Taro Kuronuma layed sprawled across a freshly swept suburban road, arms spread wide like some brooding discount messiah. Candles flickered in a dramatic circle around his body, wax melting onto the concrete in the shape of a poorly drawn summoning sigil.
He wore a velvet cape.He wore eyeliner.He wore socks with skulls on them.
He also wore zero life-preserving instincts.
"Come on, reaper," he muttered, eyes closed. "Take me. I'm ready. My soul is ripe with unresolved trauma and misused metaphor."
He adjusted his playlist.
The song changed to an instrumental flute version of My Chemical Romance.
"Perfect," he whispered.
And then—HONK.
His eyes flew open.
Too late.
SPLAT.
Taro blinked.
He was floating. In a vast, starry space that looked like someone mashed together a planetarium and an IKEA showroom. Bureaucratic pods hovered in the distance. Ghosts stood in lines. And in front of him stood...
"…a truck?"
Riku rubbed his temples as he stared at the file.
Name: Taro KuronumaCause of Death: Self-inflicted Truck Summoning RitualNotes:
Death was not scheduled.
Soul still glitched into the premature death queue.
Candles were unscented.
Cape was a fire hazard.
Riku sighed and hit the intercom. "Ginger Snap, we got another unplanned jumper."
"Truck-chan or sadboi?"
"Sadboi with reaper dreams."
"Oh no. It's another GrimTok kid, isn't it?"
Taro stared at Riku in pure betrayal.
"You're not a reaper," he accused.
"I'm the guy driving the soul-delivery truck," Riku replied flatly.
"I staged a summoning. I left snacks! I even wrote a monologue!"
"You were wearing socks with skeletons and a sign that said 'Reap Me, Daddy.'"
"…It was ironic!"
"It was legally cringe."
Taro floated in circles. "This is so unfair. I was ready. I made peace with my past lives. I even wore cologne."
"You're not even supposed to be dead yet," Riku muttered, scrolling through his tablet. "You had twelve more years of vague ennui and podcasting ahead of you."
"Wait, really?"
"Yeah. You were supposed to get a radio internship, hate it, discover urban mushroom farming, and then become a semi-famous occult TikToker."
Taro blinked. "...That actually sounds kind of lit."
"Well, too bad. You got hit by a truck. That's my job.
Riku sighed. "We'll process you for normal reincarnation. Nothing dramatic. You'll probably come back as a village librarian or a sleepy fox spirit."
Taro crossed his arms.
"No."
"…No?"
"I refuse to go quietly. This wasn't just a death, this was a statement. I laid out a vision. I wrote a poem."
"You did not write a poem."
"I posted it to my finsta with hashtags. I had mood lighting."
"You got run over by me," Riku snapped. "With hazard lights on."
Taro smirked. "Then I guess you're my grim reaper now."
Riku physically recoiled. "Oh no. No no no, don't make this weird."
Madame Macaron stormed in, trailed by a faint smell of toasted marshmallow and fury.
"Why is there a soul in Queue 9B playing the Twilight Zone theme and trying to install a podcast mic?"
Riku stared.
"Wait. Where did he get a podcast mic?"
Ginger Snap piped in over the comm: "He hacked the Karma cables. He's calling it Death Talks."
Podcast from Purgatory – Teaser:
"Welcome to Death Talks, the only podcast recorded live from the afterlife. I'm your host, Taro Kuronuma, poet, philosopher, unwilling pancake. Today's topic: 'The Problem with Beige Robes and the Gatekeeping of Immortality.'"
Guest: Snicker Dude, reincarnation tech and chaos cookie.
"Honestly, I think souls should get a free trial before being born again. Like, two days as a squirrel. Just to vibe."
Back in Bureau HQ, Macaron threw her clipboard down. "I want him REINCARNATED now! I'm not having another emo cult start in limbo!"
Riku raised a brow. "So... punishment reincarnation?"
Macaron's eyes lit up. "Oh yes. Let's put him in a grimdark RPG world. Make him a background character."
"A farmer?"
"Too peaceful."
"A goblin?"
"Too trendy."
Riku snapped his fingers. "Tutorial NPC."
Macaron gasped. "Perfect."