Imagine a day when the world suddenly forgets you. What would that be like?

All evidence of your existence is erased, as if you have been dead for so long that no one can remember you.

Yet, you are very much alive, moving through the bustling crowd, a wandering ghost unseen and uncared for.

You live only for yourself, in solitude.

And to make matters worse, you're a magnet for misfortune.

"Bang"

A sudden explosion startled the midday crowd on Madison's streets, eliciting screams of terror. Sparks erupted from a power line pole above the intersection.

A snapped cable swung in the wind, electrocuting an innocent bird, its life extinguished in an instant before plummeting to the ground, emitting a bizarre scent of roasted flesh.

People fled the sparking pole, some falling over in panic, causing a chaotic ripple through traffic.

But Merlin didn't panic like the rest.

He stood still, right beneath the short-circuited pole, eyeing the lifeless bird on the pavement. Its grey, exploded feathers wafted through the air and settled to the ground, spinning gently.

Another life claimed because of him.

As Merlin spent more time in the city, the curse that clung to him grew more intense. Initially, it was just his own bad luck, but now, hours later, the invisible misfortune began to affect his surroundings.

The curse was spreading, like invisible hands urging Merlin to leave this place.

He was like a walking harbinger of doom.

"Why you? And why me?"

Merlin murmured to the bird at his feet, still unable to let go.

Even now, after everything had happened, he was at a loss.

The dead bird seemed a warning.

The longer he stayed in one place, the more severe the accumulation of misfortune. Willing or not, he had to step forward into the unknown.

He wasn't a bad person; he didn't want to cause more tragedy.

Merlin reached down, adjusting the black cowboy hat on his head, then took a few steps back. He helped a woman who had twisted her ankle to the side of the road, and amidst her profuse thanks, Merlin pushed through the crowd, quickening his pace toward the parking lot.

Moments later, with a low rumble, the red Lola burst out of Madison Hospital's parking lot. Merlin, behind the wheel, glanced back at the hospital for the last time.

The three most important people of his past 18 years were there.

But he had to distance himself from them, perhaps even disappear from their lives completely.

"Whir"

A gust of wind stirred the trees along the street, causing a branch to fall just behind Merlin's car. The tumbling leaves seemed to herald the onset of a whirlwind, a classic disaster in Wisconsin.

Merlin's heart clenched again.

He withdrew his gaze, pressed the accelerator hard, and Lola, with its wheels still caked in grass and mud, seemed to sense its owner's urgency. The classic convertible sped away from the city.

Merlin didn't understand what was happening to him; he was clueless about magic and energy. All he could guess was that this persistent misfortune was linked to the pact.

The demon pact, thwarted by the Shadow Guest, was left incomplete, likely leading to a third possibility beyond success or failure.

This weighed heavily on Merlin, but it didn't lead him to despair.

Since demons had appeared before him and beings like the Shadow Guest existed, then the magic and witchcraft of legend must be real. If they were real, then there must be a way within that magical world to solve his physical issues.

Even his erasure from existence might be resolved through magic or some other extraordinary means.

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Of course, all this depended on whether Merlin could find those magical beings in the real world.

But those in desperate straits need hope to carry on.

At the Coulson farm, in Merlin's room, he picked up a family photo from the bedside. In it, his own image had vanished, leaving Phil, James, and Mrs. Coulson looking like the perfect family, with no place for Merlin.

The young man gave a wry smile and replaced the frame. He opened the closet, took out his clothes, and packed them into a large suitcase.

He then retrieved some money hidden among a few books on the shelf. It was the fruit of his labor, now nearly spent on Lola's new engine, but it was enough to buy a ticket to somewhere else, enough to leave his hometown.

Minutes later, Merlin had everything ready for his journey. He sat on his bed, somewhat lost, gazing at the setting sun through the window. The fiery halo enveloped the horizon like the most beautiful and dazzling scenery.

He had seen such views countless times, but never had it been filled with such a profound sense of parting.

"Maybe I can go to New York."

The thought suddenly surfaced in Merlin's mind.

"I can complete my studies."

Driven by this idea, Merlin hastily opened the bedside drawer and took out his acceptance letter. But as he opened the white envelope, he despaired to find the carefully preserved document had turned into a faded yellow sheet, as if it had been washed through the river of time for decades.

The writing had long since blurred, mocking Merlin's fanciful dreams like a poorly drawn sketch.

"Bang"

Overwhelmed by disappointment, Merlin punched the table. His last destination was callously erased.

A wave of weakness rose from Merlin's heart, filling his exhausted core. He collapsed onto the soft bed, hands covering his face, but this time he did not cry.

A murmur, indistinct as tinnitus, rose in his ears, making him shake his head in discomfort, trying to fling the vague sounds from his mind.

He stood up, dizzy, as his vision blurred once more. The double vision seemed to intensify. A viscous fluid dripped from his nose, carrying a familiar metallic scent.

Merlin touched it and saw a smear of crimson on his finger.

"It's time to go."

Merlin gritted his teeth, grabbed his suitcase, and swiftly left the room. As he stood at the front door, sparks flew from a distant power line, startling a flock of crows into the sky.

And the streetlights that had just lit up flickered out one by one before Merlin's eyes.

Shadows... the shadows after dusk weirdly engulfed the Coulson farm and the surrounding blocks. Screams rose from the distant streets, and Merlin, witnessing it all, felt an invisible wind stirring his body, the bone-chilling cold returning.

He dragged his suitcase into the dark garage.

In the darkness, Merlin looked at Lola parked there, the best 18th birthday gift from James.

It was like a classic beauty in a red dress, quietly waiting in her boudoir for her owner's return.

Regrettably, its owner was leaving. Merlin could no longer drive Lola across the land.

The young man, enduring the headache, reached out to caress the classic Corvette's shell. The cold touch brought a mix of emotions to Merlin's heart.

Finally, he took the car keys from his pocket, placed them on the driver's seat, and stuck the note he held onto the windshield wiper.

In the dark garage, Merlin leaned against the front of Lola, trembling hands lighting a cigarette. The Coulson family had no history of smoking, and Merlin wasn't fond of the taste of tobacco, but now, he desperately needed something to calm his nerves.

The spicy smoke rose in the darkness, shrouding Merlin's blurred face.

He stood in the dark, treasuring his memories as the most beautiful jewels, sealing them deep within his mind. These memories were not a burden for a son about to leave home, but the best support.

Enough to sustain him through the darkest times.

But it was indeed not easy.

"Bang"

Merlin patted the cold hood of Lola, a final farewell. He dropped the half-burned cigarette to the ground and stamped it out.

Then, picking up his suitcase, he donned the black, slightly worn cowboy hat and hid his abnormal eyes behind sunglasses.

He stepped outside the garage, looked back for a moment, and then raised his hand, pulling down the roller shutter. The garage, once again, returned to silence.

As if sealing away the most beautiful treasure forever.

———————————————

The next morning, a weary Phil Coulson returned to the Coulson farm.

The 15-year-old had faced much recently, events that had turned his simple life upside down. But thankfully, his father underwent successful surgery the night before. If lucky, James might awaken in a few months.

For a family struck by misfortune, this was undoubtedly good news.

Yet losing the farm was a blow to Phil, who was born and raised there. Compared to bustling Madison, this place felt more like home.

Regrettably, to ensure James's recovery and Phil's education, his mother had made the difficult decision to sell it.

In a few days, it would no longer belong to the Coulson family.

With his mother at the hospital caring for his father, Phil needed to return home to pack and prepare to leave. As the young man walked through the farm, he noticed the garage door was locked, which surprised him as it was usually left open.

Could they have been robbed?

The thought made Phil rush back to his room. Minutes later, armed with a baseball bat and helmet, he cautiously approached the garage.

The roller shutter wasn't locked, just closed.

Phil pulled it up, and as sunlight flooded the garage, a vigilant Phil Coulson saw what was inside, his eyes widening.

It was a cool red sports car, a classic 1962 Corvette. Phil vaguely remembered his father owning such a cool car as a child, but it had been sold.

Why was it here?

Phil walked into the garage, puzzled. He circled the cool car and found the keys on the driver's seat and a note under the windshield wiper.

He read the note, feeling a strange familiarity with the handwriting, though he had never seen it before.

"She's yours now, Phil Coulson. Take good care of her."

"???"

The message on the note baffled Phil.

He didn't think he had friends generous enough to casually give away a car, and as far as he remembered, neither did his father. So, what was the deal with this car?

Was it a prank?

Phil's first thought was to call the police, but as his gaze fell on the red body of the car, he couldn't hide the gleam of affection in his eyes.

Yes, he couldn't bear to let it go.

In fact, he had fallen in love with it at first sight.

Phil Coulson gently caressed the cool car, embracing it as if reclaiming a precious treasure, as if embracing the whole world. In the garage, he murmured to himself:

"Well then, little beauty, I'll call you..."

"Lola."