It was just an accident of the seasons. The day was exceptionally bright and people were exceptionally warm, so he simply forgot. No, perhaps he had suspected it all along. Just as the sense of smell becomes accustomed to a scent until it can no longer be felt, he once thought that misfortune was something that gradually seeped into a person, and that once it exceeded a certain amount, it would no longer feel like misfortune. But misfortune only grew more miserable as it piled up, and that misery gave birth to even more misery. Misfortune possessed a terrible homeostasis. It never changed. It was diverse.

Kim Ian stopped thinking. Misfortune or not, the current situation was that he was struggling just to put food in his mouth. His balance still crawled at the bottom, and he was still stuck in the corner of a semi-basement room. In that situation, whether a monster appeared outside his house or not, Kim Ian would huddle his body into a corner of his small room and would have willingly offered up his heart if asked.

The latest misfortune to befall him was undoubtedly you. Thanks to you pounding on his door for a disaster damage survey or whatever, his neck must have bent another 0.5cm. You knock on the door, and Kim Ian bows his head; it was a cycle already repeated 7 times.