Days had passed since the war's end.
The Capital mourned the death of the late king—officially reported as an illness brought on by age—but life, stubborn as ever, had moved on. Markets reopened. The skeletons of buildings were stitched together with new beams and bright banners in honor of King Roya.
Children ran to school, laughter chasing down streets that had once echoed only with sirens.
People walked beneath a clear, forgiving sky, as if they'd already forgotten it had once rained fire.
For me, school life had resumed as if nothing had happened. And on a quiet, lonely afternoon, I found myself in the loneliest convenience store—one where no one ever seemed to shop but me.
The fridge door moaned. Cool air brushed my face. I scanned the rows for something cold to push back the heavy heat.
"Hmm… blueberry seems nice," I muttered.
When I shut the door, my reflection stared back at me in the glass—clearer than any mirror.
A frail boy.
Short-sleeved white shirt beneath a thin sweater that had faded to match it. Navy blue pants. Straight black hair.
Glimmering brown eyes faintly shimmering, like a fortune-teller warning me life was only going to get harder.
My posture slouched under an invisible weight. My briefcase hung loosely from my hand, letting the wind graze my back.
For a moment, I just looked at myself—wondering how I'd made it this far. Wondering if it even mattered.
But I was alive.
I'd been through worse.
I'd keep going.
With that, I headed for the counter. Earbuds pressed deep, my MP4 player in my pocket as I continued to listen to the voice that calmed me down.
Raise him beyond heaven's gate;
Cage him tighter, if you must.
Let him not drown in my loneliness,
For this night is my home—as I am sworn to the cold.
My love is cold…
I was lost in the slow burn of her voice when I set my items on the counter—a loaf of bread, a can of blueberry drink, and a bag of potato chips—and slid two hundred Parady across without looking up.
The cashier—middle-aged, dark-skinned, curly hair beneath a red, sun-faded cap that read "LEAVE PARADYSIA ALONE"—barely glanced at me. A toothpick dangled from his lips. He looked like he didn't want to be working today.
But then again… who did?
"Yo." He frowned, pointing at his ear.
"It's unplugged."
I blinked, tugged out one earbud, and checked.
Sure enough—the jack had come loose.
Ahh… how embarrassing. I wish I could just drop dead right now; I thought.
I turned away, cheeks burning. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me.
"Sorry about that… and, uh, thanks," I mumbled with a forced grin, scratching the back of my head.
He said nothing, just took the two hundred parady note without a word.
As I waited for the change, something on the counter caught my eye. A small, round machine sat by the register, no bigger than my palm. Rust ringed its edges, faint scratches marred the glass cover. It looked like a relic from an old carnival and left to rot in the war's dust.
"Hmm… what's this?" I asked.
"Oh, that?" The cashier's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Found it a while back. Just a slot machine. Go ahead—give it a spin."
I reached out and spun it.
Click. Click. Clack.
The first slot landed—7.
The second—also 7.
The third dropped into place—7.
My jaw dropped
"Jackpot…" I whispered.
The cashier froze. The toothpick stilled between his teeth. His eyes fixed on the machine like it had just whispered a secret in a language only he understood. For a heartbeat, the shop felt… too quiet.
He leaned forward, voice lowering to a near-whisper.
"Tell me… Hugo…"
A pause. The smirk returned—sharper, almost predatory.
"Are you an angel?"