When Truck-kun sent me on my way, I assumed there’d be something...grander waiting on the other side. A heroic destiny, perhaps. What I got instead was a waiting room. Beige walls, quiet hums of fluorescent lights, and a system so orderly it felt suspicious. Apparently, souls like mine—“hero souls,” they call them—are processed here, neatly cataloged and dismantled to keep things balanced. Or controlled, depending on how you look at it. My name’s on a file somewhere, and my memories are locked away in storage. They say it’s for the greater good. Still, I can’t shake the feeling I wasn’t meant to be here. Or perhaps, I wasn’t meant to stay.