Chapter 1: Born Unlucky
From the moment Ethan Reed came into the world, it was clear the universe didn't like him very much.
Most babies are greeted by the sound of cheers, camera flashes, and a proud father fainting.
Ethan's arrival, however, was accompanied by a blackout that shut down the entire hospital for three hours. The generator failed, the nurse tripped on a cord, and his father accidentally recorded over the moment of birth with a football game.
That was Ethan's first recorded achievement: being born during chaos.
---
Growing up didn't get any better.
When he was three, he tried to pet a butterfly and got stung by a bee that was coincidentally hitchhiking on it.
When he was five, he entered a "Draw Your Hero" contest and proudly handed in a stickman. The teacher thought it was abstract art and hung it upside down.
At six, he tried to make friends by sharing his snacks at kindergarten—only to find out he'd accidentally brought his dad's chili-flavored chips. Half the class cried, and the teacher called it "The Incident of Fire Tongues."
And that was just Monday.
---
By the time Ethan turned eight, the pattern was clear:
If something bad could happen, it would — and probably to him.
Rain clouds seemed to follow him on field trips.
Pigeons treated him like a living toilet.
Even vending machines conspired against him — eating his money and spitting out a single can of expired tomato juice labeled "Limited Edition."
When other kids learned to ride bikes, Ethan learned what pavement tasted like.
There was one memorable afternoon when his dad decided to teach him.
"Come on, son! Just keep your balance!"
Ethan, trembling, started pedaling down the street. For a glorious ten seconds, he was free — the wind in his hair, the world ahead of him.
Then a cat appeared.
And a dog.
And a sprinkler system that went off at the worst possible time.
By the time he stopped, he was inside a bush, the bike was upside down, and the neighbor's garden gnome had a new dent.
His dad stood there silently, then muttered, "At least you didn't die."
That became a family motto.
---
At ten, Ethan joined the school play. He was supposed to be a background tree.
A simple, safe role. Just stand still and say nothing.
Except the stage light above him exploded mid-performance, setting his cardboard leaves on fire.
The audience thought it was part of the show until Ethan screamed, "THE FOREST IS DYING!" and ran across the stage like a burning bush from the Bible.
The play ended early. Ethan's acting career ended permanently.
---
Middle school brought new opportunities—and new disasters.
He joined the science club, thinking it was safe.
One experiment later, the clubroom smelled like burnt marshmallows, and the teacher's hair had turned gray from stress. Ethan's job had been to "gently pour the mixture." Instead, he sneezed mid-pour and accidentally created something that hissed, popped, and dissolved a hole in the table.
"Mr. Reed," the teacher said, shaking. "Have you considered... sports?"
He did. Once.
---
His brief career in sports was legendary—mainly for how fast it ended.
During PE, he was told to pass the basketball. He threw it too high, it hit the fire alarm, and the entire school had to evacuate.
Another time, he joined track and field. His shoe flew off mid-run, hit the coach in the face, and somehow got stuck in a ceiling vent.
Even dodgeball betrayed him. He was out before the game even started—because someone tripped, threw the ball accidentally, and hit him square in the head while he was still tying his shoes.
The nurse's office reserved a bed just for him.
---
Ethan's friends—if you could call them that—used to joke that he had "cursed luck."
He laughed with them, pretending it didn't sting.
But deep down, he wondered if it was true.
Maybe the universe just... didn't like him.
Even technology hated him. His phone cracked when it fell from his pocket—onto a pillow.
His alarm clock once rang at 3 a.m. for no reason, and when he smashed it in frustration, it somehow turned back on louder.
When he tried online games, his internet always disconnected right before victory.
One day, he dropped his sandwich.
It landed peanut butter side down.
He made another.
It also landed peanut butter side down.
The third one? The plate broke.
By that point, Ethan was convinced gravity had a personal vendetta.
---
At twelve, his mom encouraged him to try something artistic—something "that builds confidence."
So, he took up painting.
His first masterpiece was called "Blue Sky Over Hills." It was quite nice—until his neighbor's cat walked across the wet canvas and left pawprints everywhere.
When he showed it to his mom, she smiled gently.
"It's… abstract?" she offered.
The cat later knocked the painting into the fish tank.
---
At thirteen, puberty hit him like a truck, and not in the anime way where it makes the protagonist handsome overnight.
His voice cracked so violently during roll call that people thought the fire alarm had gone off again.
He tried to talk to girls, but his words betrayed him.
Once, he tried to compliment a classmate's hair and accidentally said,
> "Your head smells like… color."
He never recovered from that socially.
---
It wasn't all misery, though.
He had his best friend, Jake Rivers, who somehow found Ethan's bad luck hilarious instead of contagious.
Jake once said, "Dude, you're like a magnet for disaster, but in a cinematic way."
Ethan had no idea if that was a compliment or a warning.
Jake tried to teach him confidence.
"Just imagine you're the main character!" he said.
So Ethan tried. He even gave himself a pep talk in front of the mirror:
> "I am the protagonist of my own life!"
The mirror cracked.
--
By fourteen, Ethan had accepted his fate: he was the background character of the universe.
When others awakened powers or got lucky breaks, he barely survived Mondays.
He never won raffles, never got picked for group projects, and once, when the teacher said, "Everyone gets candy," she ran out just before reaching him.
He wasn't bullied much—mostly because people forgot he existed.
He was the invisible kid.
The filler character.
The kind of guy who could disappear for a week, and the class would only notice when the seating chart changed.
Sometimes he thought fate was saving him for something.
Other times, he thought fate just forgot he existed.
---
Then came his most unlucky day yet.
It was picture day.
He woke up late, spilled toothpaste on his shirt, and burned his toast.
On the way to school, it started raining—while the weather app insisted it was "clear skies."
When he arrived, drenched and miserable, the photographer smiled kindly and said,
"Don't worry, kid. We'll fix it in post."
They didn't.
His yearbook photo looked like a horror movie poster.
Someone added fake thunder in the background as a meme. It went viral in school chat groups under the title:
> "When You Realize Life is a Side Quest."
---
Still, somehow, Ethan kept smiling.
Maybe it was denial. Maybe optimism. Or maybe he was too tired to care.
His mom used to tell him, "Bad luck just means the good stuff hasn't caught up yet."
He liked that idea. It made him think maybe, someday, things would finally go right.
He'd get a lucky break.
He'd win something.
He'd be noticed.
But for now, Ethan was just a clumsy, unlucky kid who tripped over his own shadow and fell face-first into the future.
----
Ethan Reed's morning began with the usual prophecy of disaster.
He woke up late, stubbed his toe on the edge of his bed, and spilled cereal on his pants — a sacred morning ritual that no deity could prevent.
He sighed while staring at himself in the mirror.
"Okay," he muttered. "Maybe today won't be that bad."
The light flickered off immediately.
That was a sign.
---
By the time he reached school, his backpack zipper had broken, his shoe sole was flapping like a mouth, and his umbrella—after heroically surviving two rainy seasons—snapped in half the moment the rain stopped.
He trudged toward the school gate, humming a tune to pretend his life wasn't a walking punchline. Then—
BOOM.
A sound like thunder, but sharper.
The air trembled.
For a split second, everything turned black. The wind froze mid-gust. The chatter of students, the rustle of leaves—gone.
Even the birds in the trees seemed to pause mid-flap.
Ethan blinked. "What the—"
Then light exploded around him.
---
A circular rift appeared in the sky above the gate—like someone had punched a hole through reality. Swirling purple mist crackled with blue lightning, and strange symbols shimmered inside it, twisting and rotating.
It was both beautiful and horrifying—like a screensaver from hell.
Students screamed and backed away. Phones were out instantly; this was peak social media content.
Ethan just stood there, one foot still on the school's front step, mouth open, brain buffering.
"…What the fuck?" he muttered.
No answer. Just that eerie hum that made his bones vibrate.
Then, just as suddenly as it came, the rift shrank and vanished with a soft whoosh.
The world returned to normal.
Birds resumed chirping. The wind blew again. Someone fainted dramatically near the flagpole.
---
Within ten minutes, the school principal announced that classes were suspended "for safety reasons," which was the best news Ethan had heard all year.
He was halfway home when the headlines hit the public screens downtown:
> BREAKING NEWS:
Mysterious Energy Phenomenon Detected Worldwide — Experts Baffled.
Is This the Beginning of the 'Gate Event' Predicted by Scientists?
People crowded around TVs and billboards. Some filmed themselves pretending to "analyze the portal energy," others were already posting memes.
Ethan just watched in mild disbelief.
"I was right there…" he murmured.
The universe had finally thrown him something interesting—and terrifying—at the same time.
---
When he got home, his mom was glued to the TV.
Reporters were losing their minds as footage from around the world flashed on screen: glowing skies, strange cracks in the atmosphere, weird radio signals.
Then it happened.
The broadcast glitched, and a voice—clear, robotic, and oddly cheerful—echoed across every device.
> [SYSTEM MESSAGE: Congratulations, Humanity!]
[You have been chosen to Awaken.]
[Protect your world. Survive. Good luck.]
Ethan froze, mouth open, a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth.
"…Mom, did our TV just wish us luck?"
His mom frowned. "Maybe it's an ad?"
But no. The message repeated on every channel, on every phone, every screen. Even car dashboards flickered with the same glowing blue text.
> [Some of you have been granted Systems.]
[Your potential will now awaken.]
[Do not disappoint us.]
And then—silence.
For three seconds, the world collectively held its breath.
Then chaos exploded.
---
Videos began surfacing online.
People staring at thin air, gasping, claiming they could see status windows.
Others shouting they'd gained abilities—strength, speed, fire, healing.
And then came the first livestream that made everyone panic:
A crack opened above a crowded city street.
From it crawled skeletons—hundreds of them, clad in corroded armor and wielding rusty blades.
They looked like they'd walked straight out of a discount fantasy movie, except this wasn't CGI.
The skeletons moved fast, cutting through cars, smashing windows, chasing screaming civilians.
News anchors screamed over each other trying to describe it.
> "Monsters have appeared—"
"It's not a prank—"
"Stay indoors—"
"Oh my god, someone just threw fire from their hands!"
Ethan's jaw dropped.
He leaned closer to the screen, eyes wide.
On the broadcast, a man in a tattered hoodie clenched his fists—and fire burst from them. He swung wildly, setting three skeletons ablaze.
Another person extended their arm, and glowing blue chains erupted, binding monsters in midair.
A woman shouted words no one understood and unleashed a wave of light that disintegrated the undead in a flash.
It was chaos and wonder all at once.
The world had just changed.
---
Ethan sat frozen on the couch.
He could hear people outside screaming, cheering, or crying.
His phone buzzed nonstop—group chats exploding with messages like:
> "Bro check your status window!!"
"I think I have lightning powers omg!!!"
"Is anyone else hearing voices???"
Ethan stared at his reflection in the black TV screen.
Nothing.
No glowing window.
No mysterious voice.
No congratulations.
He sighed. "Figures."
The universe had given powers to everyone—except, apparently, him.
He watched another video where someone punched through a wall with bare hands and grinned like an idiot.
"Cool," he muttered.
For a brief second, he allowed himself to imagine it.
If he had powers, maybe he wouldn't be the guy who tripped over air anymore. Maybe he could actually protect people. Maybe—
His thought was cut off by the TV switching to live footage from downtown:
> "Skeleton army expanding! Heroes—uh, Awakened—are forming teams to fight back!"
The camera zoomed in on chaos: flaming cars, clashing swords, explosions of energy.
One skeleton tackled a man into a shop window—then was blasted apart by someone yelling, "Meteor Fist!"
Ethan blinked. "Meteor… what?"
He leaned back on the couch and rubbed his face.
"This is it," he muttered. "The world's ending, and I'm still useless."
His mom peeked from the kitchen.
"Are you okay, honey?"
"Yeah," Ethan said, forcing a grin. "Just realizing my chance of dying has statistically increased by like, a thousand percent."
---
The news anchors kept yelling. The internet flooded with conspiracy theories. People started calling themselves Hunters or Guardians. Governments declared states of emergency while influencers livestreamed monster attacks with hashtags like #FirstGateEvent.
It was a mess.
Meanwhile, Ethan sat quietly, spooning soggy cereal into his mouth as if eating would somehow make him less involved.
"This is exactly what happens when I say I want something interesting in my life," he said. "The universe overreacts."
He turned the TV off and stood, staring out the window.
The night sky glowed faintly purple.
Somewhere out there, heroes were rising, monsters were invading, and humanity was fighting for survival.
And him?
He still couldn't go a day without tripping over his own feet.
---
He checked his phone again—still no mysterious window, no congratulatory message.
Just a dozen texts from Jake:
> Jake: BRO YOU SEE THAT GATE STUFF???
Jake: PEOPLE GOT POWERS!!
Jake: MAYBE YOU GOT ONE TOO!!
Jake: CHECK YOUR STATUS SCREEN MAN JUST SAY "OPEN MENU" OR SOMETHING!!
Ethan sighed and decided to humor him.
He looked around to make sure no one was watching.
"Uh… open menu?" he said flatly.
Nothing.
He tried again, louder. "Status window?"
Still nothing.
"System?"
Silence.
He groaned. "Figures. Even the supernatural world doesn't want me."
---
The next morning, he woke up to more chaos.
The skeleton invasion had been pushed back, but barely. Cities were on lockdown. The government announced the formation of the World Defense Organization to coordinate the newly Awakened.
And everywhere—news, social media, even cereal boxes—people were celebrating their new powers.
Ethan scrolled through a post titled:
> "How to Identify Your System Type: Combat, Support, or Magic!"
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Or Uninstalled Edition, in my case."
But as he turned off his phone, he couldn't shake the feeling that the world had hit a reset button—and somehow, he'd been left out of the update.
He looked out the window, watching streaks of light shoot across the sky—heroes flying toward new battles, people cheering below.
Ethan smirked faintly.
"Cool," he said.
But behind that dry voice, a quiet realization sank in:
The stronger the world got, the higher his chance of dying by pure accident.
He sighed. "Perfect."
[End of Chapter 1]