Chapter 1: The Boy Who Is Loved by Fate

It was the kind of rainy September day that London was known for. The sky, heavy with dark clouds, poured down in a steady rhythm, blending seamlessly with the hurried bustle of the city. Pedestrians navigated through puddles, indifferent to the wet and cold. Some rushed to their jobs, while others begged for spare change, their voices drowned by the hum of the crowd. A few made their living by guiding tourists, the ever-present wanderers in this concrete jungle.

Among them, however, one boy stood out.

His presence wasn't anything particularly striking at first glance—he wore a simple outfit: a jacket, black trousers, and a green hoodie. But something about him felt... out of place. His face, youthful but marked by a strange scar across his left eye, gave him an air of mystery. His chestnut hair, slightly unkempt, seemed to move with a life of its own, and his eyes—a bright, piercing green—held an intensity that was both unsettling and captivating.

The station was crowded, the sound of trains arriving and departing filling the air with their steam and mechanical groans. But for the boy, it felt as if everything was happening in slow motion.

A train's whistle pierced through the din, signaling its arrival, and the boy stepped forward, ready to disembark.

"Yosh! I finally arrived," he murmured, an odd sense of excitement in his voice. He could feel his heart racing—this was a step toward something new. Toward a purpose.

But as he made his way to the platform, the stairs near him suddenly collapsed, and the boy found himself tumbling unceremoniously to the ground. Swoosh! Bam!

The sound of his fall was sharp, drawing the attention of several nearby passengers. But before anyone could truly react, they were already lost in their own worlds—no one even spared him a second glance.

"Well, this is just great," he muttered to himself, rubbing his sore backside. "My luck really is terrible..."

A small, peculiar creature buzzed past his face just as he was getting up. Its round body was adorned with a cross, and it had small wings fluttering at its sides. The creature was no larger than the palm of his hand, but it was undeniably strange.

The boy, brushing off the dirt, smiled at the creature. "Are you worried about me, Tim?"

The creature, Timcampy, hovered in front of him, its expression one of gentle concern. It chirped softly, its wings flapping slowly, almost as if trying to reassure him.

With a soft chuckle, Makoto patted the creature's head. "I'm fine. Just a little bit of bad luck, that's all."

Makoto stood up, brushing the dirt from his jacket. His eyes shifted to the towering Big Ben in the distance, its clock face clearly visible through the fog and rain.

"So this is London, huh?" he muttered to himself, his tone more curious than impressed.

He glanced down at Timcampy, which had been hovering nearby, its glowing eyes fixed on him.

"Tim," Makoto began, his voice a little more serious now, "Is there really an Akuma here?"

The small creature bobbed its head, pointing in the direction of the Big Ben with a sense of urgency.

Makoto let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Akumas, huh? Still can't say I'm looking forward to facing one..."

The thought of battling those monstrous creatures caused a knot to form in his stomach. But then, as his mind drifted back to his purpose—his true calling—another memory came rushing back.

~Flashback~

"Oi, brat! How long has it been since you became my disciple?"

A loud voice echoed through the room, and Makoto winced, his head instinctively lowering. The man sitting across from him, a red-haired exorcist in uniform, was nursing a bottle of wine as he stared at Makoto, annoyance evident on his face.

Makoto, still kneeling in the traditional dogeza, hesitated. "Uh... three years, Master...?"

The man chuckled, a sardonic grin curling his lips. "That's right. And how old are you now, brat?"

"Fifteen?" Makoto replied hesitantly, eyes still cast downward.

"Right again," his master continued, throwing his wine glass aside carelessly. "Three years, and you're still a far cry from perfect. You can barely kill an Akuma without tripping over yourself! And don't get me started on your terrible luck... It's costing me more than I care to admit."

Makoto winced at his master's words. There was a familiar sting in the air, one that told him this conversation was heading toward something unpleasant.

"W-What are you getting at...?"

His master leaned forward, eyes narrowing. A small hammer appeared in his hand, its gleaming surface cold and threatening.

"Nothing much..." he said, his tone light. "Just thinking of making you step up a level. Time for some practical training."

Makoto blinked, confusion clouding his mind. "Practical training?"

The exorcist's grin widened. "You'll be joining the Black Order, brat. You'll become an Exorcist—just like me."

The words hit Makoto like a ton of bricks. His body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. "E-Ehh!? What do you mean by that!?"

Without another word, his master rose from his chair, his expression cold. With a swift motion, the hammer came down on Makoto's head with an almost casual force.

~Back to the few minutes ago~

Makoto awoke with a sharp gasp, his body disoriented. The rhythmic rocking of the train, the soft murmur of passengers, all faded into the background as he tried to process what had just happened.

His mind, still cloudy from the hit he took, tried to settle on the reality of it all. He was on a train, headed to London, to join the Black Order, a place he never thought he'd find himself.

"So this is it," he murmured, rubbing his forehead where the bruise still throbbed. "This is the life I've chosen."

Timcampy fluttered next to him, its tiny form hovering with a quiet hum. It was as though the creature was trying to soothe him, offering a sense of calm.

Makoto, however, was far from calm. The weight of his master's expectations pressed heavily on him.

But then, his hand began to glow—a familiar sensation of his Innocence stirring to life. The air around him seemed to crackle as a golden slot machine materialized in front of him. His hand, now a conduit for this strange power, seemed to pulse with possibilities.

With a deep breath, he reached out. The reels began to spin.

The symbols flashed before his eyes: Strength, Speed, Perception, Luck—they shifted so fast, he couldn't keep track. His heart raced, the tension building with each passing second. And then, the reels stopped.

The final symbol locked into place.

[Buff Unlocked: Fortuna's Favor]

Makoto felt a surge of power, like a bolt of lightning coursing through his body. His senses sharpened, and the world around him seemed to slow. His perception of everything—every detail—became painfully clear.

"That was close..." Makoto muttered under his breath. He stood, glancing toward Timcampy. "Well, that's one way to start the day."

His gaze turned toward the city as the train pulled closer to his destination.

"London, huh? I don't know what's waiting for me there, but... I'll face it. One spin at a time."

End of Chapter 1