Chapter 2
Cua stared at the strange man. He looked old, but not frail. His face was smooth, unwrinkled, yet his hair was white as snow. In one hand, he held a black cane that gleamed like obsidian. Rain poured heavily around them, but strangely, not a single drop touched the man's body.
"I don't have any money," Cua said tiredly. "If you're here to sell false hope, look elsewhere."
The man laughed—a sound that echoed too long, too deep.
"Cua, Cua. This isn't about money. It's about opportunity. Haven't you played the same role in the same world long enough? Always a pawn. What if, this time... you were the one who decided the game?"
Cua almost stood up to leave, but his body felt heavy. As if the air itself was holding him down. He began to feel suffocated. Not because of the man—but because his words cut too deep.
"What do you mean... another world?" Cua whispered.
The man stepped closer. His eyes glowed faintly red.
"Another world… where luck isn't determined by birth or money, but by will. A place where betrayal is paid back in full. Where misfortune can become power... if you know how to wield it."
Cua bit his lip. His heart brimmed with resentment. Every person who had ever hurt him—Ayla, the roommate who stole from him, the boss who abused him—their faces spun in his mind like a parade of demons.
"I... don't believe you," he finally said. "You're insane."
The man stood. "Believe me or not, I only come once in your lifetime. This offer won't come again."
He raised his cane, and suddenly a flash of lightning split the sky. The world turned white for a second. Cua squinted—and when his eyes adjusted…
The man was gone.
No trace. No sign he'd ever been there. Even the bench beside him was dry, as if the rain had never touched it.
Cua stood up, weak. His head spun. Had it all been a dream?
He staggered across the street. But as he stepped onto the crosswalk—
CRASH!
Everything went black.
A horn. Screams. Coldness across his body. The metallic scent of blood. Cua didn't know what had happened. But one final sentence echoed in his mind...
"This offer won't come again..."
---
Awakening in the Nameless World
Dark. Cold. Silent.
When Cua opened his eyes, there were no sirens. No crowd. No blood. He lay on a narrow bed, with the stinging smell of disinfectant in the air. The ceiling was dull grey, the fluorescent lights flickered, and the walls were peeling. A small room... empty.
His head was heavy. He tried to sit up. His body was intact. No wounds. No pain.
"Am I... still alive?"
He looked around. No windows. Only a single iron door in the corner. No clock. No personal belongings. Not even a mirror to see his own reflection.
When he finally stood, the door opened by itself. Beyond it, a long corridor bathed in blinding white light—like a hospital hallway... but too quiet.
His footsteps echoed alone.
Along the walls were framed photos. Not of landscapes or smiling faces. But of himself.
In elementary school. In front of his boarding room. At the bus stop that morning. Falling down the stairs. Every moment—of bad luck. All real.
He stopped at one photo—himself lying on the road, bloodied. A car behind him, its front crushed.
His eyes widened.
"I... died?"
"Not exactly," a voice answered from down the hall.
The old man had returned. This time in a white coat, like a doctor. His face was unchanged. Still smooth. Still cold.
"Welcome to the transition room, Cua," he said.
"The what?"
"A place in-between. Not heaven, not hell. Not the world of the living, nor the dead. A place where decisions are made."
Cua wanted to scream. To ask why this was happening. But his tongue felt numb. His body trembled. He felt small. So very small.
The man walked slowly, glancing at the photos on the wall.
"You're not possessed, Cua. This isn't karma. Your life was miserable... because that's how the world wrote you."
Cua frowned. "What do you mean?"
"In this world, some people are written to fail. Made to be side characters in other people's stories. Victims. Punchlines. Reminders that not everyone makes it. You're one of them."
It hit harder than any cruel truth he'd ever known.
"You're joking…"
"I'm not. But I... can rewrite a small part. Not all of it. Just a sliver—a choice."
"A choice?"
He held up one finger.
"You can go back. Live again. But with one small change: everyone who hurt you... will feel it back. Twice as much."
Cua froze.
"It can't be stopped. It can't be controlled. You'll simply know who hurt you. But you can't save them."
He was silent for a long time.
"You'll live. But you'll witness... slowly... the world destroy them, one by one."
The man stepped closer.
"The choice is simple, Cua. Stay here... or go back. But you won't be a good person anymore."
Cua clenched his fists. His eyes turned red. Resentment, fear, bitterness... all swirled into one.
"If I go back…" he whispered, "will I still be me?"
The man smiled. For the first time, the smile looked… genuine. And terrifying.