With his Probability Charm no longer working, Maluck decided it was time to get a move on and knock out that System Task. Calgary was about two hours away, and for once, he could look forward to a smooth ride—no breakdowns, no flat tires, no random meteor strikes—because, for the first time in forever, his bad luck wasn’t in play.
Humming happily to himself, he thought about the $9,000 now sitting in his pocket—$7,000 from his roulette winnings, plus what he’d had before walking in.
Wait—make that $8,900. He had tipped the dealer $100.
Still, he was over the moon. His rent? Paid. His bills? Handled. And best of all? No leechy girlfriend demanding a “thoughtful purchase” from his winnings.
Even his hangover from this morning was completely gone. Turns out, winning money was the best possible cure. ‘Who needed greasy breakfasts and aspirin when pure endorphins and stacks of cash worked just fine?’
As he cruised down the highway, his CD player—yes, his car still had a CD player, because bad luck had prevented him from ever upgrading to Bluetooth—played absolute bangers from a mystery mix CD he had forgotten was in there. It was a perfect soundtrack to his victory lap.
No breakdowns. No disasters. Just him, the open road, and the satisfaction of being $7,000 richer.
And soon enough, after a long drive filled with half-hearted attempts to keep his eyes open, Maluck saw the sign — Welcome to Calgary.
He couldn’t help but grin. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a glamorous destination, but it was his destination for now. The city stretched before him like a canvas of possibilities.
He leaned back in his seat, the hum of the car’s engine a comforting soundtrack as the moon hung high in the sky, bathing the landscape in its gentle shadows. ‘Calgary had a certain charm to it,’ he thought, “rough around the edges, but with potential.’ Much like him, really.
Maluck reached over to adjust the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of himself. “Here we go,” he muttered, the excitement bubbling up inside him. This wasn’t just another town. This was a fresh start, a chance to do things his way.
And as the car rolled into the city, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Calgary was going to be the perfect backdrop for whatever was about to come next.
***
Pulling into Calgary was surreal for Maluck. He had never taken a long road trip like this. Well, technically, he had, but every past attempt involved breaking down multiple times, getting stranded, or calling for a tow truck so often that he was on a first-name basis with half the mechanics in Alberta.
But now? A clean, uninterrupted drive? This was history in the making.
For most people, a smooth three-hour drive was just another Tuesday. But for Maluck—freshly liberated from the stink of bad luck—this was nothing short of a miracle.
And things were about to get even better.
Up ahead on his right, Mick’s Drive-In came into view. His first stop in Calgary. And a damn good one.
Mick’s had legendary burgers and milkshakes—real ingredients, real flavor, none of that frozen, mass-produced nonsense. Unlike those soulless fast-food chains that somehow kept their ice cream machines broken as a business model, Mick’s was a glutton’s paradise.
•Their milkshakes? Made with actual milk and ice cream.
•Their fries? Fried in pure, unapologetic lard—the way nature intended.
•Their burgers? A juicy, mouth-watering, greasy masterpiece stacked high with extra patties, onions, pickles, cheese, and even chili if you wanted it.
Just as Maluck was about to make his order, a System Task popped up.
[System Task] Get the biggest burger around—because that’s the best way to prove you’re the best.
Reward: ???
“Hell yeah, easy!” Maluck grinned. If there was one thing he could handle, it was eating a giant burger.
Then, he saw him.
A massive dude—easily 350 pounds, with greasy hair and a shirt that said “FREE HUGS”—strolled out of the restaurant, casually holding a triple-patty behemoth of a burger.
Maluck froze.
“Oh, crap.”
That meant the original triple-patty burger he was planning to order to complete this task wasn’t going to cut it. To complete the System Task, he had to one-up Free Hugs Guy. That meant at least a quadruple.
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Could he do it? Sure. Would it be comfortable? Absolutely not.
Before he could even process what he was about to put his stomach through, another System Task popped up.
[System Task] Don’t forget the fries and milkshake. Because what’s a feast without sides?
Maluck stared at the floating text in disbelief.
“What the hell, System?”
***
POV : Astral Universe
Kindness, who was in charge of the System that day, sighed in exasperation.
“Oh, come on.”
She knew exactly who was behind this ridiculous System Task. It had Gluttony’s greasy fingerprints all over it.
Sure, she was technically the one running the System today, but that didn’t mean the other Sins and Virtues couldn’t sneak in their own tasks and objectives. If the host completed them, the influence would go to the task giver—meaning Gluttony was about to stuff himself with even more fortune, both metaphorically and literally. The task giver, however, was responsible for paying out the System Rewards.
Meanwhile, Gluttony, currently sprawled out in her own personal food coma, was already anticipating the results. She was lying on a mountain of snacks, about to start eating melted cheese with a spoon, waiting for Maluck to complete the task.
And Humility?
She had to sit here and watch as her “humble and virtuous” System got hijacked into enabling an all-you-can-eat challenge.
“Honestly,” she muttered, rubbing her temples, “why do I even bother?”
***
POV : Calgary
With this massive food challenge in mind, Maluck wasn’t about to back down. System Task or not, he had pride—and a stomach—to uphold.
Before committing to the quadruple-patty, lard-fried, heart-stopping monstrosity, he took a quick look at his current Luck Points.
LP: 39
Wait, what?
Shouldn’t that number be higher? He hadn’t made any bets, and he hadn’t done anything risky—so where had his Luck Points gone?
Then it hit him.
Maybe his Luck Points had been silently shielding him from bad luck all along.
And indeed, they had.
While cruising down the highway to Calgary, there had been a cop with a radar gun and a quota to meet—just waiting for someone to floor it past him.
That should have been him.
But—purely by coincidence—Maluck had slowed down.
Why?
Because the song playing on his CD player had literally told him to:
“Take it easy, let life drive by slow…”
And being in a good mood, riding the high of his $9,000 victory, Maluck had playfully followed the lyrics.
Had he been going his usual speed? Boom. Speeding ticket. Instant loss of cash.
Had he decided to switch songs at that moment instead of listening to the whole thing? Bam. Pulled over for distracted driving.
But instead, his Luck Points had nudged fate just enough to keep him out of trouble.
Of course, he wouldn’t realize any of this until he checked his Action Log tomorrow.
Right now, though?
He had more important things to focus on.
Like eating his weight in beef.
***
Maluck walked up to the counter, feeling equal parts confident and slightly terrified at what he was about to do to his body.
The cashier, a bored-looking teenager, barely glanced up as she clicked her pen. “What can I get you?”
Maluck grinned and leaned in slightly, as if ordering a secret weapon.
“Yeah, I’ll take a quadruple-patty Mick’s Monster Burger, extra cheese, extra bacon. A large fries. Oh, and a chocolate milkshake. Large.”
The cashier finally looked up. She blinked once. Then twice.
“…You sure about that?”
Maluck smirked. “Absolutely.”
She glanced at him, then at the menu board, then back at him like she was trying to figure out whether this was a prank or a cry for help.
“Alright,” she said slowly, clicking her pen again. “That’ll be $34.99.”
The Mick’s Monster Burger wasn’t just big—it was a structural hazard.
Four thick, juicy beef patties stacked high, each one grilled to perfection, with the edges slightly crisped and the inside still rich and tender. Each patty was oozing melted cheddar that dripped onto the bottom bun like a delicious landslide.
Layers of crispy bacon were weaved between the meat, thick-cut, salty, and with just enough crunch to remind you that your arteries were about to be very, very mad.
It didn’t stop there—oh no.
A generous helping of grilled onions and pickles added a tangy, slightly sweet bite to contrast the meat apocalypse happening beneath them. The special Mick’s sauce—a secret blend of garlicky, peppery, tangy goodness—was slathered over the top bun, which was buttered and toasted to golden perfection.
Maluck had eaten a lot of burgers in his life, but this? This was a titan. He looked at it in his bag, it was truly tempting him to bite into it before he even walked out.
A large order of Mick’s Lard-Fried Fries came in a paper boat overflowing with golden perfection. These weren’t your sad, frozen, fast-food fries. These were hand-cut, thick, crispy on the outside, and fluffy on the inside. The lard frying process gave them a rich, almost buttery crunch that regular oil could never achieve.
Maluck picked one up, still glistening with heat, and gave it an experimental crunch. Nobody said he couldn’t eat a fry before walking out though.
He closed his eyes.
‘Oh yeah. This was a fry done right!’
There was just the right amount of salt, just the right balance of crispy edges and soft potato center.
And because this was Mick’s, a cup of their signature gravy was included on the side—thick, peppery, and meant for dunking each fry into absolute bliss. He didn’t crack open the to go cup, that could wait till he sat down.
Finally, the crown jewel—a large, hand-spun chocolate milkshake. This wasn’t some thin, artificial, syrup-laden disappointment. No, this was the real deal. Made with actual ice cream and whole milk, thick enough that the straw stood up on its own, and topped with real whipped cream and chocolate drizzle. Maluck picked it up and took a long, indulgent sip. Pure, creamy, chocolate heaven. It was so thick that it nearly took lung strength to drink it, but that just made it better.
The cashier, who had been watching this entire event unfold, finally spoke up.
“…Dude.”
Maluck wiped a bit of sauce off his lip. “Yeah?”
She hesitated, then said, “…Good luck.”
Maluck grinned and grabbed his tray. “Luck’s kinda my thing.”
***
Mick’s was a classic drive-in, which meant that most people used the drive-thru window—quick, efficient, and perfect for grabbing greasy goodness on the go. But when the lines got insanely long—and they always did—there was an option to walk inside and order at the counter.
The only catch? No seats.
No booths, no stools, no little diner-style tables where you could sit and bask in the glory of your meal. Nothing. Just a counter, a few napkin dispensers, and a simple rule: Order, pick up, and get out.
It didn’t matter if you ordered a single cheeseburger or a meal large enough to legally be considered a challenge—you were eating in your own car.
And Maluck?
Maluck had just ordered something that deserved a victory feast.
So, with a bag containing his massive Mick’s Monster Meal now in his hands, he made his way back to his car—his personal dining room for the next 30 minutes of battle.