Maluck sat in the driver’s seat of his car, bag balanced on his lap, and stared at the absolute monstrosity in front of him.
The quadruple-patty Mick’s Monster Burger looked even bigger up close, and now that he was alone with it, he wasn’t entirely sure he could win this fight.
But there was no turning back now.
He unwrapped the beast, and the first thing that hit him was the smell—rich, grilled beef, crispy bacon, melted cheese, and that signature Mick’s sauce all blending into a glorious aroma that practically forced his stomach to growl in anticipation.
Maluck picked up the burger with both hands—because that was the only way to hold it without everything falling apart—and took his first massive bite. He did his best to try to unhinge his jaw like an anaconda attempting to eat an elephant. It was unsuccessful, but he did take a big chunk out of the burger.
The juicy beef patties practically melted in his mouth, the cheese stretched beautifully, and the bacon added that perfect salty crunch. The Mick’s sauce was tangy and rich, coating the toasted bun and tying everything together like a symphony of greasy perfection.
It was delicious.
It was heaven.
It was also a structural disaster.
Within seconds, grease and sauce were running down his fingers, a rogue pickle escaped and landed on his jeans, and a blob of melted cheese dripped onto his tray.
Did he care? Absolutely not.
He powered through. Bite after bite.
The burger was fighting back.
His stomach was sending early warning signals.
But he wasn’t done yet.
He reached for his fries, grabbing a handful and dunking them into Mick’s thick, peppery gravy. The first fry crunched perfectly, and the rich, buttery lard-fried goodness coated his taste buds in pure bliss.
He shoved in another handful. And another.
He chased it with a deep sip of his milkshake, the thick chocolate creaminess washing everything down like a reset button for his taste buds.
Staring at the last quarter of his burger, Maluck felt a wave of realization hit him.
He had never eaten this much in one sitting. Ever.
His stomach was screaming.
His body was staging a protest.
His jeans demanded he pop open the button.
The burger, once a glorious treasure, was now a greasy monster staring him down, mocking him.
The fries? Mostly gone. The milkshake? Half-finished, because it was so thick it was practically ice cream.
Maluck exhaled sharply, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and grabbed the burger again.
“One last push.”
Bite.
Chew.
Swallow.
Bite.
Chew.
Swallow.
And then, finally—mercifully—the last bite was gone.
Maluck leaned back against his seat, hands resting on his aching stomach, breathing heavily.
“Ohhh, I don’t think I can move for a while… or even drive…”
His entire car was now a disaster zone of wrappers, stray fries, and grease-stained napkins.
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With a deep sigh, he reclined his seat, closed his eyes, and accepted his fate. Food coma time.
He wasn’t alone.
All around the parking lot, other cars were suspiciously quiet, filled with fellow food coma victims who had also taken on the Mick’s Challenge and lost.
And then—
[System Task Accomplished]
+5 Luck Points.
Maluck smiled to himself, eyes still closed.
“Totally worth it.”
***
After his food coma and mini-nap, Maluck felt recharged… ish. His stomach was still protesting the sheer amount of beef, cheese, and lard-fried perfection he had forced upon it, but his determination was back.
Time to accomplish his System Task.
Except—wait.
He had a whole bunch of Luck Points sitting around.
And if there was one thing Maluck believed in, it was not hoarding points like a paranoid RPG protagonist.
“Alright,” he muttered, pulling up his System Store.
A quick scan showed that the two remaining store items—the Lucky 8-Ball and the Rabbit’s Foot of Probability—were still way out of his price range.
Damn.
He sighed and was about to close the menu when he noticed something new.
Luck Level: 1 (0/100)
Kinda Unlucky – You step in a puddle right as you leave home, but at least it’s just water. Probably
Maluck blinked.
“Wait—what the hell is this?”
[System Response] Luck Levels reflect the balance of fortune in your life, shaping how the System’s blessings reach you. It’s not just about getting lucky—it’s about using those moments wisely and with a bit of grace. When you care for your luck, it grows with you, bringing more chances your way. But remember, fortune’s best when shared and appreciated. Don’t hold onto it too tight, and don’t toss it around without thought. Use it with a little heart, and the System will keep delivering.
Maluck scratched his head. “So, like… I get luckier?”
[System Response] Among other things.
He narrowed his eyes. That sounded incredibly vague, and if there was one thing he had learned in life, it was that vague explanations were how people got scammed.
But at the same time…
He had Luck points to spend.
And honestly? It might be risky to let himself drop back into his “normal” levels of bad luck, but he’d been living with that his whole life.
Besides, it wasn’t like stacking up a little bad luck would kill him.
If that were true, he would’ve died a long time ago.
So, screw it.
He dumped his points into Luck Leveling—and braced for whatever came next.
Luck Level: 1 (44/100)
***
Maluck felt a little uneasy seeing his Luck Points drop to zero, knowing that bad luck was officially back on the menu. He had kind of gotten used to being lucky—it was nice, after all—but with a lifetime of surviving absolute nonsense, he figured he’d manage.
At least now he knew bad luck was real, and that it happened to him because he was an unlucky son of a bitch, and that he wasn’t just being paranoid.
Still, he wasn’t taking any chances. Before starting his drive to look for the mysterious Chinese fortune shop, he made sure everything was in order.
He tidied up the mess from his monumental meal, carefully collecting wrappers, stray fries, and the last traces of melted milkshake. Everything was going smoothly—until he reached for an unopened ketchup packet that had somehow escaped detection.
It exploded.
All over his seat.
All over his pants.
Maluck froze.
He looked down.
The deep red stain spread across his lap like an unfortunate puberty mishap.
“…Well. That’s just fucking great.”
He grabbed napkins, wiping at the stain furiously, but all it did was smear it more. Now it looked like he had just lost a battle with a bottle of tomato sauce.
He sighed and pulled up his Bad Luck Points.
BP: 0/100.
Wait. What?
It had been 1/100 before.
Which meant…
That ketchup incident had consumed his first Bad Luck point.
Maluck exhaled.
Honestly? If ketchup stains were the worst thing bad luck had in store for him today, he could live with that.
Shoving the last of the trash into the bin, he climbed back into his car and pulled onto the road, driving carefully.
Very carefully.
He stuck exactly to the speed limit—not even the extra 10 km/h cushion that most people drove. This, of course, resulted in him going slower than traffic and earning a parade of glares and passive-aggressive lane changes.
Not that he cared. He wasn’t giving bad luck any extra ammunition.
***
Calgary was huge, and its road system was an absolute disaster. Whoever had designed the downtown streets had clearly never driven a car in their life and had instead consulted a pack of mildly autistic donkey’s for urban planning advice.
One-way streets were everywhere, but never in a way that made sense. Half the roads seemed to be random dead ends, and the ones that actually led somewhere? Guaranteed construction. It felt like the city planners had taken a perfectly good map, ripped it into pieces, then taped it back together wrong just to mess with people.
And Maluck?
He didn’t even know the name of the shop he was looking for.
Which made things… complicated.
Was it even a real shop? Or was it some mystical pop-up business that only appeared when the stars aligned?
He had no way of knowing.
It’s not like he could just ask random people on the street without sounding like a complete lunatic.
“Hey, have you seen a mysterious Chinese fortune shop?”
“Yeah, sure, buddy. Right next to the wizard’s tower and the time-traveling convenience store.”
Or worse—he’d sound accidentally racist.
“Uh, I’m looking for… an old Chinese man? Who sells… fortune bracelets?”
That was a one-way ticket to getting side-eyed into oblivion.
So, he was left with one strategy.
Blindly drive around.
Which, in Calgary, was a punishment all on its own.
He looped past the same Jim Hortons three times, took a wrong turn that spit him onto a bridge he didn’t mean to take, ended up in Kensington when he swore he was heading toward Chinatown, and at one point, found himself in a Costless parking lot with no clear way out.
“HOW DID I EVEN GET HERE?!”
But finally—finally—after enough circling around to qualify as a satellite, there it was.
As if the universe had acknowledged his struggles, he saw it. The mystery Chinese fortune shop.
Just sitting there, like it had been waiting for him all along.
It looked exactly like it had in Edmonton. With a banner that said “Change Your Luck!” hung merrily up front.