- 02: Lottery -
I used to think college would be my salvation. Just grit through the lectures, nod at the right times, and someday I'd get a stable job with a desk and a salary big enough to suffocate all my problems. Simple. Clean.
"Steven," a familiar voice says behind me, sharp as a test score I forgot to submit.
I turn. Miss Hok, my favorite lecturer—well, the only one who remembered my name—holds a stack of papers like she's clutching a funeral notice.
"We need to talk."
Ten minutes later, I'm outside the administration building, holding my own academic death certificate. Kicked out. No tuition, no second chances, and—oh yeah—apparently working a job to survive is against college policy now.
"They caught me working," I mutter to myself, squinting into the orange dusk. "Do they expect me to eat vibes?"
There's a message from Valeria, my sister.
VALERIA: [*heart* *smiley face* :D]
Translation: "Don't forget to visit me, mmkay?!."
I smile bitterly and start walking.
The Board is beautiful the way a corpse in a glass coffin is beautiful—preserved, untouched, but undeniably dead inside. The sky's a dim LED purple, the streets lined with holographic billboards screaming at me to invest in dream homes I'll never afford. A group of Agent is walking among the civilians. It was rare to see bunch of them in one place.
I try not to think about it.
When I get to Mister Yi's convenience store, he's already yelling.
"You want what?"
"A full-time job," I say, bowing my head. "I need more hours."
He grunts. "College dropout now?"
"Temporarily…"
He leans back, squinting at me. "Kid, this place barely pays enough to keep me alive, and I'm the boss. With your sister in the hospital again, you'd make more money joining a deathmatch. Or better yet, become an Agent."
I force a smile. "I'd rather keep my limbs attached."
He snorts.
Being an Agent while having no superpower is suicidal. I have to live for my sister's sake. Whatever it takes to survive.
An hour before my shift ends, disaster walks in.
The guy's wearing a mask and bad intentions. The kind of eyes that haven't slept in a week. He pulls a knife.
"Money."
I freeze. He steps closer. My manager's gone. No customers.
"Can't you hear me? Money!"
If I give it to him, I lose my job. If I don't...
"MONEY!"
Sure.
Take them.
Spare me.
In the end, I give him the drawer without any fight. He runs without saying thanks to the guy he just ruined.
Then as expected, Mister Yi calls ten minutes later.
"Boss, I—"
"You're fired."
Click.
That's it. That's all it takes.
- - -
The hospital smells like bleach and false hope.
Valeria greets me with a salad bowl and too much energy. "Brother! Guess who ate vegetables voluntarily?"
"You?"
"Yeah, how you guessed?"
"Well, ignoring a lot of them are still there, I can see a piece is missing from your plate."
She giggles.
"So how's today?"
I sit down beside her, peel off my jacket, and lie through my teeth. "Doing good."
"Really?" Her eyes light up. "That's awesome… you deserve a day without any worry, Brother." She tilts her head, pokes at a cherry tomato. "Hey, can you cut me an apple?"
"Sure thing."
I open the drawer beneath her nightstand, rummaging for the plastic knife we stashed last week. Valeria watches me like I'm performing brain surgery. When I finally find it, she laughs like I just pulled a rabbit from a hat.
"Say, if I get out of here, can you bring me to the movie?"
I glance at the TV hanging on the wall, "You can just see it here, you know?"
She shakes her head, "No! I want to be in the theater..."
We have never been in one.
I sigh teasingly, "All right, all right, you got it. When you get out of here, we'd watch movie. I just hope there's something worth watching there."
"Promise?"
"Of course."
And then—she smiles.
Soft. Honest. The kind of smile you'd bottle up if you could. It's the kind of thing that says you're here, and that's enough.
I would do anything to protect that smile.
Cough, cough, gasp…
But that soon disappear.
"Val?"
Her breath catches—just once.
"Hey."
Then she jerks.
Clatter.
The salad bowl crashes to the floor, forgotten. Her eyes roll back. Her whole body convulses, limbs flailing in angles that aren't natural.
"Valeria?!"
I lunge forward, grab her shoulders, but she's heavy and limp and shaking all at once. Her name tumbles out of my mouth again and again.
"Valeria! Hey—HEY! Somebody!"
The room explodes with motion. Doctors rush in, blue coats and red lights, a rolling gurney materializing like magic. Hands pull me away. I try to follow, but someone presses against my chest. A nurse. A wall. I don't know.
"She was just fine!" I shout. "She was talking to me!"
"Sir, please step back—"
"She was SMILING and joking why damn it! She was just—just EATING—she was fine why!"
The doors slam shut. She's gone.
And I'm alone in the hall with a knife and an apple I never got to slice.
The hospital waiting area is cold. Not physically—just wrong. Too clean. Too quiet. The air hums with vending machine buzz and fluorescent lights that haven't blinked in a decade. The bench beneath me is plastic and hard. My leg keeps bouncing. I don't know how long I've been sitting here.
They say the surgery was successful. Her heart's stable once again.
But now they say she can't leave.
Ever.
If she does, she won't make it.
That's the price of survival now—endless bills, endless stays, endless rules.
I press my hands together, grip them so tight my knuckles turn white. I stare at the floor like it'll offer a solution. It doesn't.
I don't cry. I don't have time to do that. I have to think.
I just sit there, grinding my teeth, chest hollow.
I have to make money.
At any cost.
Outside, the hospital is surrounded by corporate towers and flickering holograms. The night is moonless, starless, as if even the sky gave up.
You're not supposed to be out in the city after dark. Too dangerous, too unstable. "Let the Agents handle whatever it is," the PSAs say.
But I don't have time to be safe.
I need money.
I need my sister to live.
She's all I've got.
And I'll do anything to keep her breathing.
Even if it means becoming entirely something else she don't like.
The bridge is quiet.
No cars, no drones, not even the hum of a late-night delivery truck. Just me and the concrete under my feet, cracked and slick with dew. Overhead, the city's glow can't quite reach the clouds. The sky's just a dull bruise.
In my pocket: the kitchen knife I borrowed from Valeria's drawer. Not even sharp. Just something to wave around.
I don't plan to hurt anyone.
I just need to scare someone. Flash the blade, say money, repeat if necessary. They hand over their wallet, I run. That's it. No one dies. I get to keep my sister.
I walk the length of the bridge, pacing like a ghost.
Then I see her.
A figure approaching slowly from the other end. A woman. Alone.
She's wearing a long coat that brushes the tops of her boots. Pale blue hair tied messily at the nape. Something long sticks out behind her shoulder—too slim to be a bag. A cane? A weapon?
It's too dark to tell.
But she's alone. And small.
An ideal victim.
I inch closer, footsteps muffled by the wind. She doesn't look up. Maybe she's tired. Maybe she's just numb. She moves like someone who's forgotten how.
We meet in the middle.
One foot away.
She finally looks at me.
Her eyes are… deep. Not in a poetic way. In a tired ocean swallowing you whole kind of way. Her face is unreadable, but there's a heaviness behind it, like she's seen more than I ever will.
I pull the knife.
"Mo—Money," I stammer.
Then I see it clearly: what's behind her back isn't a cane.
It's a katana.
Sheathed. Strapped over her shoulder like it belongs there.
Agent.
My stomach drops.
But I've already pulled the knife. I can't back out now. She hasn't drawn her sword. She doesn't look ready. Maybe I can still—
She speaks.
"What kind of life do you want to live, dear stranger?"
The question freezes the air.
"Eh?"
She tilts her head slightly. "What do you need to have, to have the life you want to have?"
What the hell kind of question is that?
I blink. The knife in my hand suddenly feels stupid. Heavy.
"M—Money," I blurt.
She nods slowly, like I just confirmed something. "Is that so?"
Her eyes drift to the cloud-covered sky. "Not a single one tonight, too. Unlucky."
"Money," I say again. Firmer. Desperate.
She doesn't flinch. "I don't have any."
I tense.
She continues, voice calm. "Would you be satisfied… if I gave you my sword instead?"
I glance at the katana. The sheath looks ancient—black lacquer chipped at the edges, wrapped in faded cords. Not military-issue. It's older. Personal. Maybe valuable.
"Do you want to carry my weight?" she asks, tone like wind through dead leaves.
"…What?"
"If you take this sword… your life will turn upside down."
She steps forward, unslinging the weapon from her shoulder. No fear in her. No hesitation.
Just sadness.
"So," she says softly. "You've decided."
I don't know why—but I hold out my hands.
She sets the katana into them like she's handing off a child. The second I touch it, my fingers go numb.
The scabbard is cool. Heavier than it should be. A rough symbol is etched near the hilt—something I can't read, but it stirs something uneasy in my gut.
I don't even realize I've dropped the kitchen knife.
I crouch. Slide the blade free.
It happens the instant I unsheath it.
A soundless, searing slash—like the air itself is torn apart.
And then—
Everything unravels.
The world fractures like glass. The bridge cracks open, beams groaning as steel twists violently in every direction. The wind howls. Invisible blades tear through space like swarming flies, slicing stone, steel, flesh—everything.
The woman collapses in front of me. A spray of blood blooms across her chest. Her eyes widen—but there's no scream. Just a breath.
And then nothing.
The wind dies.
Silence.
Everything is still.
The bridge behind me is shredded—railings cut clean in half, lamps dangling by wires, the road gashed open like paper.
And me?
Still standing.
Still breathing.
Katana in hand.
She's at my feet. Still. Cold.
She lays there, unmoving.
She…
She…!!
I vomited.
Blood inching across the pavement.
No matter how you look at it… there's only one conclusion to be found here.
I killed her.