A frail young man sat on a rusty bench near a fire-station building, clutching a cup of coffee — the kind not meant for people as poor as him, but for those who could afford luxury without thinking twice. He brought the cup close to his nose, savoring the aroma of it before taking a sip. The moment the liquid touched his tongue, he grimaced in disgust.
"Damn it!" he muttered, lowering the cup. "How can this be worth twenty dollars? It's so bitter."
He stared at the cup for a few seconds, lips pressed tight, before sighing. "But I already paid for it… can't waste it now."
He took another sip and winced again. "Ugh. I swear, if this is what the rich call 'refined taste,' then I'll gladly stay poor."
Still, he forced himself to finish it. "If I'd known coffee was this bitter," he grumbled, "I would've just bought some beer. What a rip-off."
When Morty finished, he stood from the bench and started walking away to god knows where,anywhere was enough for him to stay,the main thing it provides shelter. The streets here belonged to the wealthy, and he earned plenty of stares — each one lingering on his worn-out hoodie and pants that looked old enough to be from the 1900s.
He looked around awkwardly, muttering under his breath, "Yeah, yeah, keep staring. Haven't you ever seen poverty before?"
Then, suddenly, a sharp pain struck his head — as if he'd been struck by divine authority itself.
"Ah… it hurts…" he gasped, stumbling to his knees.
He quickly pulled a tablet from his pocket and swallowed it dry. After a few shaky breaths, he spat out a mouthful of blood and wiped it off on the wall.
"Huh… what should I do with this remaining ten dollars?" he murmured. "The doctor said I've got three months to live. Carcinoma, that's what he called it. Thought if I was gonna die anyway, I'd at least pretend to be rich for once."
Rain began to fall — first it was just a small drizzle till it then changed and became heavier- as if mocking him for being poor.
Morty tilted his head back, letting the rain hit his face. "Wow, fate really is strange," he said, chuckling weakly. "Some people are rich, some are in between, and some…" He looked down at his soaked shoes. "Poor like me. If life was a game, mine would be on extreme difficulty."
He smiled faintly — and that's when the infamous Truck-kun came barreling toward him at full speed, looking for it's next victim.
His eyes widened. There was no time to run. No time to think.
"Oh, come on—"
The blinding headlights swallowed him whole. He spread his arms, accepting fate. Tears mixed with rain streamed down his face, and he smiled through them.
In his last moments he could only whisper
"I really don't want to die young,I've not even lost my virginity."
And then — darkness.
He woke to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.
"Where… am I?" he muttered groggily.
When he opened his eyes, a nurse stood beside him, looking shocked. Morty thought he was in heaven,he then took her hand without thinking twice.
"I never knew angels were this beautiful."
But she didn't have time reciprocate his feelings,she immediately dashed out and met the doctor in the hall.
"The patient's awake, sir!"
"That's good," a voice replied down the hall. "I thought we wouldn't be able to save him."
Morty stared at the ceiling for a moment, processing the words. "Save me? Guess Truck-kun missed this time," he mumbled.
Then another thought hit him. "Wait… who's gonna pay the bill?"
He yanked out the IV line and carefully got out of bed. "I'm not dying from debt after surviving a truck."
He crept down the corridor, keeping his head low. Just as he was about to reach the door, a voice called from behind the counter.
"Mr. Morty! You're not supposed to be discharged today. Where are you going?"
Morty froze. He turned, forcing an awkward smile. "Ah, no, kind madam. I'm just… going outside for some fresh air."
The receptionist narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. After a tense pause, she sighed. "Your bill's already been paid by someone. So I don't think there's any need to be sneaking around."
Morty blinked. "Wait—someone paid it? Who?"
"I don't know. There was no name on the record."
He scratched the back of his head and chuckled nervously. "Well… uh… guess I'll go back to my room then. You know, rest up. Recovery and all that."
She gave him a look that said I know what you're doing, but didn't stop him.
Back in his room, Morty lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a can of Coke in his hand.
"I haven't coughed blood or felt any pain today," he said quietly. "Strange." He took a sip and frowned thoughtfully. "Who could've paid for my bills? I don't even have anyone. I'm basically homeless. Hah… well, maybe God felt sorry for me."
He raised the Coke can toward the ceiling like a toast. "To free hospital treatment!"
He tossed the can toward the trash bin like a basketball shot — and missed completely.
"Figures," he muttered, sighing. To his irritation he still had to pick it up and throw it in the trashcan. When he threw it he then laid on his bed and quickly drifted to sleep.
The next morning came quickly. Morty left the hospital wearing his usual hoodie and pants. The sunlight hit his face, and the sound of chirping birds filled the air.
He had no home to go to, no family waiting — just ten dollars left in his pocket.
"Guess breakfast it is," he said to himself.
He stopped by a small bakery nearby. The smell of fresh bread hit him the moment he walked in.
"Good morning," he said to the lady at the counter. "Can I get one fresh loaf, please?"
"Ah, you're lucky," she said with a smile. "That was the last one."
"Guess luck's finally on my side today," Morty said, handing over the money. "I heard your bread's the best in town."
She laughed lightly. "That's what they say. Enjoy it."
Morty lifted the bread and inhaled deeply. "You really live up to your reputation," he said before heading out.
He found a bench, sat down, and began taking small, satisfied bites.
A man sat beside him, tossing crumbs to the pigeons. He had long black hair that gave him the air of a movie star.
"What a wonderful morning it is," the man said with a calm smile.
"The day isn't always wonderful," Morty replied without looking up.
"Oh?" The man tilted his head. "And why's that?"
"Well, people are different," Morty said. "Mornings differ too."
The man chuckled. "You should be having great mornings, though. After all, you've already been blessed by the Ancient Moon Goddess."
Morty blinked — then burst out laughing so hard he nearly choked on his bread.
"Me? Blessed by a goddess?" he said between laughs. "That's a good one. Next, you'll tell me I can be like Elionar."
The man smiled faintly. "You can't. She was blessed by three deities. But tell me, what do you actually know about mystics? You don't strike me as someone who's studied them."
Morty leaned back on the bench placing his five fingers on his chin which gave him the impression of a lazy king. "Hmm… from what I've heard, mystics are people chosen by deities to embody their principles. Each one gains a shard, performs some rituals, does their divine duties, or whatever. That's about it."
"Not quite," the man said. "You don't know much — but you have the right idea."
He extended a hand. "My name's William Drew."
Morty shook it. "Morty Cross."
William's smile deepened slightly. "I'll be seeing you again soon, Mr. Cross."
Before Morty could reply, William stood, and the handed him a small card, and before he knew it he was gone, leaving our mc with more questions than answers.