Chapter 1
When my roommate Bianca and I got picked by this bizarre livestream game, the chat instantly blew up.
We were told to choose between two paths: A: Survive on a deserted island, but with unlimited supplies. B: Survive in the city, but flat broke, cursed with a fresh streak of daily bad luck.
[Pick A! Unlimited supplies? Sounds like a damn vacation.]
[B is misery mode, pure hell.]
Bianca saw the comments and immediately picked A.
She really did get shipped to an island, and the system technically delivered "unlimited supplies.
Except those supplies were toilet plungers, rusty screwdrivers, and lonely left-foot socks. She starved to death surrounded by junk, her bones picked clean by vultures.
Me? I chose B. And my daily "misfortunes" turned out to be things like "getting hit by a billionaire's son," "being mistaken for a top celebrity," and "accidentally getting a hundred million wired into my card." With luck like that, I practically floated through life.
While I was on international livestreams giving interviews about my unbelievable streak, Bianca's final broadcast cut out on an image of her scrawling bloody words across the sand with a seashell: [Mira, I will haunt you even after death.]
Her voice echoed beside me, sharp and bright with triumph. "I pick B. City survival."
*****
Her tone carried a smug little lilt she couldn't hide, like she was savoring a private joke.
I blinked at the familiar holographic interface floating before us.
The system's icy mechanical voice vibrated in my skull. "Participants, please make your choice."
Bianca jumped in front of me and jabbed her finger toward the glowing B. "I pick B! City survival," she shouted, her voice cracking with excitement.
In her eyes, greed glimmered like a fever. She was already imagining her future: riding a wave of "misfortunes" straight to fame, fortune, and a penthouse with a skyline view.
Last time around, She watched me climb from broke to beloved thanks to those absurd pieces of luck disguised as disasters.
And her, the so-called lucky girl with unlimited supplies, wasted away on an island cluttered with plungers and mismatched socks.
She died never understanding the system's true name: Karma Engine.
The kind of Provision Packs and Doom Tokens you get? It all depended on the kind of person you were.
I was just a regular girl, but I treated people with honesty and kindness. So all my Doom Tokens ended up being lucky breaks in disguise.
Bianca, though, was selfish and loved stabbing people in the back. That was why the system gave her unlimited Provision Packs. They were nothing but trash, totally useless for survival.
This time, she had come back carrying resentment like poison in her veins, convinced she already knew the "winning route." And she lunged for it without hesitation.
I watched the determination on her face, the certainty she thought she'd stolen from the future, and something in me went cold.
Fine.
Let her taste the flavor of her luck.
Slowly, I reached out and pressed the blood-red A.
"I choose A. Island survival," I said.
The system locked in our choices. A bright light tore through the air, and I landed on a wide stretch of golden sand warmed by the sun.
The ocean breeze curled against my skin, salty and soft.
Floating beside me was a giant split-screen display—my island on the left, Bianca's bustling city on the right.
The chat was already blowing up.
[Is Mira seriously clueless? She knows Option B is the secret bonus, but still goes for A?]
[New viewers alert! Last round: A = hell-tier mode, B = Divine-tier Mode.]
[Bianca is smart. She snagged B right away. Easy win.]
[RIP Mira… girl's gonna be eating sand.]
Bianca stood on the bustling city street, basking in the flood of compliments from the chat, a smug little smirk curling at her lips.
She smoothed her hair, tilted her chin for the camera, and shivered dramatically. "Don't be too hard on Mira," she cooed. "Maybe she just likes… challenges. I'm sure she'll do great."
She paused, a flash of malicious delight in her eyes. "As for me, I've got no money. I might have to sleep on the streets tonight. I'm just… really scared."
The system chime cut her performance short.
"Bianca Westwood, your first Doom Token is about to hit."
She straightened instantly, excitement sparking in her eyes.
She pictured a Rolls-Royce gliding to a stop, window rolling down, revealing a devastatingly handsome heir.
What arrived was an electric scooter.