A translucent blue screen materialized in the air directly in front of Ruho's face, glowing with soft light that illuminated the inside of his tree hollow. He jerked backward instinctively, banging his already-bruised back against the tree trunk, and let out a string of curses that would've made his dead mother ashamed.
"What the fuck is this?!" he shouted at the screen, which hung there innocently, displaying what looked like a colorful spinning wheel divided into segments. Each segment had text he couldn't quite read yet, and in the center was a big, obnoxious button that said "SPIN ME!" in letters that actually sparkled.
Azirel's voice chimed in, sounding amused. "Oh, looks like someone's already taking an interest. That would be the Divine Trainee God of Whims and Odds. He loves gambling. Can't help himself."
Before Ruho could respond, a new voice echoed in his head—higher pitched than Azirel's, with an excitable quality that reminded him of a game show host on way too much caffeine.
"HELLO, MORTAL!" the voice boomed. "I am Tyrix, Divine Trainee God of Whims and Odds, and I have decided to make your evening more interesting! Behold—the Wheel of Sustenance!"
The wheel on the screen began to glow brighter, and Ruho could now read the segments clearly. His eyes widened as he scanned them: "Five-Course Meal," "Bag of Rice," "Whole Roasted Chicken," "Loaf of Bread," "Handful of Berries," "Single Grape," and—his eye twitched—"Nothing."
"What you see before you," Tyrix continued dramatically, "is a chance at salvation! Spin the wheel, and whatever food item it lands on shall be bestowed upon you immediately! No tricks, no catches, just pure, delicious probability!"
"That's absolutely cruel," another voice cut in, this one softer and distinctly feminine. "Tyrix, the man is starving. You can't make him gamble for basic sustenance."
"Oh, lighten up, Seria," Tyrix shot back. "It's just a bit of fun! Besides, he's got decent odds. Only one 'Nothing' segment out of... let's see... twelve total options. That's better than most mortal gambling establishments!"
"There are THREE 'Nothing' segments, you absolute menace," the female voice—apparently Seria, Divine Trainee Goddess of Mercy—said sharply. "I can literally see the wheel from here."
"Details, details," Tyrix said dismissively.
A third voice joined the conversation, this one deep and authoritative, carrying the kind of weight that suggested its owner was used to being obeyed. "If we're making wagers on the mortal's entertainment, I wish to propose a secondary challenge."
"Oh, here we go," Azirel muttered. "That's Vexor. Divine Trainee God of Kingdoms. He's about to make this complicated."
"I will offer the mortal a prize," Vexor declared, his voice resonating through Ruho's skull like a bass drum. "Should he successfully maintain a plank position for thirty consecutive minutes, I shall construct for him a mansion. Thirty thousand square feet, fully furnished, placed wherever he desires upon this world."
Ruho's breath caught in his throat. Thirty thousand square feet. That was... that was enormous. That was bigger than most schools. That was a legitimate palace. His entire shitty six-square-meter apartment in Seoul could fit into a mansion like that over a thousand times.
"THIRTY MINUTES?!" Seria's voice rose in pitch. "That's excessive! The man can barely stand! Look at him—he's covered in bruises, he hasn't eaten in over a day, and you want him to hold a plank for half an hour?!"
"The challenge is appropriately scaled to the reward," Vexor replied calmly. "A mansion of such magnitude requires a demonstration of will and endurance. Besides, he need not accept."
"Oh, he's going to accept," Tyrix said gleefully. "Look at his face. He's already picturing it. The bedrooms! The bathrooms! A kitchen with actual appliances! No more tree hollows for our little protagonist!"
Ruho was, in fact, picturing it. A house. A real house. With walls and a roof that didn't leak and floors that weren't made of dirt. A bed. An actual bed with a mattress and sheets and pillows. Multiple beds, probably, because thirty thousand square feet meant multiple bedrooms. He could have a bedroom just for sleeping and another bedroom just for... he didn't know, storage? His imagination was struggling to comprehend that much space.
"However," Vexor continued, and Ruho's fantasies screeched to a halt, "he must first spin the wheel. Whatever sustenance he receives—or doesn't receive—will be all he has to fuel his attempt. And the plank must be completed within the next hour, or the offer expires."
"You gods are terrible," Seria said, but she sounded resigned rather than angry. "Fine. But I'm monitoring his vital signs. If he's actually dying, I'm intervening."
"Where's the fun in that?" Tyrix whined.
"The fun is in not watching a mortal actually expire for our entertainment, you sociopath."
Ruho stared at the spinning wheel, his mind racing. Okay. Okay, let's think about this logically. He spins the wheel, gets food—hopefully something substantial like the five-course meal or the roasted chicken. Then he uses that energy to fuel a thirty-minute plank. Thirty minutes was a long time, sure, but people did it. Athletes did it. Regular people on YouTube did it. How hard could it be?
(Very hard, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. You died masturbating. You're not exactly in peak physical condition.)
He shoved that voice down. A mansion. Thirty thousand square feet. He could do this. He had to do this.
"I accept," Ruho said, his voice hoarse but determined. "Both challenges. The wheel and the plank."
"EXCELLENT!" Tyrix practically squealed. "Oh, this is going to be good. Everyone, make your bets now! I'm putting fifty divine credits on him landing on 'Single Grape'!"
"That's cheating and you know it," Seria snapped. "You control odds!"
"I control whims AND odds, thank you very much. Completely different skill sets."
"I'll wager one hundred credits on 'Nothing,'" another voice chimed in—someone new who Ruho didn't recognize. "This mortal has the worst luck I've seen in centuries."
"Two hundred on the chicken," someone else called out.
"Fifty on bread!"
"Three hundred on another 'Nothing'—wait, can we bet on the same thing?"
The voices multiplied, overlapping, dozens of divine entities apparently now invested in what Ruho was about to eat. He could feel them watching, sense their attention like spotlights on his skin. The pressure was immense.
Azirel's voice cut through the chaos. "Alright, alright, everyone settle down. Let the man spin the wheel. Ruho, whenever you're ready."
Ruho took a deep breath. His hand, still trembling slightly from exhaustion and hunger, reached out toward the glowing "SPIN ME!" button. This was it. This was either the moment his luck finally turned around, or the moment it got so much worse.
He pressed the button.
The wheel erupted into motion, spinning so fast the segments blurred into a rainbow of color. A cheerful jingle played from nowhere and everywhere at once—the kind of carnival music that would've been fun under literally any other circumstances. The wheel spun and spun, gradually slowing, the segments becoming distinct again.
Five-Course Meal... Whole Roasted Chicken... Bag of Rice... Nothing... Loaf of Bread...
The wheel was slowing down. Ruho's heart hammered in his chest.
Handful of Berries... Single Grape... Nothing...
Slower. Slower.
Bag of Rice... Whole Roasted Chicken...
The wheel ticked forward one segment at a time now, each click feeling like a lifetime.
Five-Course Meal...
Click.
Bag of Rice...
Click.
Whole Roasted Chicken...
Click.
The wheel stopped.
"1 Egg," the screen announced cheerfully, as a perfectly ordinary chicken egg materialized in the air and dropped into Ruho's lap.
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Even the divine voices went quiet.
Ruho stared down at the egg. One egg. Singular. Not a carton. Not a dozen. One single, solitary egg.
"MOTHERFUCKER!" he screamed.
The divine voices exploded into chaos.
"I KNEW IT!" someone shouted triumphantly.
"Pay up, Tyrix!"
"That's somehow worse than Nothing!"
"At least Nothing would've been funny! This is just sad!"
"One egg! For a thirty-minute plank! This is peak comedy!"
Seria's voice cut through, genuinely concerned. "That's not nearly enough calories for what Vexor is asking—"
"A deal's a deal," Vexor said firmly. "He accepted the terms. The sustenance has been provided. The challenge stands."
Ruho looked at the egg in his hand. Then at the blue screen, which now displayed a timer: 59:47... 59:46... 59:45...
He had less than an hour to eat this egg and then hold a plank position for thirty minutes.
For a mansion.
For thirty thousand square feet of actual livable space.
"Fuck it," Ruho muttered, cracking the egg against the side of his tree hollow. He didn't even care that it was raw. He tilted his head back and swallowed the contents in one go, the slimy texture making him gag but he forced it down anyway.
One egg. That was what he had to work with.
He crawled out of his tree hollow and stood up, his bruised body protesting every movement. He looked down at the ground, trying to find a relatively flat spot.
"Alright," he said to the dozens of gods he could feel watching him. "Let's do this."
He lowered himself down, positioning his forearms on the ground, extending his legs behind him. His core engaged—or tried to. His abs, unused to this kind of work, immediately began to shake.
The blue screen appeared in his vision again, this time with a different timer: 30:00.
"Begin," Vexor's voice commanded.
The timer started counting down.
Ruho held his plank position, his entire body already trembling, sustained by nothing but one raw egg and the sheer desperate desire to never sleep in a tree again.