Brand New Life Online: Rise Of The Goddess Of Harvest

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“I’m sorry… He… your son… didn’t make it.”

“…”

She could still remember that moment as vividly as if it had happened yesterday—the day a life-changing surgery meant to save her son failed.

Her bright seven-year-old boy, who had battled cancer since he was four, passed away that day.

Not long after, her husband divorced her. Their relationship crumbled, unable to mend after losing their child.

Life turned colorless. She could no longer feel anything.

She had spent her entire existence waiting to become a mother. When that boy was born, she felt complete happiness and fulfillment; she did everything for him.

Everything…

Even after exhausting herself with overtime and part-time jobs, borrowing money from the yakuza and banks—all for that one surgery.

It all collapsed. Her world shattered into countless irreparable pieces.

And so did her mind, and her will to live.

“I miss you…”

Every day she visited her son’s grave and wept for an hour, placing fresh flowers in front of it without fail, religiously.

“My baby…”

“Why?”

“Just why did you have to die?!”

“So young, so innocent…”

“Y-You had a whole life ahead of you… Aaah…”

“Why couldn’t I have died instead? Why couldn’t I have gotten cancer instead of you?”

“Why… Why did it have to be you?”

As days stretched into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, time changed nothing. Her life remained empty and gray.

Every night she lingered in her son’s room, clutching his toys, breathing in the fading scent of his pillow as she fell asleep hugging his favorite teddy bear, tears soaking the fabric.

Every day she thought about ending her life so she could finally join him in the afterlife. But each time the thought arose, she remembered her boy’s last words before the surgery took him.

“Mommy… if I make it, can we go eat ice cream together? I haven’t had it in so long… And… I want to sit in the park… and… I want to play!”

“Of course, dear. It’s a promise.”

That promise kept her from dying, a fragile, dying promise destined to remain forever unfulfilled. As she grieved year after year…

It slowly twisted into a Curse.

Unaware of her latent Talents, as a forgotten descendant of a now-extinct family of sorcerers.

As she mourned her son’s death for an endless stretch of time…

The Curse gradually opened its crimson eyes.

On that fateful night, while she clutched her son’s favorite cartoon character toy—an adorable mouse—she fell asleep.

The room glowed faintly.

ZAP!

ZAP!

ZAAAP!

“Aah?!”

Her eyes snapped open in a daze. A massive magic circle had appeared in front of her son’s bed.

“W-What’s happening?!”

She knew nothing of magic. She had lived her whole life as an ordinary human.

But then…

From the center of her chest, a small, childlike hand emerged, a single red eye staring straight at her.

Dread swallowed her whole as a twisted, childlike voice spoke.

“Mama…”

Her son’s voice.

“W-What…? Aaaahhhhh!”

She scrambled to her feet, screaming, fleeing the room.

But it was already too late. The door slammed shut. Horror mounted as dozens of paintings sprang to life around her.

Cartoon characters laughed and danced. Goofy music from old, animated films echoed through the space.

Beloved figures from classic children’s fairy tales—the Little Mermaid, Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, Pinocchio, Cinderella, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, and more—stepped forward.

“Aaah! G-Go away! Leave me alone!!!”

As she screamed in terror and countless bizarre fantasy beings approached to embrace her, soft footsteps approached.

A small boy with black hair and blue eyes—not Japanese, but Western in appearance—walked slowly toward her.

“…Eh?”

For a heartbeat she thought it was her son. Her hands trembled; the toy slipped from her grasp as she stepped forward.

“S-Son? Is it you? T-Takeru?”

Her fingers shook as she reached for the boy who looked so much like him, though his eyes and features were subtly different.

He giggled—a sound that should have been innocent, yet in this unnatural silence felt deeply wrong.

“Wow… you called me? Really? You really called me?”

He twirled once, and colors trailed him like obedient fireflies. Soft, rounded creatures with huge eyes and exaggerated smiles formed in the air, bouncing and waving in cheerful patterns that clashed painfully with her trembling breaths.

The boy seemed oblivious to her fear at first, too caught up in his own wonder.

“It worked! It really worked! I’m here! I’m really here!”

He clapped, and the creatures multiplied—floating, dancing, swirling in joyful loops that would enchant any child but only deepened her anguish.

Only then did he truly look at her.

“Oh…”

His smile faltered.

Not from understanding, but from sensing something heavy and nameless in the air.

He tilted his head.

“You’re… sad.”

The creatures froze mid-dance, their smiles dimming as though mirroring her grief.

He took a hesitant step closer, excitement fading into uncertainty.

“I… I’m supposed to say something grand, right? Like the heroes do.”

He fidgeted, glancing at the swirling colors as if seeking guidance.

Then he met her eyes again—really looked—and his voice dropped to something soft, almost fragile.

“I’m Walt. Caster-class. I make stories… and colors… and things that help people smile.”

Her heart pounded faster as an inexplicable connection tugged at her.

“But… I don’t think you need smiles right now.”

The colors softened to a gentle shimmer. The creatures bowed their heads. He stepped nearer, small and unsure, voice barely a whisper.

“I don’t know how to fix what you lost.”

His eyes shone—not with magic, but with something achingly human.

“But if you want… I can stay. And maybe… maybe we can make something new together.”

He extended a tiny, trembling hand.

“Master… can I help you?”

The boy spoke with a solemn yet playful tone, smiling up at her. His blue eyes gleamed with faint rainbow light.

His aura shifted—colorful paint turning to watercolor—then compressed and vanished entirely, leaving the room quiet once more.

“…”

The realization struck: this was not her son. She fell silent, staring at the floor, overwhelmed by the futility of everything.

Even this wondrous fantasy failed to awaken any childlike wonder in her, leaving Caster stunned.

“Oh my… you’re really in pain, aren’t you, Master? But please don’t worry! If you miss your son, we can revive him!”

“…W-What? What do you mean? Wait—what are you? A fairy?!”

“Heheh, maybe?” The boy chuckled. “But no, I’m not a fairy! I am… a heroic spirit. Wow! Sounds cool, right?”

“…”

“Look at what I can do!”

He summoned a pen and began drawing on the walls, glancing at the portrait of the child she had lost.

He drew her a new son—a cartoony boy with a bright smile and an even brighter future.

“Hello mama! Hellooo! Mama! Hello mama!”

“Aaaaahhhh!”

She screamed in horror, crawling backward from the grotesque, warped recreation of her son.

“Oops, I guess that wouldn’t work, huh?”

The boy sighed, seized the painting, and crushed it until it splattered into black ink across the floor.

“Well, there’s another option then!”

“What?”

“Win the War, get the Holy Grail, wish your son back to life! Easy peasy!”

She sat in stunned silence, sinking to the floor, thinking.

Maybe this was all a dream and she would wake soon. Maybe a nightmare and—

“It’s not a dream, Master, but I can send you into one if you want. What world do you desire? A bright fantasy realm? A futuristic sci-fi world? Or maybe a romantic tragedy? I can do anything you wish! Name the dream, and with this pen I shall make it real!”

“I want… my son back… no matter what…”

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