The bell rang, and he waited for someone to walk over, to greet him and tell him that they had a working telephone he could use or, even better, give him a ride back to the nearest highway where he could catch a bus.
But nothing happened.
He pressed the bell again.
DING!
DING!
DING!
This time, it was louder, more insistent.
He stepped back, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter.
'Come on, someone has to be here…' he was getting impatient.
He had walked so far, convinced this place would be his lifeline, the one spot in the middle of nowhere where he could find help.
But the longer he waited the emptier it felt.
It was as if the motel, like everything else, was frozen in some forgotten time.
He leaned on the counter, giving the bell one last, firm push.
DING DING!
The sound rang out again, stretching longer this time, echoing off the walls in a way that felt almost eerie.
'Is this place really abandoned after all?'
CLICK
The door slowly creaked open, and he instinctively backed away, unsure of what might come out from it.
Behind the door stood an old man, his exhausted expression revealing a life of fatigue.
He wore a white polo shirt, dark apron and black pants, reminiscent of the uniforms worn by baristas.
"Can I help you?" the old man asked, his voice raspy but steady.
Luck hesitated for a moment, before he stepped forward, " I need to use a phone or find a ride to the highway."
"I'm sorry, but this motel is closed. The owner died recently, so I can't help you," the old man said, apologizing as he began to close the door.
Seeing this, Luck quickly stopped him.
"Please don't! I have money—just help me. Maybe I can make a call to someone who can pick me up!"
"I don't need money; I just want to rest," the old man said, shaking his head before starting to close the door again.
"Wait, please help me! I'm from Tokyo, my name is Luck Marshal, and I—"
THUD!
The old man swung the door open.
"Y-You're Luck Marshal?" he stuttered.
"Yes?" Luck raised his eyebrows, confused by the old man's reaction. "Do I know you?"
"Finally, finally, finally," he kept muttering, as if he had lost his mind.
Luck, on the other hand, was trembling.
'What the hell? Has this old man lost it? '
He slipped his hands into his pockets, gripping his folding knife just in case.
"The key! Do you have the black key with you?" The old man wiped his tears and asked urgently.
"How do you know about that?"
"I work for your grandfather. Hurry up and bring the key! It's important if you want to claim his inheritance. You don't have time to waste, or else..."
"Wait, don't tell me this is part of a test. What the hell? Is my grandfather a psycho? Why go through all this nonsense?" Luck grumbled in frustration.
He was under the impression that he had been set up by multiple people who had been observing his every move.
Maybe that's why he felt lethargic; they must have drugged him with sleeping pills.
"That's right, your grandfather is a psycho, an egotistical moron who only thinks about himself. So please, just bring the key so we can put an end to all of this."
Annoyed, Luck pulled the key from his pocket and raised it.
The old man's smile widened, and he quickly knelt down to retrieve something from the desk.
When he stood up, he was holding a jet-black lockbox, its keyhole glimmering like it was made of gold.
"Just put the key here, and you can claim the inheritance," the old man urged, his hands trembling with excitement.
"What if this is another a trick?" Luck asked, eyeing the old man warily.
"No trick, I swear!" the old man replied, his eyes wide with urgency. "Your grandfather wanted you to have this."
With a deep breath, Luck stepped forward, holding the key over the lockbox.
He could feel his heart pounding as he positioned it above the shimmering keyhole.
"Just turn it, " the old man encouraged.
CLICK!