The alarm buzzed furiously, but Harry was already awake. He hadn't slept a single minute. His desk was cluttered with open notebooks, smudged ink, and an empty coffee mug—the aftermath of a desperate all-nighter. His body screamed for rest, but his heart clung to one stubborn thought: I have to pass today.
"Harry, don't forget your lunch!" his mom called from the kitchen.
"I know, I know!" Harry shouted back, forcing his aching body into his uniform. His tie ended up crooked, but he didn't care. He darted into the kitchen, grabbed the lunchbox, and stuffed it into his bag. A plate of toast waited, but he only managed one bite before gulping down water.
"You can't just run on nothing!" his mom scolded.
Harry flashed her a tired grin, his eyes red from sleeplessness. "I'll be fine. Wish me luck!"
And then he was gone, nearly stumbling over his untied shoelaces as he sprinted down the street.
By the time he reached the school gates, his chest heaved, his legs heavy. Inside, whispers filled the hallway, every student drowned in nerves. Harry slipped into the exam hall and sank into his seat.
The examiner dropped the question paper onto his desk with a sharp thud.
Harry's hands trembled as he gripped his pen. Alright, Harry… you stayed up for this. Don't waste it now.
The first few questions passed in a blur. He scribbled, calculated, wrote—his focus holding despite the exhaustion. But then, in the middle of the exam, the words on the page twisted. His mind blanked, his hand froze.
Minutes crawled by. His eyelids drooped, and his pen slipped again. His head throbbed.
Am I… going to fail? After all this?
"No… this can't be real… these are all from the parts I barely studied."
His pen scratched across the page as he scribbled down the questions he did know, but the rest felt like an endless void. His mind grew heavy, the words on the paper blurring.
Luck was never on my side, he thought bitterly. Not since the day I was born. If only I had just a little luck…
Sleep-deprivation clawed at him. His eyelids sank, the silence of the hall pulling him under. And then—
A light. Blinding, overwhelming, infinite.
"What will you give in exchange for luck?"
distant yet whispering directly into his soul.
Harry's answer came instantly, raw and desperate. "I will give my life."
The voice chuckled. "How much of your life?"
"All of it!" Harry shouted, anger spilling out of him like a storm.
A pause. Then laughter. "All of it is too much, don't you think? I'll give you a taste… for now."
The light collapsed into nothingness.
Harry's eyes flew open. He was back in the exam hall. Just a dream. Or was it?
The clock ticked mercilessly — only minutes remained. He glanced over the paper again, and his eyes widened. Every formula, every detail, every forgotten fact… it was all there in his mind, clear as day. His hand moved faster than it ever had before. Time slipped away, and just as the bell rang, Harry finished his last answer.
---
Days passed in an anxious blur. The day of the results arrived. Harry sat in his room, refreshing the results page over and over, his heart hammering. From behind the door, his mother's voice cut through:
"If you don't get a good grade, I'll take away your computer!"
The screen flickered. Harry froze. His jaw dropped. He hadn't just passed — he had scored the highest in his class.
This… this isn't real… He leapt to his feet, laughter bubbling out of him as he jumped around the room. He had done it. He had beaten fate.
And then it appeared.
A translucent window opened before his eyes, floating in the air like a message from another world.
[Welcome to Luck and Life — A place where you can trade your life for luck.]
Harry's body stiffened. The dream. The voice. It was real. His breath hitched as the words shifted.
[The Training-Wheel Program has been initiated.]
[Special currency provided. Use it wisely. When it runs out, the true exchange begins.]
Harry stood frozen, his excitement clashing with dread. The path before him was no longer normal. His life had just become a gamble — one where every breath, every choice, could be weighed against his very lifespan.