Chapter 5: Stray Luck
Bright didn't expect much from life anymore.
A meal, a little money, a place to sleep—bare minimum survival stuff. Anything beyond that? Wishful thinking.
So when he showed up at Ravi's stall after the worst day in recent memory, he wasn't hoping for a miracle. Just food. Maybe a little work if Ravi was feeling generous.
He was still mentally replaying the rooftop escape disaster when he arrived, his stomach reminding him that he hadn't eaten since morning.
Ravi glanced at him.
"You look terrible."
Bright tugged at his shirt, which was covered in dust from climbing through windows.
"I feel worse."
The old man sighed, tossing a dumpling onto a plate.
"Eat first. Work after."
Bright didn't argue. He ate standing up, the warmth of the dumpling making him feel a little more human. Then he grabbed an apron and got to work, keeping his head down as the evening rush picked up. The job was simple—take orders, serve food, collect money. No talking unless necessary.
Which was why he wasn't prepared when she showed up.
Tall, black-haired, dark-eyed. She walked with an easy confidence, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. Her gaze flicked lazily across the stall, sizing up the menu like she had all the time in the world.
Bright didn't realize he was watching her until she stopped in front of the counter.
His brain stalled.
She was too pretty. Not in a delicate, magazine-cover way—more like the kind of pretty that could punch you in the face and steal your wallet without breaking a sweat.
He quickly focused on the counter, forcing himself not to act weird.
She ordered. Ravi started preparing the food.
Bright, for some reason, felt annoyed.
Maybe it was the way she stood there like she owned the sidewalk. Maybe it was the exhaustion pressing down on him. Or maybe he just hated people who looked like they had their lives together.
Before he could stop himself, words slipped out.
"You look like you just stole someone's motorcycle."
The woman blinked at him. Then—slowly—she grinned.
"And you look like someone who just got caught stealing one."
Bright frowned.
"That's not how this works."
She leaned against the counter.
"No? Then how does it work?"
Bright didn't answer. He just handed her food, keeping his gaze firmly on the counter.
She didn't seem to mind.
"You always this grumpy?"
"Only when I'm awake."
She laughed. Actually laughed.
Bright wasn't sure what to do with that. So he ignored it.
She ate, taking her time. Bright focused on work, trying not to pay attention to the way she casually observed everything around her—him included.
Then, out of nowhere—she pulled out a gun.
Bright froze.
Ravi did not.
"Oh my GOD—"
The old man staggered back, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Are you CRAZY?! Put that away!"
The woman didn't even blink. She wasn't aiming it—just… holding it. Twirling it in her hand like it was no big deal.
"Relax, old man," she said, voice calm. "It's not for you."
Bright's heart was pounding, but mostly out of confusion.
Who the hell just pulls out a gun while eating dumplings?
More importantly—why was he not more alarmed?
"This is why people don't bring weapons to dinner," he muttered.
She arched an eyebrow.
"You saying that like it's common etiquette."
"It is. Right up there with 'don't set the table on fire.'"
She chuckled.
Ravi, however, was done.
"I CAN'T HAVE THIS!" he shouted. "I run an honest business! No criminals, no weapons, NO TROUBLE!"
The woman just looked amused.
"You think I'm a criminal?"
Ravi's face went pale.
"Aren't you?!"
"I could be." She shrugged. "Maybe I'm just here for the dumplings."
"Leave," Ravi ordered, pointing down the street. Then he turned to Bright.
"And YOU—YOU'RE FIRED!"
Bright's stomach dropped.
"What?! I didn't do anything!"
"I don't need trouble! You attract trouble! You're OUT!"
Bright's brain short-circuited. He hadn't even done anything this time! But he could see the fear in Ravi's eyes—the way the old man's hands were shaking.
This wasn't just about the gun. This was years of running a small business in a city where things could go wrong fast.
And Bright?
Bright wasn't worth the risk.
So he untied his apron, dropped it on the counter, and walked off.
The woman—Emily, apparently—watched him go, still eating like nothing had happened.
Bright walked to the nearest bench and sat down. Then he sighed. Long and slow.
"Fantastic," he muttered. "This day just keeps getting better."
Emily finished her food, wiped her mouth, and casually strolled over. She sat beside him like they'd known each other for years.
Bright didn't move.
Didn't acknowledge her.
Didn't ask why she was here.
Because honestly? He was too tired to care.
After a moment, she spoke.
"You handled that well."
Bright exhaled.
"Not my first time getting fired."
"Not your first time losing everything either, huh?"
That made him pause. He turned his head, meeting her gaze.
Her expression was unreadable. Not pitying. Just… curious.
Bright looked away.
He didn't answer.
Emily didn't push.
Instead, they sat there in silence, watching people walk past.
After a while, Emily stood up.
Bright's gut twisted.
Because if she left now, he'd be alone again.
And for some stupid reason… he didn't want that.
So, he played his last, desperate card.
He widened his eyes just slightly. Lowered his shoulders. Let the exhaustion show.
Emily halted mid-step, turned, and studied him for a while.
Then groaned.
"Oh, you little shit."
Bright blinked innocently.
"What?"
Emily sighed, pulled something from her pocket, and tossed it at him.
Bright caught it out of reflex.
A key.
"…What's this?"
"A key."
"I can see that. To what?"
"One of my apartments. You can crash there."
Bright stared.
Okay. So, let's recap.
She ruined his job.
She pulled a gun for no reason.
And now she was giving him an apartment?
Bright narrowed his eyes.
"Are you a criminal?"
Emily smirked.
"Do you want me to be?"
"…A little, yeah."
She laughed and walked off.
Bright turned the key over in his hands.
Against every instinct, he stood up—
And went to see if the key actually worked.