36: the helping hand

The streets hummed with life as Aditya wandered through the bustling marketplace. The rare beast bag slung over his shoulder and the clinking of celestial gold coins in his pouch reminded him of the rewards he'd earned. Roasted meat sizzled on open grills, the aroma mingling with the tang of fresh herbs from nearby stalls.

As he turned a corner, his eyes landed on a lively food stall packed with customers. He raised an eyebrow. Despite the chaos, only one boy darted between the tables, balancing trays piled with steaming dishes and jugs of drink.

Aditya watched, amused, as the boy barely avoided tripping over a stray dog scurrying underfoot. The kid's determination was impressive, even if his coordination left something to be desired.

"Hey, kid!" Aditya called out, leaning casually against the counter. "Need a hand?"

The boy froze mid-step, a tray precariously balanced on one hand. "What? Really?"

"Sure," Aditya said, smirking. "But I don't work cheap. You'll owe me a story."

The boy's face lit up with relief. "Deal! Just start with table four—pork ribs and wine!"

Aditya rolled up his sleeves and dove into the chaos, weaving between tables with surprising ease. He delivered plates, refilled mugs, and even managed to charm an elderly couple into leaving an extra tip.

"Not bad for a first-timer," the boy said, impressed.

"First-timer?" Aditya grinned. "I've handled tougher crowds than this"

The boy chuckled but quickly sobered when Aditya asked, "Why're you doing this alone?"

The boy introduced himself as Kiran and explained, "My mother and I run this stall. She does the cooking, and I handle the customers. But she's sick, so it's all on me right now."

Aditya frowned. "And hiring help?"

Kiran shook his head. "Mom's saving every coin to send me to a martial arts teacher. She doesn't want me to end up like her and Dad—barely scraping by."

"Martial arts, huh?" Aditya grabbed a tray and started loading it. "That's not cheap."

"It's 20 celestial gold coins a year for tuition," Kiran said with a sigh, "plus tools, pills, and everything else. And the sects won't take me—I'm not 'gifted' enough."

Aditya snorted. "Gifted, schmifted. Strength isn't just about talent. It's about grit. And you've got plenty of that."

Kiran looked up, surprised. "You think so?"

Aditya winked. "I know so. Now, where's that wine going?"

As the night wore on, the crowd dwindled, and Kiran finally had a chance to catch his breath. He sat down, his face flushed with exhaustion but content.

Aditya slid a plate of food across the table. "Eat. You've earned it."

Kiran hesitated but eventually dug in. Between bites, he asked, "Why'd you help me? You didn't have to."

Aditya leaned back, a mischievous grin on his face. "Let's just say I've got a soft spot for underdogs. Plus, I saw something in you—determination. It's a rare thing."

Kiran blushed slightly. "Thanks. But I still don't see how I'll ever reach my goals."

Aditya tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Martial arts isn't the only path to strength. There's alchemy, crafting, talisman-making... even poison."

"Poison?" Kiran laughed. "That sounds... unconventional."

"Unconventional is my middle name," Aditya said with a smirk. "But seriously, you've got options. You just need the right teacher."

Kiran perked up. "Do you know anyone who could teach me?"

Aditya's grin widened. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Rest some time I will take you to meet someone.