"Is this really the place?" He glanced around, uncertain
As soon as he arrived, the internet died. No signal, and he has no way to double-check.
And to make it worse, he paid the taxi extra just to get this far, only to be forced to walk the rest.
The only silver lining?
A small town was a few kilometers away.
The bad news?
Trees. Too many damn trees. Thick and tall, crowding the place .
If he got jumped out here, he be would ten foot under before anyone noticed.
Worse, he would end up dumped in the woods, half-eaten by wild animals.
And knowing himself?
His fat was probably considered A-grade wagyu in the animal kingdom.
Sweet too, with all the sugar he chugged daily.
'No. I can't let those intrusive thoughts win.'
Right spot or not, he needed directions.
'Yeah, I've gained a lot of weight... okay, a whole lot of weight. But I'm still someone who trained in a bunch of martial arts. I've got this.'
Looking up, he studied the place again, taking in every cracked wall and rusted edge.
It was two floors high, with railings along the sides and what looked like a convenience store at the front.
The store looked empty, its windows grimy and unkempt as if they hadn't been cleaned in ages
Before he could step into the motel, he needed to climb a short set of stairs because the whole building sat a few inches off the ground, probably to keep it safe from flooding.
Walking to the large store window, he pressed his face against the cold glass and squinted inside.
His breath fogged it, and he wiped it away with his hand, leaning in closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone.
But it as empty, and the counter looked like it hadn't welcomed a
customer in ages.
Dusty chairs lingered in the corner, and an old vending machine flickered weakly, half its lights burnt out.
'This place looks like a dump. Perfect spot for a crime scene,' he joked—though his hand was already in his pocket, fingers curled around the knife.
Stepping back from the window, he took a deep breath.
His gaze landed on a small brass bell perched on the counter inside what appeared to be a small lobby for guests.
'Maybe the staff is just in the back. All I needed to do is get their attention.'
Pushing open the creaky door, he stepped inside as musty air wrapped around him .
It smelled old—damp wood, stale cigarettes, maybe a hint of mold. But that was the least of his concerns right now.
What mattered was finding a person.
His palms slick with sweat, he rubbed them on his pants and stepped closer to the counter.
Leaning over the counter, he reached for the doorbell.
Ding
The bell chimed. He waited, hoping someone would show up, maybe even smile.
Nothing happened.
He pressed the bell again.
Ding!
This time, it was louder.
He stepped back, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter.
'Come on, someone has to be here...' he was getting impatient.
He leaned on the counter, giving the bell one last, firm push.
Ding!!!
The sound rang out again, stretching longer this time, echoing off the walls in a way that felt almost eerie.
'Is this place abandoned after all?'
click!
The door slowly creaked open, and he instinctively backed away, unsure of what might come out from it.
Peeking out was an old man, his face already halfway in the grave—years of fatigue carved into every line and wrinkle.
He wore a white polo shirt, dark apron and black pants, reminiscent of the uniforms worn by baristas.
'Well, at least I don't have to worry about this old geezer jumping me,''
He chuckled, feeling pretty sure he was in better shape than a guy who looked like he was pushing seventy.
"C… Can I help you?" the old man asked, his voice raspy and brittle, like dry leaves scraping across concrete.
Luck hesitated for a moment, before he stepped forward, "I need to ask some questions if you don't mind.
"Sorry, but the motel's closed. The owner passed away not long ago, so there's nothing I can do," the old man responded, voice low as he started to close the door.
"Sorry for your loss, but what does that have to do with anything? I just need directions."
The old man didn't say a word—just ignored him like he wasn't even there.
"Please, don't shut the door. I've got money. Help me, and I'll pay you. Maybe buy some medicine, so you can live a little longer."
"I'm not sick, and I don't need your money. I just want to rest. And stop talking about health. It doesn't sound convincing coming from someone like you." The old man paused, eyeing him from head to toe.
Luck was a little annoyed by the old man's quick jab, but he didn't let it show. His smile stayed glued on.
"Let's talk first! I'm from Tokyo....Luck Marshal, and I—"
thud!
The old man swung the door open.
"Y-You're a Marshal?" he stuttered.
"Yes?" Luck raised his eyebrows. "Do you know me?"