On the morning of an ordinary day, Pablo did not find Tom in his usual corner.
The two cups were in his hand. Coffee no one had asked for yet.
He placed Tom's cup on the edge of his small desk and drank his own slowly.
He looked at the factory around him.
The belt was turning, the fruit was passing, the workers were moving in their usual rhythm.
After a quarter of an hour, he saw Tom coming out of the hallway leading to the management offices.
His steps were different.
Not faster, not slower, but there was something in them.
A different weight.
Pablo did not ask.
He continued his work.
At the same time, a quarter of an hour earlier.
Tom knocked on the door.
"Enter."
The office was larger than the hallway leading to it.
A wide table of heavy wood, carefully arranged papers, and a window overlooking the factory yard from above.
Behind the table sat the director.
A man in his sixties, his gray hair carefully styled, his clothes elegant by Naraka's standards, and his eyes captured everything the moment anyone entered.
The type of man who built something from nothing and knew how to assess people before they spoke.
He pointed to the chair in front of him.
Tom sat down.
The director closed the papers in front of him and clasped his hands over the table.
"Tom, the position of Export Manager has become vacant."
Tom was silent.
But something moved behind his eyes.
"The previous manager traveled to another island for family reasons and will not return." The director looked at him directly. "And you are the most suitable candidate for this position."
Tom let out a calm breath.
But his hand on his knee tensed slightly, then relaxed.
A very small sign.
Suppressed joy from a man who had learned not to show his emotions.
Export Manager.
Every shipment leaving Naraka passed through him.
Every deal, every ship, every container.
And the bribes that came with this position were worth ten times any official salary on paper.
Tom knew this.
And the director knew that Tom knew.
And neither said a word about it.
"Thank you for your trust."
"But." The director said, his face becoming more serious. "Your position here cannot remain vacant. I need someone to supervise the internal production at your same level."
Tom looked at him.
"I have someone."
"Who?"
"A worker who has been with me for three and a half months."
The director raised an eyebrow.
"Only three and a half months?"
"Yes."
"That is very little, Tom."
"I know." Tom said quietly. "But in three and a half months, he increased the production of the third line by fourteen and a half percent with one simple idea. And he runs all the lines completely when I am absent without any problems. And he exposed a worker who was stealing from the factory every night."
The director was silent.
"And his name?"
"Pablo."
"How old is he?"
Tom paused for a second.
"Fourteen."
The director placed his hand on the table slowly.
"Fourteen."
"Yes."
"You want me to put a fourteen-year-old child in charge of my factory's production."
"I want you to meet him." Tom said with the same calm. "Then you decide."
The director looked at him for a long time.
Then he said:
"Bring him."
At the lunch break, Tom sat beside him.
He did not open his food immediately.
He looked ahead for a few seconds, the factory working behind them.
Then he said quietly:
"The director called me this morning."
Pablo did not reply.
He waited.
"He offered me the position of Export Manager."
Pablo turned to him slowly.
"Export."
"Yes."
The word said everything.
Export Manager on an industrial island like Naraka meant overseeing every shipment leaving the island. Every deal, every ship, every container.
And the bribes that came with this position were worth ten times any official salary on paper.
Tom did not say this.
But something in the corner of his eyes said it.
"Congratulations."
Tom looked at him.
"But the position requires that I place someone the director trusts here in my place."
Pablo was silent.
"I mentioned your name."
The hallway leading to the director's office was quiet.
Pablo's steps on the wooden floor were the only sound.
Tom walked beside him with steady steps.
He had not explained much when he called him.
He just said:
"The director wants to meet you."
And that was enough.
Tom knocked on the door.
"Enter."
The director looked at Pablo when he entered.
A long look from head to toe.
A relatively tall but thin child, sharp features, and black, quiet eyes that did not suit his age.
Tom sat down and gestured for Pablo to sit beside him.
Tom spoke first.
Quietly and without exaggeration, he mentioned everything.
The idea of the blue boxes and how it raised production.
How Pablo ran the lines when Tom was absent.
The Rava issue and how he discovered it.
The director listened with steady eyes.
But his hand moved once on the table.
A sign of attention from him.
When Tom finished, the director looked directly at Pablo.
"Why should I trust a child with my factory's production?"
Pablo looked back with the same calm.
"Because numbers don't lie. And the numbers have increased since I started."
"Numbers can increase for other reasons."
"They can. But Tom has known the factory for years, and he is the one confirming the reason."
The director looked at Tom.
Tom nodded slowly and confidently.
The director returned to Pablo.
"If I appoint you as a supervisor and you fail, that means Tom's judgment was wrong. And that affects my trust in Tom in his new position."
"I understand that."
"And you are ready to bear this responsibility?"
"Yes."
The director looked at him for a long time.
The clock on the wall ticked.
The faint noise from the factory reached the office.
Then he said:
"Your salary is seventy-five thousand. You start next week."
Tom stood and nodded to the director with quiet thanks.
Pablo stood and followed.
In the hallway outside the office, Tom stopped and looked at Pablo.
"Don't make me regret this."
"You won't regret it."
Tom continued walking.
Pablo stood alone in the hallway for a second.
Seventy-five thousand.
Three and a half months since he arrived in Naraka.
Something in his chest exploded quietly.
Not the usual calm he wore in front of people.
But real, warm happiness he had not felt in a long time.
The happiness of a man who saw himself climbing faster than even he had expected.
He had known promotion was coming, but not this quickly.
Not in three and a half months.
He smiled alone in the quiet hallway.
Seventy-five thousand.
Then he slowly wiped the smile away and continued walking with his usual face.
On the first day as a supervisor, Pablo entered the factory with the same steps.
But something had changed.
When he walked between the lines, the workers looked at him differently.
Some faces held performative respect. Heads lowered slightly as he passed.
And some held something else beneath the surface.
Workers who had been at this factory for years, some twenty years older than him, looking at a fourteen-year-old child standing above them in three months.
Faint murmurs when he moved away.
"Only three months."
"What does he know about real work?"
"Tom likes him for reasons we don't understand."
But no one spoke in front of him.
No one confronted him.
They had families, rent, mouths to feed.
Not a time for adventure.
In the evening, when they sat eating, Pablo told Marco.
Marco stopped eating and looked at him.
"Supervisor."
"Yes."
"You."
"Yes."
"In three months."
"Three and a half."
Marco was silent for a long second, then laughed loudly, filling the small room.
"You really are crazy."
Then he stopped and asked:
"And the salary?"
"Seventy-five thousand."
The laughter died.
Marco looked at him with unbelieving eyes.
"Seventy-five."
"Yes."
"That's almost double my salary."
"I know."
Marco looked at the ceiling for a long time.
Then he looked at Pablo with slightly different eyes.
No jealousy in them, but something closer to genuine admiration.
"How do you do this?"
Pablo did not reply.
He continued eating.
The next day, Pablo decided to do something he had wanted to do for a while: test Marco's strength. From what had appeared to him so far, Pablo possessed a strong talent, but he wanted to see how strong it was.
Early in the morning before work started, Pablo took Marco to the outskirts of the island where there was less movement. He told him the purpose of bringing him along.
He pointed to a medium-sized tree with a trunk as thick as a man's arm.
"Punch this tree with your fist."
Marco looked at him with wide eyes.
"What?"
"Punch it."
"Why?"
"Punch it."
Marco looked at the tree, then at Pablo.
Then he raised his fist and punched.
The sound of an ordinary knock.
The tree did not move.
Marco's hand reddened slightly.
"Again."
Marco punched again.
"Again."
On Marco's punches, they were hesitant, as if he was afraid of the pain and not confident in himself. So Pablo had to intervene.
He called out to Marco and told him: "Marco, do you trust me?"
"Of course, you are my only friend. If I don't trust you, who would I trust?"
"Then if I tell you that you are capable of destroying this tree if you get rid of your hesitation, will you trust me?"
A look of hesitation appeared on Marco's face, but he could not tell Pablo about his hesitation. Throughout these three months, he had come to trust Pablo more than anyone else.
Pablo saw his final hesitation and that he needed another push, so he intervened again.
"Don't worry. Even if you break your hand, I will cover your treatment, and you will take your full salary as is. Have you forgotten? I am the supervisor now."
With Pablo's final encouragement, the look in Marco's eyes changed. He looked at the tree.
He breathed deeply to remove the last bit of hesitation and punched the tree with all his strength.
Boom.
The tree split in the middle and broke slowly until it fell to the ground.
Marco was silent.
He looked at his palm.
No break, no blood.
Just a slight redness.
He looked at the fallen tree.
"How..."
Pablo did not reply.
He was staring at the tree with calculating eyes.
The Second Test
The next day, he took him to the riverbank outside the industrial area.
There was a huge white rock at the water's edge.
Three times larger than Marco's body.
Pablo pointed to it quietly.
"Lift it."
Marco laughed.
"You're joking."
"Lift it."
Marco looked at the rock, then at Pablo, then at the rock again.
Then he bent down and grabbed it from underneath.
He pulled.
It did not move.
He pulled harder.
It moved slightly.
Marco's face reddened from effort, and the veins in his neck began to show.
Then, with one slow movement, he lifted it off the ground.
He did not lift it high.
But it rose.
The weight of the rock was at least the weight of five men.
Marco dropped it and breathed deeply.
He looked at Pablo with eyes that did not understand what had happened.
"I..."
"I know." Pablo said quietly.
The Third Test
On the third day, he took him to a long, straight street on the outskirts of the island.
"Run at your maximum speed from here to that pole."
The distance was long.
Marco ran.
Pablo looked at him.
He was not impressively fast.
But when he reached the pole and came back, his breathing was calmer than it should have been for that distance.
"Again."
Marco ran and came back.
"Again."
"Again."
"Again."
By the tenth time, Marco was truly getting tired.
But ten times over this distance.
Pablo stood and looked at him.
Marco had his hands on his knees, breathing.
They sat on the ground after the three tests.
Marco looked at his palms.
"What is happening?"
Pablo did not reply.
In this world, some are born with physical gifts that exceed ordinary humans.
Above-average strength.
Exceptional endurance.
Marco did not know what he possessed.
But Pablo knew now.
A card far more valuable than he had expected.
At night after dinner, they sat quietly.
Pablo looked at Marco.
"I want to tell you something."
"Speak."
"This world is merciless."
Marco looked at him quietly.
"I know that."
"You don't know it enough." Pablo said. "You came from a small island where people love you and neighbors know you. That is beautiful, but it taught you to expect kindness from people by default."
Marco looked at him but did not object.
"In Naraka, and in every place outside that small island, most people think of their own interest first. They are not necessarily evil. But they will not sacrifice anything for you unless it benefits them."
Marco paused for a moment.
"And this means?"
"It means that a good person without power in this world is prey. Kindness alone does not protect you. Money protects you. Power protects you. And people who trust you because your interests align protect you."
Marco looked at him with eyes that were thinking seriously.
"And friendship? Is it worthless?"
"True friendship is rare. Most of what people call friendship is shared interest and emotions. That is not bad. Shared interest sometimes lasts longer than emotions alone."
Marco looked at the table in front of him.
"And you and me?"
"In the beginning, we were shared interest. Now, more than that. You are my companion."
Marco was silent for a long time.
Then he looked at Pablo with calm eyes.
"I appreciate the honesty."
"I know."
"And this world you speak of, how do we become among those who are not preyed upon?"
Pablo looked at him.
"Through preparation. Money, power, and the right people. All three together."
Marco nodded slowly.
Something in his eyes began to change.
Not a complete change.
There was still something of the warmth he had come with from his small island.
But a new layer had begun to form over it.
A layer that understood.
At night, Pablo went out as usual.
He first walked through the inner alleys.
In recent weeks, the picture of the smuggling network in Naraka had become clearer in his mind.
Not just drugs.
Prohibited goods or goods with high taxes, and weapons of all kinds.
An organized network with a head that did not appear and many hands moving in the darkness.
And some Marine officers who closed their eyes for suitable sums.
He reached the edge of the island and stood before the sea.
Seventy-five thousand monthly.
Marco was beginning to understand.
And the smuggling network still waited.
But entering something without fully understanding it is the fastest way to disaster.
He needed more time.
He looked at the horizon.
He turned his back to the sea.
The next step would come in its own time.