It had been quite some time since the rough waves of the Object incident, which began in the Pacific, swallowed parts of San Francisco.

San Francisco was still scarred, but the city remained intact, and life began again.

Restoration efforts were in full swing throughout the streets.

In one of the areas that had barely avoided the impact of the Object incident, a man sat in an apartment.

"It’s fine. No one will know."

The building had miraculously remained intact despite the Object incident, but its interior reflected the man’s anxious mental state.

Thick blackout curtains covered every window, as if something terrible might happen if they were left open.

"It’s fine. Really, it’s fine."

The man muttered over and over, trying to reassure himself, but his voice was filled with fear.

He moved cautiously around the dark room, as if the walls themselves had eyes and ears, constantly on alert.

From time to time, he carefully lifted a corner of the curtain with trembling hands.

Every time he checked outside, his heart raced wildly.

Just a few weeks ago, his life had been calm.

He had been proud to work at the medical facility in the headquarters of the Alexander Group.

Although he wasn’t a full-time employee, just being associated with a company that had a reputation as a "good corporation" had been enough.

But everything changed overnight.

The man gathered his courage and checked outside again.

He noticed a small café across the street.

It was the place where he had arranged to meet the journalist.

The usually quiet café was still empty.

"Will the journalist believe me?"

The man stared suspiciously at the café.

What he was about to expose was the Alexander Group.

What the man had discovered was merely a suspicious missing medical item.

The kind of minor mistake that is always possible in human dealings.

But the man had accidentally stumbled upon a dark secret hidden behind that small oversight.

Missing persons and human experiments.

He had tried to ignore it, but his conscience could not let him.

The fearful man had ultimately decided to reveal the truth to the world.

He had contacted the journalist and arranged a meeting.

"Phew. It’s fine. It’s fine."

To the man, there seemed to be no reason to be this afraid.

So far, no one knew, and nothing unusual had happened.

Yet, the fearful man’s heart would not calm down.

He always felt as though he were being watched, and every night, he was tormented by nightmares.

Even so, he didn’t give up.

The man checked the time.

"Thirty minutes until the meeting."

He let out a deep breath and steadied his mind.

The man opened the curtain again and checked outside, but the journalist had still not arrived.

His anxious gaze turned to the street.

At that moment, what caught his eye was the 'Superhuman Association' hero, Prism Sentinel.

"Phew."

A sigh of relief escaped the man’s lips.

Prism Sentinel was a symbol of trust.

The entire Superhuman Association was the same.

Since the appearance of the giant black planet in the sky, the number of Object incidents had increased.

And there were more and more "superhumans" who had surpassed human limits.

That was when the Superhuman Association appeared.

A group of volunteers traveling through areas where order had broken down due to superhuman criminals and Objects.

People who dressed like superheroes from comic books to calm the fears of those affected by the black planet.

They had other jobs, but they generously used their abilities to make the world a better place.

It was because of heroes like them that the fearful man had decided to become a whistleblower.

For a moment, he lost himself in watching Prism Sentinel.

The vibrant costume, the confident stride.

Everything seemed to symbolize hope.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Prism Sentinel made eye contact with him.

And as he slowly approached the man, the man’s heart began to race for a different reason.

"Could it be… coming toward me?"

The man froze at the unbelievable sight.

Prism Sentinel had already arrived right in front of the man’s apartment.

His idol was right before his eyes.

Prism Sentinel, now near the window, looked at the man with a confident smile.

Deep inside the Mini Reaper Garden, in the Marshmallow Plains.

I had caught the orange Reaper that was flying around the Mini Reaper Garden.

The orange Reaper, captured by me, struggled desperately to break free from my grasp.

Its hands, emerging from a cloud of cotton, flailed helplessly in the air.

Ignoring its futile struggles, I was deep in thought.

‘Should I try the fusion?’

It was a thought that had crossed my mind during the fashion show not long ago.

‘What would happen if I fused with the orange Reaper?’

That small curiosity had now consumed me.

I hesitated for a moment but then firmly decided.

‘Yeah, let’s just do it!’

I threw the Halo of Fusion over my head and activated the fusion.

And with a flash of light, the orange Reaper in my hands vanished without a trace.

No, it hadn’t disappeared.

Its will could still be heard from within me.

It was saying strange things like "Mom ate me up."

‘Did I succeed?’

With my heart racing, I quickly checked my body.

But to my surprise, there was no change.

Still the same smooth gray skin, the familiar body shape.

Even the fingers I had used to hold the orange Reaper were the same, everything was unchanged.

Disappointment washed over me.

‘No...’

Could it be that the Halo of Fusion was useless for me?

I fell to the Marshmallow Plains in despair.

Thud.

At that moment, an unexpected softness supported my body.

‘Soft?’

I looked behind me in confusion, and to my surprise, my hair had turned into a cloud-like mass of gray cotton.

It looked just like the orange Reaper’s hair.

‘Ah...’

The result of the fusion was the change in my hair.

‘Sigh.’

I sighed silently and lowered my head.

Then, from somewhere, I heard laughter.

Heeheehee.

The White Ogre, who had been hiding in the corner, was laughing at me.

I used my time acceleration ability to quickly approach and grab the White Ogre.

At that moment, the orange Reaper’s whisper reached my ears.

‘It would be fun to make the White Ogres fight...’

‘It would be fun to make them eat hot chocolate until their stomachs burst...’

‘It would be fun to make them attack the Pudding Reapers...’

These were ideas I could never have imagined.

For a moment, I thought, ‘That sounds fun, right?’

It was truly the whisper of a devil!

Perhaps the orange Reaper wanted the ability to command Objects from the Garden, just like I did.

While I was contemplating what punishment to give the White Ogre, I heard the Golden Reaper’s urgent will.

‘Mom, something’s wrong!’

It sounded more like danger than excitement.

Had a new problem arisen so soon after the frog incident?

I released the White Ogre and teleported to where the Golden Reaper was.

I was greeted by an unfamiliar space.

A dark, narrow room like a cave.

Walls etched with countless jade carvings.

A faint scent of color space lingered in the air.

And James’s pained voice.

"Argh!"

It was the scream of James being forced to pull his eyelids by the Golden Reaper.

‘That must hurt...’

I took the pitiful James and moved him out of the room.

I then carefully observed the room.

The first thing that caught my eye was a suspicious orb.

It was opaque, and nothing could be seen inside.

But it smelled faintly of color space.

I tapped it, but there was no response.

As I was thinking about what to do with the orb, the Golden Reaper came bouncing back into the room.

‘Little brother!’

It pointed at the floor with its finger and sent its will to me.

Following the finger, I looked down and finally noticed.

Come to think of it, this was a Black Reaper...

I scattered firewood around, and the black liquid began to bubble.

‘Ah!’

‘It’s asleep!’

‘It shouldn’t be asleep...’

Perhaps due to the large gathering of Black Reapers, an agitated will emerged.

And many ancient god-shaped Black Reapers rose up and began to surround the orb.

‘Seal it!’

‘It must be hidden!’

Something felt off.

These creatures hadn’t opened their eyes.

They couldn’t have not seen them open.

Black Reapers could clearly see the firewood colors once their eyes were open.

I pulled one of the ancient god-shaped Black Reapers away from the orb and placed it on my palm.

‘Who? Who are you? It must be sealed...’

I poked at the confused Black Reaper’s face.

It lazily shoved my finger away, then grabbed my finger, halting suddenly.

It slowly opened its eyes and melted like a shocked slime.

The Black Reaper, now in slime form, bounced with excitement on my palm.

It then quickly transformed into a strange form, surrounded by cotton, like the orange Reaper.

‘Mom!’

The Black Reaper smiled brightly up at me with a joyful expression.

‘Mom!’ it shouted.

Perhaps because of the will calling me "Mom," yellow, glowing eyes appeared on the orb.

‘Mom?’

‘It’s Mom.’

‘Why?’

And in an instant, the Black Reaper’s form shifted, and it began to charge at me.

Ah, the black cotton creatures are attacking!

And so, I was attacked by the black cotton creatures, and I became a gray cotton creature within their midst.

The journalist walked through the street and arrived at the café, the meeting place.

Checking the time, he saw he still had about 10 minutes before the meeting.

‘Hmm. Is the whistleblower still not here?’

With a little free time, the journalist sat down at the café and began browsing the internet on his phone.

During his browsing, he came across a post that caught his interest.

It was about a strange phenomenon involving the Golden Reaper wandering around San Francisco.

The post was written by someone who introduced themselves as a Golden Reaper researcher, detailing how the Golden Reaper had been suffering from severe dizziness in the San Francisco area.

The post concluded that this might be the reason there were so few Mini Reapers in San Francisco.

‘That’s true...’

San Francisco was great, but there were too few Golden Reapers.

Well, if there were more Golden Reapers, there wouldn't be a hero like Prism Sentinel in San Francisco.

Tap. Tap.

Hearing the small sound of something walking on wood, the journalist turned to find a Golden Reaper sprawled across the table.

Having just read the post, it looked like it was genuinely dizzy.

‘It’s so small.’

Curious, the journalist made a circle with his finger to measure the Golden Reaper’s face size.

The Golden Reaper then poked its face through his fingers.

‘Is this why everyone loves Golden Reapers?’

It was an action that made him smile.

As the journalist shared cookies with the Golden Reaper, he checked the time again.

‘It’s already past the meeting time.’

Was it another bust?

Perhaps it was some petty revenge from the cult-like followers of Alexander Group.

Looking out the window, he saw several police officers.

They were cordoning off the area around the apartment that was directly visible from the café window.

‘Oh.’

Among the officers, he saw Prism Sentinel, a hero with fists stained with blood.

‘Looks like there’s been an incident with a superhuman criminal.’

The journalist dismissed it nonchalantly.