I remember that one night. That one certain night. The night I screwed up so badly, the heavens themselves probably considered hitting a reset button.
See, since the day I was born under a cloud of curses, my older sister Reika has wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. She wouldn't talk to me. Wouldn't look at me. If I ever entered the room, she'd either leave or stare at me like I was some kind of living natural disaster. Which, I guess, isn't far from the truth.
And as her little brother, that cut deep. Like, molecular-level deep. Like being stabbed by a million little knives forged from pure emotional rejection. If there were a form I could sign, some divine petition requesting a replacement sibling who would actually love me despite my "curse," I would've marched barefoot across lava to get it stamped.
But that's not how life works. Not this one, anyway.
Our family didn't exactly have options. Not after the hospital incident on the day I was born. Word got out. Nurses whispered. Doctors sighed. Babies in nearby rooms cried non-stop. I was already labeled: the King of Misfortune. Capital K, capital M. A royal pain. A walking hazard sign.
Sometimes, the weight of it all became unbearable. I wasn't just a kid anymore. I was that kid. The one no one wanted to stand near during typhoons. The one teachers subtly asked to stay in the back of the field trip line. I felt like a cosmic joke, played for laughs by gods too bored with their own immortality. And if they ever listened, if they ever actually tuned in to my silent pleas, maybe they'd understand that I didn't ask for any of this. I would've gladly traded this existence for a quiet, boring life where the worst thing that happened was losing a sock in the laundry.
But life doesn't offer trade-ins.
That night, Mom came home late. Her back ached, her arms limp, her eyes fighting to stay open. You could see it in her every movement: the dragging of her feet, the tired slump of her shoulders. She looked like one of those zombies from late-night dramas. But the moment she saw me, something in her eyes changed. It was like watching a phone with 1% battery suddenly jump to full charge.
She smiled. She always smiled for me.
Maybe that's why she was different. Why she was the only one seemingly immune to my curse.
Fourth wall break: Yeah, about that? Nope. Not even she was safe. She just had the remarkable talent of pretending it wasn't happening. But reality has a way of catching up. Even if you run, even if you hide, the universe will sneak in through the window.
After dinner, I followed her to the study. She was working through a mountain of paperwork. Literal mountain. Everest, if Everest were made of forms, receipts, and crumpled-up drafts. I wanted to spend time with her, maybe prove to myself that I wasn't entirely toxic to the human race. So I stayed, sitting on the floor with some of my toys, just being there.
I should've regretted that decision.
Actually, I do regret that decision.
Because what happened next scarred both of us.
There I was, playing quietly with a spinning top. It wobbled, danced, spun like it was mocking gravity. I leaned closer, mesmerized by the little tornado of plastic. And then...
Trip.
Fourth wall break: Ah, the classic trip. Our legendary returning champion from Chapters One through Three. Back again by unpopular demand.
I lost balance, flailed like a ragdoll, and slammed face-first into the study desk. The whole table shook violently. In the chaos, a scented candle—yes, an actual candle—toppled over and landed directly on the stack of papers.
Flames.
Real, actual flames.
Fourth wall break again: You may be wondering, "Why the heck was there a candle next to a stack of important documents?" Trust me, I asked that too. But Mom had this habit of lighting scented candles while working. Lavender, vanilla, ocean breeze—you name it. Said it helped her relax. Though, clearly, her definition of relaxation didn't account for the fire hazard.
In seconds, the bottom sheets were curling into black ash. I jumped back, panicking, flailing, knocking over her mug in the process. The spilled coffee only made it worse, spreading the fire sideways as if cheering it on. Mom screamed, grabbed the nearest rag, and started swatting like a madwoman. I tried to help. Which, let's be honest, probably made things worse.
We eventually put the fire out. The documents? Gone. Her report, the forms she needed to submit by midnight, and even the photo of her old team from work. All lost.
She didn't shout at me.
She just sat there on the floor, covered in ash and coffee, eyes wide, mouth trembling.
I think that was the first time I saw my mother scared of me.
Not scared of my face. Not scared of my words. Scared of what followed me. What clung to me like a second skin. The inescapable, inevitable misfortune.
I ran to my room and locked the door. I didn't cry. Not right away. At first, I just sat there, listening to the silence on the other side. Waiting. Hoping. Dreading. When the tears came, they came without sound. As if I was afraid the walls themselves would collapse if they heard me sob.
I hated myself that night.
Hated my legs for tripping.
Hated my arms for knocking things over.
Hated my existence for being what it was.
Fourth wall break: Don't worry. It wasn't all tragedy. Later that week, Mom hugged me. Told me she forgave me. But she also installed a smoke detector, banned open flames, and gently encouraged me to maybe do my "hobbies" in another room.
But that night? That night was the worst.
And I'd barely scratched the surface of how bad things could still get.
Ever since that night, something inside me... cracked. No—shattered. Like a mirror that had held together for too long, barely clinging to its frame with tiny invisible fractures, and now had finally exploded into shards that couldn't be pieced back together.
I wasn't the same kid anymore.
I don't know how to describe it, but it felt like the entire weight of the universe had pressed down on my small shoulders. The sky wasn't blue anymore. It was… pale. Colorless. The birds outside weren't chirping—they were mocking. Everything seemed wrong. Or maybe I was wrong. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to speak. I just... wanted to vanish.
Fourth wall break: Yeah, believe it or not, I was basically depressed. As a kid. At an age where most kids cry because they dropped their ice cream or lost a toy, I was internally screaming about existential despair. Isn't that cute? No? Okay, moving on...
The maids started getting worried. I mean, the walking disaster that once terrorized the household with falling chandeliers and exploding rice cookers had suddenly gone silent. No curse events. No broken vases. Not even a stubbed toe. Nothing.
And that freaked everyone out.
You'd think they'd be grateful for the break, right? But no. It was too quiet. Like one of those eerie calm-before-the-storm scenes in horror movies where everyone dies in five minutes. I mean, I wasn't even lifting a finger anymore. I was just... existing. Barely.
And maybe, just maybe, this whole bad luck thing was tied to my emotions?
Fourth wall break: Okay, this is just my theory, but think about it. Goku didn't go Super Saiyan until he got emotionally wrecked, right? So maybe my bad luck powers are emotion-triggered too. Goku gets golden hair. I get flaming chaos and broken ceiling fans. Life is fair.
I spent entire days holed up in my room, lying in bed with my blanket over my head like some kind of defeated Pokémon. Staring out the window became my new hobby. I'd just sit there, chin on the windowsill, watching the world below. Watching my sister play with her friends. Watching her laugh. Watching her be... happy.
And that hurt.
Because I wasn't part of that world.
Then, one day, as if fate decided to give me the most unwanted surprise, she looked up.
She saw me.
Of all days, why now?!
I ducked back into bed faster than a cat seeing a cucumber. Blanket pulled up. Heart racing. Maybe if I stayed still enough, she'd think she imagined me. Maybe I could just disappear again...
But no. Of course not. That would be too easy. A few minutes later, the door creaked open.
She walked in.
My sister.
The girl who ignored me for most of my life. The one who once yelled "I REALLY REALLY HATE YOU!" with so much emotion it could've shattered glass. The same sister who avoided me like I was the final boss of a cursed RPG quest.
"Hey," she said sharply. "Did I tell you to spy on us?"
Silence.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"Are you even listening to me?"
More silence. Not because I wanted to be dramatic, but because I was too broken to respond. It's like my throat had turned into stone.
"I freaking hate you!" she snapped. I could hear her walk to my bedside and yank the blanket off.
And then she saw me.
Tears.
I was crying.
Tears streamed down my cheeks like they were racing each other. Ugly, snot-filled, red-eyed crying. It wasn't silent either. It was loud. Pathetic. Heart-wrenching.
I wanted to disappear.
I braced for the worst. I thought she'd call me weak. Tease me. Maybe tell her friends that I cried like a baby. I was already thinking of how to build a blanket fort strong enough to live in for the rest of my life.
But she didn't laugh.
She didn't say a word.
She just looked at me.
And then...
Something warm touched me.
Fourth wall break: WHOA WHOA WHOA. Stop right there. It's not what you think, you degenerate. No, this is not that kind of story. I know it sounds like one of those fanservice setups, but hold your horses.
She hugged me.
My big sister, the ice queen of my childhood, the one who practically filed an emotional restraining order on me since birth—hugged me.
She held me tight.
And I lost it.
I cried harder. Louder. The dam burst and all the emotions I'd been stuffing inside like a closet about to explode just... poured out.
"There, there," she whispered gently. "I'm here..."
That was it.
Those two words. I'm here.
That was all it took to make my little broken heart start beating again. To remind me I wasn't alone. That someone—anyone—actually cared.
For the first time in my life... I felt the love of my big sister.
And that night, something changed.
It wasn't a total 180. My life was still a walking disaster movie. Bad luck still followed me like a clingy ex. But that night, I realized something.
Even if I was cursed...
Even if I was the King of Misfortune...
Maybe I wasn't completely alone.