When Jimbo heard he couldn't enter paradise, he nearly collapsed to the floor. But upon hearing the word reincarnation, his spirits recovered and his eyes lit up. Perhaps all was not lost; perhaps there was more for him than this abrupt end. He steps forward and, with a jump, perches on the edge of the desk.
"Reincarnation... Like in light novels?" Jim questions, extending his chubby energy hand.
"Or like in the Bhagavad Gita, holy poem of the Hindus," St. Peter replies with a raised eyebrow. "Jimbo, this is not a prize... It is a new opportunity. Our mission is for all souls to transcend, not to repeat a thousand unfulfilled lives until they end up twisted. There are wounds and traumas that reach the spirit, did you know?"
"That's all well and good, but it's going to be like in the light novels, right?" Jim ignores half the saint's words and continues seeking the confirmation he desires.
St. Peter lets out a long sigh and nods with a tired expression.
"Great!" Jim flashes a wide smile and hops off the desk. "I guess I'll have to leave behind my PC, my games, my money, and all my trophies... But I accept the sacrifice! I assume that'll earn me a point or two with the Almighty. Where do I sign?"
St. Peter points to the silver threshold. The door opens on its own.
"Follow that path, my son, and you will find your guardian angel. The angel will clarify everything you need to know."
Jimbo thanks St. Peter and advances through the clouds, their clusters molding to his steps like snow. The silver door closes behind him.
Pearly pantheons with double jade doors appear along the paths of cloud and light. Jimbo sees many souls being guided by winged figures dressed in white togas. There is no such thing as an ugly angel; their faces seem hand-crafted like those of top-tier NPCs. He watches Mary enter one of the pantheons with a tall, handsome angel. Jimbo stands there, dumbfounded, admiring everyone's beauty, until he bumps into someone and ends up sitting on the floor of light.
Looking up, Jim discovers a thin, short girl whose golden bangs cover her sleepy eyes. She floats hunched over, with two white wings that barely even twitch. In one hand, the girl holds a golden trumpet.
"Who are you?" Jim asks from the floor.
"I am your guardian angel, Cherubella," the angel announces, bringing the trumpet to her lips and blowing, blasting an annoying sound right into Jimbo's face.
Jim grumbles and rubs his face before standing up.
"You didn't do a very good job, did you?" Jim accuses, since his reason for being there is that she failed to protect him from death.
"I tried to warn you." Cherubella's voice is just as soothing as St. Peter's, only somewhat sluggish, as if she had just woken up from a nap. Jim swallows the impression that the rest of the guardian angels seem far more competent than his. "You know that constant pain in your stomach you decided to ignore...? That was me."
Jim avoids asking how she caused those stomach pains. He decides to focus on the promise of a new life. He rubs his hands together and forces a smile.
"So... What's the next step?"
"Next step of what?"
"Of my reincarnation." Jim starts to sound annoyed.
"Oh, right," Cherubella brings a hand to her face and strokes her chin. "Well, what do you want?"
Jimbo's eyes widen in surprise.
"I didn't know I could choose..."
Cherubella smiles.
"Let's go to my pantheon."
The jade doors open on their own as they approach. Inside those pearly walls illuminated by an invisible power, there is a humble desk like St. Peter's, a wooden chair, a filing cabinet, and perhaps most strikingly, a golden machine placed at the back of the pantheon. The machine is equipped with a glass sight attached to a seat, two levers, an open vault, and an elongated tube extending out of the pantheon, aiming beyond the clouds.
Jimbo hops onto the wooden chair while Cherubella floats behind the desk, sets down the trumpet, and opens the filing cabinet to search through hundreds of folders with names.
"Wait a second, am I not your only protégé?"
"Uhh, no," Cherubella replies with a tranquil smile, without stopping her search through the cabinet drawers. "I have about 9,000 souls assigned to me."
"9,000?!" Jim nearly falls out of his seat, unable to fathom that workload.
"I used to have a partner, but these days there are so many souls that we all had to split up. If I keep doing a good job, I'll earn my third wing and be one step closer to becoming a cherub." Cherubella's expression takes on a slight crimson hue as she imagines her future.
"And when do you sleep, or eat, or have fun?"
"I don't need to eat or sleep. And my job is pretty fun."
Jim looks away. He keeps it to himself for convenience, but he thinks God is a real slave driver. Cherubella places a manila folder on the desk and opens a drawer to pull out some brochures, handing them to the soul.
"These remind me of vacation pamphlets," Jim says as he browses the contents of the first one. "Wait a minute, this is where I came from!"
"That's our 'Going Home' package," Cherubella informs. "It's quite popular; most prefer a place that feels familiar."
"Can't I tell you what I'm looking for first, and then you show me the brochure that matches?"
"Hmm, sure." Cherubella accepts the brochures back, being very careful not to wrinkle the corners of the paper.
Jimbo settles into the chair and begins detailing what he wants step by step, using hand gestures. Cherubella listens and nods occasionally to show she's paying attention. When Jimbo finishes his rambling, the angel says:
"So you're looking for a fantasy world."
Jim smiles and nods enthusiastically. Cherubella hands him a piece of paper bearing the name Fantasia. Jim accepts the brochure and reads it with growing excitement, seeing it has everything he asked for: Magic, dragons, treasures, kingdoms, princesses...
"Even though it's a relatively recent galaxy, it's another of our most popular destinations."
"There are elves!"
"Yes, of various kinds. Though they are less friendly than people think."
"Heavens! It has practically everything I dreamed of."
"So you like it?"
"A lot!"
"Good. I suppose the only thing left is for you to tell me what you want to be."
"Can I choose anything?"
"There are souls who were granted to be a magic sword, a slime, and even a vending machine. Didn't St. Peter tell you? We are very flexible."
"A vending machine? Really?"
"Hey, we don't judge here... Well, we do, but you know what I mean."
"Do you have pen and paper? It's a bit long."
Cherubella procures a piece of parchment from the desk and a golden quill that needs no ink to write. Jimbo writes down all his requirements, a task that takes him about ten minutes, before handing the paper back to the angel. Cherubella's eyes scan up and down the text several times.
"So you want to be a humble farmer with a heart of gold, half-elf, half-bastard son of the king, owner of a dragon egg, and possessor of a mysterious destructive power that is also a vestige of a fragment of the demon king sealed inside you."
"There's more on the back."
Cherubella checks the other side.
"Innate mastery of martial arts and swordsmanship. And a magnet for women who don't mind being part of a harem, which includes a cute childhood friend, and a 40-year-old mentor. Is that all?"
Jimbo nods and crosses his arms behind his head. Cherubella smiles, opens the desk again, and pulls out a silver scale with four weighing pans. Then she opens Jimbo's file and, as if it were some kind of magic pocket, pulls three statuettes from the folder: a white one, a red one, and a gray one, placing them on the different pans.
"I sculpted them myself. Do you like them?"
Jim leans in and squints his energy eyes.
"Is that me?" Jim recognizes the chubby, broad-faced figures. The white statuette shows a kind smile; the red one a wide, shark-like grin; and the gray one looks indifferent to everything. "Why do the red and white ones look so small?"
"They're made of sins and good deeds, respectively."
"What do you mean by that...?"
Cherubella ignores the question and rolls up the paper with Jimbo's requests, placing it on the last pan. The scale trembles and bobs up and down, as if undecided by the weight of each element, until the paper flies into the air, unrolls, and floats down to cover Jimbo's head.
"Perhaps you should be less demanding. Set the limit to ten words," the angel says without erasing her gentle smile.