Luck was something Arin had never believed in.
Not because he thought it didn't exist—but because, for him, it never worked the way it was supposed to.
The day Arin was born, the hospital suffered a complete blackout. Emergency lights flickered on just long enough to prevent tragedy, and the doctors called it an unfortunate coincidence. His parents called it bad timing.
It was only the beginning.
When Arin entered school, half his teachers resigned within the year due to reasons no one could properly explain. Transfers, scandals, sudden illnesses—events that were rare individually, yet seemed to follow him relentlessly. When he joined a company after years of studying and preparing, the business collapsed within months, declaring bankruptcy under circumstances even professionals struggled to justify.
It wasn't that misfortune happened to him.
It was that misfortune happened around him.
To others, luck meant winning a lottery, receiving unexpected opportunities, or catching a fortunate break. For Arin, luck meant something far simpler—a normal day. A day without accidents. A day without strange incidents. A day where nothing went wrong.
Such days were rare.
And yet, despite everything, Arin never broke.
Anyone else in his place would have grown bitter, drowning in self-pity and resentment toward the world. But Arin was different. He believed emotions were tools, not masters. Crying over his fate would not change it. Blaming the universe would not fix it.
So instead, he adapted.
He stayed logical. He stayed grounded. And on the rare nights when the weight of it all pressed down on his chest, he allowed himself to feel sad—briefly—before reminding himself that despair was useless.
If the future refuses to improve, he often thought, then I'll endure until it does.
That was Arin's way of surviving.
On what should have been another ordinary, uneventful day, Arin walked along a crowded footpath under a sky painted in dull shades of gray. The clouds were thick, but there was no rain. No thunder. No warning.
People walked beside him, laughed, talked, checked their phones.
Then, without sound or sign—
A bolt of lightning descended from the heavens.
It struck only one person.
Arin.
The world vanished in a flash of white.
There was no pain. No fear. Only a fleeting sense of disbelief.
…So this is how it ends?
As consciousness faded, Arin felt his soul detach, rising upward—light, unburdened. Stories he had heard throughout his life echoed in his mind. Tales of souls reaching heaven, of reincarnation into new worlds, of second chances.
For the first time, Arin felt genuine excitement.
A peaceful life, he thought. A fair start.
But when he opened his eyes—
Peace was the last thing he found.
He stood in an endless divine hall, surrounded by towering figures radiating overwhelming authority. Gods.
Their expressions were not welcoming.
They stared at him as though he were a blasphemy given form.
Some glared with fury. Others whispered curses under their breath. A few radiated murderous intent so sharp that Arin felt his soul tremble. Confusion flooded his mind as voices overlapped, accusations flying in languages he could somehow understand.
His thoughts scattered.
What did I do?
Before panic could take hold, an elderly god stepped forward. His presence alone silenced the chaos. His voice was calm—but heavy with exhaustion.
"Do you know," the god said, "how much effort it took to prepare the divine seal?"
Arin shook his head, unable to speak.
"For one full month," the god continued, "countless gods worked without rest to complete it—so that the barrier between realms could finally close. A vacation long awaited."
The god's gaze hardened.
"And you arrived… one fraction of a second before it was sealed."
Reality crashed down on Arin.
His existence—his death—had disrupted the divine order.
Unsealing the barrier was impossible. Sending him away was forbidden.
After a tense deliberation, a solution emerged.
"We can send him to the Goddess of Time."
Silence followed.
Then, reluctant agreement.
Moments later, Arin found himself escorted toward a palace that defied comprehension. Vast beyond reason, beautiful to the point of being unreal. Time itself seemed to bend around its walls.
As they entered, the god beside him finally spoke, his eyes cold.
"Listen carefully, brat," he warned. "Do not look at her. Do not speak unless told. Do nothing unless ordered."
He leaned closer.
"That is your only chance of surviving even a single day."
Arin swallowed hard.
What… kind of being am I about to meet?
And thus, with no choice and no escape—
Arin stepped into the domain of the Goddess of Time.