People Aren't Meant to Be Fixed! (4 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 199

What time is it supposed to be already?

I shifted my posture as my head tilted backward, still pulled by the Messenger of God clutching a fistful of my hair. That damned flour lump, mimicking God’s appearance while doing this, made me feel as if I were being tormented by God Himself.

Because I hadn’t obeyed Him, failed to fulfill the purpose for which He created me, and foolishly spent centuries without finding answers to my questions, He seemed to say this grip was merely substituting for the flick on the forehead He desperately wanted to give out of sheer frustration.

Though God would surely claim that each time we meet face to face and I complain, He replies that the time hasn’t come yet—that He has been watching over me out of affection and love—and that this suffering is merely a trial I’ve brought upon myself by stepping into my own trap.

He’d inevitably utter some monk-like platitude about this, too, calling it part of the journey toward finding answers.

‘I thought you came just to spout nonsense, but apparently not?’

At first, when the Messenger of God declared “the time has come,” negative emotions surged within me—but after a few seconds, my thoughts began to shift.

So much had happened lately, and it had been revealed that everyone around me was deeply connected to my past life in Paradise, leaving me reeling. If this entire situation was orchestrated by God’s design, and considering all those past-life bonds had already perished, it felt as though it was finally my turn.

‘This isn’t something to just get annoyed about.’

On the contrary—since winter had arrived, it wasn’t wrong to summon me before I turned nineteen. I nearly let my resentment toward God cloud my judgment emotionally, but I steadied myself and decided to feign ignorance and ask the Messenger of God a question first.

The creature was sharp yet surprisingly straightforward, often giving honest answers—which meant I could potentially extract the information I wanted.

“What time has come, exactly?”

I put on a shameless face and stared straight at the Messenger of God.

‘When I was ten, you kept saying I still had eight years left or something like that, and nothing significant has occurred since the debutante ball—so I suppose it’s about time for something to happen.’

Perhaps this really was the natural order. The thought crossed my mind that my earlier efforts—collaborating with Sasha or Freyrie and scrambling desperately mid-way—now seemed rather foolish. I’d heard God knew all His plans, but feeling it so viscerally now made me realize our fates were merely interlocking cogs, spinning busily within the palm of God’s immense hand.

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