The man cried
The room was silent. Kiyara sat on the floor, her gaze drilling a hole through the cat, who was trying her best not to meet Kiyara's eyes.
"Look, didn't you say you're good at acting? And you already know you're my first client, so there's nothing to hide between us."
The cat flew near her face but kept just enough distance so Kiyara couldn't catch her in one swing.
"Look, I'm a new server—born just seven days ago. And after a lot of pleading, I have got this mission."
The cat opened a bunch of files and floated them in front of Kiyara. "You see this? I was given five hundred points when I was born, and in these seven days, I've used all of it."
"So points are the same as money in my world?"
"Exactly! But it's different for us." With a snap, a chart appeared in the air with a pot full of data.
"Points work just like money, but there's a major difference. In your world, when people run out of money, they beg or eat from the trash or do whatever they can to survive."
The cat continued, tapping her long stick on the chart now and then. "But in our world, if your points run out… you die."
The room stayed still for a few moments. The chart vanished, and the stick disappeared.
"If I don't complete my first task, I'll get a low rating and won't get any new jobs for a while. And if that happens, I'll soon vanish from this world."
Kiyara's eyes stayed calm as she took in the words.
"So all this… just to survive? Then what's the difference between you guys and us? Aren't we the same?"
The cat grinned. With a snap of her fingers, black glasses popped onto her face. "Oh, you're wrong about that."
"Even if we have fierce competition to survive, we're far higher beings than you humans."
The cat lay mid-air with her face on her paw and tiny legs crossed.
"We're the creatures connected to both hell and heaven. We can send someone from hell to heaven," the cat said proudly.
On the other hand, Kiyara's eyes sparkled as she looked at the cat the same way corporate slaves look at their manager when they talk about promotions.
"We have a big office in another dimension, from where we manage all the new worlds that form in different timelines." Her nose practically reached the ceiling from pride.
Kiyara jumped up and began massaging the cat's legs gently with her fingers.
"Is that so? You're so cool. I can't imagine how much pressure you carry on your small and soft shoulders," Kiyara said sweetly, her words dripping with butter.
"So what do I need to do to go to heaven?" Kiyara asked softly.
The cat raised a finger. "For that, you have to work."
Half of Kiyara's kind expression cracked hearing the word work, but she forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, I'm ready to work. So what do I have to do?"
The cat pulled out a contract from the air and pushed it in front of Kiyara's face. "Just sign the contract, and we'll begin."
Kiyara slowly took the contract, trying to read it, but the cat slammed her paw on the papers, smiling sweetly—too sweetly.
"Just sign the contract… I'll take care of the rest."
Kiyara raised a brow suspiciously. "We have a rule in our world—never sign anything without reading it."
Sweat rolled down the cat's face as she floated stiffly in the air, her hands clasped, trying hard to keep smiling.
Kiyara rolled the papers up and down with narrow eyes. "Wait… what language is this written in?"
The cat instantly started to glow. "Don't you want to go to heaven?"
The word heaven rang louder in her ears. "Um… well, just so you know, if you try to fool me, I won't forgive you," Kiyara said, narrowing her eyes. The cat flinched—but didn't show it.
"Don't worry, I won't mess with my first client. In the end, you have to rate me, and if you give me a low score, I'll die. So we hold each other's weaknesses."
After staring a hole through her, Kiyara finally signed the contract. But before she could lift the pen again, the cat snapped her fingers, and the contract vanished, making Kiyara flinch.
"Anyway, now I'll tell you what you need to know for the job."
"There are different timelines in different dimensions. Our job is to manage these dimensions and make sure no one acts outside their set future."
The cat went on, telling Kiyara about gifted people on Earth—humans born with the power to create new timelines and dimensions. They do this unknowingly, often through writing novels, and somehow become gods of those worlds by writing the future of their characters.
But it's the server's job to keep peace in those dimensions. As more timelines popped up, the number of issues increased.
These problems are called Errors.
Errors appear when a character doesn't behave according to their set future. When that happens, the servers send in a replacement soul to fix the issue.
"So I have to replace a soul in a novel—or, more like, in another world?"
The cat nodded. "Yes, exactly. And you'll have tasks to complete."
"Then… what's my character?"
"Your character is—"
Before the cat could say another word, a warning bell rang out. The floor began to vanish, followed by the walls.
"Time's up! Just remember—you have to find me in your world first. Then call out my name—Server 003," the cat said as she started to disappear like grains of sand.
Kiyara's heartbeat quickened as her hands and feet began to vanish. Her face darkened in fear as she looked up at the cat, who stayed strangely calm.
~________~
"Madam, please lie down… you… you'll hurt yourself," Jain, a woman in a maid's uniform, said as she stood holding a child in her arms.
Wrapped snugly in a soft white shawl, the child stirred gently, her tiny arms shifting.
Her eyes remained closed, while golden strands like silk clung to her scalp. Her fists were curled tightly.
The woman who had just gone through labor didn't look the least bit in pain. Her shoulders were broad, with muscles bulging at her biceps.
Veins popped along her forearms from the exertion—but it wasn't enough to draw a single line on her face.
In contrast to her build, her jet-black hair cascaded like silk across the bed. Her ruby-red eyes shimmered calmly in the soft sunlight spilling in through the open balcony.
"Give her to me," the woman said, extending her rough hand. Her voice was firm—more of a command, like a captain asking for her sword.
The young maids flinched at her tone, their shoulders tensing. But not Jain.
Jain, a seasoned maid in her thirties, stood straight, her gaze serene—as if neither the commanding voice nor the piercing ruby eyes fazed her. She held the newborn delicately.
"Jain, you're messing with me again," the woman said with a pout in her tone.
Some of the younger maids giggled at this oddly casual exchange—until they were silenced with a single glare from the woman in bed.
But the room froze when Jain slapped her hand away. The sound echoed, trailing into a long silence.
"Didn't I tell you to rest?" Jain said, her eyes drawn into a flat line.
"And what do you think you are, huh?"
"And who eats grapes while giving birth to a child?" Jain added in the same calm voice, her eyes unreadable.
"What? Are you seriously taking a child from her mother?" the woman shot back.
"Oh? Then how about you first act like a mother?" Jain countered without blinking, as everyone watched helplessly.
"It's that thing's luck that her mother is so strong and powerful."
"Well, I won't argue with that," Jain replied with a flat expression.
Amid the chaos, the baby in Jain's arms didn't flinch. She slept peacefully.
Just then, the heavy double doors opened slowly—and in walked a man tall enough to demand attention with just his presence.
Golden embroidery lined the upper edge of his coat, while crimson velvet on the inside shimmered. It slipped off one shoulder, dragging lightly over the red carpet with every step.
As he entered, every gaze followed his movements.
He noticed the white bundle wrapped like an egg in Jain's arms. With a few long strides, he closed the distance, stopping beside her.
His gaze didn't drop. He looked straight into Jain's eyes, unwavering.
Jain nodded gently, a soft smile forming on her lips.
The man's gaze finally lowered.
The child sleeping looked almost angelic. With deliberate care, he brushed a finger along her cheek, making her stir softly.
"Wait… no, no… Ed, you can't—" the woman in bed said, worriedly sitting up, just before a loud sob cut her off.
The man—Ed—was now crying like a child.
His body shook like jelly as he stumbled toward the bed.
"You did it, Beth!" he wailed, placing his face on her legs, soaking the sheets with his tears.
Bethany placed a palm on his head, sighing as she shook her head.
"There he goes again."