In the evening after the shift ended, the room was quiet.
Marco was eating with clear appetite. A al of at and vegetables that Pablo had bought from the market. The sound of the fork on the plate was the only thing audible for minutes.
Pablo sat eating slowly, his eyes on the table.
He was thinking about the right words.
He put his fork aside.
"Marco."
Marco raised his head, his mouth still full.
"I want you to stop working at the factory starting next week."
Marco stopped chewing completely.
He looked at Pablo with eyes that did not understand what they had heard.
He swallowed slowly.
"What?"
"You will not co to the factory starting next week."
Marco looked at the plate in front of him, then at Pablo, then at the plate again.
As if he was making sure he had not heard wrong.
"And my salary?"
"I will pay it. Even more than what you get now. Almost like what you used to get at the fish factory."
Marco placed his fork on the table slowly and wiped his hand with the napkin.
His look changed.
No longer just surprised.
There was real concern in it.
"Pablo, if the director finds out—"
"He won't find out."
"But if sothing happens and you lose your position because of —" He stopped and continued in a more serious tone. "I don't want you to get into trouble for my sake. What you have done for from the beginning is enough. Don't put yourself in additional danger."
Pablo looked at him.
In Marco's eyes, there was no greed, no selfishness.
It was real concern for soone he cared about.
"Marco, I don't do things without calculation. You know this."
"I know, but—"
"There is no but. If I decided this, it is because I am one hundred percent sure it will not cause a problem." Then he added in a calr tone. "Trust ."
Marco fell silent.
The last two words had a different effect.
Trust .
In the past months, Pablo had repeatedly proven that he did not speak empty words.
Everything he said happened.
Every decision he made was correct.
But Marco was still thinking.
"And why? Why are you doing this? What do you gain from all of this?"
Pablo let out a breath slowly.
"Let ask you sothing first."
Marco nodded.
"What do you want from your life? Not the quick answer. The real answer."
Marco thought.
"I want to beco rich. I want to live a life unlike my father's. I want—" He stopped. "I want to be soone who counts."
"And do you think this will happen while you sort fruit twelve hours a day?"
Marco fell silent.
"I see sothing in you that you do not see in yourself." Pablo spoke, and in his voice was sothing different from his usual coldness. "Sothing real and powerful that, if developed correctly, could change your entire life's path. But it needs ti and focus that you cannot give while exhausted in a factory."
Marco looked at him with eyes trying to understand.
"What do you see in ?"
"You will see for yourself when you start."
"That is not an answer."
"It is all the answer I can give now."
Silence between them for a few seconds.
Then Marco said in a quieter voice:
"And you, what do you gain from all of this?"
"I need people I can rely on in the future. People I truly trust." He looked at him directly. "You are the one I know more than anyone else on this island."
Marco looked at the table.
His fingers moved the napkin slowly.
Then he raised his head and looked at Pablo with eyes that had decided.
"If you tell you are sure."
"I am sure."
"And if anything happens—"
"Nothing will happen."
Marco let out a long breath.
Then he extended his hand.
"Alright."
Pablo shook it.
Then Marco suddenly smiled widely.
"Finally, I will get rid of the sll of that damn fruit."
Pablo laughed quietly.
---
The next morning, the director called him.
The hallway leading to the office had beco familiar to Pablo now.
He knocked on the door.
"Enter."
The office seed quieter than usual at this early hour.
The director stood by the window overlooking the factory yard, his hands behind his back, and his coffee cup on the table untouched.
He did not turn around when Pablo entered.
He continued looking at the yard for a few seconds.
Then he said without turning his face:
"The month's numbers ca in."
"Yes."
"Production rose seven percent."
"Fourteen and a half since the beginning."
The director turned now.
He looked at Pablo with eyes that held sothing not present in their first eting.
Genuine respect.
"When I appointed you, I knew I was taking a risk." He walked slowly toward his desk and sat down. "Tom convinced , but I was not completely convinced."
Pablo did not reply.
He waited.
"I was wrong in my doubts."
"You were not wrong. You were thinking with a rchant's mind. Doubt in unfamiliar decisions is correct thinking."
The director looked at him for a second.
Then he placed his hands on the table.
"Your salary will beco ninety thousand starting next month."
Ninety thousand.
Nothing changed in Pablo's face, but sothing warm moved in his chest.
"Thank you."
Then, before he stood up.
"I have an observation."
The director raised an eyebrow.
"The night supervisor does not perform his work at the required level. The night lines produce far less than the day lines."
The director looked at him.
"I have known this for a while. But I have not found the solution."
"Give the night shift for two weeks."
"You are the day supervisor."
"Just two weeks. I will make the night like the day."
The director fell silent.
He looked at Pablo with evaluating eyes.
This child had not spoken empty words since the first day.
"Two weeks. If you do not see a clear result, you return to the day."
"I will see a result."
The director nodded.
Pablo stood and walked toward the door.
Before he left, he heard the director's voice behind him.
"Pablo."
He turned around.
"Tom chose correctly."
He did not reply.
He just nodded and left.
---
In the last hour of the shift, before the workers left, Pablo called a small group.
Jordo and three others.
They stood in a corner of the factory, away from the others.
Jordo had his usual face, the face that always carried the weight of a man who thought the world owed him sothing.
Pablo looked at them calmly.
He did not give introductions.
"Your salaries next month will be cut in half."
The silence that followed this sentence was heavy.
One second.
Two seconds.
Then Jordo exploded.
"What?!" His voice rose, and he moved a step forward. "By what right do you? I have worked here for eight years, eight years, boy, and you co from nowhere and cut my salary?!"
Pablo did not move.
He did not raise his voice.
He looked at Jordo as if he saw sothing distant.
"Numbers do not know how many years you worked. Numbers only know what you delivered."
"You are a child! A child playing with the future of people who have families!"
Pablo looked at him.
"I know you have families. For that very reason, I am telling you now instead of next month. So you can find other arrangents."
Jordo's face reddened until it looked purple.
Then he took another step closer and lowered his voice in a way ant to be a threat.
"You will regret this, child. We will et outside this factory, and you will know who we are."
Pablo looked at him.
No fear in his eyes.
No provocation.
Not even real interest.
Only the calm of a man who knew exactly what awaited these people if they tried anything.
"Alright."
He left them and continued walking with the sa quiet steps.
Behind him, he heard murmurs and angry voices.
He did not turn around.
---
In the days that followed, Pablo was thinking.
The raw power he had seen in Marco needed more than these unprofessional exercises.
It needed soone who knew how to refine it.
After asking around for soone who taught combat, he heard at the factory about a man living in the eastern district of Naraka.
An old sailor who had spent years at sea before settling here. He taught fighting arts to those who paid.
Not a teacher in the traditional sense.
But he knew what he was doing.
On one of his evenings, Pablo found him in a small bar.
A man in his fifties, his body still bearing traces of years of training despite his age. Scars on his hands and eyes that evaluated everyone who entered.
Pablo sat in front of him without many introductions.
"I want you to train soone."
The man looked at him.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"And you want to train soone."
"Yes."
"Who?"
"A friend. Eighteen years old. Extraordinary strength but completely raw."
The man looked at him with evaluating eyes.
"And why does he not co himself?"
"That is not sothing that concerns you. All you should care about is your salary."
The man paused for a mont.
Then he asked for the fee and nad a number that was not small.
Pablo did not hesitate.
"Alright."
---
When he told Marco in the evening, Marco stopped eating for the second ti in a few days.
He looked at Pablo with mixed emotions.
"You are paying for my training too?"
"Yes."
"Pablo, I—" He stopped and let out a breath. "You pay my salary and you pay for my training. That is too much. I cannot—"
"Marco."
"I cannot take all of this from you without—"
"Marco."
He fell silent.
"This is an investnt. Not a gift."
Marco looked at him for a long ti.
In his eyes were genuine gratitude, a little embarrassnt, and sothing like determination.
"Alright." He said quietly. "But one day, I will repay all of this."
"I know."
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