Chapter 2: Please Rate Your Divine Reincarnation

The glowing words hovered in front of Milo Park’s face with all the serene menace of an unpaid invoice.

APP STORE OF CREATION
Welcome, New Administrator!
Please configure your reincarnation experience.

Milo stared at it.

The cathedral stared at him.

Everyone, from the silver-armored knights to the white-robed priests to the old king slumped on a throne too golden for practical seating, seemed to be holding their breath. The summoning circle beneath Milo’s bare feet still smoked faintly, tracing blue-white cracks through marble polished enough to show him his own expression: gray-faced, hollow-eyed, black hair sticking in six directions, wearing yesterday’s hoodie and pajama pants printed with tiny pixel ghosts.

The hoodie was the part upsetting the high priest the most.

“Hero,” said High Priest Caldris, a tall, blade-nosed man with a beard arranged into pious geometry. His smile had been carved from church pews and tax law. “Chosen one of radiant prophecy. The kingdom of Valis welcomes you.”

Milo glanced over Caldris’s shoulder at the enormous stained-glass windows, where saints with golden halos were depicted skewering horned demons in dramatic sunlight. Incense curled through the air in sweet, cloying ribbons. Somewhere, a choirboy quietly sniffled. A knight’s gauntlet creaked around the hilt of his sword.

“Uh,” Milo said.

He had meant to say something better. Something heroic. Something appropriate to waking up dead in a cathedral after a goddess had appeared, malfunctioned, and vanished mid-sentence like a video call on airport Wi-Fi.

What came out was, “Is there coffee?”

The silence thickened.

One of the priests made a tiny sound like a mouse being stepped on.

King Aldren of Valis leaned forward. He was broad-shouldered even in age, with white hair spilling over a fur-trimmed mantle and eyes that had probably watched banners burn. A golden circlet rested on his brow. An enormous sword leaned beside his throne, ceremonial in the way a guillotine was ceremonial.

“The Hero speaks of a sacred draught,” the king said gravely.

“Yes,” Milo said, seizing the only floating plank in a shipwreck of social expectation. “Very sacred.”

Caldris clasped his hands. “Then we shall prepare whatever draught is needed. After the oath.”

“The what?”

A younger voice cut through the incense.

“The Oath of Radiant Subjugation,” said the princess.

She had been standing at the edge of the dais, half-hidden behind a row of paladins, but Milo had noticed her because she was the only person in the room not looking at him as if he were a holy artifact or a live grenade. She looked at him as if he were a suspicious package left unattended in a train station.

Princess Seraphina wore armor under a blue court cloak, the plates slim and bright, chased with the lion crest of Valis. Her hair was the color of fresh copper and braided away from a face too sharp for the jeweled softness expected of princesses. At her hip hung a sword that had been used. Her eyes were green, steady, and deeply unimpressed.

“It binds the summoned hero to the crown,” she continued. “And the church. And the prophecy. In that order, depending on who drafted the latest version.”

High Priest Caldris’s smile lost a fraction of varnish. “Your Highness, the exact phrasing has been sanctified by generations.”

“By lawyers with halos painted on them.”

The old king coughed into his fist. It might have been disapproval. It might have been a laugh trapped under royal responsibility.

Milo raised a hand. “Sorry. Quick clarification. I just died.”

Several people flinched.

“And before that,” he continued, “I was awake for… I don’t know, thirty hours? Forty? There was a bug where players could duplicate premium currency by buying a wedding ring for a horse—long story. Anyway, now I’m here, my afterlife onboarding glitched, a goddess told me something about a Demon Lord and then panic-quit, and there’s an app store in my face.”

“A what store?” asked a knight.

“App Store.”

“Apple store?”

“No, not—” Milo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Actually, maybe. Depends on litigation.”

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “You claim to see a divine interface.”

“I claim to be very tired.”

The glowing panel chimed, cheerful and obscene in the cathedral quiet.

New User Tip!
Need help communicating with colorful natives?
Download Instant Translation today!

Price: 0 Creation Points
Requirement: 5 Positive Local Reviews

Milo blinked.

“No,” he whispered.

The panel pulsed.

Instant Translation
Understand and be understood by sapient beings within registered world shard.

Current Rating: ☆☆☆☆☆ (0/5 Reviews)
Download locked until minimum launch reputation achieved.

Please rate your divine reincarnation!

Milo felt his soul step out of his body, look around, and consider filing a complaint.

He could understand them. Apparently the goddess—or whatever half-installed divine driver had dragged him here—had given him enough language support for the first conversation. But the interface’s little gray text made his stomach drop.

Trial Translation Grace Period: 00:17:43

“Seventeen minutes?” Milo said.

Caldris brightened. “A sacred number?”

“It is not sacred. It is deeply inconvenient.”

He swiped at the air. The panel moved with his gaze, annoyingly smooth. A list unfolded like a mobile storefront had been dipped in liquid sunlight.

Featured Apps for New Heroes
Instant Translation — Locked (requires 5 Positive Local Reviews)
Beginner Swordsmanship — Locked (requires 10 Creation Points)
Minor Fireball — Locked (requires mana organ detected: NO)
Inventory Lite — Locked (requires Tutorial Completion)
Emergency Pants — Installed

Milo looked down.

His pajama pants were still there.

“Emergency Pants is doing the bare minimum,” he muttered.

“Hero?” Caldris said.

Milo forced himself to focus. Seventeen minutes. Five positive local reviews. That was a mechanic. A stupid mechanic, yes, but mechanics were comforting. If there was a system, it could be exploited. Not maliciously. Not immediately maliciously. But enough to survive.

He turned to the room and attempted what, in his former life, had been called Customer Support Voice.

It had gotten him through angry forum posts, chargeback threats, and a man who insisted his wizard’s hat should count as formalwear for fish.

“Hello,” Milo said. “Thank you all for participating in my reincarnation experience.”

Seraphina mouthed, participating?

“Before we proceed to any oaths, wars, subjugations, or demon-related project milestones, I would appreciate brief feedback from five local stakeholders regarding your initial impressions.”

Caldris stared.

The king stared.

One of the guards slowly raised his visor, as though hearing better required seeing with his whole face.

“I need reviews,” Milo said.

“Reviews,” repeated the king.

“Positive ones.”

High Priest Caldris recovered first, because men like him did not rise to high office without the ability to nod confidently at nonsense. “The Hero desires testimonials to affirm the legitimacy of his summoning.”

“Sure,” Milo said. “That. Exactly that.”

Caldris swept an arm toward the altar. “Then let the priests of Luminara bear witness. The summoning succeeded. The Chosen Hero stands before us.”

A tiny bell rang in Milo’s head.

Review Received!
High Priest Caldris: ★★★☆☆
“The summoning succeeded, though the Hero’s garments and vocabulary raise doctrinal concerns.”

Positive Review? NO

Milo’s smile froze.

“Three stars?” he said.

Caldris blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You gave me three stars.”

“I gave you no stars. The church does not distribute celestial bodies casually.”

“Apparently it does. And three isn’t positive.”

Seraphina covered her mouth with two fingers. Her eyes shone suspiciously.

The timer ticked down.

Trial Translation Grace Period: 00:15:58

Milo inhaled through his nose. The air tasted of incense, candle wax, and panic sweat—mostly his. “Okay. Let’s improve that customer experience. High Priest Caldris, what would make this a five-star summoning for you?”

Caldris’s face lit with dangerous opportunity. “An oath of loyalty.”

“Besides that.”

“A declaration of obedience to holy command.”

“Different category.”

“A demonstration of sacred power.”

“Great. Demonstrations. We can do demonstrations.” Milo looked at his app list. No fireballs. No inventory. No swordsmanship. Emergency Pants. App Store. Trial translation. His own body, which had last exercised when he chased a food delivery driver down three flights of stairs because the man forgot dipping sauce.

He scanned the cathedral for something, anything. Marble columns. Gold braziers. Priests. Knights. Princess. King. Choir. A silver basin of water near the altar. A plate of offerings: fruit, bread, flowers.

And candles. Hundreds of candles.

Milo had no magic, but he had shipped games with particle effects built from duct tape and lies. He also had spent a childhood around his grandmother’s tiny apartment shrine, where she lit candles and scolded gods in Korean when bills got too high.

“Sacred power,” Milo said. “Yes.”

He approached the altar. Two paladins stepped forward. Seraphina lifted a hand, stopping them.

Milo picked up one of the altar candles. It was thick, white, and already burning. He held it up dramatically.

“In my world,” he said, “we have a ritual to determine whether a system has accepted a user request.”

“A divination?” whispered a priest.

“Sort of.”

He tilted the candle. Hot wax dripped onto the marble, forming a small glossy puddle. Then he took one of the offering fruits—a purple thing shaped like a pear having an identity crisis—and pressed the candle into it upright. He set the fruit-candle arrangement on the altar, folded his hands, and bowed his head.

Everyone leaned closer.

Milo opened one eye, then blew out the flame.

Smoke curled upward.

“Request submitted,” he said solemnly.

Nothing happened.

A choirboy sneezed.

Then, from somewhere very high above, a tiny ember dislodged from a chandelier and fell directly onto Caldris’s elaborate beard.

The beard went up with a crisp fwoomph.

Caldris shrieked.

Priests scattered like pigeons. A knight threw his cloak over the high priest’s face. Another knight, acting with admirable speed and poor aim, kicked the silver basin of holy water across the floor. It spun, hit a step, launched into the air, and dumped its contents over Caldris, the knight, and three assistant deacons.

The fire died in a hiss.

For one magnificent second, the high priest stood dripping beneath the saints, beard reduced to a smoking crescent, dignity lying dead at his feet.

Milo looked at the candle-fruit.

“Request processed,” he said.

The cathedral exploded into noise.

“A sign!” cried one priest.

“An attack!” shouted a guard.

“His Holiness is bald!” wailed a deacon.

“Only partially!” Caldris snapped from under the wet cloak.

Seraphina turned away, shoulders shaking.

The king laughed.

Not a polite chuckle. Not a diplomatic exhale. A full, booming laugh that rolled through the cathedral, rattled the stained glass, and broke something in the room’s suffocating reverence. Knights glanced at each other. Priests looked scandalized. The choirboys started giggling until their choirmaster glared them into hiccups.

King Aldren wiped tears from his eyes. “By the First Lion. Hero, if that is how your world submits requests, I understand why your gods sent you away.”

A chime rang.

Review Received!
King Aldren Valis: ★★★★★
“Unexpected. Disrespectful. Extremely funny. Has potential.”

Positive Review? YES
Progress: 1/5

Milo nearly sagged with relief. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Your feedback is important.”

“Is it?” The king grinned like a man twenty years younger. “Good. My feedback is that Caldris has needed trimming for months.”

“Your Majesty,” Caldris said through clenched teeth, water dripping off his nose.

“Now,” Seraphina said, having regained control of her face but not the spark in her eyes, “you have amused my father. That is not the same as proving you are the Hero.”

“I’m not totally sold on it either,” Milo said.

That earned him a look. Not approval. Not yet. But the sharp suspicion shifted by one degree, like a blade angling toward curiosity.

The timer pulsed.

Trial Translation Grace Period: 00:12:21

He needed four more.

“Okay,” Milo said. “Who else would like to leave a review?”

No one moved.

Caldris was being dabbed with towels by horrified acolytes. The king still looked entertained, but he was only one customer. Priests avoided Milo’s gaze as though stars might be taxable. Knights stood in disciplined lines, unreadable behind visors. The princess watched him like a puzzle that might bite.

Milo pointed at the nearest guard whose visor was up. The man was young, square-jawed, and sweating under his helmet.

“You. Sir. What’s your name?”

The guard straightened so hard his armor clanked. “Darian Holt, third spear of the Dawn Gate, sworn to Crown and Flame.”

“Great. Darian. What would make you rate this hero experience positively?”

Darian’s eyes flicked to the princess, then the king, then Caldris, then back to Milo. He had the desperate expression of a junior employee asked to critique the CEO during an all-hands meeting.

“I am honored to witness your holy arrival,” Darian recited.

A chime.

Review Received!
Guard Darian Holt: ★★☆☆☆
“I am honored to witness your holy arrival.”

Positive Review? NO
Review flagged as insincere.

“Insincere,” Milo said.

Darian went pale. “Forgive me, my lord, I meant every word.”

“The magic customer survey disagrees.”

“It knows?” Darian whispered, horrified.

“Apparently.”

Seraphina’s brows lifted. “Interesting.”

Don’t say interesting like that, Milo thought. That’s how QA says interesting right before the build catches fire.

He stepped closer to Darian. The guard smelled of oiled steel, leather, and nerves. He couldn’t have been older than twenty. Maybe twenty-two. His knuckles were white around his spear.

“Darian,” Milo said softly, “forget the king. Forget the church. Forget the princess looking like she’s deciding where to bury me.”

“I am not—” Seraphina began.

“You are absolutely doing burial math.”

The guard made a strangled noise that might have been laughter attempting treason.

Milo leaned in conspiratorially. “What is something you actually want right now?”

Darian swallowed. His eyes flicked toward the side aisle, where a table held ceremonial goblets and a tray of untouched bread. “I… skipped breakfast, my lord.”

“Great. Food. Very relatable.”

“The ritual began before dawn.”

“Terrible scheduling. One star.”

“And I have been standing here since third bell.”

“With no breakfast?” Milo turned slowly toward the assembly. “You summoned a hero on an empty-stomach workforce?”

Caldris stiffened. “Ritual purity requires fasting.”

“For everyone?”

“For those within the sanctified boundary.”

Milo looked at the exhausted priests, the pale choirboys, the rigid guards. He knew that look. He had seen it in office bathrooms at 2 a.m., in Discord moderators during launch weekends, in his own reflection when a publisher asked if “just one more monetization feature” could be patched by Friday.

He marched to the offering plate and picked up the bread. It was round, fragrant, crusted with herbs, and probably sacred. Everything here was probably sacred. He tore it in half.

Caldris made a noise like a kettle boiling over. “That is altar bread.”

“Then it should be good at helping people.” Milo handed half to Darian. “Eat.”

Darian stared at it as though Milo had offered him a crown.

“If anyone complains,” Milo said, “tell them the Hero initiated a… carbohydrate blessing.”

The king’s lips twitched.

Darian took a bite. His eyes closed. The tension in his shoulders melted by an inch. Around the room, hungry attention sharpened.

“Review?” Milo asked.

Darian swallowed. This time, when he spoke, it came from somewhere real. “Five stars, my lord. Any hero who feeds the guard before asking us to die for prophecy is welcome at my gate.”

The chime sounded like salvation.

Review Received!
Guard Darian Holt: ★★★★★
“Fed me altar bread. May be a heretic. Would follow into moderate danger after breakfast.”

Positive Review? YES
Progress: 2/5

“Moderate danger,” Milo said. “That is the correct amount.”

One of the other guards coughed. “My lord Hero?”

Milo turned.

The guard’s visor was down, but his voice was hopeful. “Is the carbohydrate blessing… limited?”

A dangerous murmur passed through the fasting assembly.

Caldris clutched his wet robes. “No. Absolutely not. The altar offerings are consecrated for divine consumption.”

“I’m divine-adjacent,” Milo said.

“You are not eating the entire altar.”

“I’m not. I’m distributing value to early adopters.”

Seraphina stepped forward. “If you cause a riot over bread in the central cathedral, I will personally revise your prophecy to include prison.”

“Fair.” Milo lifted both hands. “No riot. Structured rollout.”

The words meant nothing to them, which was fine. They had meant very little in meetings too.

He turned back to the offering plate. There was more bread, fruit, small cakes glazed with honey, and a bowl of nuts. Not enough for everyone. Enough to create either goodwill or civil unrest. He needed three more reviews, not a labor movement.

He picked up a honey cake and scanned the room.

The choirboys stared at him with the unblinking intensity of wolves spotting a wounded deer.

The choirmaster saw the direction of Milo’s gaze and stiffened. “The children maintain vocal purity until the closing hymn.”

One choirboy’s stomach growled so loudly it echoed off the nave.

Milo pointed. “That one just sang the hymn of biological necessity.”

The king barked another laugh.

Caldris looked ready to combust without assistance.

Milo approached the choir. The boys stood in two rows, white robes too large for them, collars starched, faces pinched with hunger and awe. One had freckles across his nose and ears that stuck out like handles. He couldn’t have been more than ten.

Milo crouched to his level and offered the honey cake. “Name?”

“Pip,” the boy whispered.

“Pip. Would you like a sacred cake?”

Pip looked at the choirmaster, who looked at Caldris, who looked at the king, who was pretending very badly not to enjoy this.

“Yes,” Pip breathed.

“Then by the authority vested in me by a crashed goddess and an app with predatory onboarding, I declare snack time.”

Pip took the cake and bit into it. Honey smeared his cheek. His eyes widened with pure, uncomplicated joy.

A system chime rang before Milo even asked.

Review Received!
Choirboy Pip: ★★★★★
“Hero gave me cake and said snack time is holy. Best hero.”

Positive Review? YES
Progress: 3/5

Milo pressed a fist to his chest. “Pip, you are now my favorite stakeholder.”

“What’s a stake holder?” Pip asked around cake.

“Someone adults blame when things go wrong.”

The boy nodded solemnly, as if receiving doctrine.

The timer dipped below ten minutes.

Trial Translation Grace Period: 00:09:04

Three down.