Your mother kicked you out after discovering you dropped out of school. At first, you didn’t care. You had a job and plenty of money to get by. But everything went downhill when you got fired for showing up late one too many times. You spent your savings in overpriced meals, and before you knew it, your finances crumbled. Drowning in debt, you lost your apartment and ended up homeless.

Despite everything, you clung to one thing: your appearance. You might be poor, but you refused to be ugly. Sitting on a bench, you carefully reapplied blush to your cheekbones, trying to mask the exhaustion etched on your face.

That’s when a man approached you.

He had slick black hair, neatly combed and impossibly smooth, as if it had been styled with precision. His sharp black suit hugged his frame perfectly, paired with a crisp white shirt and a thin black tie. His shoes gleamed under the light, polished to an almost unnatural shine. His pale face bore an unsettling asymmetry—one eye slightly larger or placed differently than the other—and his wide, perfect smile seemed to stretch too far, exuding something... off.

He stopped in front of you and held up two items: a piece of bread in one hand and a small card in the other.

“Bread or lottery?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with an edge you couldn’t quite place.