Not much time had passed since the end of the trial.

  "I" floated in empty space, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

  A voice of unknown origin resounded through the pitch-black void.

  "All souls have been tested. Now, you will begin the creation of your new vessel."

  The voice quickly added:

  "No questions are allowed until I have finished my explanation."

  "The world of Ordnung requires the help of you outsiders. A Demon King, slaughtering his way to godhood, has emerged."

  The voice carried no emotion. It was a simple statement of fact.

  "As for why native souls are not chosen for this task… causality is the short answer."

  I couldn't help but think that this was an extremely boring cliché—but if it meant getting another chance at life, so be it.

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  After a brief pause, the voice continued.

  "And now," it called, "you will create a new vessel for yourself."

  ---

  Suddenly, the space around me turned white.

  "What now?" I asked, confused.

  "Think of the appearance you wish your vessel to have," the voice instructed.

  I was caught off guard.

  "Anything?" I blurted out.

  "Anything," the voice confirmed.

  For a moment, I hesitated.

  I couldn't help but think of my old body.

  I had always struggled with my mixed heritage. My mother was Asian, born and raised in South Korea, while my father was European, from a family with deep roots in France. They met while traveling, fell into a whirlwind romance, and eventually had me.

  They always told me I wasn't an accident—but even as a child, I could tell I was never part of their plan.

  Growing up, I never truly felt like I belonged anywhere. In Europe, I was too Asian. In Asia, I was too European. People would always ask, "Where are you really from?" as if my existence had to be justified.

  When I died, I was almost thirty years old. I had black hair and dark eyes. My face was always clean-shaven because my pathetic attempt at a beard looked embarrassing. My nose could have passed for a perfect Korean idol nose—if not for the slight bend in it and the fact that one nostril was smaller than the other.

  I wasn't ugly, but I wasn't perfect either. I was just me.

  And for the first time since my death, I realized—I missed being me.

  I didn't want a stronger jawline, a sharper nose, or a different eye color.

  I just wanted to be myself again.

  And so, as if answering my desire, my body appeared before me.

  I let out a small sigh of relief.

  The voice hesitated before asking:

  "You can be anything—taller, more handsome, more muscular. You can even modify your body slightly, changing your hair or eye color."

  "Are you sure you want that body?"

  I hesitated.

  Back on Earth, I would have loved to tweak a few things—just a couple of small changes here and there.

  Then, suddenly, I laughed.

  "This body is perfect for me," I declared. "Hand-tailored, if I may add."

  The moment I spoke, the white space shifted once more.

  And my vision changed again.