Chapter 7

• He woke to the hollow ache of hunger gnawing at his insides.
• Groggy, Gala reached for his phone. He’d completely forgotten to tell Mr. Jian he wasn’t coming last night. Understandable, maybe, considering the terrifying, mind-bending horror show he’d just lived through—but still. It wasn’t like him to miss work without a word.
• He pressed the call button, already murmuring apologies as the line rang.
• “I’m so sorry,” he said, over and over. “I’ll be there tonight. Please don’t clean anything—I’ll take care of it, it’s my job.”
• A long-winded scolding came from the other end, laced with sighs of irritation that Gala had grown used to by now. But at least Mr. Jian wasn’t nearly as vicious as Mr. Kim. And by the end of the call, his voice softened a little.
• “Don’t skip out again,” Jian muttered. “There’s some dry food here. Take it home. Stock up.”
• “Yes, Mr. Jian. Thank you.” A genuine smile tugged at Gala’s lips.
• He glanced at the time. Somehow, he’d woken up two hours earlier than usual—well before the blaring of his alarm clock could rattle his brain like a jackhammer. He did feel a little guilty about calling Jian at the crack of dawn… but the man had sounded perfectly alert. Like he hadn’t even been sleeping.
• Oh well.
• At least he’d made the call.
• As Gala sat up, he noticed he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Dust clung to the sleeve—remnants from when he’d touched that thing. That strange, glowing object. A dice the size of his fist that had split open mid-air. The thing had talked. And then—then there’d been her.
• It happened. That wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been.
• He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Right now, he needed food, a shower, and to get through another long, exhausting day.
• But the moment he stepped out of his room and turned toward the bathroom, he froze.
• There it was.
• Floating.
• That same glowing orange dice from the night before—except now, it shimmered with a soft blue hue, casting light over the entire room. His breath caught. He backed away instinctively, heart hammering.
• Then, with the grace of a nightmare, he spun to flee back to his room—only to trip over his own chair and go sprawling face-first into the floor.
• A groan escaped him, followed by a pathetic wheeze of pain.
• “Are you all right, sir?”
• The voice. Again.
• And worse than the voice… was her.
• She appeared from within the split-open dice just like before, materializing like some ghostly projection. Long dark hair, cold, haunting eyes. She looked like a hologram, and yet—she wasn’t. She reached out. Touched him.
• She helped him stand.
• How the hell could a hologram help him stand?
• This wasn’t just terrifying anymore. This was madness.
• “This is insane,” Gala whispered, heart pounding as the woman—whatever she was—stood before him like something conjured straight out of his worst fever dream.
• This was real.
• Everything was insane.
• Gala shut his eyes tight, wishing he could just sleep through the madness and wake up late—preferably to a reality that made sense.
• “Sir? Are you… alright?”
• That voice again.
• That strange, eerie voice he did not want to hear. The voice that only seemed to drag him deeper into this nightmare.
• “Sir, please don’t be afraid. I’m Dice. You freed me… last night.”
• “Get out!” Gala waved his hand frantically. “Go away, just go!” He covered his face with one hand, trembling all over.
• “But I can’t leave, Sir,” the voice whispered, soft and aching. “You’re my master now. If you’re frightened… I’ll stay hidden. Until you accept me.”
• And just like that—she disappeared.
• The soft blue light vanished with her, leaving behind only the strange, speckled cube lying motionless on the floor. Everything around him fell quiet again, as if nothing had happened at all. No trace of the glowing dice or the woman with the chilling stare.
• Gala let out a shaky breath and rubbed his chest, his hand dragging down over his sweaty face. “This is insane,” he muttered, slowly rising with the help of the same chair that had sent him sprawling minutes ago. His knees still wobbled beneath him. His brain felt like it had short-circuited.
• That had to be a ghost, he thought. Or a dream. Or—I don’t even know anymore!
• But the thought of Mr. Kim’s round, furious face flashing in his mind was all the motivation he needed to snap out of it. Gala rushed off to shower, praying to any power that might listen that today, for once, fate would cut him a break.
• Like muscle memory, Gala opened the fridge afterward—fully expecting the usual emptiness. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered. All that ever stared back at him were old milk bottles, takeout wrappers he couldn’t be bothered to toss, and a rotting wedge of fruit in the corner.
• But today?
• His eyes widened. He blinked. Then blinked again.
• The fridge was full.
• Fresh fruit. Cartons of cold milk stacked neatly. Leftovers in clean containers that hadn’t expired two years ago. Gala’s jaw practically hit the floor.
• He didn’t care how it got there.
• He grabbed a bottle and slammed the door shut. That’s when his nose twitched—something smelled good. Really good. Mouthwateringly good.
• He followed the scent like a bloodhound.
• There. On the dining table.
• Roast chicken. Fresh salad. A generous bowl of sauce on the side, glistening in the morning light.
• “Oh my God,” Gala whispered, stunned.
• ***
• “Did something happen to your face this morning?” Marta asked, squinting at him over her sugar syrup station.
• She was prepping ingredients for the drink bar, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she studied Gala’s unusually… well, awake expression.
• He looked oddly bright to someone who usually dragged himself into the kitchen like the walking dead. Most mornings, Gala arrived with a permanent frown, hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted, and clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed since last winter.
• Honestly, it gave Marta a headache just looking at him.
• Good thing, Mr. Kim never lets him work out front. Gala’s face alone could’ve tanked their Yelp rating.
• “My face? What about my face?” Gala asked, genuinely confused. Without thinking, he touched his soapy hand to his cheek. “Ugh, now there’s soap all over it,” he muttered.
• Marta could only shake her head, silently marveling at how bizarre Galaksi Haidar could be sometimes. No wonder people called him a coward and a loser—he acted like one. Awkward. Clumsy. And just plain weird.
• “Gala! Don’t forget to take out all the trash—and tie the bags properly this time!” Mr. Kim bellowed from the door.
• Gala, elbow-deep in dirty dishes and greasy cookware, quickly nodded in reply. His eyes darted toward the trash pile that had shrunk significantly since morning. Unfortunately, the mountain of black garbage bags beside it had grown taller. And they needed to be dragged out soon—before the collection truck arrived.
• With renewed urgency, Gala focused on scrubbing the last of the oil-caked pans. The last thing he wanted was another scolding from Mr. Kim. Just this morning, the round man had shoved a bread bag into Gala’s hands—with an envelope inside.
• His pay.
• Finally.
• It meant he could keep his word to Mrs. Milly tonight. Thank God.
• Still, the smile tugging at the corners of Gala’s lips wasn’t just because he finally had a bit of cash. His life was still a mess. The pressure hadn’t let up. His work environment was filled with snide remarks and underhanded insults that never seemed to stop.
• But somehow, he was managing. One step at a time.
• “Sir.”
• Gala flinched—nearly jumped out of his skin. The same figure from that morning had appeared again, right in front of him. His grip on the garbage bags faltered, and they toppled to the floor, some splitting open and spilling their contents.
• “Damn it,” he hissed.
• “I’ll help,” she said.
• And before he could react, Dice was already moving.
• She moved like light, impossibly fast and effortlessly smooth. In an instant, the four overstuffed bags were scooped up and dropped neatly into the large dumpster in the far corner of the alley behind Mr. Kim’s restaurant.
• “All done,” she said softly, still glowing in that ethereal blue light.
• “Get in!” Gala hissed, pulling the dice cube from his pocket. His tone was sharp, his eyes darting nervously around the alley.
• Dice didn’t argue. Her expression turned into a slight pout, but she obeyed, slipping back into the cube in an instant.
• Gala scanned the area again. No one had seen. Hopefully.
• He was still trying to make sense of everything she’d told him over breakfast. That surreal conversation replayed in his head like an unfinished story he couldn’t put down.
• Where Dice had begun to reveal a very long tale.