I Died for a Fool and Woke Up as a Sealed Angel

I died from overwork at a mediocre company. When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into the game I’d sunk far too much money into—Hero Academy. And of all times, I arrived five years before the story even began. In the body of a little girl. With my gender flipped.

The plot was simple: if the hero couldn’t kill the Demon King who descended upon the earth, the entire middle realm—including the Empire—would fall to the demon world and suffer eternal torment. As a five-year-old, I decided right then and there that I would not enroll at the Hero Academy. I’d live as a supporter instead.

The academy was packed with brutal events designed to screw you over. Especially if you didn’t whale. Supporters, on the other hand, had it easy. Just join a guild or the church, learn skills, rack up achievements, and you’re done. Way lower difficulty than the hero route. Plus, supporters were called “jack-of-all-trades” for a reason—you could learn basically every skill. If you played it right, you could even become stronger than the hero himself.

To become a supporter stronger than the hero, you absolutely had to start at the church. That was the only way to receive the Blessing of Limit Break. And only the Grand Temple could grant it. Normally it was pure RNG, but a little bribery guaranteed the best possible buff.

Alright. My name is Raphael. Let’s save the world and live the sweet life!

I left a letter for my parents and headed straight for the Grand Temple. After slipping them a modest bribe, I received the Blessing of Limit Break. I officially became a member of the church and diligently completed every mission they gave me. Five more years passed, and word of my deeds finally reached the High Priestess. We grew quite close.

I carried out her secret missions and eventually became something called an Inquisitor—a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rather unique supporter class. But who cared? As long as the contribution points were good, it was all fine by me.

I spent another five years living as an Inquisitor. The year I turned fifteen, I received a direct order from the Pope himself.

The mission: become the supporter for the hero’s party and defeat the Demon King.

The first time the hero saw me, his face turned bright red. I really, really wanted to smack him upside the head. Hard.

Together with the Saintess, the Archmage, the Divine Archer, and the hero, we crushed the Four Heavenly Kings. Only the Demon King remained.

The moment ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we entered his throne room, I unloaded every single attack skill I had before he could even open his mouth. The Demon King died. Extremely easily.

I showered him with debuffs and holy magic until he was on the verge of death. The hero finished him off by stabbing him through the heart with the Holy Sword.

But the Demon King, apparently upset that he died without getting to say a single cool line, cast ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Curse of Death on the hero before vanishing. The Curse of Death did exactly what it sounded like—and since it came from the Demon King himself, it was absolute.

I don’t know if I felt sorry for that idiot hero or if I’d somehow grown attached to him. Either way, without thinking, I stepped in front of him and took the curse myself.

The Saintess, the hero, the Archmage, and the Divine Archer were all saying something to me. But because of the curse, I couldn’t hear a thing. They were probably thanking me, right? Or maybe yelling at me. Suddenly they all seemed to be crying and screaming.

Ah… my vision is starting to fade…

This damn hero. If you’d just been a little stronger, I wouldn’t have had to die like this…

If there’s a next life, I’m definitely smacking you upside the head. Hard.

…Goodbye, everyone.

I’m getting sleepy now…

Farewell…