People said it was hard, falling to the bottom.
It wasn't that hard to Hope. She had already been there all her life.

She swept the narrow terrace outside her rooftop room, a crooked add-on on top of an old boarding house. No view but gray concrete walls and suffocating high-rises pressing in like the inside of a giant well. Only the thin strip of sky directly above reminded her the world was still open. Cramped and cheap, yes—but still better than her last place.

Her phone buzzed. A message from the landlord. Rent increased.
Little enough to keep her from moving out. Much enough to wrinkle her twenty-five-year-old forehead like an aunt in her fifties.

Still, Hope told herself she'd be lucky today. She smoothed down her new office dress—discounted, bought online—and headed to work.
She didn't know she was being followed.

A shadow clung to her heels: bitter, restless, hostile.
Aaron.

He crouched behind a parked car, peering out like a street thug. No choice, she was the only human who could see him—he'd stood out to her like a block of tofu on legs—for reasons yet unknown.

"You hanging in there, boy?" Henry's voice crackled in his earpiece, gentler than usual. "Three days off's enough to get your head straight?"

"One day's all I need." Aaron's eyes cut sharp, arrogant. "I'm not that weak."

"Ooh, good. We're short-staffed, even troublemakers are better than nothing. But what are you doing out there? Still chasing that lost cause?"

"I'm checking," Aaron muttered as he darted to a new cover. "HQ had nothing that made sense of it. I need to see it for myself."

"Fine. Just don't give me another migraine, okay? Don't let her see you. Don't even let her sense you."

Aaron mumbled something that sounded like agreement, switched off his comm, and dashed after Hope down the crowded sidewalk.

That was when he first learned what "no-bless" really meant.

Her cheap, worn-out heel snapped midway. She limped into a corner shop, bought a tube of super glue, and stuck it back together. It held, but the hardened seam ground against her skin with every step, deepening her frown. Still, she chose to bear it rather than buy a new pair right away. New shoes—without a sale—were too expensive.

On the packed bus, the little boy seated near where she stood suddenly lurched forward and vomited—most of it splattering onto her clothes. His mother blurted apologies and offered to help clean. Hope, already late, forced an awkward smile. "It's fine, don't worry." She dabbed at herself with wet tissues and rinsed at a public tap, but the stain clung, and the sour smell wouldn't go. Again, she endured the damp and stickiness instead of shopping—those would fade in the sun, but her money wouldn't.

From the crowd, Aaron raised an eyebrow. Of course—her, of all people.

___

At last, she arrived.

Colleagues greeted her with unusually bright smiles. Her work plan sat on her desk, every detail perfect. Today, Philip would notice her effort. A month of street surveys, sleepless nights, unpaid overtime—it had to count.

But Philip didn't reply. Not to her messages. Not to her glances.
Maybe he was still sulking over last Friday? All because she'd left a little early? Hope considered knocking on his door, swallowing her pride if it meant saving her job.

Before she could, a warm voice stopped her.

"Hope, I've been looking for you," Rachel, the HR manager, said gently.

Rachel was everything Hope admired—elegant, competent, dressed in labels Hope couldn't even name. She led her into a private meeting room. Hope's pulse hammered the way it always did before an HR interview.

"You've been here eleven months now, right?" Rachel's tone was soft, almost tender.
"I'm sorry but... your contract won't be renewed."

That was when Hope learned how destructive kindness could be.

Rachel explained—something about policies, performance, regret. The words blurred. Hope only heard herself ask quietly:

"So... how much time do I have?" Like a patient asking for a prognosis.

"Normally, a month." Rachel's sympathy was polished, professional. "But you can leave sooner, if you'd prefer."

Hope managed a weak smile. To them, her work was so disposable they didn't even care if she vanished tomorrow. Anyone else with pride and savings would have stormed out. But she had neither. Poor, alone, without family, she sat back down at her unchanged desk. Breathing in a space where her presence already felt like absence.

Everyone knew. That was why they'd smiled at her earlier—out of pity. That was why Philip avoided her eyes, unwilling to bother. Even Polly, her closest colleague, only drifted past with quick, uneasy glances—half-guilty, half-afraid. Staying near Hope meant misfortune and risk. No one wanted that.

The next meeting ended without her. Philip appeared in his doorway, caught her gaze by accident. A sigh, a flicker of... annoyance? Then he shut the door.

Lunch went on without her. Through the glass wall of a restaurant, Hope saw the team laughing together inside.

Her fists clenched. Her eyes reddened, tears brimming but refusing to fall.

Aaron, watching from a nearby street stall, lowered the leaflet hiding his face and clicked his tongue. "Tch."

He had seen it all. He had been inside the man replacing the water bottle outside Rachel's meeting room. He had taken over the janitor sweeping the Sales office.

He had heard this girl carried no blessing. No, she was a magnet for bad luck. No wonder no BOH agent wanted to waste soul energy on her.

Hope stared at the proposal on her desk. She had thought it meant something. That she meant something.

Turns out, it was just pointless, demoralizing work meant to make her quit on her own. Except the foolish girl didn't get that, and burned herself out like a moth in flame until HR had to spell it out for her.

"Just throw it away and find a better place. Damn it!"

A low voice from behind startled her. She turned. The back of a man from her team was already disappearing out of the room. They had hardly spoken before. Was he always that... strange?

Aaron slipped out of the man's body in the corridor—had to vent his frustration for a moment. The man blinked, then shrugged and moved on.

___

Evenings used to be Hope's sanctuary: her business and marketing night class. She couldn't afford a full course, but she'd scraped into this after-hour training program, proud of herself for trying to rise above low-wage work.

But after two months she could no longer lie to herself. Theories, buzzwords, illusions of success—none of it matched reality.

"My growing business needs hardworking, qualified people like you," a sour breath whispered at her neck. She tried not to wince.

Robert. Thirty-eight, divorced, self-proclaimed entrepreneur. After a few team projects, he'd been throwing out feelers—which she dodged just as eagerly.

"Sorry, I'm still with my company," Hope lied smoothly. Even if she had no job, she'd never work for him.

But as the class droned on—everyone discussing customer persuasion like divine strategy, Hope felt dead inside. She started to wonder, just for a moment, if she should consider Robert.

Meanwhile, dressed in the shell of a dozing student, Aaron sat diagonally behind her, making the guy's class time more "useful" than just napping. Heavy glasses and open textbooks made a perfect cover. He understood the urge though—even he struggled not to yawn.

"What can she achieve with this useless stuff?" he thought. "No wonder her work life was hopeless."

After class, Robert intercepted her.

"I like you. Really," he confessed. "Are you free now? Let's grab a drink."

"Um... I have things to do..." Hope scrambled for excuses, smile tight.

"Come on! Just ten minutes," he insisted. His pitiful look made her hesitate.

"Then, the coffee shop over there..."

He yanked her hand, grip iron.

"Forget coffee. I know a bar." His grin, all yellow teeth, was unsettling.

Aaron trailed nearby, no disguise this time, eyes flashing.

"No!" Hope tore her wrist free. "I don't want to. Bye."

She hurried away—but Robert cut her off in a shadowed alley, towering, relentless.

"I know you don't have it easy, Hope," he crooned, ignoring her struggle. "I can give you a job, a home. A family. You think anyone else would do that for you? Only me!" His eyes gleamed, unhinged.

"What?" Her voice sharpened. "How'd you know about me?"

He faltered, realizing he had slipped his tongue.

"You're alone, struggling. It wasn't hard to guess." He smirked, trying to cover it up.

Her gaze chilled. "No. You've been digging. Stalking me. You creep."

Audacity from such a frail figure startled even Aaron.

"What did you say?" Robert's face twisted, hand rising. "You little—"

Hope didn't flinch. Her stare burned straight through him.

From the corner, Aaron braced himself. Ready to intervene. Not caring about disguise, order, or anything else.

___
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