Miracle of Resurrection

The female corpse on the stage still wore that devout, uniform smile upon her lowered face. It was as though the agony of being sliced apart inch by inch, the despair before death, had left not the slightest trace upon her. Her entire soul seemed to be drawing close to some great existence, finding eternal peace and joy in that closeness.

Some people sought tranquility of the soul, such as the common people of Japan, born and raised upon a land of despair.

The Dark Night Tidal Surge had lasted a long time, and the economic decline even longer. They had long been steeped in pessimism, burdened by immense psychological pressure, with suicide rates remaining high. Nihilism could be said to be running rampant among the Heisei Trash and Reiwa Scum.

Feeling that nothing mattered and embracing death with a smile could even be called a different kind of beauty to some people.

All those waiters who had boarded the ship, endured the high-pressure environment, withstood the constant brainwashing, and hoped to flee to a peaceful land carried more or less pessimistic, nihilistic thoughts in their hearts.

Of course, to another group of people, whether one died beautifully or ugly, crying or laughing, was all bullshit.

I just want to live—live better, enjoy more, possess more, seize more, torment more, to satisfy endless extreme desires and the ever-expanding hollow deep within my soul.

Such as those so-called "distinguished" guests who had come from all over.

These guests had heard more or less of the rumors.

Now, that old woman who bathed in blood was staring fixedly from below the stage, waiting expectantly. She hoped that the ever-ethereal gods could truly display a miracle. As long as the gods were real, she was willing to pay a great price in exchange