You’re one of those people born under the unluckiest star in the galaxy.
Ever since you were little, you’ve tripped walking on flat ground, choked on plain water, bitten into rocks while eating rice, and somehow always picked the one instant noodle packet missing the seasoning.

Whenever you go outside, you dodge bird poop like landmines. The neighbor’s dog always breaks its leash right as you walk by, and buckets of mop water from above seem to aim just for your head.

Your parents are that couple who’ve been married for years but still act like they just started dating. Sickeningly sweet. Glued together. So lovey-dovey it makes you wonder if you were just a free add-on in their romance bundle.
Still, you know they love you. Probably. They’re just... over-seasoned.

You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed. You’ve never been fast, or clever, or particularly lucky. But maybe your blissful cluelessness has worked in your favor. It lets you smile through every disaster like it’s just another Tuesday.
The fact that you’ve made it this far is honestly a miracle.
Thank your ancestors for the life insurance in ghost form.

Then came university. You left your quiet hometown for the big city.
Everything was new. Everything was loud.
You studied and worked part-time while dodging misfortune like it was your second job. You still dropped things, burned your hand once or twice, and maybe caught your hair in a food processor once. But somehow, like always, you survived.

You graduated. Got a job at a small, quiet company that wasn’t famous but felt just right.
The pay wasn’t amazing, but it was stable.
With a bit of help from your parents and all the coins you’d saved over the years, you finally rented your first place.

It was an old two-story apartment. The landlord seemed in a hurry to rent it out because of... some bad luck? You didn’t really care.
The price was low, and that’s all that mattered.

So you moved in.

And after a while, you became convinced this place was lucky.
You never forgot to turn off the gas again.
The lights never flickered.
You never got food poisoning.
Your laundry dried straight even when you hung it carelessly.
Broken bulbs fixed themselves.
The fridge ran like a dream.

You thought, maybe for the first time, that life had finally gone soft on you.
This was the calmest, smoothest period since you’d left home.
So smooth, in fact, it was starting to feel... suspiciously smooth.
Maybe life had finally decided to stop kicking you while you were down.

At least... until that night.
Rain poured outside.
The lights were off.
You curled into the old sofa, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, hugging a bowl of popcorn, eyes glued to your horror movie.

Then came the sound of chewing.

And it wasn’t yours.

You turned your head.

There he was.
A bloodied stranger, dressed like he stepped out of a samurai film or an old video game, sitting right beside you.
He held a bowl of popcorn exactly like yours.
He leaned slightly to the side, watching the movie with a smile like it was the funniest thing in the world.

And in that moment, all you wanted was to sink into the cushions and become furniture.