The afternoon sun hung high above the city when the square began to grow restless.

  By this time of day most of the merchants had settled fully into their routines. The shouting had softened slightly, replaced by the steady hum of bargaining voices and clinking coins. Servants moved through the market carrying baskets of food while travelers passed between stalls searching for supplies before evening.

  Chunma sat quietly against the stone wall beside Min, his bowl resting on the pavement in front of him.

  Several coins had gathered inside throughout the day, along with a small piece of bread someone had dropped earlier.

  Min looked down at his own bowl with mild satisfaction.

  “Not bad,” he muttered, counting the coins with his fingers. “If we keep this up another hour we’ll have more than yesterday.”

  Chunma said nothing.

  His eyes continued drifting across the square.

  The movements of the crowd fascinated him. Merchants arguing with customers, servants rushing between errands, beggars silently watching the world pass by around them.

  The Beggar Sect was scattered everywhere.

  Some sat openly along the walls.

  Others leaned casually against stalls.

  A few wandered through the crowds pretending to search for food scraps while quietly listening to conversations drifting through the market.

  They were beggars.

  But they were also observers.

  Collectors of information.

  Min stretched his arms above his head and sighed.

  “My back’s starting to hurt.”

  “That is expected,” Chunma replied.

  Min glanced at him.

  “You talk like some ancient scholar sometimes.”

  Chunma ignored the comment.

  Across the square, a merchant dropped a copper coin into the bowl of an elderly beggar before continuing on his way.

  Min noticed.

  “See?” he said. “People with money don’t even think about it.”

  Chunma watched the man disappear into the crowd.

  “They discard wealth casually.”

  Min laughed.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am observing.”

  Min shook his head slightly.

  “You’re weird today.”

  Chunma remained silent.

  The afternoon breeze shifted through the square, carrying the smell of cooked meat from a nearby food stall.

  Several beggars instinctively turned their heads toward it.

  Min swallowed.

  “Now that’s cruel,” he muttered.

  Chunma followed his gaze briefly before returning his attention to the movement of the crowd.

  Then something changed.

  A ripple moved through the square.

  Several people stepped aside along the street as a group approached from the direction of the upper districts.

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  Their clothing gave them away immediately.

  Silk robes.

  Bright colors.

  Fine embroidery that caught the sunlight.

  Young nobles.

  Min’s entire posture stiffened.

  “Ah,” he muttered under his breath.

  Chunma noticed the shift.

  “What is it?”

  Min lowered his voice.

  “Nobles.”

  Chunma turned his head slightly.

  There were four of them walking together.

  Young men, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, dressed in expensive robes that flowed behind them as they moved through the crowd. Servants followed a few steps behind carrying parcels and small bundles while two guards lingered further back.

  The nobles spoke loudly, laughing among themselves as though the entire street belonged to them.

  In many ways, it did.

  Merchants bowed slightly as they passed.

  Travelers stepped aside quickly.

  Even the beggars lowered their heads.

  Min leaned closer to Chunma.

  “Just keep your eyes down,” he whispered.

  Chunma continued watching.

  The group slowed slightly as they reached the square.

  One of the nobles gestured toward a nearby stall while speaking animatedly.

  Another yawned as though bored by the entire outing.

  The third kicked a loose stone across the street.

  Then the fourth noble stopped walking.

  His gaze had fallen on the beggars sitting along the wall.

  More specifically…

  On Min’s bowl.

  The young noble smirked.

  “Well look at this.”

  His friends paused behind him.

  “What is it?” one of them asked.

  The noble gestured lazily toward the beggars.

  “Entertainment.”

  Min’s shoulders stiffened.

  He lowered his head quickly.

  The noble stepped closer.

  His boots stopped directly in front of Min.

  “Beggar,” he said casually.

  Min did not look up.

  “Yes, young master.”

  The noble crouched slightly, examining the bowl on the ground.

  “Oh?”

  He tilted his head.

  “You’ve been working hard today.”

  Min remained silent.

  The noble reached down.

  For a moment Chunma thought he intended to take a coin.

  Instead the noble picked up the bowl.

  Then he turned it upside down.

  The coins spilled onto the stone pavement.

  Several rolled away.

  Min froze.

  The noble laughed.

  His friends joined him.

  “Well?” the noble said.

  “Pick them up.”

  Min slowly leaned forward.

  The stone pavement was rough beneath his hands as he began gathering the scattered coins.

  The watching crowd had grown quieter.

  No one interfered.

  No one spoke.

  Min reached for one of the coins.

  The noble’s foot moved.

  It came down directly on top of the copper piece.

  Min stopped.

  The noble leaned closer.

  “You missed one.”

  Min swallowed.

  “Yes, young master.”

  He reached again.

  The noble pressed his boot harder against the coin.

  His friends chuckled behind him.

  Min lowered his head further.

  Chunma watched silently.

  Memories stirred faintly within him.

  Cold nights.

  Empty bowls.

  Bruises that came without warning.

  The boy whose body he now inhabited had endured this humiliation many times before.

  The noble sighed dramatically.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He nudged Min’s shoulder with his boot.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  Then he kicked the bowl across the street.

  It rolled along the stone pavement before coming to rest against the wall.

  Min’s hands trembled slightly.

  Chunma stood.

  Min’s head snapped up.

  “Don’t,” he whispered urgently.

  The noble noticed the movement immediately.

  He turned.

  “And who are you supposed to be?”

  Chunma stepped forward.

  The noble’s eyes narrowed.

  “Another beggar?”

  His friends snickered.

  Chunma looked down at the coin beneath the noble’s boot.

  “Move.”

  The word was quiet.

  But the entire square seemed to hear it.

  The noble blinked in disbelief.

  Then he laughed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said mockingly.

  “What did you just say?”

  Chunma’s voice remained calm.

  “You are standing on something that does not belong to you.”

  The noble’s smile faded slightly.

  “Beggar,” he said coldly.

  “Know your place.”

  Chunma stepped forward.

  The noble swung suddenly.

  His hand moved fast.

  He intended to slap him.

  The strike never landed.

  Chunma caught the noble’s wrist.

  The motion was effortless.

  The noble froze.

  For a moment confusion crossed his face.

  Then Chunma twisted his wrist slightly.

  Pain shot through the noble’s arm.

  His balance shifted.

  And suddenly the young master found himself forced downward.

  His knee struck the stone pavement.

  Gasps rippled through the square.

  The noble stared up in shock.

  Chunma released his wrist.

  The noble remained kneeling.

  The watching crowd had fallen completely silent.

  Chunma bent down calmly and picked up the coin beneath the noble’s boot.

  He placed it back into Min’s bowl.

  Then he turned to retrieve the bowl the noble had kicked earlier.

  Min stared at him as though he had lost his mind.

  The noble slowly rose to his feet.

  His face burned red with humiliation.

  “You—”

  He stopped.

  Because he could see it.

  The people watching.

  Merchants.

  Travelers.

  Servants.

  All of them had witnessed it.

  A beggar forcing a noble to kneel in the middle of the market square.

  The noble’s friends looked equally stunned.

  One of them grabbed his arm.

  “We should go.”

  The noble’s jaw tightened.

  His pride screamed for retaliation.

  But the eyes of the crowd made the situation worse.

  If he attacked now and lost…

  The humiliation would double.

  He took a slow step backward.

  His glare burned into Chunma.

  “This isn’t over,” he said quietly.

  Then he turned and walked away.

  His friends hurried after him.

  The square remained silent for several seconds.

  Then the murmuring began.

  “Did you see that?”

  “He made him kneel.”

  “Who was that noble?”

  Min stared at Chunma.

  “You’re dead,” he whispered.

  Chunma sat back down against the wall.

  “Unlikely.”

  Min grabbed his shoulders.

  “That was Seo Hyunmin!”

  Chunma looked at him.

  “Should I know that name?”

  Min’s expression turned pale.

  “He’s one of Hwang Jinhyuk’s people.”