The sky was stained crimson, as if soaked in blood. Thin red clouds drifted lazily across the highest reaches of the firmament. Beneath that sky, a vast, boundless river flowed forward in silence. Along its banks, fields of scarlet spider lilies bloomed in furious profusion. A gentle breeze brushed past, lightly stirring the petals, and the entire world seemed steeped in a faint, blood-red hue.
This great river was the Sanzu River, the main channel of the Underworld’s crossing—a river that flowed precisely along the boundary between realms. Its existence divided this shore from the other shore.
Within the mortal world, the demon realm lay beneath the human realm, yet the demon realm itself possessed depth. The deeper a spirit was hidden, the harder it became to perceive through spiritual vision or spiritual senses. And the demon realm, too, had a “bottom.”
Once that bottom was breached, one would arrive at this shore.
Generally speaking, this shore still belonged to the mortal world. It was a deep layer beneath the demon realm, no longer overlapping with physical reality. From this shore, once one crossed the Sanzu River, one would reach the other shore.
The other shore belonged to the Underworld, its uppermost layer. Beneath it lay the various courts and offices of judgment, and below those, layer upon layer of hell.
Upon the shimmering surface of the Sanzu River, a small wooden boat drifted slowly forward. Its destination was the other shore, where the Underworld lay. The oar pushed aside the water, granting the boat its forward motion—though that motion was, conspicuously, extremely slow.
Standing aboard the little boat was a tall, voluptuous young woman. She wore a long kimono of unusual design. Her crimson hair was tied into twin tails, and her red eyes were half-lidded, half-open. Her beautiful face bore a relaxed, languid expression.
Behind her lay a massive scythe, and beyond it floated several clusters of ghostly green soul-fires.
The red-haired girl stood casually at the stern. With one hand, she lightly held the oar, paddling at an unhurried pace. With the other, she held a smartphone, scrolling idly. Her technique was so refined that even while rowing one-handed and not looking ahead, she kept the boat perfectly straight and stable.
Unfortunately, her lack of effort ensured that the boat’s progress was painfully slow as it crept toward the other shore.
As she scrolled and paddled, another small boat approached from ahead—its passenger seat empty, but its bow pointed straight toward her.
A young Shinigami in white robes stood aboard it. When he saw the red-haired girl, surprise flickered across his face.
“Hey! Senior Komachi!” he called out, waving.
“You’re only here now? Did something go wrong with your boat? Need a hand?”
The red-haired girl lifted her gaze from her phone, looked at the young Shinigami, and waved the phone in response.
“Ah, yeah, there is a problem with the boat,” she replied lazily.
“But it’s just a small one. I can handle it myself. You go on ahead.”
The Shinigami girl Ono no Komachi waved casually as she spoke.
The young Shinigami paused, startled for a moment, before replying:
“Uh… if you say so. Then I’ll head back first. I still have a backlog of souls waiting on this shore. Gotta hurry…”
As he spoke, he began paddling furiously toward the mortal side.
Watching the boat pass by, Komachi shook her head slightly.
“Tsk, tsk… youngsters really are hardworking,” she muttered.
“Don’t they know souls are never-ending? The harder you work, the more tired you get. Might as well take it easy when you can…”
After sighing a few times, Komachi immediately went back to scrolling on her phone while paddling.
As a veteran Shinigami who had gone countless years without promotion, she was a consummate master of slacking off. If nothing else, her experience alone was undeniable—evident from the fact that she was clearly a Soul-Guiding Reaper, yet still carried a scythe.
In the early days of the Shinigami system, there had been no distinction between Reapers of Final Lifespans and Soul-Guiding Reapers. One Shinigami did both jobs. Komachi was one of those veterans.
After the division of duties, she chose the seemingly easier task of guiding souls—but she kept the scythe that symbolized her former authority.
Now, with many former juniors having climbed above her in rank, Komachi was practically a living fossil among Shinigami.
Thus, she continued drifting leisurely across the Sanzu River, scrolling and paddling—until suddenly, the video on her phone froze. A loading circle spun on the screen.
Komachi glanced upward and saw the pitifully short signal indicator. Her cheeks puffed out in annoyance.
“What the heck?! The signal’s terrible again!”
“Why does it always get this bad when I reach this stretch?! Didn’t they say base stations were already being built?”
“Are those foxes slacking off again?!”
She complained openly.
Inari had indeed funded infrastructure improvements for the Underworld, including signal towers—but coverage was clearly still limited.
While Komachi stood there grumbling, she stopped rowing entirely.
Behind her, the clusters of soul-fires began to swell slightly, emitting strange, restless noises.
Komachi glanced at them and snorted.
“Tch… what’s the rush?”
“Even if you’re eager to reincarnate, this isn’t the moment. Whether you pass judgment is another matter entirely.”
Just then, the image on her phone resumed. The signal snapped back to full bars.
She was about to resume scrolling when a distant rumbling echoed across the river’s surface.
“…Hm?”
Komachi turned toward the sound.
In the distance, a white wake tore across the river, racing straight toward her. At its head gleamed a white, metallic prow, accompanied by the roar of an engine growing louder by the second.
“…A boat from the mortal world?!”
Komachi froze for an instant—then hurriedly began rowing to avoid it.
The white yacht swept past her at close range, its waves rocking her little boat violently.
Up close, Komachi clearly recognized the vessel.
“This is… a yacht?!”
She stood there dumbfounded, staring as the white luxury craft vanished into the distance, trailing foam across the Sanzu River.
“…Unbelievable…”
The white luxury yacht streaked across the Sanzu River, dragging waves in its wake. The peculiar fate attached to it ensured that, aside from a certain lazy Shinigami, no other reapers would interfere with its journey—so as not to disrupt normal soul-guiding operations.
On the rear deck, Miketsu sat casually at a fixed table, dressed in a neat uniform. She enjoyed the river breeze while admiring the endless fields of spider lilies along the banks.
In her hand was a tall wineglass.
If the fizzy cola bubbling inside were replaced with red wine, the aura of upper-class leisure would have overflowed instantly.
“Mm. The scenery’s pretty nice,” Miketsu said after a sip.
“What do you think, Ai?”
Having skipped classes for the entire afternoon, Miketsu evaluated the view with clear satisfaction. She turned her gaze toward the opposite side of the table.
There sat a girl in a black kimono, posture perfectly straight—Enma Ai, the Hell Girl. Her expression was stiff, her eyes fixed forward, as she watched Miketsu casually drink cola from a wineglass.
“This is my first time seeing the main channel of the Sanzu River,” Enma Ai replied quietly.
“It’s… much brighter than the place where I was exiled…”
Miketsu smiled faintly.
“Yeah. This is what the Sanzu River is supposed to look like. It’s not really that gloomy.”
Then she continued, calmly:
“Alright. The Hell Girl Project is officially terminated. You’re free now.”
“This world no longer has a Hell Girl.”
She met Enma Ai’s gaze.
“So… what do you plan to do next?”
Rate on N.U.
