink bleeding across a page. He tried to call out, but his throat tightened, choking off his voice. His mind raced, grasping for clarity as the world faded around him.

Then, in the silence of his unraveling consciousness, something strange began to happen. It felt as if time itself slowed. Images from his life flickered before him, rapid but vivid, like the last dying embers of a flame. Faces, moments, voices—it all came flooding back in an overwhelming tide.

"Akira! Pass the ball!"

He saw himself back in high school, the rush of adrenaline from the football field pulsing through him. His friends—faces full of determination and sweat—rallied around him. Akira, always the strategist, had been the one to see through the opposition's defenses, weaving a plan that led his team to victory. The thrill, the camaraderie, the laughter afterward in the locker room—it all felt so distant now, like a dream from another life.

"You're gonna be something great, Akira. Just you wait!" His friends' voices echoed, but the joy they once brought him was hollow, drowned out by the crushing weight of responsibility.

The memories shifted, the vibrant colors of his youth fading, replaced by the gray and somber tones of reality. He saw his father, strong and kind, but then came the day he lay still in a hospital bed, surrounded by the sterile, lifeless scent of disinfectant. His father's eyes, once full of life, were now dim, his hand limp in Akira's grasp.

"Take care of your mother, Akira. She needs you now..."

His father's final words hung heavy in the air, a burden Akira had carried ever since. The years that followed were a blur of long hours, endless shifts, and the suffocating pressure of being the sole provider. His mother, once so full of warmth, grew frail, her body ravaged by the relentless assault of cancer. The medical bills piled up, a mountain of debt that only grew steeper with each passing year.

"I'll take care of everything. I have to." Akira's own voice echoed in his mind, a promise he had made to himself—a promise that now felt like a chain around his neck.

The memories moved faster now, each one a painful reminder of the life he had left behind. Friends he had once laughed with were now strangers, their calls unanswered, their invitations declined. The world outside his work had faded into obscurity, replaced by endless nights at the office, hunched over his desk, eyes burning from the glare of the screen. His entire existence had been reduced to one singular goal—earning enough to keep his mother alive.

But even that, he now realized, was slipping through his fingers.

"What have I done with my life?" The question surfaced, sharp and bitter. He had sacrificed everything—his youth, his dreams, his happiness. He had given up who he was, all for a life that felt like it was never truly his. His friends were gone, his passions forgotten. All that remained was the exhaustion that now threatened to consume him.

The office around him dimmed further, the sounds of keyboards and phones reduced to a distant hum. His vision narrowed into a tunnel, the edges of his sight swallowed by darkness. He tried to move, to call for help, but his body refused to respond. His mind screamed for release, for relief from the overwhelming burden.

And then, as if in answer to his silent plea, everything went black.

In the void, there was peace. No more deadlines, no more bills, no more pain. Only the soft, quiet darkness.

But just as he began to sink into it, a piercing light broke through the abyss, blinding and all-encompassing. It wasn't harsh or cold, but warm, like the sun breaking through a storm. The light engulfed him, pulling him away from the darkness, away from the life he had known.

"Is this… the end?" he thought, the question hanging in the space between consciousness and oblivion.

But before he could find an answer, the light pulled him further, and with it came a strange sensation—like he was being lifted, carried beyond the bounds of the world he had known. The weight of his exhaustion, his regrets, his fears—they all began to fade, replaced by an unfamiliar sense of calm.

And in that moment, Akira realized something: this wasn't death. This was something else entirely.

When Akira opened his eyes, he was no longer in his office. He stood in an endless expanse of pure white—a boundless void that stretched infinitely in all directions. The stark brightness was disorienting, and he squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

A profound silence enveloped him, so absolute that he could hear the faint sound of his own breathing. His heart raced, confusion and a flicker of fear stirring within him.

Where am I? he thought, turning slowly to take in his surroundings. There was no landmark, no horizon—just the unbroken whiteness. His polished black shoes stood upon an invisible surface, solid yet unseen.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that he was not alone. Scattered around him were other people, men and women of varying ages and appearances. Some stood alone, gazing around with the same bewildered expressions he imagined he wore. Others whispered among themselves, their voices hushed and uncertain.

Akira's gaze settled on a young woman clutching her arms tightly around herself, her eyes wide with anxiety. Nearby, an older man adjusted his glasses repeatedly, as if hoping they might bring clarity to the surreal scene.

Is this a dream? Akira wondered. He felt a strange detachment, a sense that none of this could possibly be real. Yet everything felt so vivid—the coolness of the air, the faint scent of something indescribable, the subtle shifting of the light.

He opened his mouth to speak, to ask the questions swirling in his mind, but hesitated. The words caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard. What if no one knows? What if they're just as lost as I am?

Lowering his hand, he clenched it into a fist, trying to steady himself. The silence was unnerving, amplifying the tension that hung in the air. He felt the urge to retreat inward, to withdraw as he had so often done in his life.

But then, a resonant voice echoed through the void, breaking the silence.

"Welcome."

Akira turned sharply toward the sound. Standing before them was an ethereal figure, towering and radiant. The being was neither male nor female, its form composed of shimmering light that shifted and flowed like liquid gold. Its eyes—or where eyes should have been—glowed softly, emanating a sense of calm authority.

"You stand now in the Realm of the Divine," the figure announced, its voice gentle yet powerful. "The Realm of Reincarnation."

Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd. Akira felt his mouth go dry, his mind grappling with the enormity of the declaration.

"I am the Eternal God of Reincarnation," the deity continued, sweeping its gaze across them. "Your lives have been weighed, and you have been brought here to make a choice. Each of you carries both sins and virtues, a balance of light and shadow."

Akira's heart thudded in his chest. A choice? he repeated silently.

"You may choose to be transported in another world," the god explained, "a place where you may seek redemption, purpose, or fulfillment that eluded you in your previous life. Or you may choose to be erased from existence entirely."

A hushed gasp spread among the people. Some began to weep quietly; others stared in stunned silence.

Akira stood rooted to the spot, his mind racing. transported? In another world? The concept was overwhelming, almost absurd. Yet, deep within him, something stirred—a faint ember of hope amidst the emptiness.

"Know that in this new world," the god continued, "your actions will shape your destiny. The burdens you carry may be heavy, but the opportunity for change lies before you."

The deity paused, allowing the weight of its words to settle.

"The choice is yours," it concluded. "Choose wisely."

The crowd erupted into whispers and subdued conversations. Questions filled the air—murmured doubts, fearful speculations, faint glimmers of excitement.

Akira remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ground. His thoughts were a tangled web of confusion and introspection.

My life... weighed? he mused. He thought back to the years spent buried in work, the gradual erosion of his passions, the isolation he had imposed upon himself. The dreams he once held had faded, replaced by a hollow routine that left him feeling more like an automaton than a man.

If I go back... what awaits me? The idea of returning to that existence filled him with a profound sense of dread. But the alternative—stepping into the unknown—was equally daunting.

He glanced around at the others. A young man nearby was arguing fervently with a woman who seemed on the verge of tears. An elderly gentleman knelt on the ground, hands clasped in prayer. The myriad of reactions only added to his uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, Akira tried to calm the whirlwind of emotions within him. When was the last time I felt anything at all? he wondered.

The answer came swiftly: Too long.

He looked up at the Eternal God of Reincarnation, its form shimmering softly against the stark backdrop. For the first time in years, Akira felt a flicker of something other than apathy—a tentative spark of curiosity, perhaps even desire.

If there's a chance to find meaning... to feel alive again... The thought trailed off, but the seed had been planted.

His hands relaxed at his sides, and he straightened his posture. Making a decision, he stepped forward slightly, drawing a steadying breath.

"I choose..." he began softly, his voice barely audible. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he spoke more firmly. "I choose to be transported."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, he felt a surge of fear. But it was quickly replaced by a sense of relief, as if a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying had been lifted.

The deity inclined its head subtly, acknowledging his choice. "Very well."

Around him, others began declaring their decisions—some resolute, others hesitant. The atmosphere shifted, a mixture of hope and apprehension palpable among the group.

Akira felt a subtle warmth enveloping him, a gentle light that seemed to emanate from within. The void around him began to shimmer, colors bleeding into the whiteness—hints of blues and greens, like the dawn breaking after a long night.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be swept away by the sensation. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Akira felt a semblance of peace.

Perhaps... this is the second chance I didn't know I needed.

As the world around him dissolved into light, Akira embraced the uncertainty of what lay ahead, hopeful that in this new existence, he might rediscover the parts of himself he had lost.