Jinul Lee stared at his nearly empty wallet. Empty. Not a single coin, a singular crumpled bill in there. "Yep," he muttered to himself, "Money has abandoned me. The universe hates me, and my wallet is living proof."
He pushed his shopping cart through the fluorescent-lit aisles of the neighborhood supermarket, pretending to browse canned beans while thinking about lunch… or the lack of it. His stomach growled, begging for food.
That's when it happened.
A woman, elegantly dressed, practically glowing in a designer coat that surely cost more than Jinul's monthly, no probably yearly rent, walked past him. She had a shopping basket filled with imported cheese, truffle oil, and something called "organic caviar paste." And she showed it off, like a mentally ill patient. Twirling the basket slightly, letting the items peek out as if to say: "Behold pathetic, mortal. I have wealth."
Jinul felt it instantly: a stabbing, soul-deep pain. His stomach clenched again, this time from financial agony. "I… I'm BROKE, with absolutely NOTHING!" he whispered under his breath. Not broke in that poetic, 'oh I can't pay rent' way. No. Really broke. The kind of broke where even your snacks taste like financial failure.
He sidestepped a can of tomato soup and tried to avert his eyes, but it was too late. The rich lady's aura had already infected his soul. Every step she took made his wallet—and his very being—cry out in pain.
"Maybe… maybe if I just… pretend she's invisible, I can forget about money," Jinul muttered.
Jinul's hand hovered over his empty wallet like a kid looking for snacks. "I should… probably buy something cheap to… you know… survive," he said. He grabbed a single pack of instant ramen, paid with exact change (his pride and dignity intact, if not his savings), and fled the store.
Outside, he leaned against the wall, exhaling a long, dramatic sigh. "The universe hates me. And it starts with rich people flaunting their wealth," he muttered.
Little did Jinul know, this was only the beginning. The rich chaos would find him again. And each encounter… would sting, in ways far worse than an empty wallet could ever describe.