The butcher shop in District Four smelled of smoked pork, fresh cooking fat, and coarse sawdust scattered across the floor.
Fin stood at the counter, holding thirty-two crisp hundred-credit bills in his hand.
"Give me three kilograms of the prime beef shank," he said, pointing at the marbled red cut behind the glass. "Add a bag of sweet melons, two bundles of fresh scallions... pack them tight."
The butcher blinked at the stack of bills, wiping his greasy hands on his apron with sudden respect.
"Coming right up, young man," the butcher answered politely, wrapping the meat in brown wax paper. "Good cuts for hardworking families."
He paid the merchant eleven hundred credits, tucking the paper parcel securely into his cloth tote bag.
’Two thousand one hundred credits left,’ he thought, feeling the weight of real groceries against his hip. ’Rent is covered... Jolly gets real protein tonight... we’re officially solvent.’
He passed the spice stalls, buying bean paste, soy sauce, and a bag of garlic cloves.
The shopkeeper threw in two extra chili peppers for free, smiling at the sight of a paying customer.
He turned down the narrow alley behind the market stalls, taking the familiar shortcut toward his residential block.
The late afternoon sun cast long yellow streaks across the muddy pavement, illuminating puddles of stagnant runoff.
Four figures stepped out from behind an industrial waste bin, blocking the alley exit.
The three boys who shoved him into the muck on Tuesday stood in front, their arms crossed arrogantly.
Behind them stood their older cousin Brant, wearing the green trainee jacket of the sponsored Baekho Guild.
Brant was nineteen, built like a brick oven, sporting a pair of brass knuckle dusters on his thick fists.
"Well, look at the lucky pack mule," Brant sneered, spitting a blob of phlegm into the dirt near his shoes. "Word on the street says you made bank at the freezing works today."
"I earned three thousand credits carrying boxes," he replied calmly, keeping his hands relaxed at his sides. "Step aside, Brant... I need to get dinner home."
"District rules, little packer," Brant laughed, taking a slow step forward while clacking his brass knuckles together. "Anyone operating in the lower sector pays a forty percent safety tax to the local guild Chapter."
"Forty percent," the smallest bully echoed eagerly, grinning with crooked teeth. "Hand over the cash, loser, before Brant breaks your collarbone again."
He looked at the three boys from his elementary school, feeling neither anger nor fear.
Their physical movements seemed sluggish, their stances full of wide openings that practically begged for violence.
"I’m only going to say this once," he said softly, his voice dropping into a flat tone. "Get out of my way."
Brant lunged forward with a loud curse, grabbing his jacket collar with his left hand.
"You think carrying crates makes you tough?" Brant barked, raising his brass-clad right fist. "I’m D-rank, you worthless rat!"
He didn’t flinch, raising his right hand and clamping his fingers around Brant’s wrist like a hydraulic clamp.
The bones in Brant’s arm ground together with a sharp crunch, the brass knuckle duster slipping from his numb fingers.
"Aaaagh!" Brant shrieked in agony, his face turning bright crimson as his knees buckled under the crushing grip.
"D-rank on paper," he whispered flatly, stepping into Brant’s space. "Trash in a real street."
He swung his left leg in a low sweep, kicking Brant’s supporting ankle out from under him.
The D-rank trainee crashed face-first into the muddy puddle, the filthy runoff splashing across his expensive guild jacket.
The three younger bullies froze in shock, their arrogant smiles evaporating into pale, trembling stares.
He released the crushed wrist, stepping toward the three boys with calm, measured strides.
"Your turn," he said plainly.
The lead boy tried to swing a pipe, but he stepped inside the swing, delivering an open-palm slap to the boy’s cheek.
The crack echoed down the alley like a gunshot, spinning the boy around before he collapsed into the garbage bags.
"Gaaah!" The second boy yelped, trying to turn and run toward the market street.
He caught the boy by his collar, dragging him backward before planting his foot firmly into his backside.
The kick sent the boy flying five meters into the wall, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
The third bully fell to his knees in the muck, covering his face with both hands while sobbing hysterically.
"Please don’t hit me!" The boy cried out, tears washing clean streaks through the dirt on his cheeks. "We were just joking... we swear!"
He looked down at the sobbing boy, adjusting the grocery bag over his shoulder with a faint sigh.
"Tell your cousin that if I see him on this street again, I’ll break his other wrist," he said calmly.
A strange warmth flickered behind his ribs, accompanied by a soft golden chime in his vision. The freezing-works clear bonus finally posted, and the street win tossed a stingy drip on top.
[ Pulse: 4 → 5 ]
[ EXP: 850 / 50,500 ]
He stepped over Brant’s groaning body, walking out of the alley into the evening breeze.
Ten minutes later, he pushed open the apartment door, carrying the brown paper parcel into the kitchen.
A faint, amused chuckle drifted through the warm air of the apartment, vibrating softly against his eardrums.
"...entertaining show, little spark," the Goddess’s voice whispered directly in his ear, playful and distant. "...you play with your food before eating..."
He checked the empty living room, but only dust motes floated in the golden sunlight.
’Hush up, lady,’ he thought back, setting the groceries on the counter. ’I’m busy making dinner.’
The bedroom door clicked open, and Jolly walked into the kitchen wearing her oversized sweater.
She looked at the brown wax paper parcel, then at the fresh green melons sitting on the table.
She picked up the edge of the wax paper, her eyes widening behind her glasses as she spotted the marbled beef.
"Fin..." She whispered, looking up at him with a deadpan stare. "You bought prime beef shank... who did you rob?"
"I worked an honest shift as a porter, you little skeptic," he laughed, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Wash the scallions... tonight we eat like kings."
He set a wide pot on the stove, slicing the garlic and ginger into thin coins before searing the beef cubes.
The rich aroma of braised meat filled the small apartment, banishing the memory of noodles and alleys.
Jolly stood on her tiptoes beside him, carefully peeling the scallions while humming a tune from school.
She helped him set the table with two sets of bowls, spoons, and two cups of barley tea.
He ladled generous scoops of tender braised beef and rich savory gravy over two generous mounds of steamed white rice.
Jolly took her first bite, closing her eyes as the rich savory flavors exploded across her tongue.
"This is really good," she admitted softly, taking another eager mouthful.
"Eat as much as you want, kiddo," he smiled warmly across the table. "From now on, we eat like this every week."
They finished their bowls together, clearing the plates before slicing the sweet melon for dessert.
He watched her smile in the steam, knowing every drop of sweat in the freezing works was worth this moment.