"You are dead, boy," he said suddenly, anticipating Arthur's reaction.

"Okay... and?" Arthur replied.

"Huh? You're not surprised?"

"You can read minds right, Go ahead," Arthur smirked, feeling like he finally had something on the mysterious boy.

"Sure, oh, it's something in your reasoning," the boy said calmly.

Arthur stared at him with narrowed eyes before closing them. "You sure are shameless."

"Well, I usually avoid reading someone's mind so I am more like a gentleman"

"Yes, it wasn't that surprising. After seeing and experiencing all these strange things, I guessed that I was dead." Arthur said ignoring his remark again.

"Aren't you sad?" the boy asked.

"I lived my whole life, boy... wait, are you God?"

...

Seeing the boy stay silent, Arthur nodded to himself. "So, you're real."

"Do I have to pray to you now?" Arthur asked.

"No, it would be fake anyway," the boy responded.

"That's true," Arthur shrugged.

Ignoring Arthur's remark, the boy looked at him and asked, "If you already realized you were dead, then why all this drama?"

"It wasn't drama. I was only 30% sure," Arthur clarified.

"You sure are meticulous," the boy said.

Arthur sat there, reliving the memories of his life, but suddenly, a frown formed on his face. Noticing his frustration, the boy asked, "You seem frustrated. Why?"

"Who killed me?" Arthur's voice carried a new weight of anger.

The boy was stunned. He tried to respond, but Arthur spoke again first.

"I can't believe my own family betrayed me in the end. They should have just asked if they wanted the throne..."

"!!?"

"I thought maybe my wife would be with me until the end... I knew there was something off about the food she gave me..."

"!!!?"

"That bitc—"

"Whoa, slow down. You died from cancer."

"Ken sir...? Who is Ken sir? Is he in the council?" Arthur asked, confused.

"It was a disease," the boy clarified.

"Then someone poisoned me?" Arthur asked, still feeling that something was off.

"No."

"So... was it a curse?"

"No."

"Then—"

"It was natural!" the boy interrupted.

"What did you just say?" Arthur asked again, not believing what he heard.

"Congratulations, you died a natural death," the boy said with exaggerated hand movements.

For the first time, Arthur's face contorted with a different emotion. He gritted his teeth and yelled,

"STOP LYING!"

"Do you think I, who unified all the countries and became the messiah for millions, would die from some weird disease instead of on the battlefield?" Arthur's eyes were bloodshot.

Stolen story; please report.

"Why would I care?" the boy replied indifferently.

Arthur wasn't upset about death itself—he had achieved everything he wanted in life. But his death now felt like a blemish on his perfect legacy.

"You really care about your reputation after death," the boy observed.

"It would've been better if my wife had killed me," Arthur said bitterly.

"You have some strange fantasies," the boy commented while peeling a tangerine.

Arthur looked at the boy for a few moments, then closed his eyes again. The boy moved closer and asked, "Hey... I'm curious. Why do humans care so much about these feelings?"

Arthur glanced at him before closing his eyes once more.

"If your emotions were closer to love or hatred, I could understand, but now you just seem unreasonable."

Arthur opened his eyes and leaned toward the boy for the first time. He stared directly into the boy's eyes and said, "Humans are creatures who crave perfection from flaws. You can't understand human emotions because only a human can understand them. And what even are you... a God?"

The boy remained silent, his thoughts unreadable.

When Arthur saw he wasn't getting an answer, he leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes once again.

"I am a God... maybe."

a soft whisper flows in the air without asking for a reply

***

[Morse Capital]

The capital was eerily silent. It had been raining for several days. Once-bustling streets were now empty, and all the houses were closed. A lockdown was in place.

In the center of the capital stood a massive palace. Inside the palace kitchen, servants were in a frenzy.

Alisa was a new maid, recently assigned to the palace after the death of Emperor Arthur. Many servants had resigned, citing sadness, but everyone knew the real reason—they were afraid of—

"ALISA! WHY ARE YOU ZONING OUT? THIS IS NOT YOUR HOME!" a voice snapped.

"Sorry, ma'am!" Alisa apologized, muttering under her breath, "...the head maid sure is frustrated today."

Monica, the head maid, was an imposing figure—6 feet tall, with oval glasses and a perfectly ironed maid uniform trimmed with gold, a symbol of her rank. Though not conventionally beautiful, her stern demeanor made her presence commanding.

Normally, Monica was calm and kind-hearted, but today she had been shouting nonstop, her behavior finally matching her severe appearance. The importance of today's guests made her anxiety understandable.

"Everyone, come here. I have something important to say," Monica called, her voice demanding attention.

The maids gathered around her in a circle. After ensuring everyone was present, she nodded and spoke.

"No one is allowed to leave the kitchen til morning."

Several maids wanted to protest, but Monica's stern gaze silenced them.

"...Why?" a brave maid finally asked.

It was Alisa.

"You can leave if you want, Miss Alisa, but the palace won't be responsible for your safety," Monica said, locking eyes with Alisa.

'How did it get so extreme?' Alisa thought, bewildered.

Monica looked at everyone, her expression tense. "Listen, every person in that meeting room is more dangerous than you could ever imagine. I'm ordering this for your safety."

Everyone listened with tense expressions, including Alisa.

"So, until that meeting ends, no one is—"

*SLAM!*

Suddenly, the door burst open, and someone rushed inside. Everyone tensed but relaxed when they saw it was Robin, the assistant butler.

Robin, an average-looking boy with freckles and blond hair, looked terrified. He was young compared to the others, and they treated him like a younger brother. He appeared as though he'd run a marathon, fear etched across his face.

Monica tried to ask what happened, but Robin interrupted, "The Monarchs are asking for everyone's presence!"

Silence fell over the kitchen. The Monarchs asking for them? Why? They weren't important people in the castle. The Monarchs, though protectors of the kingdom, were known for their eccentric and often dangerous nature. Rumors claimed that before Emperor Arthur tamed them, they were the most heinous beings alive.

"I'll go," Monica volunteered.

Grateful, several maids offered to accompany her, but Robin stopped them.

"They specifically mentioned the presence of everyone, including... Alisa. Who is Alisa?" Robin asked urgently.

All the maids looked at Alisa, who stood frozen.

"A-are you sure? It must be a mistake, right? Maybe they meant 'Elisa,' not 'Alisa,' right? Right?" Alisa stammered in disbelief.

"There's no one named Elisa here," one maid shot down her hope.

"We should just send her," someone muttered, sparking a wave of agreement.

"Yes, we should send her. Why should we go when they only asked for her?" another voice chimed in.

"Don't say that."

"I have a family at home—I can't do this."

"Besides, she's an orphan."

Alisa wasn't hurt by their words. She had heard them all her life and had grown numb to them. Monica, however, showed a different reaction.

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves. I know you're stressed, but vent your frustration another time," Monica said firmly.

The maids hung their heads in shame. Monica glared at them before turning to Alisa.

"Don't worry, Alisa. I'll go with you."

"Thank you, ma'am," Alisa muttered, unsure of what to feel. Gratitude? Perhaps. But the only thing she truly felt was nervousness.

"But... they want everyone to be present," Robin interjected.

"I'll try to talk to them. Let's go," Monica said, leading the way out of the kitchen.

Tension lingered in the air, and the maids looked at Alisa with resentment.

"What did I even do?"

Arthur was walking behind the boy in a random hallway.

'As I thought, that house wasn't real. Maybe it was an illusion,' he mused.

The boy, walking ahead of him, suddenly turned around and said, "That wasn't an illusion. It was real."

....

Seeing Arthur stay silent and not asking anything, the boy, as a gentleman, explained himself.

"It was something like when your imagination becomes reality after death. Your soul will adjust to it after some time."