Chapter 1: The TV Smash and the Celestial Soap Opera

I was standing in my cramped Brooklyn apartment, half a pizza on the coffee table, when the scene on the screen pushed me over the edge. The little pixie on the show actually had the nerve to question Heaven’s Chief Justice right to his face, asking if he even knew what love was.

She didn’t just ask—she called him out, her tiny voice ringing out like it was her right to challenge the most powerful man in the universe. Like a kid at a town hall, hands on hips, demanding to know if the mayor’s ever felt heartbreak. It was wild, even for daytime TV.

And Heaven’s Commander—he actually had to watch everyone’s reactions and act like some lovesick fool, begging for someone else’s affection.

He looked so awkward, glancing at his court like a sitcom dad who just found out he’s the punchline. I almost felt bad for him, standing there, trying to keep it together while everyone else acted like this was just another Tuesday. But there he was, putting his pride on the line, hoping for a sliver of affection.

I was so furious, I smashed my TV right then and there. Glass shards rained onto the carpet, my heart pounding like I’d just lost a playoff game. What was I even doing?

But who could have guessed? I ended up inside the show myself, taking the place of the all-powerful Heaven’s Commander.

I didn’t even get a second to process it—just a sharp static buzz, the smell of burnt plastic, and then darkness. Next thing I knew, I wasn’t standing in my living room anymore. Nope, I was on the set—or rather, smack in the middle of this celestial soap opera, with a title I’d never asked for.

The little pixie was still chattering away nonstop.

She just kept going, all attitude and no filter. Her words bounced off the white walls like a kid on a sugar rush—relentless, insistent, impossible to ignore.

Fine, fine, fine.

Alright, I thought. If this is the game, I’ll play it. My patience was wearing thin, but I’d see it through.

If even one of these love-struck idiots manages to survive, then I’ll admit defeat.

That’s my promise to myself. If any of them make it through my new rules, I’ll call it: game over for me.