The sun was unbearably bright, and the summer heat ensured my shirt was soaked through. If I had a couple of eggs, I could have cooked myself a meal using the cobblestone. Why am I running in such terrible heat?

“Thief!”

“Stop right where you are, street rat!”

Behind me a rotund baker and a man dressed in the regalia of the city guard were chasing me down. Well, the guard was. The baker was mostly shouting and pointing. The guy deserved some points for participation. A little gold star for his extensive vocabulary.

Come on! You were throwing it away anyways! Have a heart!

Regardless, the chase was on. I’d either be sleeping hungry in a jail cell with bruises and broken bones, or feasting on half moldy bread in some dark corner.

It was easy to forget how first world Japan was. Sure when I visited distant relatives way out in the sticks they had no internet and had a ditch for a toilet, but they at least had electricity. Here, in the slums of Foso, it made their house seem like a five star resort in comparison. Over there, the authorities would be chasing the baker for selling unsafe goods instead of me.

Towering on either side of me were misshapen wooden monstrosities that passed for buildings. As a frontier city that was founded in the last half century, Foso was known for two things; the first were its coal mines. As the city’s main export, most inhabitants were rather impoverished. The second were the ruins it was built on top of.

With limited monetary incentive, most real estate developers avoided pouring money into a community. The average household will never earn more than a handful of silver per year each. Thus, only the shady and unreputable got involved. A vast majority of housing was begrudgingly built by the mine owner. The end result? A maze consisting of conflicting architecture and winding allies. Some were refurbished buildings utilizing the already existing stone structure; while the rest were made primarily from wood.

Left, left, right, left, right, right, left. Over the fence. Left, left, and under the porch.

My lungs burned, and my body slumped from physical and mental exhaustion. It had taken days to properly plan and memorize this route. Now it was time to see if it paid off.

“Damn we lost him! That little rat.”

“Keep your eyes open, he couldn’t have gotten far.”

That isn’t the baker’s voice. So, the guard brought back up. A tad overkill since I’m little more than skin and bones.

The pounding of boots soon reached my hiding place. A dilapidated porch just big enough for a kid my size to squeeze under. The home belonged to Tom West, a grouch of an old man who was a retired miner. He was a rare case of someone who saved their coin instead of splurging it on women and wine. More importantly, he had a distaste for the city guard.

“What are you doing on my property!” A shaky voice bellowed. Old Man Tom swung his front door open and waved his cane at the guards. “You two turds disturbed my mid day nap! Who is your superior officer! I need to make sure they check you have brains between your ears!”

“Crap, you woke up that crazy old man.”

“Me? You were the one who was shouting.”

Not answering the senile senior citizen, the two guards bolted. Unwilling to continue getting scolded. Every member of the guard knew the verbal storm Tom could whip up should he decide to limp over to the guard house. They could only hope they weren’t recognized.

“Hmph! They have no spine!” Old Man Tom turned his head to the side and spat. “Well, the coast is clear. Are you waiting for an invitation? Hurry up, my knees are killing me.”

Putting on my best smile I popped out from under the porch.

“Thanks again for your cooperation.”

All I received in reciprocation was a wrinkly hand shoved in my face. This damned old fart.

“And my payment?”

Grumbling, I split the bread in half, and gave the less moldy half to Old Man Tom.

“Now get out of here. I don’t want to be seen with you if they decide to double back.”

At least he used his cane to point at which path I should take to avoid trouble. He also made it clear that I was an eye sore and should get lost as soon as possible.

“Oh, and Arlo.”

“Yeah?” I asked, turning around to face my partner in crime.

“Happy Birthday, and may the gods grant you favor.” As he said it, Old Man Tom tore off the best looking chunk of his half and tossed it to me.

A part of me was disgruntled at being gifted something I myself had paid for with sweat and tears. However, for a penny pinching grouch, this was simply how he showed he cared.

I gave him a smile and my thanks, and without further prompting, I broke out into a run.

It’s been twelve years. Twelve freaking long years. Life had been far from easy. I had been reincarnated to this strange world as the son of a whore. My mother was “kind” enough to provide food and shelter. That had abruptly ended when she tried to sell me to a “recruiter” from the mines when I was eight. After a lucky escape, I had been thieving, begging, and scavenging ever since. Better this than buried in some collapsed mine shaft.

I picked away at the moldy bits. Grimacing at how little I would have left over. It would be enough for one meal. Hardly an impressive haul, but it was the best I could do. The chunk Old Man Tom had given me was already comfortably in my stomach.

I had been so busy picking, I missed the boot that tripped me as a hand snatched away my hard earned meal.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Arlo. What do we have here?”

A big kid around 17 years old waved the chunk of bread in my face; while bending down to meet my gaze. He was tall, almost six feet tall, and had a lean build. A shaggy mop of brown hair covered most of his dead green eyes.

“Trying to walk these allies without paying your dues? Can’t have that now can I? There are rules.”

“Sorry, Dustin,” I sighed. “I wasn’t trying to avoid paying or anything. I was just lost in thought.”

“Whatever, get lost,” Dustin said while motioning me like some lord dismissing a servant.

My hands balled into fists, and I failed to keep the venom from my eyes. The joy of a successful mission mixed with the shame of letting some meathead steal something I worked so hard to obtain. That bread would have been my first real meal in days. Of course I was playing right into this bully’s ploy.

“You got a problem, runt,” Dustin smirked. “Looks like your whore of a mother failed to teach you manners. No worries, we have some free time to provide guidance. What do you say boys?”

Shit!

Creeping out from behind shadows and boxes, three other boys encircled me. Each held a piece of plywood that had been fashioned into makeshift clubs. As for Dustin, he reached behind his back and pulled out a heavily rusted machete. Despite its poor condition, it looked intimidating enough.

“I meant no disrespect,” I said, attempting in vain to diffuse the situation. My voice as small as a mouse.

In reality, these guys were only one step above me on the totem pole. They were old enough to have a physical advantage over younger kids like me. However, none of the official gangs had yet to take them in. Until they were recruited, Dustin and his kind were my nightmare. They monopolized the best places to scavenge, and stole from those weaker than them. In other words, I was merely an outlet to their helplessness.

Maybe I should have some sympathy for them, the old me at least would, possibly. It’s hard to judge without bias when the party in question was giddy at the chance to beat you to a pulp. Yet, what was I to do? I had no leverage, and nothing to bargain with. In the end I could only curl up on the ground, and pray they didn’t beat me to an inch of my life. Unlike Japan, I had no access to a reputable hospital system. Heck, I would settle for an apothecarist doing some pro bono work.

The first strike to my lower back snapped me out of my thoughts. Quickly, I rolled up into a ball on the ground. Trying to present the smallest target possible, and using my arms to protect my neck and head.

“Take this you gutter rat!”

“Hey, hit him harder. Let’s see how loud this rat can squeal!”

“You can only blame yourself. We gave you a chance.”

Their words stabbed deep into my heart. Yeah, it certainly was difficult to drum up a drop of sympathy for these bastards. I learned that I had to have my mental guard up along with my physical one. Words may not break bones, but they sure can encourage you to jump from some high place that will.

At least Dustin was sitting it out, his machete resting on his shoulder. That was something to be thankful for. After all, if he really did kill me, no one would look into it. Plenty of homeless either mysteriously vanish or wind up dead in some back alley. No one would miss me if I were gone. Heck, the city guard would find my corpse to be a hassle.

A part of me wished for them to get bored and move on; while another part wanted to cave each of their heads in. I snuffed that violent impulse real quick. If I moved, I would expose myself, and risked more than a bruising. Plus, if I tried to resist, that would only renew their enthusiasm. With three of them, plus Dustin waiting in the wings. It was best to play dead. I was outnumbered and weaponless. Something I hoped would change tonight.

Eventually, Dustin’s flunkies grew tired and gave me one last good kick each before resting against the walls of the nearby buildings. It was finally over. No, not yet. A foot stepped on my head as Dustin leaned down to speak to me.

“You sure can take a beating. I think you’ve been thoroughly educated.” I could practically hear the laughter in his words. “Well? Where is my thanks gutter rat?”

He wants me to thank him?!

The call for violence once again bubbled up from deep within. It was just the two of us now. If I was fast enough in getting the drop on him, perhaps I had a chance. Rise up suddenly and throw his foot to put him off balance. Lunge in close to prevent him from swinging his weapon. Finally clamp my teeth around his lanky throat and rip it out.

Yikes, sometimes I had to hand it to my imagination. It sure could come up with some interesting fantasies.

“T-thank you,” I gasped. Specks of blood escaping from my lips.

“For what?”

“Thank you for teaching me manners,” I said through gritted teeth. Hot tears streamed down my face. A shame really, I had taken that beating like a champ. On the bright side, looking more pathetic should get Dustin to take his foot off my skull. My brain could use the break, in more ways than one.

Apparently I was convincing enough, because all I got was some spit in my face before the last of the bullies decided

“Let’s go,” Dustin huffed and left the alley with his group.

Alone, I let my body sprawl itself across the cold hard ground. There wasn’t a part of my body that wasn’t hurting. Luckily, my assailants weren’t particularly strong. Between malnourishment and a lack of exercise, they were only a little better off than me. Still, that difference felt as insurmountable as the Mariana Trench.

The rumbling of my stomach reminded me that I would once again be going without dinner. At least I had eaten what Old Man Tom had given me.

***

The sun was setting by the time I managed to drag myself home. An abandoned warehouse by the Red Clay River that cut Foso right down the middle before continuing to flow towards the heart of the kingdom of Ferrum. It used to be one of the main ways that coal was transported. That is until pirates started to raid the boats. Are they technically pirates if they only sailed a river the width of a couple soccer fields? Rumor has it, the pirates were actually lackeys for a baron that wasn’t satisfied with collecting mere tolls. In the end, the owner of the mine had resorted to building a road that bypassed that particular baron’s territory. Resulting in most of the infrastructure by the docks to be abandoned. The perfect place for someone without an actual home.

The inside was dilapidated, and mostly empty. Broken glass and random pieces of trash littered the floor. A real dump, just the way I wanted others to see it. I walked up the stairs to the mezzanine, where I slept. It was nothing fancy. Compared to the floor below, it was only a little cleaner. The only piece that appeared out of place was a half broken barrel that was facing down, like a tortoise shell.

Lifting it up, I removed a variety of ragged blankets, sheets, and cloaks. Every single one of them was filled with holes and dirty. Each piece was something I had painstakingly gathered. Lumping them together, I created a makeshift bed. Winters were especially brutal here, but by rolling myself up in a ball, and lighting a small fire, I had survived.

Since it was summer, I overlaid them to create a makeshift mattress. Letting out a content sigh as I let my aching body finally rest.

Today kind of sucked. That was putting it mildly. Technically it’s a miracle that none of my bones are broken. A broken leg meant starving So, in a way, my luck was pretty good. Hooray for positive thinking. I’d laugh if my sides didn’t hurt so much.

I hate this place. I miss Japan.

That was a thought I had countless times since my rebirth. In my past life, I had no family or real friends. All I had were a particularly useful set of skills. Skills that had no transferability to my new life. Plus, I missed the internet and all the convenience of living in a developed country.

I forced myself to sit up and stare at the setting sun. The hope was that after tonight I would be a new man. In this world, between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, people can gain access to use mana. The key word is “can”. Less than one in a thousand obtain the gift. Those lucky few were known as mana blessed, and those who obtained spells were called mages.

It was a biological lottery ticket that could change someone’s life forever. Once someone was discovered to be able to use mana, all the major powers in the country would scramble to recruit them. For a gutter rat from a poor frontier city, this was my chance to obtain a comfortable life.

Watching the water take on an orange-red color, I had to say it was beautiful. Out on the water, a lone lumber barge drifted down the river. I wondered who was buying that timber and for what purpose. Had someone bought some land, and was excited to build their first house? Or was this wood going to be sent to the borders to be used in fortification against the hostile nation of Perdita?

“Based on the best available data, that wood will be shipped to the Barony of Olmsted. The baron has made plans to rapidly construct a new castle.”

“Oh, I see.” I replied nonchalantly. Wondering how much money it cost to build a castle.

“You are most welcome, Master.”

Then it finally hit me. I was all by myself. In an abandoned warehouse. At night.

I wish I could say my scream of terror was brief and manly, but it is hard to lie when there is recorded proof on the contrary.