The Rusty Nail didn't look like much from the outside. A squat brick building with chipped paint and a crooked neon sign buzzing against the drizzle, its windows fogged with the heat of bodies inside. The parking lot was a patchwork of potholes filled with rainwater, reflecting distorted flashes of headlights as cars came and went.
Luke stood under the awning, hood pulled low, his breath fogging in the cold night air. His ribs throbbed, his palms slick against the neck of his guitar case. He could feel the system humming in the back of his skull, the faint glow of text waiting like an audience behind the curtain.
Beside him, Gordy bounced lightly on his heels, rolling a guitar pick between his fingers with the restless energy of a man about to hit the stage. "Don't overthink it, Walker," he said, his grin quick and sharp. "It's just an open mic. Half the crowd will be drunk, the other half will be waiting for their own turn. Nobody's here to throw tomatoes."
Luke gave him a flat look. "You've been to these before. I haven't."
"That's why you've got me." Gordy clapped his shoulder. "Trust me—first time's the worst. After that, it's just noise and lights. And hey, you've been through worse than a booing drunk."
Luke's chest tightened at that. Worse, yeah. Crowbars. Fires. Coins flipping on edges. But this felt different. Exposed.
The system pulsed at the edge of his sight.
[Daily Task: Pursue Passion]
Perform a song publicly.
Reward: +8 LP
The panel lingered like a dare.
Luke tightened his grip on the guitar case and followed Gordy inside.
---
The Rusty Nail was dim, the air thick with the smell of beer, sweat, and fried food. Neon beer signs hummed against the walls, casting everything in lurid blues and reds. A small stage sat in the corner, its floor sticky with years of spilled drinks, a mic stand leaning slightly forward as if tired of holding secrets.
A handful of tables were occupied by locals nursing pints, couples tucked into booths, and a small crowd of musicians with instrument cases leaning against the wall. The clink of pool balls echoed faintly from a room off to the side.
Lucky Instinct stirred. Not alarmed—just alert, like it always was now. Luke scanned the crowd automatically. A man in a denim jacket with a face like weathered leather. A young woman with fire-red hair tapping her phone. A trio of college kids laughing too loudly. Nothing sharp, nothing dangerous. Not yet.
They signed up at the bar. The bartender, a heavyset man with a bristling beard, nodded and scrawled their names onto a list already smudged with beer stains. "Couple folks ahead of you. You'll go on around nine."
Luke's stomach flipped. Nine felt like a ticking clock now. Every minute closer was another roll toward the inevitable.
---
They sat at a booth near the back, Gordy drumming his fingers against the table. "So, what're you playing?"
Luke hesitated. "That one I worked on yesterday. The chorus about luck. It feels… right."
Gordy's grin widened. "Hell yeah, it does. That one hits. Just don't chicken out halfway, or I'll kick you."
Luke chuckled despite himself, shaking his head.
The minutes crawled. Musicians cycled through the stage—an older man strumming slow blues, a girl with braided hair singing soft folk, a nervous kid with a keyboard playing shaky chords. Each act passed like waves against the shore, rising and fading.
Luke's hands tightened on his guitar case. His ribs throbbed with every deep breath. He flexed his fingers, willing them steady.
The system pulsed again, sharper this time.
[Task Progress Imminent]
Performance required.
Failure = Task Incomplete (Penalty: -8 LP)
Penalty. The word cut deeper than he expected. It wasn't life or death this time, but it was a promise. Fail, and the system would take.
---
The bartender's voice cut through the haze. "Next up—Luke Walker and Gordy Garris!"
Applause scattered across the room. Luke's pulse hammered. Gordy stood first, guitar slung across his chest, grinning like he'd been born on stage. "C'mon, Walker," he said, jerking his head toward the lights. "Time to roll the dice."
Luke rose slowly, guitar case heavy in his hand. The room seemed to tilt around him, voices blurring, lights too bright. Lucky Instinct hummed, not warning, not soothing—just present, like a steady drumbeat under his ribs.
He stepped onto the stage. The mic loomed in front of him. The crowd's faces blurred into shadow. His fingers fumbled at the clasps of the case, pulling free the guitar. The wood felt warm, alive, humming with years of use.
Gordy leaned into his mic, flashing his easy grin. "We're Luke and Gordy. First-timers here. Be gentle, yeah?"
A ripple of laughter broke the tension. Luke swallowed hard, adjusted the strap, and stepped forward. The mic tasted like iron when he breathed against it.
The system pulsed one last time before the first chord.
[Performance Commencing]
Outcome: TBD.
Luke's fingers struck the strings. The song began.
The first chord rang out shaky, thin at the edges, but it carried through the Rusty Nail all the same. The hum of chatter dipped, glasses paused midair, and for one fragile heartbeat, the whole bar seemed to lean toward Luke.
His throat felt like sandpaper, the mic too close, too foreign. Lucky Instinct surged, not with danger but with pressure—like a hand at his back pushing him forward. His ribs burned as he drew in a breath.
And then he sang.
"Road's been cruel, but I'm still breathing,
Luck keeps calling, says keep believing…"
The words left him raw, stripped down, every syllable trembling with more than nerves. They carried his nights of scrubbing dishes, his mornings of aching hunger, his quiet hours spent grinding through Runescape when reality had felt too heavy to face. Every ounce of loneliness, every fracture, spilled into the air.
The guitar beneath his fingers steadied as the verse rolled on. Gordy came in behind him, harmonizing with that raspy strength only he had, filling the empty corners of the room. The crowd leaned in closer, the restless shuffling quieting. A woman at the bar tapped her glass gently, keeping time.
---
Luke's eyes stayed half-closed, his world narrowing to strings and breath. For once, the system didn't flash with prompts, didn't buzz warnings—it just listened. His voice cracked on the chorus, but the crack didn't break it. It made it real.
"If fate's a coin, then watch me spin it,
Heads I win, and tails—I win it."
Applause burst from the tables, sudden and sharp. Whistles cut through the smoky air. Gordy grinned wide, nodding at him to keep going. Luke strummed harder, voice steadier now, the song carrying him instead of the other way around.
Lucky Instinct flared again—this time warm, like the roll of dice hitting the felt and landing exactly how he'd willed them.
---
As the final chord faded, silence clung for a heartbeat before the room erupted. The applause was louder now, spilling over itself, glasses raised, laughter warm. Luke staggered back a step, breathless, chest heaving. Gordy slapped him on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear.
"Not bad for a first time, huh?" Gordy said into his mic. "Give it up for Walker here!"
The crowd cheered again. Luke lowered his guitar slowly, pulse still racing. For the first time in years, he didn't feel invisible. He felt seen.
The system pulsed, its glow bright and sharp:
[Daily Task Complete: Pursue Passion – Music]
Reward: +8 LP
Bonus Triggered: Public Impact (Standing Ovation)
+10 LP
Current LP: 146
Luke's chest tightened. Standing ovation. Bonus. The system wasn't just measuring effort—it was measuring effect.
---
They stepped off the stage, weaving through pats on the back and murmurs of approval. A man with a long beard clapped Luke's arm. "You've got something, kid. Don't stop now."
At the bar, a woman with red hair leaned forward, eyes sharp. "That chorus—did you write it?"
Luke blinked, startled. "Yeah."
She smiled faintly. "Keep writing."
The warmth of it almost drowned the cold pulse that followed.
[Hidden Task Triggered]
Public Performance Completed.
Observer Interest Increased.
Lucky Instinct snapped sharp again, prickling Luke's skin. His gaze darted across the room. Near the door, a man in a black jacket leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable. He wasn't clapping. He wasn't smiling. He was just… watching.
Luke's stomach twisted. The Unknown Observer had followed him here.
Luke froze mid-step, the world narrowing to the shadowed figure near the door. The clamor of the bar seemed to dim, voices muffled, clinking glasses distant. All he could feel was Lucky Instinct burning sharp in his chest, a warning pulse that told him the danger wasn't imagined.
The man in the black jacket didn't move. He just stood there, hands in pockets, chin tilted slightly, eyes never leaving Luke. Not a smile. Not a frown. Just cold, patient observation.
"Walker." Gordy's voice cut through the haze. He clapped Luke's shoulder hard enough to jolt him. "You alright, man?"
Luke blinked, dragging his gaze back to the here and now. The crowd was still buzzing from the performance, people slapping his back, tossing words of praise. But the Observer at the door… he hadn't clapped once.
Luke forced a smile, muttering to Gordy, "Yeah. Fine. Just nerves."
Gordy squinted at him, suspicion flickering, but the bartender called them over with two pints already poured. "On the house," the man said. "Not bad for your first time."
Luke wrapped his hands around the glass, but his eyes slid back toward the door.
The man was gone.
---
Lucky Instinct eased, but not fully. The warning hum didn't vanish—it lingered like the tail end of thunder.
[Hidden Event Progressing]
Observer interest confirmed.
Future encounters: Guaranteed.
Luke's stomach turned. Guaranteed. That word didn't leave room for comfort.
He downed half the beer in one gulp, the bitter wash grounding him. Gordy raised his glass with a grin. "To first gigs. And to not sucking."
Luke clinked his pint weakly against his friend's. "To… not sucking."
The warmth of the moment tried to push back the chill, but Luke knew better. The dice had rolled tonight, and though the crowd had cheered, something else had taken notice. Something heavier than applause.
---
They left the Rusty Nail late, guitars slung over shoulders, the night air crisp and wet. The parking lot was mostly empty now, puddles reflecting the tired neon glow.
Gordy was buzzing, his words tumbling over each other. "Dude, you killed it! You saw them clapping, right? That chick at the bar? She was staring at you like you were Springsteen's lost kid. I'm telling you, Walker, this is just the start."
Luke smiled faintly, but his eyes kept darting to the edges of the lot, scanning every shadow. Lucky Instinct buzzed low, not a scream, but never silent.
When they reached Gordy's car, Luke stopped short. A coin glinted on the hood—silver, worn, its face catching the moonlight.
His chest tightened. It was the same kind of coin Ace had flipped. Heads and tails smoothed by countless hands.
Gordy frowned. "You drop that?"
Luke picked it up slowly, the metal cold against his palm. No. He hadn't dropped it. Someone had left it.
The system pulsed cold, text searing across his vision:
[Milestone Event Initiated]
Token of Fortune Acquired.
Effect: Unlocks special chain quests tied to Observer.
Warning: Fate now intertwined.
Luke closed his fist around the coin, his breath clouding in the night air. He didn't know what game he was in—but he knew the stakes had just climbed.