Blinding brightness stabbed through my eyelids, forcing a sharp groan from my throat. Except, the sound didn't come out as a groan. It emerged as a high-pitched, pathetic squeak that sounded more like a dying chew toy than a grown man. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead as I tried to lift my arms. They felt incredibly heavy, like wet sandbags pinned to a mattress. Lifting my right hand into my field of vision, my heart nearly stopped. Tiny, wrinkled, pink fingers wiggled in front of my face. I was a baby. Heavy, ancient voices boomed from somewhere above me, echoing off high stone walls. The air smelled of burning lavender incense and old paper, thick and suffocating. "Behold the miracle," a deep voice chanted, vibrating right through my tiny ribcage. "The High Arbiters have blessed us with the Light of the Sun. Look at the S-Tier affinity swirling within his soul." Golden particles drifted down around me like glittering dust motes. They felt warm, almost hot, buzzing against my sensitive skin with an intense, electric energy that made my teeth itch. Each particle felt like a tiny drop of pure caffeine, sending jolts of raw energy through my miniature nervous system. It was intoxicating, but terrifying. My soul felt like it was being re-wired, transformed into a weapon designed for destruction rather than a vessel for a peaceful, lazy life. Panic seized my chest, squeezing tight as I stared at the soaring vaulted ceiling. This wasn't a normal hospital, and these definitely weren't doctors. "He shall be our ultimate weapon," another voice chimed in, dripping with cold, clinical satisfaction. "The empire will use his divine light to purge the northern heretics. He will train eighteen hours a day from his fifth year onward." Hearing their grand plans made my stomach churn. They talked about empires, divine wars, and holy crusades as if they were discussing a quarterly sales target. I could practically see the corporate PowerPoint presentation they had designed for my entire life. Eighteen hours a day. Those words triggered a violent spike of adrenaline. Memories of my previous life flashed behind my eyes—deadlines, cramped cubicles, endless spreadsheets, and the agonizing headache of a ninety-hour work week that eventually ended with my heart giving out at my desk in Tokyo. I had died of overwork. Tokyo had been a meat grinder, a relentless cycle of packed trains, polite bowing, and bosses who viewed us as nothing more than replaceable batteries. Jasper and I had survived it by sticking together, but in the end, the system had claimed us both. Jasper and I used to sit in a cramped, smoky izakaya at midnight, downing cheap draft beers and dreaming of a quiet retirement. We wanted to move to some peaceful countryside, buy a small house, brew our own ale, and chase beautiful women without a single care in the world. Our dream had been simple: absolute freedom. Now, these robed fanatics wanted to turn me into a child soldier for some divine empire. They wanted to exploit me before I could even walk. Absolutely not. I hadn't spent thirty-four years grinding myself into an early grave just to start the whole damn cycle over again in diapers. If this world thought they could put a leash on me, they were sorely mistaken. I was going to get my peaceful retirement, even if I had to tear this entire pantheon down to get it. Never again would I let some manager, CEO, or high priest dictate my schedule. I wanted to drink beer, sleep in, and enjoy a long, lazy retirement. White-hot sparks crackled from my tiny fingertips as my emotional spike triggered the magic within me. The gold-plated crib I lay in hummed, absorbing the excess energy. "Look! His power responds to our voices!" the high priest shouted, his shadow falling over my crib. He wore an elaborate, heavy mask of pure gold, shaped like a weeping angel. Squirming in my silk-lined prison, I turned my head to the side, desperate to find an escape route. That was when I noticed the contrast. Right next to my glittering gold crib sat another bassinet. This one was carved from solid, light-absorbing obsidian, looking completely out of place in the glowing temple. Inside the dark crib lay another baby. This infant was massive, easily twice my size, with thick, chubby limbs and a scowl that looked ridiculously mature for a newborn. Dark, purple-black smoke drifted lazily from his tiny nostrils. He looked like a mini-bulldog in human form, staring straight at me with intense, dark eyes. He was easily twice my weight, looking like a miniature sumo wrestler with a heavy scowl. Dark, oppressive static hummed around his small frame, actively pushing away the ambient light. It was a terrifying display of raw power, yet to me, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Our gazes locked across the gap between our cribs. Recognition hit me like a physical blow. Those heavy eyebrows, the stubborn set of his tiny jaw, and the sheer aura of grumpy exhaustion were unmistakable. Jasper. My best friend, my fellow corporate slave, and the only man who hated middle management more than I did. Slowly, Jasper's tiny, chubby lips parted. He didn't make a sound, but his mouth formed two distinct words with perfect clarity. *Corporate scum.* It was our old private joke from our days at the agency. Whenever our boss, Tanaka, would hand us a stack of unpaid overtime work on a Friday afternoon, Jasper would mutter those exact words under his breath. Seeing him say it now, as a giant baby in a dark stone crib, made me want to laugh out loud. Relief washed over me, so intense I almost cried tears of joy. I wasn't alone in this hellhole. Jasper shifted his massive baby body, rolling onto his side to glare at the robed figures surrounding us. The dark energy around him grew thicker, smelling faintly of ozone and charred wood. "That other one," a priest whispered, pointing a trembling finger at Jasper's crib. "The Dark S-Tier. The ancient texts warned of this. They are the twin harbingers." They whispered in hushed, terrified tones, clutching their silver holy symbols as if the mere sight of a chubby baby could summon the apocalypse. Their hands shook, and the collective panic in the room was palpable. "This dark child must be controlled," the High Priest declared, his voice dropping to a harsh, icy whisper. "We cannot allow the dark one to corrupt the light. Prepare the branding irons." Hearing that, Jasper's scowl deepened into a terrifying grimace. His tiny forehead creased with pure, unadulterated rage. We both knew what branding meant. It meant ownership, slavery, and an eternity of unpaid labor under the guise of holy duty. No pension. No vacation days. No weekends. Over my dead body. I squeezed my tiny fists, channeling the golden light inside me. It felt like a warm river flowing through my veins, eager to burst out and blast these robed middle-managers to ashes. Beside me, Jasper was doing the same. The obsidian crib began to crack under the pressure of his heavy, oppressive dark magic. "Hurry!" the High Priest commanded, stepping forward with a long, silver rod. The tip of the rod glowed with a harsh, violet flame, humming with binding runes. "Apply the Soul-Bind brand before their magic matures!" Two lower-ranking priests rushed forward, pinning my tiny shoulders to the gold-plated mattress. I thrashed against their grip, but my infant muscles simply weren't strong enough yet. Golden light flared from my skin, singing the priests' gloves, but they gritted their teeth and held fast. "Hold the dark one as well!" the High Priest barked, stepping closer to Jasper's obsidian crib. But Jasper wasn't having any of it. He let out a deep, rumbling baby gurgle that sounded suspiciously like a war cry. Black lightning crackled across his chubby arms, instantly repelling the hands of the priests who dared to reach for him. Air grew cold in the chamber, the temperature dropping so rapidly that our breath turned to mist. "Do not resist your divine destiny!" the High Priest shouted, his voice cracking with panic as he lunged forward with the glowing brand. As the High Priest raises a ceremonial brand to bind their souls to the Empire, Jasper's tiny baby hand shoots out and snatches the hot iron, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, pitch-black void.

Chapter 1: Overtime in the Afterlife