"Hey, how much is this meat bun…?" a kind-looking young man asked as he approached a busy street vendor.
"Uhm, are you new here? It'll be 20 pence!" the vendor replied with a friendly smile.
"W-what!? Do you take me for a fool?!" the young man snapped, his cheerful tone vanishing. "The guy from Gunmatchoko sold this for only 5!"
"Cities have different economic standards, you know," the vendor retorted, his tone growing annoyed. He had been caught trying to take advantage of a clueless traveler.
A tense silence followed. The vendor scratched his head and sighed. "Fine, I'll sell it to you for 10 pence—half the price. Happy now?"
The young man crossed his arms, a loud growl from his stomach betraying his pride. "Gah… I'm starving, but that's still too much for just a meat bun…"
"Then piss off!" the vendor snapped, clearly done with the haggling.
But the boy stood his ground. "Nope. I'll stay right here until I get that piece of meat."
"Ugh… Fine. 7 pence?"
"4 pence," the young man countered instantly.
"That's lower than the Gunmatchoko price!" the vendor exclaimed, visibly fuming. "5 pence. Final offer!"
"Deal," the boy said, finally cracking a grin.
He bit into the warm bun, chewing slowly. Though the portion was small and the taste rather average, it was the first thing he had eaten in two days—and to him, it felt like a feast.
This boy's name was Torres, and he had been traveling alone for three months now.
In the city of Vantumato, nestled between hills and high stone walls, Torres had come in search of something—or someone. He unfurled an old map from his pocket, its corners worn and edges slightly torn from overuse. At the top of the parchment, in faded ink, the name Vantumato was etched.
Just north of the city, the word Gholan was scribbled in bold letters. That was where he needed to go.
'Gholan… He told me not to mention his name when I get there. I wonder why,' Torres thought, narrowing his eyes at the mysterious instruction.
All around him, the village buzzed with life.
"Fresh meat here! Only 40 pence a kilo!"
"Bouquet of flowers for your loved ones!"
"Bread! Warm bread!"
The market square was the heart of Vantumato, where merchants from every corner of the region gathered to sell their goods. Colorful stalls lined the streets, each offering unique scents, spices, fabrics, and foods.
Torres rubbed his stomach and sighed. "Before I head to Gholan, I need to get some rest…" he muttered. Then, with sudden realization, groaned, "But I'm too poor, damn it! Why didn't I ask for more money when I left my village…!"
Three months ago…
"I'll miss you, big bro!" cried a little girl no older than ten, her teary eyes fixed on the teenage boy walking away.
"I'll miss you too, Crisha," Torres replied gently, his eyes softening.
An old man with a wooden cane shuffled forward. "I can't believe you're leaving already… At the ripe age of seventeen," he said with a mix of pride and worry.
"I'm old enough to conquer the world, Mr. Popo," Torres replied with a grin.
A woman, her face hidden behind a light cloth, coughed softly before speaking. "Although I'm not truly convinced you're ready to venture out, Torres…"
"Don't worry, Mother Teresa. I'll take care of myself," Torres reassured her with a gentle smile.
A younger woman then stepped beside Teresa and gently supported her frail body. She looked about Torres's age.
"Ever since your uncle left the village five years ago, you've been itching to leave too… Yep…" she mumbled with a quiet pout.
Torres looked at her, the girl named Trishey, and hesitated. "I'm worried about Mom's health, though. Are you sure you'll take care of her while I'm gone?"
"Don't worry, dear. Your future wife will help me every day," Teresa said with a cough and a chuckle.
"Ahaha…" Torres scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"Don't worry, Torres. Her health has been improving… Yep! As your fiancée, I'll take care of her. Yep!" Trishey said confidently.
"You're not my fiancée!" he protested, face turning red.
"Torres, my child," Teresa said with a warm smile, "Don't worry about me. I will get better."
"I hope you do…" he replied softly.
Just then, a small voice interrupted them. "Big bro! Big bro!" A tiny child came running toward him, his eyes full of tears.
"You're really leaving, big bro?!"
"Don't cry," Torres said as he knelt, ruffling the child's hair. "I'll be back, you know? It's not like I'm gonna die!"
"There's a big chance you will!" the boy sobbed.
"Don't jinx it, idiot!" Torres snapped, but there was warmth in his voice.
"I'll come back… Not like how I am now, but stronger."
"Promise…?"
"Promise, Bon," Torres said, locking pinkies with the boy.
Back in the present…
'Ugh… If only I asked Old Man Popo for 3,000 pence, I'd be living like a king right now…' he sighed pathetically.
Suddenly, loud shouting broke through the din of the marketplace.
"Catch her!"
"Don't let her get away!"
Torres turned toward the commotion. Two Royal Police officers were chasing after a girl—no older than him—who sprinted with surprising speed. In her hands was a glowing red amulet, shaped like a diamond. She clutched it as if her life depended on it.
"How can a girl like that run so fast?!" one officer shouted.
Just as she neared Torres, he instinctively stuck out his foot.
"Ack!" the girl yelped as she tumbled forward, crashing to the ground.
Torres blinked. "Wait—was that too much?" he muttered, eyeing the strange girl. She wore clothing that resembled high-ranking nobility. But if she was truly someone important… why were the Royal Police chasing her?
"Why are you running from them?" Torres asked.
"None of your business!" she snapped, trying to get back up. But as soon as she put pressure on her ankle, she winced—she had twisted it badly.
"There she is!"
"Now we've got her!"
The officers closed in.
Torres stepped between them and the girl.
"You know… ganging up on an injured woman doesn't make you look very heroic," he said with a calm, yet piercing glare.
"Boy, get out of the way or you'll be arrested too!" one of the officers barked, brandishing a metallic baton.
The girl, seeing an opportunity, limped away slowly.
"Ah—dammit! She's running again!"
"Nope," Torres said smugly, blocking their path again.
Onlookers began to gather, whispers growing.
"Who is that guy?"
"Is he crazy? That's the Royal Police!"
Fed up, one officer raised his baton and charged. "Out of the way, brat!"
Torres stood still. Just as the baton came down, he caught it with his left hand—his grip like steel.
With a grin, he whispered, "Crow Fist Style: Fusion Break Fist…"
With his right fist, he launched a devastating punch straight into the officer's gut. A sickening crack echoed as the man folded in on himself, coughing blood before collapsing.
Gasps erupted all around.
"W-What the hell was that?!"
"Did he just knock out a Royal officer?!"
The second officer, stunned by what he saw, hesitated—but then charged anyway.
"HAAA!" The officer screamed as he raised his metal baton.
"Crow Fist Style: Straight Flying Right" he mumbled to himself, as the officer was about hit him— a fast straight came into contact with the officer's face.
"Did that guy just knocked down two royal police?!"
"His crazy! He's going to be deemed as a traitor!"
"Huh?" He then looked at the people who had been mumbling to themselves and shouted "I am a traitor!"
"Gasp! Did he just declared that inside Royal Empire 's land?!"
"Remember me" he then added, "I am Torres Plosia!"