No, wait—had he messed up right from the start?
Why had he even come out today?
And why, of all people, had he chosen to give Olga a gift?
The first two questions were debatable. But if he was set on giving her something, why pick this shady street stall’s lottery draw—a clear scam targeting kids?
After dozens of tries with zero wins, what was the point of continuing?
It was just a gift. He could’ve asked girls what they liked and bought it outright—he wasn’t short on cash. So why cling to this cheap lottery?
"Fiftieth draw: white again. Continue, sir?"
The stall owner beamed. A customer splurging fifty draws—and aiming for a hundred—just for a cheap bracelet? Rarer than tripping flat-footed and bonking your head on a gold nugget. Either a legendary idle rich or a legendary fool.
Which was Rean?
"Continue! I refuse to believe my luck’s this rotten!"
Rean slammed down payment for thirty more draws. He snatched the lever himself and shook. Predictably, ten draws later: nothing but white beads raining down.
He felt buried under consolation prizes—tissue packets—from the white beads. Not a single pink bead. Suspicion gnawed at him: *Damn it, is there even a pink bead in this box?* But pride kept him from cheating with magic publicly. He just shook like a fool until the last of his three ten-draw sets vanished. Still nothing.
Only twenty draws from a hundred. Cold sweat beaded on Rean’s forehead. He’d always gotten what he wanted—rules or not. Could his reputation really crumble over a stupid lottery?
No. He wouldn’t tolerate this humiliation.
The bead-release hole seemed to mock him. A faint whistle sighed through it in the wind. A vein throbbed on his temple. Eyes shut, jaw clenched, foot stomped—he thrust nineteen single-draw coins at the owner.
"Shake it. Nineteen more times. I refuse this pity prize. I’ll prove I have principles: I’d rather walk away empty-handed than take this so-called ‘guaranteed reward’!"
Was the guaranteed prize really insult or pity?
No. Just marketing. Low cost per draw + desired reward + gambling psychology = perfect trap. Few win early; most overspend. When frustration mounts, the "guarantee" appears—a clear goal (10, 50, 100 draws). Even unlucky players get *something*. Loyalty secured.
Add "limited edition"—seasonal, holiday, event, quantity—and FOMO seals the deal. Collectors rush. Needers rush. Business booms.
*Phew.* Rean nearly fell for it. Those kids who won the Rean-themed statue? Limited item riding his city-saving hype. Once the trend faded, they’d chase new guarantees, spend again, become hollow souls clinging to hope.
But Rean was different. He had dreams. No luck? He’d forfeit the consolation prize and keep his dignity.
"Oh! Red bead! Our top prize—a free meal at the tavern ‘Summer Breeze’!"
"Since when does a kids’ stall give tavern vouchers?!"
The owner picked up the red bead with a pained smile. Meaningless to Rean. Only the pink bead’s bracelet mattered.
"Shake! Keep shaking! I refuse to believe my luck’s this cursed!"
With white beads depleted, colorful beads now tumbled out: wooden sword, metal ring, survival rope—hardly kid stuff. Rean’s expression never flickered. Nothing mattered until *that* bead appeared.
"Pay close attention—ninety-ninth draw… Congratulations! One tissue packet~"
"Do I look like I need congratulations?"
His pockets bulged with tissues. Even his hood was stuffed. His face frozen in a rigid grimace.
*Damn it… Total humiliation… If this spreads, I’m city gossip forever…*
Wait! Pay him to leave town! Money was no issue!
"How much to make you vanish from this city?"
"Eh… Sir? I don’t understand…"
"I said: how much to disappear. Forever."
Rean’s icy glare and sharp tone could silence a crying child. The owner stumbled back, overturning his stall in panic.
"What’s wrong? Answer me."
As Rean stepped closer, the collapsed owner scrambled up, wailing, and fled down the street—leaving a bewildered Rean alone.
…………………………
Later, Rean was summoned to the mayor’s office for intimidation. Under Gloria’s relentless questioning, he confessed everything—and endured hours of her mocking laughter.
…………………………
