Life After You
Day 1: Night

Zeph: “Since I basically took the day off today, tomorrow will be much busier than usual...haha, I hope you’re prepared.”

Delilah: “I haven’t worked a day in my life.”

Zeph: “...”

We are now finally in Zeph’s office—the manager’s office. He has already shown me my room and most of the main building.

Delilah: “I spent most of my life either in the hospital or in my room. Before I...died, I guess, I was just doing school slowly while getting sick in between. So...yeah.”

I shrug.

Delilah: “I’m useless. I have no skills.”

Zeph chuckles. He steps away from me to a side of the room where there are bundles of black plastic bags.

Zeph: “I don’t think so. You have at least managed to irritate me by seemingly knowing more about my game than I do—a game where I am guide, too.”

With his back to me and with his lighthearted tone, anyone else would have thought he was joking—like the usual. Messing around as usual.

Delilah: And it’s not like he’s the “oh, only I can do this, how dare you take my job from me” type of guy...

I walk to him. I know that he isn’t actually irritated with me personally. He is irritated at what he perceives to be his own worthlessness. It isn’t true, and everyone else can see it plainly. It is only Zeph himself—the powerful Messenger who grows stronger with every battle but refuses to fight unless absolutely necessary, who fails to acknowledge himself.

Delilah: If only he knew me like he did back then, I could hug him right now.

But he doesn’t.

Delilah: “...Everyone here knows that you’re the best person to have ever existed.”

Zeph: “Pft...what a bold claim.”

That proves he isn’t actually upset with me. Zeph opens one of the bags, and then another. He then turns to me, grinning as if the past five seconds never happened.

Zeph: “If you were an actual player, this would be the time you finish the tutorial for real and explore on your own until you unlock the last chapter of Day 1. But since you’re not, sort these for me—to make up for me acting as your guide when you clearly don’t need one...hahaha.”

He points to the bags, then walks to the door.

Delilah: “Wait, wait, Zeph!”

Zeph: “Hm?”

Delilah: “What are these, and where are you going? This is your office!”

Zeph smirks.

Zeph: “How much will you pay for that information?”

Delilah: “Um...”

I can see the payment screen popping up in my head, although, thankfully, this comment of his does not trigger the function.

Delilah: “You and your pranks...”

I sigh but chuckle softly.

Delilah: “Well...can I know?”

Zeph: “Heh.”

Zeph: “I’m going to do some research on our situation and see if I find anything.”

While saying so, his grin fades, replaced by a serious expression.

Zeph: “I’m sure there is nothing that I haven’t already seen, but since the options changed for you, maybe other things have as well.”

I nod.

Delilah: “See you later, stay safe.”

Zeph smiles.

Zeph: “This is my territory, don’t you forget.”

A minute later, I am still opening the plastic bags, every one of them as high as my waist. I sigh and give up, instead digging into the contents of the closest bag. The first thing I see is an envelope addressed to “Rehan Norris, Division 5019”.

Delilah: “!”

Now I know why Zeph walked away from this task.

Messengers are not truly dead; they are souls of those who passed away before their time was due. They work as Messengers and collect wisdom points until they are satisfied that those points will convert to sufficient good fortune for the rest of their lives to pass in peace. Then, they exchange the points and return to the realm of the living, where they live the rest of their years.

It usually doesn’t take very long—Zeph is an exception, having collected points for over two hundred years due to a continuous and consistent life of sheer misfortune and tragedy. He believes, essentially, that no amount of wisdom points will convert to enough good fortune for him to live even a normal life. That is how he became a manager of the Messengers in the first place—he gave up on life.

Whenever someone from the living world thinks, talks, or writes about a soul who has turned into a Messenger, those words are converted to the form of a letter, sealed, and transported to the Messenger headquarters. Then, the letters are delivered to whom they are addressed. These thoughts are helpful to Messengers when deciding when and where they want to return to life.

When Zeph died, it was...two hundred years ago, for starters. And, even before then, there was no one to remember him, no one to think of him, no one who remembered his name. He never received a letter.

Delilah: So many bags...I guess it’s fine. I’ll sort these out before he comes back. We wouldn’t want him to see these sad things, now would we?

Easy for me to say. I have roughly an hour before dinner.

I manage to sort through about half of the letters before the dinner bell rings.

Delilah: Let’s see...

I glance up at the clock. An hour exactly.

Delilah: That means I can finish this in another hour. I’ll just keep doing it.

This would have happened whether or not I made the decision. In the game, if the player chooses to defer her dinner, one of the four romanceable characters will come knocking on the door. If the player got all 400 points for them—equally—before this event, Kendric will come by default. Otherwise, whoever has the highest points will come.

Delilah: Well, I did get equal points for them, but...none of them met the 100 mark.

I shake the thought away. Right now, the important task is to get these letters out of Zeph’s sight as soon as possible. Sure, he isn’t weak, he doesn’t get more depressed than he usually is just by looking at them—but, the fewer eyesores around, the better, right?

Delilah: “...”

Half an hour passes. I have tied some of the bags closed, indicating to myself that they were finished; the rest are still open, and I myself am sitting in the middle of heaps of envelopes.

The door suddenly opens. I jump, startled.

Delilah: “Ah!”

Zeph: “...”

Delilah: “!”

Zeph walks in. Initially, he looks amused at my reaction to his simple action of opening the door. Then, that expression is replaced by one of shock when he registers what it is that I am doing.

Zeph: “...I didn’t say you’d have to finish it before dinner.”

Delilah: “I’m 75% done! Almost there!”

Zeph: “That fast?”

He closes the door behind him and walks to me.

Delilah: “Yeah...I guess. I didn’t want to...you know.”

Zeph: “I don’t.”

I meet his gaze.

Delilah: “I mean...I didn’t want you to come back to them still being here. Since...you...”

Zeph: “...”

For a full minute, Zeph says nothing. He sits next to me and begins sorting the envelopes as well. Seeing that, I pick up my pace, but also try to stop him.

Delilah: “Wait...that just defeats the purpose of me staying back here!”

Zeph: “That’s the point.”

Delilah: “...?”

Zeph: “You don’t need to be so careful around me. I’m two centuries old, not two years old.”

Delilah: “I’m not. I just...want to remove as much negativity from your life as I can.”

Zeph: “Afterlife.”

Zeph corrects me. Then, he takes the envelope from my hands, indirectly forcing me to look at him.

He smiles.

Zeph: “And you, Delilah, are a living human being. I am already dead. There are infinite possibilities for you that don’t exist for me. Pft...just imagine how ridiculous it would be for the living to sacrifice their health for the dead.”

Delilah: “...”

It’s words like these. These genuinely lighthearted but self-deprecating comments—they are what break my heart.

Delilah: “I’m not that weak though. Not in this world, it seems...”

Zeph pinches my nose lightly.

Zeph: “You make yourself weak that way. Then...dear envoy, are you going to get your food, or are you going to keep watching me sort the letters you wanted so badly to prevent me from having to deal with?”

Delilah: “Zeph! You...!”

I immediately stand up. Even knowing that was his tactic, I have no choice but to fall for it.

Zeph smiles.

Zeph: “What about me?”

Delilah: “...you’re wonderful.”

Zeph: “...”

Delilah: “Did you eat yet?”

Zeph: “...no.”

Delilah: “Then what are you scolding me for? Come with me!”

I give myself no time to hesitate. I reach for him and grab his wrist. Then, we make our way to the cafeteria. Along the way, he simply lets me hold his wrist.

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