Matthew Ho had always considered himself cursed—not just ordinarily unlucky, but plagued by a special kind of misfortune. It wasn't the mere frequency of his bad luck that wore him down, but its cruel predictability. Every single time, without fail, a stroke of good fortune would arrive first—just enough to lift his hopes—before the inevitable crash. And when the crash came, it didn't just erase his fleeting luck; it piled on extra misery, leaving him to stew in the bitterness of what could have been.
Take kindergarten, for example. His class had planned a field trip—the kind of grand adventure that set any child's heart racing. Two days before the trip, his father received a surprise bonus, showering young Matthew with new snacks and toys. For a brief, glorious moment, life was perfect. But of course, his curse struck without mercy: on the day of the trip, he spiked a fever and wound up in the hospital.
In elementary school, before he'd even learned to care about boys and girls, all he wanted was a fun desk mate—someone like chubby Little Bird Dong (who, despite his protests, would never shake the nickname). For one shining moment, the seating chart granted his wish. But just as he celebrated, a timid, soft-spoken transfer student took the spot instead. To Matthew, she might as well have been a brick wall.
By upper elementary, he did care about boys and girls—specifically, the pretty, popular class monitor who became his desk mate and his first crush. Fate smiled... until his family abruptly moved, dumping him next to a bespectacled know-it-all whose only personality trait was "boring."
Middle school brought sports: soccer, basketball, table tennis. He wasn't the star, but he held his own. Yet every match followed the same script—his team would dominate, victory within grasp... until the final seconds, when the opponents would snatch it away. Three years. Not one win.
High school was his chance to reinvent himself as a top student. He rejected distractions, buried himself in books, and aced every practice test. But when real exams came? Stupid mistakes. Flukes. Scores that mocked his effort.
Against all odds, he clawed his way into college. No disaster struck during the gaokao—a miracle!—but the universe was merely biding its time. His Communist Youth League documents vanished, costing him his membership. Elected class representative? Ousted within months for "failing to mediate conflicts." Studied diligently? First-ever failing grade. Found a girlfriend? Stolen by the student council president. Even a casual outing with friends ended with his wallet gone.
Yet through it all, Matthew grew resilient. By his junior year, against all logic, he landed another girlfriend—one who stuck with him after graduation, even married him. He earned his degree. Found a job immediately. For once, it seemed his curse had lifted.
...
...
Of course, it hadn't.
His bachelor's degree proved worthless in a market flooded with master's holders. His job paid peanuts, demanded endless overtime, and offered no benefits. His boss was a miser; his coworkers, backstabbers. And when the era of "who's your daddy?" arrived, his own father was busy serving a prison sentence.
He scraped together savings to start a business. Just as it took off—just as he dared to hope—rivals schemed him to the brink of bankruptcy. Only Little Bird Dong's last-minute bailout saved him from joining the rooftop suicide queue.
This wasn't just bad luck—it was cosmic mockery. As a child, he'd lived in luxury, his parents celebrated entrepreneurs. Then, just before middle school, his father went to prison. Overnight, Matthew went from little prince to penniless survivor. The universe kept dangling carrots, only to yank them away and kick him into the abyss.
By now, he'd learned not to hope. So when he woke up—somehow twelve years old again, his mind razor-sharp, his body superhumanly strong—he felt no joy. Only weary certainty that whatever came next would be worse.
THOOM. THOOM.
The ground trembled. Matthew scanned his surroundings—a grassy basin ringed by hills, none of the plants familiar. Had he blacked out drinking with Dong last night? Clearly, reality had taken a hard left turn.
THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.
The tremors intensified. Dark specks appeared atop the hills, multiplying into lines, then a tide. Armored figures on horseback, weapons glinting, flooded toward him from both sides. The roar of charging soldiers, the scream of horses, the clang of steel—it all crashed over him, freezing his thoughts. Only when the armies were a stone's throw away did he manage words:
"What the hell—is this a movie set?!"