Pablo woke up and opened his hand.
Two thousand one hundred Beli.
He looked at it for a few seconds.
More than he had accumulated in his life in this world so far.
He got up, washed his face, and went out.
Today he would not work.
Today he would spend.
---
He arrived at the village market in the early morning.
First stop was the food stall.
This ti he did not stand calculating and cutting back. He stood and pointed confidently.
"at, a full kilo."
The seller looked at him with slightly surprised eyes.
"A kilo?"
"Yes."
The seller cut the at, weighed it, and placed it in front of him.
Pablo added eggs—a full dozen this ti, not two eggs—fresh vegetables, and a piece of cheese.
He paid what was asked without blinking.
He carried everything and continued on his way.
---
At the edge of the market, there was a woman selling used clothes on a simple stall.
Miscellaneous clothes of different sizes. So worn out, so still holding their shape.
Pablo stood in front of her and began sorting slowly.
He wasn't looking for just anything. He was looking for sothing good.
He grabbed a dark brown shirt. Its fabric was thick, and its color hadn't faded much.
He tried it on his shoulders.
Fitting.
He found dark-colored pants that looked durable.
Then a second set: a dark blue shirt and light brown pants.
And a black jacket.
Five pieces.
He haggled with the seller quietly and took them for two hundred and eighty Beli.
It wasn't cheap.
---
He was walking toward his house, with the bag of food in one hand and the bundle of clothes in the other, when he heard a familiar voice.
"Pablo."
He turned.
It was Savia, coming out of one of the shops with a small bag in her hand. Her clothes were simple as usual but elegant, and her dark hair was tied behind her head.
She stopped, looking at what he was carrying.
"Shopping?"
"Yes."
She walked beside him with quiet steps.
"How are things going?"
"Better than yesterday."
She looked at the food bag.
"at?"
"Yes."
She let out a light breath that carried no clear opinion.
"You eat well for a child living alone."
"I try."
She paused for a mont, then said:
"The charcoal sells well. The won here prefer it over what they collect themselves."
"That's good for both of us."
She looked at him in her usual way.
"Yes."
They reached a fork in the road.
Savia stopped.
"Keep up this level."
Then she continued on her way without waiting for a reply.
---
Pablo returned to his room and placed his purchases in front of him.
He lit the fire and began to cook.
He was not a skilled cook in his previous life, but he knew the basics.
He cut the at, added the vegetables, and left it on the fire slowly.
The sll of real food filled the small room.
He ate when everything was cooked, slowly and without rushing.
A real al for the first ti since he arrived.
---
After he finished, he took his new clothes and headed to the river.
He washed with soap, washed his hair, and got out of the water.
He put on the dark brown shirt, the black jacket, and the dark pants.
On the way back, he saw his reflection in the bucket filled with still water.
He stopped.
He was looking at a face he hadn't truly studied since he arrived.
A tall child for his age, exceeding most of his peers in the village by several centiters, but his body was still thin. The bones of his shoulders were visible under the new shirt.
His features were sharp, but there was sothing in them that hadn't disappeared yet. Soft lines in the jaw and cheeks that reminded him this was the face of a fourteen-year-old child, not a man.
His eyes were black and deep. The type that makes people feel he is looking at them more than just looking.
His thick black hair, which he had just combed, looked much better than the first days.
He looked at this face for a long ti.
A thirty-seven-year-old man looking from behind eyes that do not reflect that.
Then he looked at the new shirt.
A small difference, but he sees it.
---
He returned to his room and sat down.
One thousand four hundred and twenty Beli remained with him after everything he spent today.
He still had enough.
And for the first ti since he arrived, he did not think about tomorrow with worry.
He just sat, looked at his clothes hanging on a tree branch beside his room, and enjoyed this simple feeling.
That he is walking.
The numbers were clear in his head.
Six hundred Beli weekly from Savia, if the demand remains steady.
Fishing covers his food but does not give him real money.
Odd jobs do not exceed one hundred Beli on a good day.
He calculated slowly.
In the best possible week without stealing, he would not exceed one thousand Beli.
Then he rembered the bag.
One thousand one hundred and fifty Beli in one day.
And the ring, three hundred Beli for sothing that cost him nothing.
The difference was stark.
Days of hard work do not equal one good opportunity.
He was not thinking of stealing as a career in the literal sense, but the numbers do not lie.
Charcoal and fishing are a steady base that keep him alive, but they will not get him anywhere in a reasonable ti.
Stealing is what actually makes the numbers move.
The problem is not the decision, but the thod.
Verona is very small, people know each other, and anyone who steals too much will be discovered eventually.
He needs three things.
First, patience. He does not steal too much, nor too frequently.
Second, the right choice. He does not take from the poor what they would notice missing, but from the relatively well-off things they would not know about.
He closed his eyes.
The decision made itself.
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