The afternoon was just starting to wane when Billy decided to step out. Seoul's sun filtered through the tightly packed skyscrapers, casting long, dancing shadows on the bustling sidewalks. He'd spent the morning staring at his screen, churning out endless lines of code for a freelance gig that barely paid the bills. "I need some air," he muttered, shrugging on his light jacket. Just a walk, nothing more. A way to shake off the tension knotting his shoulders ever since the incident that bullet that had grazed so close, and this absurd luck that had pulled him through.
Insadong's streets hummed with life: tourists hunting for souvenirs, street vendors hawking their wares, the constant purr of cars. Billy strolled at a leisurely pace, hands in his pockets, idly eyeing the shop windows filled with ceramic teapots and traditional masks. But after a few blocks, a silly thought crossed his mind. What if I could fly? He shook his head, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. Stop daydreaming, Billy. You're not some K-drama superhero.
Yet the idea stuck. He thought back to the past few days: the wild coincidences, the near-misses turned safe. His "luck" wasn't normal. What if he pushed it further? He halted right in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the annoyed passersby who swerved around him. I'm sick of walking. Sick of getting tired for every step, every endless commute. A deep sense of frustration welled up inside him, a visceral annoyance that bubbled like a kettle on the boil. He thought hard, really hard, eyes half-closed, focusing on that irrational desire. I want to fly. Let me fly, damn it!
He thought, thought, and thought some more. The seconds stretched—ten in total—and then... a weird sensation. His feet... weren't touching the ground anymore. He glanced down, stunned: he was floating. Just a few centimeters above the pavement, like an invisible breeze was cradling him. "Waaah! This is incredible! I'm flying, I'm flying!" he exclaimed aloud, drawing curious stares from a couple of tourists. His heart raced, a mix of pure euphoria and raw panic. He flailed his arms, trying to rise higher, but nothing. Worse: moving straight was a nightmare. He zigzagged like a poorly tethered kite, nearly clipping a lamppost before jerking his path straight with an awkward twist. This sucks! I'm struggling like a total newbie! The frustration surged back, even stronger, a burning embarrassment tightening his throat. Why can't I do this right?
And why not want to know how to fly? Really know, like a pro? He thought again, with the same intensity, letting the embarrassment fuel him like gasoline. He pictured smooth movements, graceful turns, total freedom in the air. And suddenly, like flipping a switch, it clicked.
The world tilted. Billy shot forward—not floating clumsily, but streaking super far, super fast. The wind whipped his face, Seoul's buildings shrinking in an instant. He soared over rooftops, sparkling rivers, lush parks stretching to the city's edges. No effort: his body responded perfectly, as if he'd always known how. He laughed, a wild, liberating cackle, darting over the Han River, weaving through low clouds. He flew and flew for hours, losing track of time. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in oranges and purples, and Billy felt invincible, buoyed by this luck that kept on surprising him.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket—an incoming call. He fished it out with a steady hand, still gliding low over a residential neighborhood. It was Marie. "Billy? You okay? You haven't replied to my texts since this morning. I was worried after... you know, the hospital."
He touched down softly on an empty rooftop, breath a bit ragged but a grin plastered on his face. "Hey, Marie! Yeah, sorry, I was just... out. A walk that dragged on." They chatted for a few minutes: she vented about her day at the office, he dodged the weird details of his with light jokes. "You sure you're alright? You sound out of breath," she pressed.
"Yeah, promise. Just a little wiped. See you soon?" They hung up on a warm note, but Billy glanced at the darkening sky. Stars were peeking through. It's late. Gotta head home. He took off again, more calmly now, zipping toward his apartment like a bird returning to its nest. Landing was effortless; he settled onto his balcony with surgical precision, legs wobbling from exhaustion.
Slumped on his bed, he stared at the ceiling, mind racing. But how the hell did I get this power? It's not just luck anymore. It's... something else. A dodged bullet, and now this? Was it a gift from above, or the start of a curse in disguise? He shook his head, too drained to puzzle it out. Tomorrow, maybe. For now, the world kept spinning and so did he.