In the days following Daniel's appointnt, sothing changed in the factory.
Not in the machines or the lines.
In the eyes.
The workers who used to avoid Pablo's gaze began to smile at him as he passed.
So started greeting him first.
Others brought him his coffee before he asked for it.
And a man nad Lorenzo, a worker on the third line for years, was the most intelligent in his flattery.
He did not praise Pablo directly.
That would have been stupid.
Lorenzo was smarter than that.
He began by improving his work first.
He beca faster, more precise, made no mistakes.
Then he started offering small suggestions for the line he worked on.
Logical suggestions that slightly raised production.
Then, when he was sure Pablo had noticed him, he ca to Pablo's small office one evening after the shift ended.
He stood at the door.
"Do you have ti?"
Pablo raised his head.
"Speak."
Lorenzo entered and sat down without being asked.
He was in his forties, his face ordinary and unremarkable, but his eyes moved a lot.
They captured everything.
"I know you don't like a lot of talk."
"Correct."
"So I'll keep it short. I have worked here for seven years. I have seen seven supervisors before you. All of them were... ordinary. You are different."
Pablo did not reply.
"I want to be useful. Not with words. With work. And if you need eyes sowhere..." He paused and smiled slightly. "I see many things."
Pablo looked at him.
This man was intelligent. Smarter than Daniel, even.
But intelligence alone was not enough.
"I will rember that."
Lorenzo nodded, stood up, and left.
He did not ask for anything.
He did not state his desire.
He left Pablo thinking.
This type of person is the most useful.
---
Cristo was Pablo's next target.
Cristo, the fruit reception supervisor.
The man whose hands controlled what entered the factory.
A very sensitive position.
And Cristo was not one of Pablo's cards.
This was unacceptable.
Pablo began conspiring quietly.
He did not confront Cristo directly.
That would have been stupid.
He began to notice that the fruit Cristo received had beco poor on so days.
Boxes with more rotten fruit than usual.
Pablo noted his observations.
In the weekly report to the director, he pointed out "inconsistencies" in the quality of the fruit received.
He did not accuse Cristo directly.
He only indicated that "there might be an error in evaluation on the receiving end."
The director read it and put the report aside.
But Pablo did not stop.
The next day, he began adjusting things himself.
So of the good fruit that Cristo received, Pablo would reclassify as rotten before it reached the lines.
And so of the rotten fruit, he would sotis let pass, then "discover" it later in the middle of production.
The reports began to show strange numbers.
Losses in reception that had not existed before.
Pablo was tampering with the scale from under the table.
And Cristo continued working at his quiet pace.
Not knowing that the net was tightening around him.
---
Amidst his plotting against Cristo, Pablo had mastered the ga of embezzlent.
The two fake nas were still on the attendance records.
But he did not stop there.
Now he was responsible for two shifts.
aning more nas whose attendance he could falsify.
But he went further.
He began exploiting overti.
In the factory records, there were entries for paid overti.
So real workers did not work overti hours.
Pablo would add overti hours to their nas without their knowledge.
The difference went into his pocket.
In the past month alone, Pablo had gathered over three hundred thousand Beli from embezzlent.
This was on top of his salary.
Three hundred thousand in a single month.
More than he used to gather in Verona in a year.
And the numbers were increasing.
With every new position he controlled, new doors for embezzlent opened.
Pablo began to think: how high could this number reach after a year?
But he knew that everything has a ceiling.
And factory embezzlent would not be enough when he began his other plans.
---
At Night
Marco was returning from his training with the old instructor.
The street was empty at this late hour.
But not completely empty.
Five n ca out of a side alley and blocked his path.
He recognized so of their faces.
He saw Jordo at the front.
His face still carried that old anger, but now there was sothing else in it.
False confidence.
"You're that child's companion, aren't you?"
Marco stopped.
He looked at them.
Five n.
So carried wooden clubs.
One carried a bottle.
It did not occur to him to run.
The strange thing was that it did not occur to him to be afraid.
Jordo said as he approached:
"We haven't caught the child yet. We'll send him a ssage through you."
Marco looked at his fists.
The sandbags he destroyed daily.
The wall that cracked behind them.
These n did not know.
Jordo did not finish his sentence.
One of the n stepped forward and struck Marco on the shoulder with a club.
Marco felt the blow.
But it did not hurt him.
Not as he expected.
The strange thing was that his body moved before he thought.
His fist rose faster than even he expected.
It smashed into the first man's face.
He heard a sound.
Not a scream.
Sothing else.
A crack.
The man's face caved in before he fell to the ground unconscious.
Blood began to flow from his nose and mouth.
Silence for a mont.
The remaining four n looked at their fallen companion.
Then they looked at Marco.
Their eyes were different now.
There was sothing in them that had not been there a minute ago.
Real fear.
But they were five.
And they thought that numbers would win.
They attacked together.
Marco did not retreat.
He moved toward them.
The second man raised his hand with the bottle to strike.
Marco's fist arrived before the bottle.
It smashed into his chest.
He heard the sound of ribs breaking like dry branches.
The man flew backward and hit the wall.
The third man struck Marco on the back with a club.
The club broke in half.
Marco did not move.
He turned slowly and looked at the man.
He did not say anything.
But his eyes were enough.
The man began to retreat.
He had not run yet.
He only retreated.
The fourth and fifth n stopped advancing completely.
They remained standing in place, trembling.
Jordo, who was at the back, began to run.
He ran at his maximum speed.
Marco did not follow him.
He did not feel the need to.
He stood looking at his palms.
There was blood on them that was not his blood.
He looked at the two remaining n.
One of them fell to his knees.
"Don't... don't hurt us..."
Marco looked at them.
Then he looked at the first man, still unconscious on the ground.
And the second, writhing in pain with his hands on his chest.
He felt sothing.
Not anger.
Not revenge.
Sothing else.
A feeling of power.
Real power.
Not the power of a position, nor the power of money.
Power in his body.
In his fists.
In his ability to destroy whoever stood before him.
Sothing warm spread through his chest.
He had never felt this feeling before.
He loved it.
He turned and walked away, leaving the two n on the ground.
---
He reached the room after midnight.
Pablo was sitting on his bed as if he had been waiting for him.
He looked at Marco's torn clothes and the blood on them.
He did not say anything.
Marco sat on his bed and let out a long breath.
"Jordo and the other n. They were on the road."
"What happened?"
"I hit them."
"With what?"
"With my fist."
Pablo looked at him.
"How many were they?"
"Five."
"And you?"
"Nothing happened to ."
Pablo paused for a second.
He was calculating in his head.
"Jordo ran away?"
"Yes."
"You should have caught him."
"Don't worry. He won't dare do anything."
Marco replied.
"Good. Forget about them. Focus on your training more. And if you et him again, just scare him."
"Alright."
He looked at his fists again.
Then he said in a different, quiet voice:
"Pablo, I felt sothing strange."
"What?"
"When I hit them... I did not feel fear. Nor even anger. I felt... power. As if my body knew what to do before I thought."
Pablo looked at him.
This was what he wanted.
He did not say anything.
"That feeling... I liked it."
Marco said it quietly, as if confessing sothing he was a little ashad of but could not deny.
"That is normal." Pablo said after a short silence.
"Normal?"
"Power makes you feel alive. Most people never know this feeling. You know it now."
Marco looked at the ceiling of the room.
"What will happen tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow you will look different."
"How?"
"Those n will spread the news. No one will approach you or ever again."
Marco was silent.
He was not sure what he felt.
But Pablo was sure.
---
The Sa Night - After Midnight
After Marco fell asleep, Pablo sat in the darkness.
His calculations were expanding.
The factory was small in the beginning.
A ans to get a steady salary.
Then it beca a ans to build a network.
Daniel, Lorenzo. Soon Cristo would be removed and replaced by soone who listened to him. Then the other two after him.
And Marco had beco a real weapon.
But this was not enough.
No matter how big the factory grew, it remained a factory.
Its ceiling was limited.
Even if he controlled it completely, its profits would be small compared to what could be gathered outside.
The smuggling network he had been watching for weeks.
Its profits were many tis over what he was gathering now.
But entering it required sothing.
Real power.
Or soone he trusted inside the network.
He had neither of these now.
But he would have them soon.
He looked at Marco's bed.
Soone who could destroy five n with his bare fists alone.
This was not just a strong soldier.
This was a weapon. He needed to develop further.
And he needed more than one type of weapon.
He closed his eyes.
The next step: complete control of the factory.
Not as a ans of profit.
But as a base.
A place to launch from.
A factory completely under his command.
Its workers his eyes.
Its profits a small part of a larger plan.
And he would not stop at this.
He opened his eyes in the darkness.
The road was still long.
But he knew where he was walking.
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