In German number culture the lucky numbers are 3, 4 and 7, and the unlucky one is 13. None of it runs on sound. German has no number word that puns on death or wealth the way Cantonese does, so the beliefs are carried by other things entirely: a legal custom for three, a rare plant for four, a saint's day and a beetle for seven, and the guest list at the Last Supper for thirteen. The mechanism here is story, not pronunciation.
Drei comes out of medieval law. The Thing, the Germanic assembly that heard cases, sat three times a year, and an accused man had to be summoned three times before judgment could go against him in his absence. That is where «Aller guten Dinge sind drei» starts. Vier belongs to the vierblättriges Kleeblatt, a variation on white clover rare enough to be worth pocketing. Sieben arrived through Christian counting and settled into the folktales the Grimms collected. Dreizehn is the number that breaks the dozen, and German calls it the Teufelsdutzend.
Germans are not, on the whole, anxious about numbers, and most of this survives as ritual rather than conviction. The Glücksbringer sold every 31 December come with a wink attached. Thirteen is taken more seriously by institutions than by individuals: airlines renumber seat rows and some hotels skip room 13, while a German living at house number 13 rarely gives it a thought. Carnival goes the other way and treats eleven as deliberate nonsense.