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Connie's Isekai Bucket List
I. Connie's Cabinet-Shrine

I. Connie's Cabinet-Shrine

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Most of my childhood was spent moving from place to place. My parents would purchase the most affordable home and, after months of renovation, they would put it back on the market for a higher price. Before I knew it, we were moving again. The friends I made, we promised to stay in touch through emails or letters, but as time passed, it became harder for us to stay connected. By then, I would meet new friends after moving to a different location, only to start the cycle all over again.

It wasn't until I was 8 years old when my parents finally found their dream home. And no, it wasn't some luxurious mansion or million-dollar house. It was a cozy retreat home with a wide backyard somewhere close to Malibu, surrounded by forested areas, and with distant neighbors. Our new home was quite secluded, but it had everything we needed. My parents were super ecstatic about it, and I was over the moon, knowing that this was going to be our forever home.

There was just this one problem, though.

"Did someone die here?" My dad asked the real estate agent as we stared at the makeshift cabinet at the far end of the property, obscured by tree branches and thickets. The cabinet had two front panels that opened up to reveal a quaint display of a little statuette and two bells. A Christian cross was mounted on top of it.

The agent answered, "No one died in this house. This is something called a butsudan. It's a shrine that honors the dead. The previous owners hoped you wouldn't get rid of it."

"It's a little weird, isn't it?" my mother questioned, skeptical about keeping it.

"I suppose it is, but they have said it brought them a lot of good luck, and they hope it does the same for you all," the agent replied.

In the end, they decided to keep the shrine, at least for a couple of months. My parents had plans to get rid of it, so they went on Craigslist to see if they could make a profit from it. I was never really interested in that thing. Being only eight years old, I was busy creating my own imaginary adventures in the backyard, pretending to be a prince fighting a dragon to rescue a princess from a tower. Tablets didn't exist yet, and my mother disapproved of video games, so I had to be creative during my playtime. The cabinet shrine was the last thing on my mind to care about.

Until one day, my mom bought some pudding cups, and I managed to snag two of them before running out to the backyard. I had the brilliant idea to hide one of them in the cabinet shrine so that I could enjoy it later that evening. I felt proud of my cunning plan and giggled throughout the day as I played the role of a treasure hunter. When it was almost time to head back inside, I hurried to the cabinet shrine to retrieve my hidden treasure, only to find it gone.

It hadn't disappeared. In fact, it was empty, as if someone had eaten it.

I thought maybe one of my parents had eaten it, or that a squirrel had managed to get its paws on the chocolatey goodness of the pudding. However, there was a lock on the cabinet shrine, and my parents had not stepped outside.

I believe that's how my weekly offering began. I kept leaving food in the cabinet shrine, hoping to catch the mysterious culprit in the act. I even left the panels wide open, but whenever I looked away, the snacks would vanish again. Sometimes they disappeared completely, and other times only crumbs were left behind. As an 8-year-old, I started to believe that the cabinet shrine was more than just an object—it was a person. So every day, I diligently left snacks inside it.

My parents noticed that I was spending a lot of time with the cabinet shrine and approached me, asking if it was okay for them to sell it. I vehemently declined the idea and even threw the first tantrum I had in years. I had always been a well-behaved child, and after that episode, they never brought up the cabinet shrine again.

Years went by, and I don't know if it was because the real estate agent was telling the truth, but whenever disaster struck, something incredible yet fortunate would happen to us. One time, my mom's purse was stolen in the mall, only for it to reappear on our front doorstep with all her cards intact, along with extra cash. Then, there was the incident when my dad got into an accident, and his car was completely totaled—expensive damages and replacements were in order. However, the following week, he won a $85,000 lottery, just enough to cover all the expenses, including medical bills for both parties. As for me, I had always wanted a puppy. The very next day, a golden retriever puppy somehow ended up in our house, hiding under my bed. My parents were puzzled, but in the end, we had to keep him. I named him Remington, by the way.

After high school, I went to college. I continued making offerings to the cabinet shrine, but my visits became less frequent, limited to occasional trips. It might have been my imagination, but there always seemed to be a sense of sadness lingering around the cabinet shrine whenever I had to leave again. Once I graduated, I moved to Los Angeles and got my first job. However, as the demands of work increased, my visits to my parents became infrequent, limited mostly to holidays. The workload was overwhelming, and I gradually realized how much I was being taken advantage of. I was doing the work that should have required three people, and my raises were never sufficient. Whenever I managed to take vacation or PTO, they would shame me for it, only to berate me for not taking it by the end of the year.

Then tragedy struck when my parents and Remington died on their way to visit me over the weekend. They were involved in a car chase, and the situation escalated when a criminal attempted to hijack their car while they were at a gas station. When they refused, the gunman shot them and my beloved dog. I was devastated. I took some time off, utilizing bereavement days, PTO, and vacation. Throughout this period, my boss kept calling me, even on the day of the funeral when I needed to lay my loved ones to rest.

It didn't take long for me to resign and leave the company, despite their attempts to entice me with promotions and raises. I thought, good riddance.

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Returning to my childhood home, I discovered that my parents had established it as a living trust for me. All this time, they had chosen this house not for themselves, but with the intention that it would be mine—a place meant for me.

Upon my return, our neighborhood experienced weeks of continuous rain, to the extent that it was deemed a phenomenal freak of nature by the weather reports. However, deep down, I couldn't help but believe that it was the cabinet shrine shedding tears for me.

Eventually, the rain stopped, and I resumed my daily offerings to the cabinet shrine.

My parents left me with enough inheritance to live as I pleased, as a jobless NEET (Not in Education, Employment, or Training). However, I made sure to live frugally, buying groceries and cooking my own meals. I even started my own garden and set up a small chicken coop. Being unemployed didn't seem so bad. I focused on my passion for writing stories and honed my drawing skills, including digital art. While it may have seemed like a solitary existence, I was grateful to have some college friends who still kept in touch through social media. And when socialization wasn't enough, I turned to online tabletop games, which alleviated the sense of stagnation in my life.

For many years, I continued living in this manner. I became overweight and lazy, and the house fell into a slight state of disarray. However, I always took care of the chicken coop, and I never missed an opportunity to make an offering to the cabinet shrine.

Then, one day, my time finally came.

There has been an epidemic of gun violence sweeping across America, and unfortunately, it seemed that my number was up when I visited the mall with some friends. Lupita, a former co-worker who now owns her own online business selling slime with decals, had just asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. I was on the verge of saying yes when the gunman entered the mall and began shooting without any warning. Instinctively, I grabbed Lupita, shielding her, but then I felt a sharp impact against my back, and we both collapsed to the ground.

That's all I remembered before regaining consciousness at a desolate bus station. The roads lay empty, devoid of any signs of life.

Except for one.

"Amazing. I never expected you to be so brave, Connie," a young man beside me remarked.

He appeared to be in his late 20s and exuded an undeniable handsomeness. He had a slender yet fit physique, reminiscent of a Korean hot model or someone who had attempted to audition for BTS, only to be disqualified for being too attractive. Did I mention how strikingly good-looking he was? Honestly, his presence felt almost illegal. Not that I typically swoon over cute faces, and I never had a specific attraction towards Asian men—it's just a matter of preference—but goodness, the thoughts that crossed my mind...

And then, he chuckled.

"I'm glad you appreciate my appearance," he said, seemingly aware of my thoughts.

"I didn't say anything," I responded, caught off guard by his remark.

"You didn't have to," he replied with a knowing smile.

Demanding an explanation, I stood up from the bench, eyeing him suspiciously.

In response, he offered a heartfelt smile. "You know who I am, Connie. You have given me offerings almost every day since you were a little girl."

I hesitated, my thoughts racing as he mentioned the food offerings and how they were connected to the cabinet-shrine. "Wait... you're... you're the cabinet-shrine?"

He chuckled. "Indeed, I regret not giving my shrine a proper name, but I have come to embrace that nickname."

He stood up, turning to face me directly. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly, Connie. My name is Elheim, and I have been your protector for the last twenty years—or at least, I've tried to be. I was never able to leave the property. So when the gunman approached you, I... I couldn't do anything."

His expression fell somber. "I couldn't protect you."

"So, are you a spirit, or something?" I asked dumbly.

"I am not a spirit," he clarified. "To be frank, I am a deity. A god. I only came here to observe how well the god of this world managed his creations, and, well... you humans are the most fascinating."

I was taken aback by the revelation. The cabinet shrine was not just a vessel for a spirit, but it was connected to a deity—a god. The realization that my offerings were being taken by a divine being, rather than the majestic spirit fox I had once imagined, left me feeling a mix of surprise and confusion, and a bit of sadness. It was difficult to process this newfound information. The cabinet shrine, which had been a part of my life for so long, had been harboring a god—a deity who had been silently watching over me.

"You have been offering me food all these years, and in return, I have tried my best to protect you," Elheim continued, his expression filled with sincerity. "I apologize for my limitations during the incident with the gunman. I truly wished I could have done more."

I looked at him, realizing the weight of his words. "You're a god, and you've been watching over me?"

Elheim nodded. "Indeed, Connie. I have seen your joys and sorrows, your struggles and triumphs. Your dedication and faith in me through your offerings have not gone unnoticed."

A sense of gratitude and awe washed over me as I comprehended the significance of our connection. The cabinet shrine had not only been a symbol of protection but a conduit to a divine presence that had been silently guiding my life.

"Were you also there at my college? And what about my workplace? My parents?" I questioned, seeking clarification.

Elheim's expression turned solemn. "Once again, I must apologize. As a deity bound to the property, I could never leave its confines. I was aware of the events surrounding your parents and your dog's deaths, but I had no means to intervene. I deeply regret not being able to prevent that tragedy. As for your college years, I bestowed upon you my blessings of fortune and good luck, but they could only last for a week. You survived and graduated on your own, which is truly commendable."

His words resonated within me, both comforting and bittersweet. While Elheim had been unable to physically intervene in the outside world beyond the home property, his blessings had subtly influenced my journey, guiding me towards moments of good fortune and success.

"I appreciate your blessings and your honesty," I replied, a mix of gratitude and understanding filling my voice. "You've been watching over me, offering your protection and guidance, and even if you think that isn't enough that still means more to me than I can ever express my gratitude to you."

Elheim nodded, his gaze filled with a blend of remorse and compassion. "I am grateful for your understanding, Connie. Though my reach was limited, know that I always held you in my thoughts and tried to bestow my blessings upon you."

Silence settled between us as the weight of our connection became more profound. The cabinet shrine, once just a an unusual landmark in my childhood home, now represented an extraordinary link to a god who had been a silent companion throughout my life.

However, I was still dead.

"What happens now?" I questioned, unsure of what awaited me in this new reality.

Elheim's expression softened. "I have petitioned your God for your soul, because I have an offer to present to you. How would you like to come to my world?"

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