6:30 p.m. – Construction site on the outskirts of a southern border city.
The site was still busy and full of noise.
Workers moved back and forth, carrying wood planks, metal, and tools—anything contributing to the rise of the half-finished structure toward its completion. Dust hung in the air, glowing under the fading sunlight.
The day was nearing its end, pushing with it its lot of labor to a close.
"Alright, that's enough for today! Line up and get your pay!"
A voice cut through the noise and, like a signal, the workers one by one dropped whatever they were doing and hurried toward it.
All except one.
A young man stayed behind.
Dark-skinned, lean, and tall, looking to be in his late teens. He had short black hair and sharp amber eyes.
His name was Gil.
Unlike the others, he wore no protective gear—just a worn but clean brown shirt and black pants. While the others ran off, he carefully placed the planks he had been carrying in their designated place, making sure that everything was in order before leaving too.
Only then did he head toward the formed line.
By the time he arrived, he was last.
One by one, the workers received their pay and left. When it was finally his turn, Gil stepped forward.
Facing him was a round-bellied, middle-aged man with a wide, unsettling smile on his face.
And without knowing why... a chill ran down Gil's spine.
Gil had started working here four months ago.
At first, everything had been "fine." As fine as things could go for someone like him. An orphan, a foreigner, and a legally minor one at that. And worst of all: desperate for work.
Not a great mix.
The manager had taken full advantage of that.
"A trial period," he had said.
Reduced pay—100 credits instead of the promised 300.
No equipment either, because he was "not officially hired yet."
A cheap excuse.
But Gil had accepted, since he needed the job.
So he worked hard, every day, without complaining.
And now, after months of scraping by, the trial period was supposed to be over.
He would finally be paid normally starting this month.
But now, looking at the man's smile—Gil already knew things were not going to pan out well for him.
The manager handed him a single bill.
It was a bill of 100 credits.
Gil stared at it in silence for a long time.
In fact, 300 was not much to begin with. Not for that kind of work. Not with the risk of injuries, the exhaustion, and the lack of insurance.
Let alone a mere 100.
"Hey," Gil said quietly. "I think you made a mistake."
The manager turned slowly, a fake look of surprise on his face.
"Oh? Did I now?" he said, his eyes shifting. Then he snapped his fingers, as if something had come to mind. "Ah! Right, your trial period ended, didn't it? My mistake."
He sighed, pretending to think.
"Tell you what—I don't have the rest on me right now. I will give it to you next month. Sound good?"
Gil's face darkened, and he did not answer right away.
Something... felt off.
Very off.
Finally, Gil said flatly: "I don't think so. I want my pay in full. Now."
The manager's smile thinned visibly.
"...Are you sure you want to make this a problem?" His tone dropped. "It'd be a shame if your time here ended right after your trial, wouldn't it?"
After a pause, he added: "I am trying to look out for you here."
The threat was obvious.
Gil's breathing got rough, and he clenched his fingers into fists, his jaw tightening.
Months of that "trial" had long worn his patience thin.
Enough.
He took a step forward, ready to punch—
—And suddenly, the world slowed down.
A cold shiver ran up his spine.
His heart began to beat faster, much faster. A feeling of profound unease welled up in his mind, followed by another impression.
Someone or... something was watching him.
Not hostile.
Not friendly either.
Just... there.
Observing.
Waiting.
Judging.
And from somewhere deep inside Gil, a quiet certitude formed.
If he acted now, something bad would happen.
Very bad.
Gil froze. His thoughts raced.
Where is this coming from?
His eyes flicked to the manager before dismissing him.
Not him. From the man, though he could feel ill intent, it was not as unsettling as the weight behind that gaze.
But he was involved, one way or another; of that, Gil was almost sure.
Having thought that far, Gil exhaled slowly. Then—he took a step back.
"I see," he said calmly.
The sudden shift in his demeanor made the manager blink in surprise. A moment ago, the kid looked ready to throw hands. But now? Completely calm.
Strange brat.
And he wasn't finished being surprised, as Gil said: "Then I quit."
He extended his hand. "So give me the rest of my money. I won't be coming back."
The manager froze. "Y-you..."
For a second, anger flared across his face. But then—he hesitated. More people were watching now.
Not good... if this escalates...
Grinding his teeth, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the remaining money.
200 credits.
Gil took them. His eyes narrowed slightly—but he said nothing more then.
Looking deeply at the man's red face from repressed anger, he felt a tad better.
"It was a pleasure," he said with a faint, mocking smile.
Then he turned and walked away.
Behind him, the manager's expression darkened. Just for a second, something ugly flickered in his eyes.
Gil felt it and his smile faded, his expression hardening.
Something's wrong.
Around them, the other workers still there pretended not to notice the scene. Some sighed. Some looked away.
No one intervened.
Once outside of the site, Gil didn't slow down. He kept walking.
Faster.
And faster.
Then—he ran.
His mind raced. The manager's behavior was odd, to say the least.
Too aggressive, too deliberate.
Almost like—he had been trying to provoke him. Push him. Force a reaction.
After all the time he had worked there, Gil had a good idea of the man's personality. He was greedy, cunning, and domineering.
The type to bully the weak and fear the strong.
But greed alone couldn't explain the scene that had just taken place.
Because Gil alone was doing the work of five grown men, which would have helped complete the construction sooner and, in doing so, bring in much more money than the amount he had refused to pay.
Why then alienate such a capable worker?
Before the trial, it could have been explained, but after?
For someone like that, the loss in doing so outweighed the gains.
And there was that feeling earlier. That gaze that followed.
Gil clenched his teeth.
That feeling—it had never been wrong before, not even once.
So, Gil trusted it.
And because he trusted it, he ran.
Because this time—something about it feels—no, was different.
Back at the construction site.
Once the workers had left, the manager hurried back to his office.
His face was dark and his steps unsteady. He muttered curses under his breath at Gil with every step he took.
He paused at the door, took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down before stepping inside.
Carefully, he shut the door behind him.
Two figures were already there.
The manager immediately bowed deeply. "I'm sorry… I failed."
Receiving no response he continued.
His voice trembled. "I did everything as instructed. That kid—he should have reacted. I'm sure he was about to… but suddenly he stopped. I don't understand why…"
Truly, even now, he still didn't know where it had gone wrong.
The task was easy—at least, he had thought so. He had been asked to rile up the kid, to push him to resort to violence.
Simple enough, he had thought.
He was up against a brat in his eyes and had plenty of ways to force him to act impulsively.
And he had almost succeeded.
The manager was no fool; he knew that the kid must have been resentful toward him but was holding it in, so he chose to use that against him.
Usually, he knew not to push the workers too much. After all, he needed them to do the heavy lifting; it was certainly not with his beer belly that he could handle that kind of work.
As Gil suspected, the man also found losing a fine worker a pity, but alas... against those people...
Sweat rolled down his face.
Gone was the domineering man the workers knew.
In front of these two, he looked… small.
Terrified.
One of the figures, the taller one, finally spoke.
"Hmm… not the outcome I expected."
His voice was calm, almost amused.
"But not a bad result either."
The manager blinked in confusion.
"N-not bad, sir…?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He stood near the window wearing a gray cloak and a mask.
His presence alone filled the room with pressure.
From there, he could see the scene earlier without being seen.
Without looking at the manager, he murmured: "Did he… sense me?"
The second figure scoffed. "That's impossible, Sir. Someone from a place like this?"
From his voice, one could guess he was a younger man.
His tone was full of disdain:
"He just ran away like a coward."
Obviously, he wasn't impressed by Gil's conduct.
Silence filled the room.
Then—
"After all these years," the first man said quietly, "it seems you still haven't learned much."
The younger man froze. "...My apologies."
But his eyes hardened slightly.
I still don't see what's so special about that brat.
The masked man ignored him.
Instead, he replayed the scene in his mind. Gil's clenched fists, his anger.
That moment—when everything stopped.
"...No," he muttered. "That kid doesn't strike me as a coward."
Then why?
A faint smile formed beneath his mask.
"Interesting."
Who would have thought?
He had expected another boring task.
He had wanted to finish it quickly and be done with it.
But now?
His curiosity was piqued.
Neither the manager nor the younger man dared to speak.
After a while, the masked man turned toward the door.
"We're leaving," he said. "And you—"
He finally glanced at the manager.
"…You never saw us."
The manager nodded frantically. "Y-yes, of course—"
He never finished.
A sudden pressure crushed his chest; his eyes widened in pain and horror.
From his opening and closing mouth, it looked like he wanted to say something but... no sound came out.
Then—he collapsed. Dead.
Silence filled the room once more.
The younger man shuddered slightly.
Even after all this time… he still wasn't used to it.
"Loose ends," the masked man said calmly. Then he walked out.
Far from the site, Gil kept running.
He didn't know why—but deep down, he felt that his time was running out.