Lugh Everveil lounged in his seat at the Klarian Restaurant, the remnants of a perfectly seared steak cooling on his plate.
Across from him, Jessica Snow sipped her wine, her elegance practically a spotlight in the dimly lit room.
The air was thick with the aroma of gourmet food and the buzz of conversation, but Lugh's mind was elsewhere—specifically, on the Wishing System humming in his brain.
With a sly glint in his eye, he decided it was time to spice things up.
"System," he thought, his internal voice dripping with mischief, "I wish to be weighed down by 100 pounds. Nah, scratch that—100's too light. Make it 120 pounds, and let it be a gorgeous beauty crushing me!"
A cheerful Ding! chimed in his head. "Wish granted!"
At that exact moment, Jessica set her glass down with a dazzling smile.
"Excuse me for a sec, Lugh—I need to go to the toilet."
"Go right ahead," he replied, waving her off with a grin that could charm a statue.
Jessica rose gracefully, her white suit hugging her curves like it was tailored by angels.
She took two steps—click-clack in her stilettos—when disaster struck.
The heel of her shoe snapped like a twig, and her statuesque 5'8" frame pitched forward in a flailing, unscripted swan dive. Straight toward Lugh.
"Watch out!" he yelped, reflexes kicking in too late.
The pair crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and expensive fabric.
Thud!
Lugh hit the ground first, Jessica landing atop him with all 120 pounds of her stunning self.
His hands instinctively gripped her waist, the warmth of her body seeping through her suit.
Her face hovered inches from his—flushed cheeks, wide eyes, and a cascade of black hair framing her like a halo.
Blinking up at her, Lugh's brain short-circuited.
"Are you… 120 pounds?"
Jessica's blush deepened to a rosy pink.
"Lunch was a little… generous today, okay?"
He chuckled, unfazed.
"You're 5'8" and 120 pounds? That's not fat—that's perfection with a side of fries."
"Stop talking and help me up!" she huffed, her embarrassment adorable as she squirmed atop him.
"On it, princess!" he quipped, easing her upright with a gentlemanly flourish.
Not far off, Xavier Cain—hat low, sunglasses glinting, and jealousy simmering—watched this fiasco unfold from his shadowy perch near the bar.
His fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened.
"The plot's barely started, and she's already sprawled all over him?!"
His mind painted vivid, unwanted pictures—Jessica giggling, Lugh smirking, and a glowing green spotlight of shame beaming down on him.
"Green! I'm turning green here!"
Fueled by righteous fury, Xavier lurched forward, needle in hand, ready to enact his grand sabotage.
But fate, that cheeky trickster, had other plans.
His foot snagged on a passerby's leg—a towering woman built like a linebacker, all 240 pounds of her wobbling precariously as she shuffled past with a tray of desserts.
"Whoops!" she squeaked, her balance vanishing.
Boom!
Down they went, a landslide of flesh and flailing limbs.
The impact rattled the restaurant, a thunderous crash that made chandeliers sway and diners gasp.
Beneath her, Xavier groaned, the sound muffled by her sheer mass.
Something cracked—loudly.
The woman shook her head, dazed.
"Huh? I'm fine, I think…"
A pained wheeze escaped from under her.
"You're fine… but I'm not!"
"Oh no!"
She rolled off him in a panic, her round face creasing with worry.
"Are you okay? I'm so sorry!"
"Don't—ow—move!" Xavier's face cycled through shades of green and purple, his voice a strained rasp.
"Ribs… broken…"
"Oh dear, oh dear!"
She scrambled to her feet, only to lose her footing again.
Thump!
Back down she went, Mount Everest crashing onto Xavier's already battered frame.
Click. Another sickening snap.
Xavier: "…"
"I didn't mean it!" she wailed, hands flying to her face.
"Call an ambulance—quick!"
Lugh, now back on his feet with Jessica beside him, gaped at the scene.
"Three ribs smashed by a 240-pound dessert enthusiast? That's… brutal."
He shook his head, a mix of pity and amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Last time we met, it wasn't this bad. Poor guy."
The restaurant erupted into chaos—diners crowding around, staff rushing to assist.
Lugh dove into the fray, ever the knight in shining loafers.
He knelt beside Xavier, whose face was a kaleidoscope of pain and rage.
"Hey, buddy, you holding up? You look like you wrestled a bear and lost."
Xavier's eyes blazed, locking onto his nemesis.
"I'm… fine," he growled through gritted teeth, each word a dagger aimed at Lugh's smug face.
"Fine? Brother, you've got three busted ribs!" Lugh scolded, his tone mockingly stern.
"You're not 'fine'—you're a walking cautionary tale! Don't worry, I've got an ambulance on speed dial. Hang tight."
"Thanks… so much," Xavier spat, sarcasm dripping like venom.
"No problem! It's the least I can do," Lugh chirped, oblivious to the irony.
Minutes later, sirens wailed outside, and paramedics burst in with a stretcher.
They hoisted Xavier aboard, his glare never leaving Lugh and Jessica as they trailed behind.
In the ambulance, Lugh turned to Jessica with an apologetic shrug.
"Sorry, Jess—this dinner's officially a wash."
She waved it off, her smile warm and understanding.
"No biggie. Saving someone's more important. You know, you're kind of a hero—jumping in like that. Not many guys would."
"Me? Nah, I just can't mind my own business," he said, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.
"It's a curse."
"It's a gift," she countered, her eyes twinkling.
"Well, since this meal's kaput, I owe you a redo. My treat next time."
"Deal!" she agreed, her laugh brightening the sterile ambulance interior.
Xavier, strapped to the stretcher, watched this exchange with fire practically shooting from his eyes.
"Flirting? Now?! While I'm lying here in pieces?!"
The ambulance hit a pothole, jostling him, and he bit back a yelp as pain seared through his chest.
"Show-offs die faster," he mentally hissed.
Fifteen bumpy minutes later, they rolled into the hospital.
Lugh took charge, handling Xavier's paperwork and even footing the initial bill—because of course he did.
Jessica observed from the sidelines, her gaze softening.
"Responsible, kind, and ridiculously charming. Who is this guy?"
The doctor's verdict came swift and simple: three broken ribs, nothing life-threatening.
A chest brace, some bone-healing meds, and two months of bed rest would set Xavier right.
No drama, just a straightforward fix—or so it seemed.
"How you feeling?" the doctor asked, peering down at Xavier's sweat-drenched face.
"Hurts… bad," he rasped. "Can I get some painkillers? Like, now?"
"Sure thing," the doctor nodded, bustling off to fetch a syringe.
Lugh glanced at his watch—past midnight. A new day, a new wish.
He shot a sidelong look at Xavier, pale and miserable on the hospital bed, and smirked inwardly.
"Time for round two."
"System, I wish for a body tougher than steel—unbreakable, invincible!"
Ding! "Wish granted!"
A surge of power rippled through Lugh, his muscles hardening, his skin gleaming with an almost metallic sheen.
He felt like a superhero—or at least a really durable action figure.
Meanwhile, the doctor returned, needle in hand.
"Here we go—pain relief incoming!"
He jabbed at Xavier's arm. Nothing.
The needle bent.
He tried again—same result.
Xavier's skin was like granite.
"Doc, what's the holdup?!" Xavier groaned, his face contorting.
"I'm dying here!"
The doctor scratched his head, baffled.
"Your skin's too tough—I can't get through! In all my years, I've never seen anything like it."
"What now? Pills?" Xavier pleaded.
"Nope, oral stuff won't cut it—stomach acid kills the effect. It's gotta be an injection."
"I've got a recipe—herbs, roots, boil it down—"
"No can do," the doctor interrupted. "Hospital rules—no unapproved concoctions. Liability's a nightmare."
"So fix me!" Xavier snapped, his voice cracking.
"Give me a sec—I'll figure something out," the doctor muttered, retreating to brainstorm.
An hour ticked by.
The doctor paced, scribbled, and scratched his head some more.
Xavier, wracked with pain, finally passed out, his body slumping against the pillows.
Jessica, watching from the doorway, sighed sympathetically.
"Poor guy. He's really suffering."
Lugh nodded, his tone dripping with faux solemnity.
"Yeah, what a tragedy. Guy can't catch a break."
Inside, he was cackling.
The curse had doubled his wish—Xavier's unbreakable skin was his own undoing.
"Pitiful? Sure. Hilarious? Absolutely."