Chapter 01 Part 2: "Angel of God"
Nathaniel's POV
I've never regretted choosing my hobbies. In the world of anime and drawing, I found joy, a rare sense of comfort. But no matter how much I cherished that escape, there was one truth I couldn't deny—no one ever truly gets used to the sting of loneliness born from being alone.
Exhausted and weary from endlessly tinkering with my computer, I decided to shut it down and rest early. I rose from the worn-out sofa, my legs heavy as if weighed down by my own body.
I shuffled toward the tiny kitchen of my apartment, a cramped space cluttered with a few meager possessions—a small table, a handful of glasses, and plates I'd accumulated over time.
The fluorescent light overhead flickered faintly, casting a cold, sterile glow that only amplified the stillness of the night.
I'd gone straight to my computer the moment I got home from another fruitless day, leaving me parched. I reached for the pitcher on the table and grabbed a glass.
As I poured water, my eyes caught something peculiar—a small, neatly folded piece of paper resting on the table's edge. It looked ordinary, like any scrap of paper, but what unnerved me was that I had no memory of placing anything like it there. The table usually held nothing but the pitcher, a glass, and a layer of dust from days of neglect.
A thought crept into my mind. Could someone have entered my apartment? Impossible. The idea itself was absurd—who would bother leaving a piece of paper in a place as mundane as my kitchen? Yet, as I searched for answers, an eerie sensation wrapped around me, like unseen eyes watching from the shadows.
With a mix of curiosity and unease, I picked up the paper, my fingers trembling slightly. Slowly, I unfolded it, revealing words scrawled across the white surface: "Do you want a new, exciting life? Come with me, and I'll grant your wishes."
Time seemed to freeze. What was this? A prank? A cruel joke? I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but instead, a strange anger flared within me. The note felt like a taunt, mocking my misery in the midst of my endless misfortunes. "Seriously?" I muttered, crumpling the paper in my hand. "Probably Junior, the landlady's grandson, messing with me again."
In my frustration, I balled up the paper and tossed it toward the trash bin in the corner of the kitchen. But even that simple act failed—the paper missed, landing on the floor, fueling my irritation further. "Are you kidding me? Am I really that useless and unlucky?" I shouted into the empty room, my voice thick with exasperation. It felt like the universe was conspiring against me, rubbing my worthlessness in my face.
I moved to the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would calm me down. The icy sting against my skin offered a fleeting relief, but it wasn't enough to drown out the thoughts plaguing me—the weight of daily failures, the relentless struggle against reality.
"Grant my wishes?" I whispered, shaking my head with a bitter smirk. I had so many dreams, so many things I wanted to achieve, but they felt impossibly distant from the life I was living now. I was trying, fighting to move forward, yet it seemed there was no escape from my current despair.
Anger surged within me—anger at the world, at people, at fate. I felt cursed. I'd been a good person, hadn't I? Why wasn't that enough to earn a bit of luck?
I'd chosen a path I thought was meant for me. I worked hard, clung to hope, but the truth was harsh: not every effort is rewarded. Sometimes, it's just a waste of time and energy. It was infuriating. Reliving every moment of failure, one by one, drove me to the edge.
If God had given me this fate, how could I ever break free? In my mind, I saw myself—a worthless, insignificant person, judged and scorned by everyone. I didn't want this kind of life. This wasn't how my story was supposed to unfold.
In the depths of my anxiety and despair, a dark thought slithered into my mind—end it all. My gaze drifted to the small shelf where I kept my dishes and utensils. As if guided by an unseen force, my feet carried me toward it. I opened the drawer, and there, among the forks and spoons, was a knife. My hand trembled as I picked it up, the cold metal chilling my palm. I pressed the blade against my wrist.
One cut. Just one cut, and it would all be over—the pain, the failures, the loneliness. I knew it would be terrifying. I knew it would hurt. But in that moment, it felt like the only way to escape.
My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the knife steady. Sweat and tears streamed down my face, a chaotic mix of fear, anger, and desperation coursing through me. "No turning back," I whispered to myself. "One cut, Nathaniel, and it's all over."
But even with my resolve hardened, something held me back—a faint voice urging me to stop. I was scared, but why? What did I have left to fear if I was ready to leave this worthless world behind?
As the knife's edge pressed against my skin, my hand continued to tremble. "Why am I hesitating? Help yourself, Nathaniel. Escape your reality." But what I didn't realize, amidst the turmoil in my mind, was that a pair of eyes was watching me, silently observing every move I made.
In the oppressive silence of the apartment, a strange sound shattered the noise of my racing thoughts. A soft crunch, like someone chewing food. Yes, it was the sound of something being crushed—like chips being eaten. Then, a clearer noise—the rustle of plastic, as if someone was pulling snacks from a bag, coming from behind me.
A chill ran down my spine. I was alone in this apartment. But in that moment, I was certain there was someone—or something—behind me. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my heart pounded wildly, and my entire body quaked with fear. I wasn't brave. I wasn't prepared for a situation like this.
But I had to face it. I had to know who—or what—was there. Mustering every ounce of courage, I slowly turned around. I nearly crashed into the dish rack as I stumbled backward, stunned by what I saw.
I couldn't process my reaction. In the midst of that terrifying moment, a young girl appeared before me. She was perched near the sink, casually munching on junk food, her eyes fixed on me as if watching a show unfold.
She wore a black dress with intricate details, a tiny hat perched on her head like a doll's, and her hair was a striking shade of pink. Her large, beautiful eyes locked onto mine—a real-life gothic lolita, straight out of an anime.
Should I be afraid? Before I could think clearly, my shock gave way to confusion. "Who are you?" I demanded, my voice a mix of unease and irritation.
She responded instantly, as if nothing about the situation was unusual. "Hi, I'm Koko," she said, her tone so casual as she continued chewing her chips. It was as if she didn't care that she was here, watching me with a knife pressed to my wrist, treating it like a scene from a drama.
"Have you made your decision? I'm here to grant your wishes," she added. I froze. What did she mean? Was she connected to that note? To those words?
The room fell silent. Not because I couldn't speak, but because I was utterly bewildered by what was happening. "Huh?" was all I managed, my mind a tangled mess.
She spoke again, this time with a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Are you deaf? Didn't you hear me?" she snapped, her tone sharp, like an impatient older woman. The insult snapped me out of my confusion, and I shot back, ready to argue.
"I don't have time for your nonsense, kid. How did you get into my apartment?" I demanded, my voice laced with frustration. But her reaction? Utterly calm, as if she didn't care that she'd trespassed into my home.
"How? Well, some things can't be explained," she replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I don't know if you'll believe me, but the truth is, I have the power to appear and disappear wherever I want."
I gaped at her. Seriously? But the confidence in her voice was unshakable, as if she had no doubt about her absurd claim. Was this kid trying to fool me? Did she think I was so gullible that I'd fall for such a ridiculous story?
"Power? Are you out of your mind?" I retorted, incredulous. At my words, her brow furrowed, and she visibly bristled. "See? You didn't believe me," she said, her voice tinged with irritation.
And then, in a flash, with a single snap of her fingers, she vanished before my eyes—like smoke dissipating into the air. I whipped my head around, searching for her, and there—near the kitchen door—she stood again, as if she hadn't exerted the slightest effort to move.
I couldn't believe it. My eyes refused to blink, frozen in shock. It was impossible. My mind scrambled for an explanation, but there was none. This wasn't some carnival magic trick—no mirrors, no curtains, no way to deceive me.
"How did you get there? What are you?" I shouted, my voice a mix of fear and awe. My mind raced with questions: Who was she? What was she?
She stepped toward me, and as she moved, a faint shimmer seemed to surround her, like threads of light dancing in sync with the sway of her skirt.
"I am one of the angels sent by the Creator God," she declared, her voice brimming with certainty. "I'm here to guide you, should you choose to use the sacred book."
"Mr. Muntingbato," she added, a smile curling her lips.