Slave to a CEO by day, rising writer by night.
That's right. Instead of sleeping after a long, soul-sucking workday—nope—Elise chose to write. Because Elise was different. Elise was special... Elise was an idiot.
She kept working like there was no tomorrow.
(Which, ironically, there wouldn't be—if she missed the deadline.)
If her boss had just approved the vacation he promised, none of this would be happening.
"That [CENSORED] liar…" she muttered, eyes glued to the screen, fingers typing the final lines with wild intensity.
And the worst part? She wasn't even getting paid for this. Nope. It was just a promo story—a teaser before her big novel dropped. All to gather readers, boost visibility, and maybe turn her passion project into a real career.
Yes, her dream was this close to becoming reality.
If it worked, she could finally escape that soul-devouring company.
Assuming the the editors approved it... and the readers liked it. If it even made it to the readers. Yeah. That was a whole other level of uncertainty.
But this time, things would be different.
She believed it. She knew it would be a hit. She could already see it—visions of reader comments, skyrocketing stats, book deals…
It should be satisfying. She loved writing.
But every body has a limit.
Quitting wasn't an option—not when she was so close. She pushed through the exhaustion, her eyes begging to close.
If only that jerk had kept his word…
No. She should've known better.
She should've expected that.
Almost there...
She hit "Submit," praying it was good enough—clean, solid, and not a complete nightmare for the editing team.
Finally, she could rest. She closed the laptop and let her head fall gently against it, slipping into deep, dreamless sleep.
It was instant. Her body relaxed, her eyes shut, and that was it. No time to drag herself to bed. Not tonight.
But tomorrow was a new day.
...Or was it?
"Welcome to the Celestial Realm, Promising Soul..."
A robotic yet weirdly cheerful voice echoed. A receptionist? Apparently. One that looked like she had just walked off the set of a historical C-drama.
Wait... were those heavenly columns? A divine skyline? Magic holograms? Was this an Isekai summoning scene?
"You have been selected from among thousands of candidates for our Super Accelerated Ascension Program. Congratulations!" (Cue sound of invisible clapping)
Super what now?
"...and promoted to Junior Goddess of Creation, Trainee Level."
Okay, yep. She was dreaming. Had to be.
And it was one hell of a dream.
She needed to remember this when she woke up. It would make a fantastic opening for her next book.
It was rich. Detailed. She could practically feel her imagination exploding into overdrive.
"Let me give you a quick tour of your divine facilities. Please float—I mean, follow me…" Was the receptionist levitating? No, that had to be her imagination. "This is the Main Hall, where you'll connect with Senior Gods. Over there is the Interactive Recreation Area: personalized via intuitive astral preferences…"
Elise's eyes sparkled. Everything around her was beautifully absurd.
Maybe she could just… stay here forever?
Who would even notice? Her parents were gone. Her social life was non-existent. Her landlord was the only person who ever knocked on her door—and only to ask for late rent.
She had no pets. No plants. No boyfriend. No time.
Honestly, this was perfect.
"If this is a dream, dear God, don't you dare wake me up," she whispered.
"Apologies. There appears to have been a setup glitch..." Wait, what? A mistake? Were they kicking her out already? "…This should help you recall your path to the Afterlife and prevent disorientation."
And just like that, she was back in her apartment.
It was a mess. Books stacked on every surface. Dishes. Dirty laundry. Closed curtains. Dust glittering in the pale light like a snow globe gone stale.
And there it was. Her body. Just like she left it.
Right. She was dead.
She remembered now. She'd tried to grab her phone with her ghost-hands for days, desperately calling for an ambulance.
Didn't work.
Eventually, someone knocked.
And the twist? It wasn't her landlord.
It was her editor.
Turns out, the story she submitted right before dying? It went viral. Exploded on every platform. Millions of reads. She was suddenly famous. People were calling her the "Queen of Worldbuilding."
But she never saw it.
Only heard about it.
Her novel—"Worldbuilding for Dummies"—was her beloved baby. And now it had flown from her lifeless hands and taken the world by storm.
A bittersweet victory. She'd given her soul to that manuscript. Literally, apparently.
Where was her reward? Her rainbow? Her paycheck?!
OUTRAGEOUS.
She was picked up by a Soul Collector and dropped off at the Astral Reincarnation Lobby, where dead souls lined up like shoppers on Black Friday—cheering about reincarnation like it wasn't just another ticket to more suffering.
Yeah… no thanks.
That's when she got the offer.
"It is with divine pleasure that we inform you: your lower-tier soul has been promoted to the Higher Realm. You are now eligible for reincarnation into the World of Lesser Gods."
What a title.
"Wow! I'm honored," she said with the fakest smile she could manage. Time to make a good impression. "I accept!" Before they changed their minds.
Then came the golden staircase, the pink clouds, and a long look down at the poor souls still queued below.
Too bad, but she had no time for sympathy.
"Jump into this pool to activate your divine reincarnation. You'll retain memories of your most recent life—"
Wait. Most recent?
"—and receive orientation upon arrival. Questions? No? Good luck!"
They shoved her.
No prep. No countdown.
Just yeet into destiny.
Rude.
She mentally filed a complaint for later—when she had divine status.
Back to the receptionist. "That's your door. Place your hand here to register and unlock auto-personalized interior settings based on your soul's astral preferences."
It was a door straight out of a celestial Pinterest board—deep blue with glowing white constellations. Magical. Sophisticated. Dramatic.
Curious and buzzing with adrenaline, Elise touched the panel.
A shimmering scan zipped from her feet to her head.
Title: Junior Goddess of Creation
Official Name: Aerisse
Mission: Build and nurture a new world.
Success: Ascension to Divine Plane.
Failure: Demotion to Average Planetary Plane. (Try again in a few millennia.)
✨WARNING✨
(This is a restricted ascension program. Sharing details with lower-realm souls will result in access lock and permanent ban from Celestial Network.)
Crystal clear. (Invisible applause)
"You'll now meet your Junior Guardian Assistant, who will guide your work. All progress will be rewarded. Your creative process is entirely up to you. Enjoy your stay, and good luck!"
The receptionist vanished.
Aerisse almost cried.
She was so nice.
But then… the door opened.
Paradise.
Just how she'd imagined it.
Infinity stretching into space. To the left: a starry observatory. To the right: a never-ending library. In the center: the biggest sofa-cinema combo in existence.
And a cat.
Yes, a cat. A very fluffy, very smug cat.
"Hello, Boss." The cat spoke, floating with a glowing blue aura. "I am your Junior Guardian Assistant. My appearance has been calibrated to suit your inner preferences."
A talking cat?
This really was heaven.
And—bonus—he could clean himself. No litter box. No fur. No allergic reaction. She was in love.
Oh—and plot twist—he was... the System. (More applause)
"Nice to meet you, System," she said, reaching out before remembering… he had no hands.
"It's not 'System,' Boss. It's Junior Guardian Assistant," he corrected, puffing up like a marshmallow with pride. "Soon to be Senior."
"System is catchier. Deal with it." She was already flipping through books.
He sighed. Great. Another chaotic soul with divine access.
But rules were rules.
She was the boss now.
Oh, was that a cappuccino machine? Her favorite. With perfect chocolate ratio. Bless.
"I've created a detailed monthly plan to get started with your wor—what are you doing?"
She was sipping coffee. Feet up. Book in hand. Glowing.
"This is the life, System," she exhaled. "I've made my decision."
"What decis—wait, what?!"
"I'm officially taking my vacation."
Of course she was.
Because obviously.
Vacations!