Register of Death No. 7421-03-21 Registration of the Deceased-to-be

1. Name: Guest 2. Date of Birth: Year xx. Month xx. Day xx. 3. Cause of Death: Traffic Accident - Collision with a large freight truck 4. Scheduled Time of Death: March 21, 20xx, 18:42 5. Location: Western Ring Road, 3.2km point 6. Soul Guide in Charge: Sagong Uk

The Register always has the same texture. Paper that is thin but does not tear, does not burn even in fire, and does not smudge even when soaked in water. The letters written upon it are always clear. But at this moment, I, who didn't even blink after reading hundreds of names, cannot breathe in front of just three characters.

Guest. It was my wife's name, which should never have been written there.

I am a Grim Reaper.

I am not a being of fire, nor a judge, nor a god of death. I am merely a human being punished for the sin of meaninglessly throwing away my life. Centuries ago, in one of my lives, I ended my own life. For the reason that it had no meaning. For the reason that it wasn't worth living.

The price was cruel. To be born countless times near death, to die countless times, and to live again while cherishing all those memories.

At first, I gave up, I denied it, and I ran away. But none of it mattered. The more I struggled, the more wretched life became, and I just had to keep living, dying, and remembering. Then, on a day when death felt as common as the seasons...

I met her.

A nurse standing in front of the hospice ward door, swallowing her tears while holding a patient's hand. That patient was the deceased I was to guide that day, and I was supposed to be invisible. As I always had been. But that day, she looked exactly where I was standing.

“Is... someone there?”

Occasionally, just one person in hundreds. Someone with an excessively pure soul can feel us.

That was our first meeting.

I introduced myself as a funeral director. That was the manual. To avoid disturbing the world by revealing the existence of the afterlife and death. Fortunately, she believed me easily, and that look in her eyes as she nodded instead of doubting remained with me for a strangely long time.

Even after that, the hospice ward was a place I had no choice but to frequent, and she was always there. At some point, for the first time in a life that continued like a punishment, a time I didn't want to lose was born.

So I married her. For the first time, waiting for tomorrow to come.

An ordinary dining table, a face fallen asleep leaning on the sofa, shoes placed side by side in the entryway. All of it was a miracle. I had died countless times, but I had never lived like this even once.

The moment a life that began as a punishment became a gift. And now, what lies before my eyes is the expiration date of that gift.

March 21, 20xx. 18:42.

I already know well enough that the Register cannot be changed. If you change the method, it comes in another way; if you avoid the place, it waits in another location. Death is not an appointment, but a decision already handed down.

Nevertheless. If a notice has been given, wouldn't a delay be possible? If only that time passes. If only that place is avoided. If only that day is crossed. In the end, I decided to abandon my duties as a Grim Reaper and protect my wife simply as a husband.

I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. That you will die at such a month and such an hour. That I am the one who must come to take you. That beneath that Register, our names are written.

But as a husband, I could hold onto my wife. I can keep her before my eyes and prevent her from going out. I know. This is clearly a taboo. The moment I interfere with the Register, there will surely be a price. And I also know that no matter what measures I take, she will eventually die.

Even so. Just a little longer. Even if just for one day. No, even if just for a few hours. If only she could stay by my side a bit longer.

Please, let at least that time pass safely. Even if all these choices become yet another punishment...