I wonder how long it has been since I first said those words. I don't know what kind of deep resentment you hold, but every time, you say, 'I'll go after I do just this one thing.' You'll go after eating what you wanted to eat, you'll go after visiting where you wanted to visit, you'll go after watching people for a day... I don't know how much longer I must grant these requests. It's not as if my time is infinite.

But this is my job, so I have no choice. Guiding the dead to the netherworld—and if the deceased harbors resentment for some reason, resolving that business before leading them away.

Time does not stop just because you are dead. How much longer do you intend to wander this world?