The silver coin gleamed in the wet concrete, glinting unnaturally under the gray sky. Lee-Oh bent down, fingertips brushing its edge—when a voice cracked through the silence behind him.
"That coin doesn't belong to you."
Lee-Oh turned slowly.
A man stood in the rain, coat buttoned up to the neck, an umbrella shielding him from the downpour. He wasn't soaked like Lee-Oh. He was dry. Clean. Too clean. His shoes didn't even touch the puddles, as if the ground bent to his will.
His eyes scanned Lee-Oh — not with anger, but curiosity, like he was reading a strange book in a language he almost understood.
"I'm sorry," Lee-Oh said, rising. "I just saw it on the ground—"
"No one drops silver coins in this part of town," the man said, his voice calm, even pleasant. "And if someone did… it wasn't by accident."
Lee-Oh's gaze drifted down the alley. More coins were scattered ahead, trailing into an old abandoned building near the edge of the wet market. The man followed his line of sight and gave a small, amused sigh.
"Strange, isn't it? First it rains, then bread is given, and now coins fall from the sky." He tilted his head. "You didn't happen to make a wish recently, did you?"
Lee-Oh's breath caught.
His first instinct was to deny. But something in the man's presence — his calm, knowing tone — made lying feel pointless.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lee-Oh said carefully. "I was just passing by."
"Of course," the man said with a smile. "But let me offer you this advice, stranger. Luck attracts eyes. Eyes that don't always blink."
He turned, umbrella drifting away with him as he walked back into the crowd — vanishing like mist.
Lee-Oh stood still for a moment, heartbeat echoing in his ears.
Then, against reason, he followed the coins.
He stepped over puddles, bent to collect the silver pieces one by one, each one cool to the touch — not wet, not weathered. As if they had fallen from a vault in the clouds.
They led into the building. A rusted sign above read:
"St. Miran's Children's Orphanage" — Closed since 1999.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and silence. Floorboards groaned beneath his weight. The coins continued down a hallway, disappearing into a side room.
He reached the door.
Paused.
And slowly pushed it open.
The room was lit.
A single bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly.
And at the center of the room…
...a briefcase sat on a table.
Unlocked.
Waiting.
Lee-Oh stepped forward, each footstep crunching on old tile.
He hesitated for only a second — then opened the case.
Stacks of money.
Neatly bundled bills. Too much to count.
And on top, a single note.
"This is yours. Don't ask how. Just use it wisely. – L"
Lee-Oh stared at the money, heart thundering. His mind raced with questions, but one thought burned brighter than the rest:
Was this his luck at work?
He closed the case quickly and backed away, unsure if he was being watched.
And then—
A soft sound from behind the closet door.
A creak.
Someone was here.
Watching.
A breath, quiet but clear, escapes from behind the closet door — and a single, pale hand slowly pushes it open.