In Japan, the latest craze was neither technological nor trendy fashion but rather a fluffy, oversized pigeon suit that had somehow become the mascot for "feeling lucky." It started when Tanaka Yuto, a mild-mannered office worker, wore the suit as a joke to his company’s annual “Bring Your Own Weird” day. His pigeon debut was met with unexpected fervor: giggles turned to belly laughs, and by the end of the day, it had spread to every corner of the office.
The pigeon suit was enormous, making Yuto look like a rotund bird with short, rubbery wings that flapped with dramatic flair. Yuto, being modest, never thought much of it—until one day, when he received an invitation from the local TV station asking him to appear on their new show, The Lucky Quirk. It was a variety show where people showcased their good luck charms, from cats who performed tricks to grandmothers who could predict the exact moment the rice cooker would beep.
Yuto’s pigeon suit caught the attention of Shiraishi Eiko, an ambitious producer known for her flair for the dramatic and her love for peculiarity. Eiko was convinced that the suit was charmed. Rumor had it that anyone who touched it would experience a day of unparalleled luck. And so, Yuto found himself clucking around on live television, squawking as the audience cackled. He didn’t expect much—just a few minutes of awkward fame, then back to spreadsheets and company memos.
But that was before the suit’s powers seemed to manifest. As Yuto stumbled and flailed mid-skit, trying to peck at imaginary corn, a loud crack echoed in the studio. A set piece, a huge decorative cherry blossom tree, came loose and swayed ominously. Just as panic rippled through the crowd, Yuto’s arm feathers fluttered and, in an act of sheer comedy gold, he launched himself forward, knocking the tree upright with a dramatic thud.
The crowd erupted in cheers, and Eiko’s eyes gleamed with the recognition of true television magic. The show’s ratings soared overnight, with Yuto’s pigeon saving the day turning into a viral sensation. #PigeonHero trended across Japan, and Yuto’s life took a wild turn. He was suddenly the nation’s most beloved accidental hero.
The following week, a shady but hilariously bumbling entrepreneur, Saito Masaru, decided he needed Yuto’s suit. He believed it was his ticket to finally cracking the market for “Lucky Charms You Can Wear.” Masaru planned a heist worthy of a third-rate action film. He gathered his cronies, a group of oddballs with more enthusiasm than skill, who tried to infiltrate Yuto’s tiny apartment dressed as pest control officers.
What ensued was a comedy of errors. Yuto, in his pigeon suit (he’d started wearing it at home for luck, naturally), was watering his plants when he heard a clatter. Turning around, he saw one of the henchmen dangling awkwardly out of a window, half-caught in the frame like a scene from a slapstick show. Another man, dressed in a uniform two sizes too small, tried to roll under a table but managed to get stuck, flailing like a turtle.
Eiko, who had been visiting Yuto to pitch a Pigeon Hero spin-off, witnessed the chaos. In a burst of both panic and inspiration, she whipped out her phone, broadcasting the scene live on social media. The audience ate it up, watching in delight as Yuto, still in his pigeon suit, squawked furiously while chasing away the intruders with a broom. His angry bird impression was spot-on.
The police arrived, equally amused and confused, to find a man dressed as a pigeon squawking orders at grown men cowering behind his couch. Masaru and his crew were taken into custody, their heist foiled by what the media would soon call The Great Pigeon Guard.
Yuto, now hailed as a national hero twice over, sat in his pigeon suit as Eiko laughed beside him. “You’re the luckiest bird alive,” she said, still breathless from laughter.
“I think the suit is,” Yuto said with a grin, flapping his ridiculous wings.
The city roared with laughter as the clip played on giant billboards and on every news channel. Yuto received offers to appear in commercials, invitations to official events, and a lifetime supply of corn snacks from an enthusiastic snack company.
As the sun set over Tokyo, Yuto sat on his tiny balcony, the pigeon suit at his side, feeling the warm breeze. For a man who once lived by the clock and paycheck, life had become wildly unpredictable—and happily so.