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... , because right now, even the god of death is more sure of my identity than I am.

Who or what even am I?

Seriously, at this point even I don't know.

Blinking at the man in the black suit, who sat lavishly in front of me like he owned the place which, to be fair, he really did.

I asked in the most polite tone I could muster,

"…Pardon? Could you… repeat that?"

Yeah, I needed to hear it again. For the sake of my fragile mental health.

"You are ...

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