Nam-jun never believed in concepts like happiness. It wasn't that he was cynical; life simply hadn't given him a reason to be otherwise. He often wondered where it all went wrong. Was it when his alcoholic father left when he was seven? Or when his mother's frail body finally gave out from exhaustion when he was fifteen? Perhaps it was when he had to drop out of school at seventeen to find work. He couldn't seem to pinpoint the exact moment everything fell apart.
At 27 years old, with no girlfriend and stuck in a dead-end convenience store job, he was tired of it all. Although he had contemplated suicide before, he quickly brushed those thoughts aside. His life might have been difficult, but he was certain he could find a thousand more people in Korea with stories far worse than his.
"A pack of cigarettes, mister," a voice interrupted his train of thought.
He looked up from the counter and saw a boy in a school uniform. He wasn't interested in dealing with delinquents. Instead of attending school diligently, they loitered around doing things that would embarrass their parents.
"Tsk tsk," he muttered under his breath. The kid didn't know how good he had it. He would have given anything to be able to attend school again.
"Look, kid, ID or no cigarettes," he said, pointing at the notice board above him.
"Come on, mister, don't be a boomer," protested the teen.
"Get out of here, kid; your lungs will thank you," he said. He wasn't particularly worried about the boy's health. When you've lived the life he had, you stop caring about people. He just didn't want to lose the only job he had because of some ruffian.
"Fucking loser," the kid mumbled. He finally gave up and left the store, kicking a shelf on his way out.
"Loser, huh?" Nam-jun repeated, letting out a small chuckle. For some reason, he wasn't offended by it. He was a loser.
•••
Night came without much hassle, and he made his way home. Most of the time, he walked because he lived a short distance from the store. Besides, he couldn't afford the daily commute.
He was halfway home when a sharp pain suddenly pierced his lower back. He quickly turned around to find a hooded figure standing behind him with a knife. It then dawned on him that he had been stabbed.
"I want my cigarettes, bitch," hissed the figure, removing his hood.
"You?" he asked faintly. The pain was unbearable, and he was starting to lose a lot of blood. His life might have been shit, but he didn't want to die here—especially not over a pack of cigarettes that cost a measly 4,000 won.
"Not so tough when you're not behind the counter, huh?" said the teen. The delinquent was hysterical, his eyes wild with a murderous intent. He clearly wanted to kill him.
He sensed the danger and made a run for it. Someone willing to kill over a pack of cigarettes wouldn't see reason. He glanced behind and saw the kid was within arm's reach. The pain was slowing him down, and years of neglecting the gym had caught up with him. He realized he wasn't going to make it.
"Get back here!" the teen growled.
He couldn't believe this was happening to him. It felt like a scene out of an American serial killer movie. Realizing he wasn't shaking the teen off, he sprinted for an alleyway, hoping to hide. It was a big mistake; he found himself at a dead end. Having only lived in the area for a few months, he wasn't familiar with the streets.
"Fuck it, come here, you little shit!" he shouted at his pursuer. He stepped forward and swung, but the teen dodged the attack, sending him tumbling to the ground. His body was already weakened from blood loss.
''You should have given me my cigarettes you old fuck," the teen said, standing over Nam-jun with a bloody knife in hand.
The kid stabbed him in the abdomen before he could protest. As the pain sank in, he realized he was going to die in this dark alleyway. He had always imagined dying of old age surrounded by loved ones, but now it was clear that was just wishful thinking. This seemed a more fitting end for a misfit in society. He thought about praying, but who was he kidding? He didn't believe in God's mercy.
"Ugh," he groaned as the teen started stabbing him repeatedly. He could feel himself growing faint; he was dying. People often say you see a bright light when you die, but that was a lie. He saw nothing but darkness.
•••
He opened his eyes and found himself in a white room. At first, he thought it was a hospital, but the room was completely empty. As he scanned the room, he saw a figure with its back turned to him—a woman in a white cloak.
''Excuse me, miss, what is this place?'' he asked the strange woman.
"Oh, hi there," the woman said, ignoring his question.
"Yes, hello. What is this place?" he prodded further. Nam-jun noticed how exceptionally long her hair was; it draped all the way down to her feet.
The woman had delicate features and a fair complexion. Her green eyes were large and expressive, framed by long, dark lashes. Her eyebrows were well-shaped and slightly arched, enhancing the overall symmetry of her face. She had a small nose that complemented her high cheekbones and rosy lips. Everything about her exuded an air of youthful elegance and grace.
"Oh, this?" she gestured to the room. "Not sure; I guess your kind would call it a waiting room," she finally answered.
"Your kind?'' he asked.
"Uh-huh. I'm the goddess of fate, you see," she giggled. Her very childlike personality seemed at odds with her mature appearance.
"And what am I waiting for?" he asked.
"Your next life, silly. You're dead," she answered.
"I have to decline. I've had enough of living," he protested. He walked around the room, searching for an exit.
"Do you feel wronged?" the goddess asked, her expression one of confusion.
"Not wronged, just tired," he answered. He stopped looking for a way out and faced his talkative companion.
"Do you like games?'' she asked eagerly.
Before he could answer, a poker table appeared out of nowhere. At a loss for words, he decided to indulge her. It's not like he had anywhere else to be—he was dead.
"Sure, why not?" he replied.
"Yay! To make things interesting, if you win, you'll be reborn into a life of wealth and comfort," she said.
"Ok but what if I lose?" He asked.
Ignoring his question, she began dealing the cards. The dealer looked exactly like the goddess, except she was also sitting across from him. Given that she was a deity, he figured cloning herself wasn't impossible.
He had dabbled in poker a few times but stopped after constantly losing. He never believed in concepts like luck, at least not when it came to himself.
He took a peek at his cards. He felt silly taking this seriously. Reincarnation? Goddess of fate? It all seemed like nonsense to him. He thought he was probably in the hospital and that this was nothing more than a hallucination brought on by heavy medication.
" Four of a kind," he said, laying his cards on the table. Before he could say anything else, his body began to disappear.
"What's happening?'' he asked in a panicked voice.
"Oh, is it time already? You're going to your next life," she answered.
He wanted to protest, but his better judgment told him otherwise. He watched as his entire body disappeared in a shroud of light.
Once he was gone, the goddess placed her cards on the table, revealing a royal flush.