"Damn it… my beer's out. And I'm almost out of instant noodles too."
I tilted the empty can over my mouth anyway, just in case a miracle drop decided to fall out.
Nothing.
Not even foam.
"…Great."
The can joined the small graveyard on my desk.
Three crushed cans. Two noodle cups. One coffee mug that had probably evolved into its own ecosystem.
Classy.
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. The fan above me creaked as it rotated, slow and lazy, like it had also given up on life.
It had been over a week since I'd stepped outside.
A whole week.
Somewhere along the way, day and night had stopped meaning anything. Sleep whenever. Wake whenever. Scroll. Game. Moderate chats. Repeat.
I lost my job this month.
And the worst part?
I didn't even feel angry anymore.
Just… tired.
That bastard fired me because I took three days off without notice.
Three days it were.
I had a burning fever. Could barely stand straight without feeling dizzy. My whole body felt like it was cooking from the inside.
But nope.
No warning. No talk. No "get well soon."
Just don't come back.
Like I was some broken chair they tossed out.
I clicked my tongue.
"Unbelievable…"
Fourth time.
Fourth job.
At this point it wasn't bad luck anymore. It felt like a talent.
Maybe I just wasn't built for the whole "work like a normal human" thing.
Being a Disqord mod helped, at least.
Arguing with trolls. Muting kids spamming memes. Random late-night conversations with strangers halfway across the world.
It was stupid… but it kept my head busy from thinking too much.
Still, no matter how many servers I joined, reality didn't change.
You can't eat moderation privileges.
"Ow—damn…"
I tried stretching and instantly regretted it. My back cracked like an old wooden door.
Serves me right for lying in bed all day like a fossil.
I shuffled over to my wallet on the table and opened it.
A few notes. Some coins.
Dad had sent me money two months ago.
Guess this counted as just in case.
If I cut down on everything—no beer, no snacks, no useless online purchases—maybe it'd last three or four months.
After that?
…Yeah. Didn't want to think about that part.
My stomach growled like it was personally offended.
I checked the cupboard.
Two noodle packs.
Half a bag of rice.
One questionable egg.
Man.
I was one step away from becoming one of those "surviving on water and vibes" people.
Blip—blip.
My laptop lit up.
A notification.
"—Earn free money just by sitting in your homes!"
"…Yeah, right."
Unknown user. No mutual servers. No friends in common. Sketchy name too.
Even the profile picture looked like something an amatuer scammer would keep.
I blocked that without even thinking twice.
Just what I needed — someone trying to squeeze money out of a guy who barely had any left.
My eyes lingered on the empty desk.
"Free money, huh?"
If only life worked like that.
I sighed and rubbed my face.
"Whatever. I'll deal with it later."
If I stayed inside any longer, I might actually fuse with the chair.
I grabbed my coat from the back of the door. It smelled faintly of dust and old fabric softener.
Guess that's what happens when clothes don't see sunlight for a week.
The hallway outside my room felt weirdly quiet.
Like the world had kept moving while I paused.
I slipped my shoes on.
"…Alright. Fine."
The door clicked shut behind me.
For the first time in days, I stepped out.
My back still ached as I walked, each step stiff like my spine had rusted overnight.
The street outside felt brighter than I remembered. Annoyingly bright.
Guess that's what happens when you hide in a cave for a week.
There were a few black-colored posh looking cars, looking exclusively premium.
"—Tch, rich people."
A couple of aunties passed by talking loudly. A bike sped past. Somewhere nearby, a pressure cooker whistled.
Normal life.
Meanwhile I felt like an NPC who hadn't loaded properly.
The old convenience store waited at the corner, squeezed between two apartment blocks like it had been trapped there for decades.
The signboard was sun-faded, the colors washed out to some sad pastel version of themselves. One of the letters flickered even in daylight, buzzing faintly like it was fighting for its last breath.
Half the promotional posters on the window were ancient. "50% OFF SUMMER DRINKS" — from who knows which summer.
The place looked tired.
But still standing.
Just like me, I guess.
The glass door creaked when I pushed it open.
Jingle.
The tiny bell above it rang — thin and worn out, like it had repeated that same sound ten thousand times too many.
Warm air hit me instantly.
Coffee. Instant noodles. Old cardboard. A hint of fried oil.
Weirdly nostalgic.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The fridge at the back growled louder than anything else in the store.
Behind the counter, the old owner looked up from his newspaper.
Same chair. Same glasses. Same bored expression.
Dude hadn't changed in years.
"What's up, old man?" I muttered.
He squinted at me.
"Oh. You're still around here? Good to see you, Ryan."
"…Yeah. Good to see you too."
"Haven't seen you for a week," he said. "Thought you finally moved out of that cramped little box you live in."
"You know I got unemployed this month, right?" I muttered. "At this rate, I'm never affording a better place."
"Hah!" He barked a laugh. "Long way to go, kid."
He waved a hand at the fridge.
"Go on. Take one can. Free."
"…Seriously?"
"Before I change my mind."
"Whoa. Thanks, old man."
Peak customer service.
I headed straight for the fridge and grabbed a cold beer. The chill against my palm felt way too satisfying.
Then I stared at the noodle shelf.
Rows and rows of identical cups.
Chicken. Spicy chicken. Somehow even spicier chicken.
My worst enemies.
"…I really don't feel like eating these again."
Unfortunately, hunger doesn't care about preferences.
In terms of cooking skills, I was pretty sure even a pigeon could outperform me.
With a deep sigh, I grabbed some more cans of beer and a few cups anyway and shuffled to the counter like a defeated soldier returning from war.