The half-moon hung low, pale and patient, casting silver across the empty fields.
Amitesh sat atop the watchtower, one leg lazily swinging over the edge.
The night wind struck his face every few seconds—cold, persistent, irritating.
For the first time in his life, doing nothing exhausted him.
If I shout, the whole village will shout back.
He exhaled slowly instead.
He moved to the wooden chair nearby and sat carefully, as if one wrong motion would snap it in half. His gaze drifted upward.
"So boring," he muttered. "Feels like I'm stuck… but I don't even know where to start moving again."
A soft glow unfolded before him.
A translucent screen—purple, faintly shimmering—appeared in the air. Vertical lines pulsed across it like breathing soundwaves.
Then a woman's voice.
Warm. Sweet.
Too sweet.
"Are you feeling lonely, Amitesh?"
His eyes narrowed.
Familiar…
"Well. Hello, Astraea. And no, I'm not lonely. Thanks for asking."
A soft laugh echoed.
"You're always so polite. Don't you ever get tired of that tone?"
"Depends. Who am I speaking to exactly?"
"Oh, forget the system. I'm here now. Talk to me."
That made his shoulders tense.
Why does that sound comforting… and threatening at the same time?
Suddenly, a yellow screen burst inside the purple one.
"Brother! Help! She tied me up—"
"Who tied—?"
"Just a moment," Astraea hummed.
The yellow screen flickered violently.
"Mmmph—huh—mm—"
Silence.
The yellow screen vanished.
Only purple remained.
Amitesh stared at it.
"Is the system… okay?…Did you just kidnap the system?"
"He talks too much."
"That's his job."
"Not tonight,Oh, he'll survive. If he behaves." Her tone was still sweet. Too sweet. "Now. Let's continue."
Amitesh cleared his throat.
"Let's start simple. Who are you?"
A pause.
Then:
"I am Astraea. Goddess of reincarnation, magic… and luck."
A small glow rippled across the screen. "The one you might need… if you ever get isekai'd."
A small pause.
"And maybe… your future."
"Oh wow." He nodded slowly. "That sounds both helpful and threatening."
"It's romantic."
"It's not."
She ignored him.
"So. When are you dying?"
He froze for half a second.
"…Excuse me?"
"If possible, soon would be nice."
He stared at the screen. "Why would I die on request?"
"Ah, sorry. Occupational habit." She sighed. "You have no idea how boring it is up here. I send people to amazing worlds every day. They fight dragons. Build kingdoms. Fall in love.Sending them away. Never going with them and top of that many of them don't even remember that is send them to their fantastic dream World"
For a moment, she didn't sound playful.
She sounded lonely.
Her voice lowered slightly.
"And I stay here"
"That's… actually kind of sad," Amitesh admitted.
"Exactly." Her tone sharpened. "So die quickly. Come to me."
His expression changed instantly.
"And why are you so eager for me specifically?"
A pause.
Longer this time.
"I can't tell you that."
The air grew heavier.
"If there weren't higher laws," she continued softly, "I might never have let you be born at all. I would have kept you beside me from the start."
A chill slid down his spine.
That's not romantic.
That's possession.
"Well," Amitesh said calmly, "I don't plan on dying anytime soon. So how about you wait. Eventually, I'll die. Then you can reincarnate me."
Her tone changed.
Cold.
"No."
"…No?"
"I will not let you reincarnate."
"Why?"
"Because you would change."
A faint distortion flickered across the screen. "And I refuse to lose you again."
'Now she didn't sound like a goddess.
She sounded like someone who had already decided something.'
Amitesh leaned back slowly.
'This goddess wants me dead… but not free.'
And she tied up the system.
Yeah… I need to be very careful.
Amitesh narrowed his eyes at the purple screen.
'What did I even do to make her like this?
She's acting like a girl who hasn't been given attention for five minutes.'
"Well," he said calmly, folding his arms, "I have absolutely no intention of dying."
Astraea went quiet for a second.
"Why are you always like this?" she asked softly. "Do you really not want to come here… to see me again?"
"See you again?" He raised an eyebrow. "When exactly did we start meeting?"
She ignored the sarcasm.
"See? That's exactly why I don't want you to reincarnate. You'll forget me."
Before he could reply—
A yellow screen violently pushed through the purple one.
"Brother! Don't talk to her too much! She becomes desperate again!"
Amitesh blinked. "How are you still functioning?"
Astraea's voice turned cold instantly.
"I threw you a trillion light-years away. Into a time-loop void dimensional space."
The yellow screen flickered proudly.
"Hehe. Sister-in-law, don't forget — I am also a god. Did you really think a system could be suppressed by area control?"
There was silence.
Then Astraea's voice sweetened dangerously.
"Oh? Sweetie, just wait there. Let me throw him into infinite space properly this time."
Amitesh stiffened. "Sweetie who?"
"You," she replied without hesitation. "Don't worry. It will sound natural soon."
The purple screen vanished.
The yellow one started shaking violently.
"Brother! Help me! She's serious this time! I don't want to go to infinite space! I'm only 13 Googolplex old! I haven't even found a wife yet!"
Amitesh stared at him.
"Thirteen Googolplex? I'm not even thirty years old and you expect me to fight cosmic divorce drama?"
"Just tell sister-in-law to stop! Oh no—she's here—help!"
The purple light returned.
"What happened, Amitesh dear?"
Astraea asked gently. "I'll talk to you. Let me just deal with this tiny nuisance first."
"Don't throw him into infinite space,"
Amitesh said flatly.
"Hm?" she hummed. "Why not? What will I get in return?"
The yellow screen screamed, "I'll make you his system!"
Astraea paused.
"Hm. Tempting. But not enough."
"Brother do something!" the system cried. "She listens to you!"
Amitesh inhaled slowly.
Fine.
"Astraea," he said calmly, "if you touch him, I won't talk to you again."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then—
A faint sniff.
Another.
"You two are always like this…" Astraea muttered. "Breaking higher laws. Roaming freely. And when I try to do something, you push me away."
Sniff.
"No one loves me specially you two."
The yellow screen whispered,
"Brother… it's because of you…"
"Because of me?" Amitesh rubbed his temples. "How did I become the villain in this story?"
Another soft sob.
"You don't care about me…"
He exhaled slowly.
This was absurd.
"Stop crying."
"You don't love me."
He hesitated.
The system was vibrating violently.
He closed his eyes.
"…I love you."
Silence.
Then—
"You really do?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
Instant shift.
Cheerful. Bright. Completely fine.
"Okay! I'm letting him go this time~ Oh, and I want a recording of that confession Niwhsa . Bye, Amitesh."
The purple screen disappeared.
The night became normal again.
The yellow screen floated weakly.
"…What just happened?" Amitesh asked.
"That," the system said gravely, "was peak yandere activity."
"I can see that. But why over me?"
The system went quiet.
"I wish I could tell you."
Amitesh stared at the moon.
"…Also. You have a name?"
The yellow screen puffed slightly.
"Of course I have a name."
"What is it?"
"…Niwhsa."
Amitesh stared.
"I won't laugh."
"You are laughing internally."
"I absolutely am."
The night had barely returned to normal when Amitesh folded his arms and looked at the floating yellow screen.
"Alright, System… or should I say Niwhsa."
The screen puffed slightly. "You're enjoying saying my name too much."
"I am not. Now listen. I have a few questions."
"…How many is 'a few'?"
"Just three."
The screen hesitated. "Fine. Ask one by one."
Amitesh straightened like a professor about to destroy a student's confidence.
"First question. Which came first — the color orange or the orange fruit?"
"Color," Niwhsa replied instantly.
"Second. Which came first — the egg or the chicken?"
"The egg."
Amitesh narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
"I could," Niwhsa said smugly, "but your current biological processor would overheat. Ask the last one."
Amitesh smirked slightly.
"Alright. Last question."
He leaned closer.
"What are the last four digits of pi?"
There was a small pause.
Inside his head he grinned.
Got you.
"Three… two… nine… seven."
Silence.
Amitesh blinked.
Then blinked again.
"…What?"
He grabbed the yellow screen with both hands.
"That's impossible. Pi doesn't end. It's infinite. There are no last digits. If it ends—"
He stopped.
His voice dropped slightly.
"—if it ends, that means the world isn't real."
Niwhsa went quiet for a second.
Then—
"First of all, the world is real."
"Then how—"
"You would only reach those digits after dividing it approximately three trillion times under specific dimensional rounding constraints."
"…What."
"And secondly," Niwhsa continued calmly, "why would a divisible number determine the existential authenticity of your universe?"
Amitesh slowly released the screen.
"…Because infinite constants are tied to fundamental structures of reality."
Niwhsa flickered.
"Oh. So now you understand math?"
Amitesh squinted at him.
"You're lying."
"I am not."
"You just gave me a random four digits to sound confident."
Niwhsa hummed.
"Perhaps."
The wind blew again.
Amitesh stepped back slowly.
"Wait."
The yellow screen flickered once.
"What?"
"If there are last digits of pi in your calculation…"
He looked up at the half-moon.
"…does that mean this universe has a computational limit?"
Silence.
Niwhsa did not answer immediately this time.
Which was unusual.
"…Brother," the system finally said, voice lower than before, "don't ask questions that make higher beings uncomfortable."
Amitesh stared at him.
"You just said the world is real."
"It is."
"But it has rounding constraints?"
"…All systems do."
The wind suddenly didn't feel normal.
Amitesh slowly smiled.
"So Astraea isn't just bored."
Niwhsa flickered nervously.
"Don't connect dots you're not meant to see."
Amitesh looked back at the sky.
"Tell me something honestly."
"…What."
"Did she want me to die because she misses me?"
Silence.
"…Or because she needs me somewhere else?"
The yellow screen dimmed slightly.
"…Brother."
That was not his usual joking tone.
"There are questions that wake up observers."
Amitesh's eyes sharpened.
"And are we being observed right now?"
The yellow screen didn't answer.
And that was the answer.
Amitesh didn't look at the sky this time.
He looked straight at the yellow screen.
"I'd like you to tell me everything now."
Niwhsa didn't flicker.
Didn't joke.
Didn't act dramatic.
"No."
The answer was simple.
Amitesh frowned slightly. "That's it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because even if you knew everything, you couldn't change anything," Niwhsa replied calmly. "And knowledge without power is not enlightenment. It's burden."
Amitesh leaned against the watchtower railing.
"That sounds like something Astraea would say."
"It's something older than her," Niwhsa corrected.
The wind moved between them again.
"For now," the system continued, voice steady, "focus on what is in front of you. Kill mushroom heads. Protect humanity if you want. Live your life when you get the chance."
Amitesh gave a dry smile.
"That's a pretty big list for someone who just told me I'm powerless."
"You're powerless in certain directions," Niwhsa replied. "Not all."
Silence stretched.
Then Amitesh spoke again, more casually.
"I still want to know about the fourth dimension."
This time Niwhsa did flicker.
"You don't," he said quietly.
"I do."
"No."
"Why?"
A longer pause.
"I don't know how much information you already carry," Niwhsa admitted. "And I don't know how much your mind can process without cracking."
"That's insulting."
"It's cautious."
Amitesh's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You think I'll lose control?"
"I think," Niwhsa said carefully, "that if you somehow pierce into a higher dimension and survive the transition… the balance of this universe will rupture."
The word hung there.
Rupture.
"Balance," Amitesh repeated. "Whose balance?"
Niwhsa did not answer immediately.
"That," he said finally, "is not your question to ask yet."
Amitesh stared at the moon again.
"So I'm dangerous."
"Yes."
"And fragile."
"Yes."
"And watched."
A pause.
"Yes."
That one was softer.
Amitesh exhaled slowly.
"You're afraid of what I might become."
Niwhsa's glow dimmed slightly.
"I am afraid of what you might remember."
That landed differently.
Amitesh didn't respond right away.
"…Remember what?"
The system went quiet.
And this time, it wasn't playful silence.
It was refusal.
The yellow screen flickered once.
"I just remembered," Niwhsa said quickly, "I don't actually need to talk to you. Bye."
And just like that—
He disappeared.
Amitesh stared at the empty air.
"…That's your move?"
Silence.
"I don't remember gods running away when things get tough. Come back."
Nothing.
He clicked his tongue.
"Coward."
Footsteps echoed from the staircase below.
Slow. Heavy. Familiar.
Amitesh leaned over the railing and looked down.
Mahaveer climbed up with the tired energy of a man who had already lost an argument before starting it.
"Well hello, uncle."
Mahaveer didn't respond. He walked over, leaned against the railing, and pulled a cigar from his pocket.
As he was about to put it in his mouth, his eyes shifted toward Amitesh.
"…You mind?"
Amitesh shrugged. "Unti it start to eat my oxygen."
Mahaveer snorted faintly and lit the cigar. The flame briefly illuminated the lines on his face.
He took a long drag.
"My wife just threw me out," he said flatly. "After all these years, I still don't understand why she has to be so strict."
Amitesh blinked.
'This man climbed a watchtower at midnight for relationship counseling?'
"Well," Amitesh said carefully, "maybe apologize?"
Mahaveer exhaled smoke into the night.
"You have that kind of face," he muttered. "If you meet her, she'll probably praise you for existing. Good boy energy."
"I just don't like arguing with adults," Amitesh replied. "And I'm not exactly… mischievous."
Mahaveer glanced sideways at him.
"How do you live like that? Don't you ever feel like causing trouble? Just to see how people react?"
Amitesh looked at him calmly.
'Now I understand why aunty locked the door.'
"Whenever I try," Amitesh said honestly, "I mess it up. So I decided peace is cheaper."
Mahaveer took another drag.
"Hmm."
The silence settled comfortably for a moment.
Then Mahaveer's tone shifted.
"So. About work. Did you decide how you're dealing with those two gangs?"
Amitesh frowned slightly.
"First, it's only one gang. The other is just three friends."
Mahaveer didn't look convinced.
"Those 'three friends' were sent to gather resources. They came back with weapons. And a box."
Amitesh turned slightly.
"What kind of box?"
Mahaveer's jaw tightened.
"Uranium."
The word sat heavy in the air.
"They don't know how to open it,"
Mahaveer continued. "If they did… this entire camp would be dead."
The wind didn't feel light anymore.
Now that's serious.
Amitesh's expression shifted from casual to sharp in an instant.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I'll handle them."
Mahaveer glanced at him.
"How?"
Amitesh leaned against the railing, looking down at the dark camp below.
"First the fire force gang," he said calmly. "Then the three geniuses."
"That doesn't answer my question."
A small smile appeared on Amitesh's face.
"It's a surprise."
Mahaveer exhaled smoke slowly.
"You sure you don't enjoy causing trouble?"
Amitesh's eyes reflected the moonlight.
"I don't enjoy causing trouble," he said evenly.
A pause.
"But I also didn't hate causing it."
Mahaveer studied him for a second.
Then he chuckled quietly.
"Good," he said. "Because this one might get messy."
Amitesh looked back at the silent sky.
Messy.
That was fine.
Messy was something he could control.
Unlike goddesses.
Mahaveer rubbed his forehead.
"I don't understand," he muttered. "I just tried to hug her from behind. That's it. And she glared at me like I committed treason. Said there's no hope left in me."
Amitesh nodded seriously.
"Continue, uncle. I'm listening."
And Mahaveer did.
For the next two hours.
Stories of small mistakes that became big arguments.
Of forgotten anniversaries.
Of "I was just joking" turning into three days of silence.
Of how bravery against monsters was easier than bravery at home.
Amitesh mostly listened.
Occasionally nodded.
Occasionally thought:
Human relationships are more dangerous than uranium.
Later.in the morning.
---
A bright white room.
Harsh lighting. Clean surfaces. No unnecessary sound.
A woman in a white coat sat calmly at a metal table. Glasses rested low on her nose. In her hands — sutures, scissors, and fine steel pins.
In front of her lay a silicone cube.
She made a clean incision with a blade.
Then began stitching it with steady, professional precision. Each knot tied perfectly. Measured. Controlled.
She didn't rush.
She never rushed.
The door suddenly slammed open.
"Doc! I need help! Or I can help!"
Her hands flinched.
The scissors nearly slipped.
She slowly looked up.
Amitesh stood at the doorway.
She glared.
"Do you not understand the concept of knocking?" she said flatly. "Why is it always you who ruins my peaceful day? You were better when we were in the old building."
Amitesh blinked.
"Wow. That hurts a little."
"It was not meant to be gentle."
He stepped inside anyway.
"Well… sorry, I guess. But I need to ask something."
She adjusted her glasses.
"What."
"Do you have five gallons of rubbing alcohol?"
Her eyebrows lifted immediately.
"Why."
"It's for something important."
"What kind of important?"
"The important kind."
Her stare sharpened.
"I am not giving you five gallons of medical-grade sanitizer for 'the important kind.'"
"It's really special."
"That makes it worse."
Amitesh sighed dramatically.
"Please, Doc."
"No."
"Just a little?"
"No."
"You're very strict."
"I am alive because I am strict."
He paused.
Fair point.
She set down the silicone cube carefully and removed her gloves.
"And since you are already here," she said calmly, "come closer."
He hesitated.
"…Why."
"I need your help."
"That sounds suspicious."
"You just asked for five gallons of flammable liquid."
"That's different."
"How."
He stepped forward cautiously.
"What do you need help with?"
She turned the cube toward him.
"Precision."
He looked at it.
"…You're practicing surgery."
"I am preparing," she corrected.
"For what?"
She met his eyes.
"For when you inevitably do something reckless and end up on this table."
He blinked.
"…You have very little faith in me."
"I have very realistic expectations."
Amitesh folded his arms.
"You think I'll mess up."
"I think," she said calmly, "you already have a plan. And it involves fire."
Silence.
He didn't answer.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You do, don't you."
He gave a small smile.
"Maybe."
She exhaled slowly.
"You are not burning anything inside the camp."
"Technically," he said, "it wouldn't be inside."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"Why do I tolerate you?"
"Because I bring excitement."
"You bring paperwork."
He looked at the surgical tools.
"…So. No alcohol?"
She stared at him.
"No."
He sighed.
"Fine."
A pause.
Then he added casually—
"What about industrial disinfectant?"
She picked up the scissors again.
"Sit down," she said coldly. "Before I test my stitching practice on you."
He sat immediately not want to become part of someone cutting practice.
The white room felt unusually quiet.
Priyanka sat across from Amitesh, a clipboard resting neatly on her lap.
Glasses low on her nose. Calm. Observing.
"Let's start simple," she said. "How have you been sleeping?"
"Normal."
"How many hours?"
"Five to six."
"That's not normal."
"It's functional."
She made a small note.
"Any nightmares?"
"Not the cinematic kind."
"Meaning?"
"I wake up sometimes. But I'm fine."
She looked at him carefully.
"Do you feel watched?"
"Constantly."
Her pen stopped.
"Explain."
"By responsibility," he replied smoothly.
She stared for a second… then continued writing.
"Do you ever feel detached from reality?"
"Only when Mahaveer starts giving marriage advice."
No reaction from her.
"Focus.
He exhaled.
"No. I know what's real."
She nodded slightly.
"Have you experienced sudden mood swings? Aggression without trigger? Hearing someone call your name when no one is there?"
"No."
That one came a little too fast.
She noticed.
But didn't press yet.
Instead, she slid a booklet across the table.
"Take this."
He looked down.
"IQ test?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I want baseline cognitive functioning."
"That sounds insulting."
"It is neutral."
He took the pencil.
The room stayed quiet for nearly forty minutes.
Patterns. Shapes. Sequences. Word analogies.
He didn't rush.
But he didn't overthink either.
When he finished, she took the sheet back and began to check the answer calculating.
Silence again.
Then she looked up.
"Eighty-six."
Amitesh blinked.
"…That sounds low."
"It is slightly below average," she replied calmly. "But within normal functioning range."
He leaned back.
"So I'm officially not a genius."
"You never claimed to be."
She closed the folder.
"You are mentally stable."
He paused.
"…Wait."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You were checking if I'm mentally stable?"
"Yes."
He stared at her.
"Why?"
"Mahaveer told me you were talking to the air," she said evenly. "And answering questions."
'Ah that'
"So I had to make sure."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"He really cares about me."
"Yes."
A small pause.
"Just like you," he added.
She adjusted her glasses slightly, hiding the flicker in her expression.
"We all care about something," she said quietly. "And someone."
The room softened for half a second.
Then she leaned forward.
"One last question."
Her voice was calm. Direct.
"Do you actually hear voices?"
His mind froze.
'No, I do not hear voices. I argue with a yandere reincarnation goddess and a dramatic system.'
He kept his face steady.
"No."
"Do you hallucinate?"
"No."
She held his gaze.
"Are you sure?"
He swallowed once.
"I was just having a bad day," he said finally. "So I talked. And maybe yelled. That's it."
She lifted her glasses slightly, studying his eyes.
Looking for dilation. Micro-reactions. Inconsistency.
She didn't find any.
"…Alright," she said.
Then softer—
"But if you ever do hear something… or see something unusual…"
She tapped the table lightly.then smile warmly.
"You come to me.ok"
He nodded.
"I will."
And for the first time in that conversation—
He meant it.
Not because he would tell her the truth.
But because if things ever went wrong…
She would be the only human he would trust.
Bonus :-
Priyanka stood near the door, already half-turned toward the exit. Amitesh was still sitting on the edge of the bed, pretending he wasn't feeling worse than he actually was.
She walked back without saying anything and placed a small strip of menthol tablets in his hand.
"Take one before sleeping," she said calmly. "You won't admit it, but your throat sounds bad."
Amitesh looked at the tablet, then at her.
He wanted to argue. His ego told him to. His body strongly disagreed.
"I'm fine," he muttered anyway.
Priyanka didn't respond to that. She just gave him a look — the kind that silently says you are not fooling anyone.
She picked up her bag.
"And don't forget. One tablet. Not three at once."
The door opened.
For a second, Amitesh thought she would say something more. She didn't. She simply left.
He stared at the tablet in his palm.
"…She thinks I can't handle a simple cold."
But after a few seconds, he unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.
The menthol hit sharply.
He coughed.
"…Okay. Maybe I needed it."