* * *

Came outside of the small two-story house, El followed after the man, eventually leaving the alleyway behind.

He looked up, only to be left agape. An unfamiliar sight like never before greeted him. Towering buildings, not made of wood like what he regularly saw, but from what he had heard in the village and read in the books, namely bricks or perhaps concrete blocks.

People walked about in every direction. Some were fat, some were thin, but they all shared one thing in common: they looked healthy. No fatigue nor anguish clouded their eyes.

Everything.

Everything was good.

He had heard that the people living in the city did not have to worry about dying from hunger, suffering from malignant diseases that would inevitably shorten their lives, or facing bandits who would kill, rape, and rob as they pleased if the village happened to be unlucky on any given day.

'I... I..'

'I feel uncomfortable… is this jealousy?'

'I can't deny that this is me and my thoughts. Of how lucky they all are.'

El stopped his steps, silently mulling over it in his place; his sight was directed at the paved ground. He didn't know what to think at the moment.

Suddenly, El found a pair of black shoes right in front of his feet, similar to his own but larger. He looked up to see the man, now wearing a black mask and a large grey jacket, a bigger version of the one he was wearing.

"You’re fine, aren't you, boy?"

Shaking his head, El tried to rid himself of the negative thoughts swirling in his mind. He gave the man a big smile. "Nothing, sir. I just remembered something when I saw all these people."

"Alright, lad, come on. This is one of the places you need to visit regularly if you’re living in Mirthwater," he said, waving his hand in a motion for El to follow him.

Running to catch up to the man’s long strides, El asked, intrigued, "Mirthwater???"

"Yes… This is the place you're going to live. At least for now."

"Oh, I see."

At last, they arrived at the eatery. It was a simple wooden building that appeared old but sturdy, nestled between grand and magnificent structures on either side. Despite its modest appearance, it attracted a large number of people, especially those already inside. Fortunately, there was a spacious yard outside, complete with shade, empty tables, and chairs.

Taking one of the empty tables, the man called for the waiter and ordered a variety of dishes with names El didn’t understand from a thick piece of white paper wrapped in transparent plastic.

‘If it’s food made and served in the city, it’s surely going to be good,’ El thought, filled with expectation.

As they waited for their food, El raised a question. "So, can I have your name now, sir?"

The man raised his eyebrows and replied, "It won't do you any good if you knew my name, kid."

"… … What about my memories, then? What happened?"

"Ask other questions!!?"

"Uh, why?"

"Hmmmm… this time too, I will say it won't do you any good knowing that."

"Oh wow. You just don’t want to tell me anything, do you, sir? 'Won't do you any good, won't do you any good.' How about a different answer next time?" El rolled his eyes, feeling indignant.

"No kidding," the man countered, then looked away.

El caught a glimpse of something behind that action. ‘Is it… guilt?’

"Alright, here’s another question," El took a deep breath. "You are… sad, aren’t you, sir?" He focused on the man’s expression, trying to pick up on any clues.

"Huh. Why do you think so?"

The man deflected the question with another question.

"When you touched those books, you looked sad. I mean, I don’t know how to fully explain this, but I’m a sensitive person when it comes to others' feelings. I could feel it… and you were sad then. Still sad now," El recalled the man’s overwhelming emotion that spread outward, when he brushed his fingers gently along the rows of books.

The only thing he could discern at that moment was that; grief hid behind the façade of strength—a culmination of sorrow. It felt like the man was recollecting something from the past, and was helpless to change the outcome.

El noticed a crack in the man’s bearing, a fleeting glimpse of misery that lasted only a few seconds. Silence ensued. El twiddled in his chair, feeling remorseful. ‘Maybe it was a mistake for me to ask that.’

In due course, the man broke the stillness, his eyes fixed on the void. "The place where you slept earlier… it was a room once used by my daughter."

"…"

"She liked reading books… and I was a criminal back then. So, for most of her life, she had to hide. Hiding for the failure of a father… I remember she was such a sweet child," he stated flatly, as if it were everyday news.

However, El could discern subtle hints of warmth and heartache in his voice. His lips trembled, betraying the unspeakable weight pressed over him.

"…"

"…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," El spoke. Now tears were streaming down his face, dampening his cheeks. He looked down, feeling ashamed because he believed that a man shouldn’t cry.

He didn’t want to cry. It was just… he couldn’t help it. The sheer sadness behind the man’s composure broke his heart. He didn’t know when or how it had come to be, but El, since he was still a child, could feel the haunting emotions of others to an extent.

Sometimes, he was numb to any sensations. But today, unfortunately for him, his senses felt heightened, making him acutely aware of the man’s suffering.

The man, caught off guard at first, eventually put on a smile. "Oho, you could guess it then. No worries, child; it was all in the past."

"I'm sorry… hic…"

"Nothing to be sorry about… You don’t have it easy either, yet… Still managed to cry for an old man like me," his eyes trailing on El, who was busy wiping his tears.

A moment later, in a panic, the man said, "Hmmm, you better stop crying, kid. Everyone is looking."

Looking up, El surveyed his surroundings. A few guests were now looking at their table with skepticism, especially a mother with several children sitting outside, glaring at the man with eyes that seemed to say, What are you doing to that kid, making him cry so much?

"… pffftt," El couldn’t help but find humor in the whole misunderstanding.

Stealing a shy glance at the mother until their eyes met, she gave El the kindest and sweetest smile she could muster. El ended up nodding, replying to her with a smile of his own.

"Hmmm, you evil kid. I give that to you!" the man shook his head with a grin.

Calmed down, El replied while wiping his eyes with the tissues the man had given him, "It’s not my fault if you look so intimidating. Kekekeke…"

El laughed heartily, never expecting to find such comfort with someone he barely knew—someone who hadn’t even given him his name.

* * *

The dishes finally arrived, bringing with them an irresistible, mouthwatering aroma that left El dazed from how enticingly good the smell was.

'Is this heaven?'       

Gazing at the white plate, El felt as if he were on a rollercoaster of emotions. He recalled a memory of collecting a plate in his village, although it had been in pieces. He once tried to glue it together with sap from a tree that grew nearby, but his efforts had proven unsuccessful. The plate in front of him, however, was whole, intact, and exquisitely white.

On the plate lay a dish with a generous portion of meat. Hot steam was still rising.

Meat was something he had tried only once when a group of mercenaries visited the village and stayed in the accommodations provided by the villagers.

They had promised to take him and another small child, the only two kids left in the village, with them after completing their job. Three days later, only the decapitated head of one of the group members was returned, found by a villager searching for food in the forest. The others were probably dead.

"Is this meat? Can I really eat this?" El inquired hesitantly. He didn’t want anyone to suffer or die simply because of it. And he certainly didn’t have any money to pay for this.

The possibility of stealing flickered in his mind like a flame, persistent and tempting. 'The meat is still hot,' he mused, a calculating edge creeping into his thoughts. 'How could I hide it? The jacket looks new, too.' The moral weight of such an act hardly fazed him—his reasoning found no fault in considering it.

"Yes, of course. You may eat it. Other dishes will come shortly. Eat your fill…" the man said, placing his mask inside his jacket pocket.

"Okay... thank you," El murmured, hesitant, but grateful nevertheless.

“Why haven’t you eaten it yet?"

"Uh… I once read in a book that people in the city eat with spoons, um, forks, and knives, right? The elders in the village said it would be rude if I used my hands in the city."

The man chuckled softly and shook his head, feeling amused by the ridiculousness. "Then use them! If you don't know how to use them, I'll show you. Here, like this. And like this. You lift it like this. And done. Easy, right?"

The man demonstrated how to use the utensils while still chewing on his food.

"But I am a villager. I'm not someone born in the city. I'm not supposed to use what people in the city use in front of them. Can we maybe… take it home? I heard that was possible," El replied awkwardly, his face warm with embarrassment.

"Where did you even hear that?" the man frowned at El’s peculiar explanation and request.

"Uh, one of the elders in the village." El sheepishly replied.

"Nonsense. There is no difference between people in the city and the village," the man said firmly.

Gaping in surprise, El responded, "Really? But why is our life in the village so hard compared to the people who live in the city?" he asked, his tone filled with perplexity and pure innocence.

The man froze mid-motion, the spoon paused halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered it, chewing deliberately before swallowing. His gaze dropped, and for a moment, his expression wavered. "It’s because... life, I guess," he said, his voice quieter now.

"Life?" El tilted his head, his eyes reflecting genuine curiosity. There was no malice or resentment in his tone.

Almost choking on his food, the man continued, "Life is unpredictable. Sometimes it’s low, sometimes it’s high. No one can get a clear grasp on any of it. Everyone is different—who they are, when they were born, how they grew up—circumstances surround them. It’s filled with… Unfairness."

The more he spoke, the more composed he became, until all that remained were his deep blue eyes locking gaze with El’s emerald ones.

Knitting his eyebrows in thought, El scratched the side of his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand."

"It's fine. You will understand one day. Perhaps soon. Just grow up a bit more, kid," unknowingly, he sighed in relief. Never expected such a deep, sagacious answer could come from his very mouth. It surprised him quite a lot. But more importantly, the kid’s question was a bit too much for him. After all, he was just trying to figure out if he should order another dessert or not.

"Okay. So, I will use this then," he said, having already observed how the people at the other tables used their utensils while waiting. As a quick learner, El managed to use the fork and knife on his first try. ‘It's easy.’

Upon tasting the food, El's eyes lit up with pleasure. It felt as though his taste buds had finally reached an oasis after being stranded on a dry dune for so long. Like a drought welcoming the rainy days, his thirst was finally quenched.

His body shivered from the intense stimulation, and he resisted the urge to use his hands, straight to grab and gobble the food.

"This is the best food I've ever had… It's really good," he exclaimed, his cheeks bulging from stuffing his mouth as quickly and as much as possible. He still managed to pause and ask the man a question. "What is the name of this food, sir?"

"That dish is called hanger steak with their special herb sauce. It’s one of the many signature dishes of this small, yet most famous restaurant in Mirthwater."

*Cough*

Noticing someone coughing and approaching their table under the shade of the parasol, El turned in the direction of the sound.

It was an old man with white hair, a few shiny bald spots on top of his head, a hunched back, and hands resting on his back. The most noteworthy feature was his mean face.

"It's been so long since the last time you visited…" the old man stated in a shaky, breathy voice. But soon, his words were cut off by the man.

"Cough… old man… cough, cough…"

The man eyed the old man, who was called Tigo, giving a secret signal with only his eyes.

Quickly catching on to what the man was trying to convey, old Tigo nodded his head. "I see. They are on your tail, huh? How about the kid?" he turned toward El, but left staring at him intensely.

Feeling the scrutiny, El slowed down his eating and nodded shyly, stealing a glance at the old man from the corner of his eye.

"We'll talk later, Tigo. Don’t want the kid to hear about it," the man said casually. His tone suggested they had known each other for years.

"Alright," Tigo replied. With difficulty, his eyes peeled away from El.

Truthfully, El felt uncomfortable under the old man's scrutinizing gaze. He wondered why, yet there was a tingling sensation in his gut—traveling mystifyingly up and down his spine—telling him that not only was the old man dangerous, but he was also looking at him with curiosity and... evil intent.

‘They seem to be close. Should I warn him about it?’

Hesitating, El leaned closer to the table and, in almost a whisper, asked the man, "That old man. Who is he, sir?"

“Ah, don’t mind him. Just an old acquaintance,” the man replied. Noticing El’s raised eyebrow of puzzlement, he continued, “I mean, he was an acquaintance of my late father. But I treat him like a friend now.”

“Oh, I see.”

* * *