Seeds of Change

Hale's faint smirk lingered as he observed the orphanage's daily chaos. Over five months, he had pieced together a web of corruption that crippled the place. The funds meant for the orphanage came from charitable donations collected by a nearby church. However, the soldiers assigned to transport the resources skimmed 10% off for themselves. The managers handling the distribution took another 20%, and even the senior kids kept 5% of the supplies they managed. By the time resources reached the children, over 35% had been lost to greed.

The older children formed factions, intimidating the younger ones into submission. A system of hierarchy emerged—one that mimicked the very world outside the orphanage's walls. It was a microcosm of power and exploitation, and Hale knew it was the perfect environment to plant seeds of change—but not directly.

Instead of acting himself, Hale selected someone who could collect the information for him—a senior boy who was constantly ridiculed and overlooked by everyone else. Waiting for the right moment, Hale approached the boy during a quiet evening, sitting beside him as the boy nursed his bruised pride after being pushed around by another group of seniors.

"Why do you let them treat you like this?" Hale began, his tone low and cutting.

The boy tensed, startled, and muttered bitterly, "What am I supposed to do about it? They're stronger than me."

Hale leaned closer, his voice like a whisper that echoed in the boy's mind. "You say they're stronger, but do they really have strength? Strength isn't about muscles. It's about control. Do they control you, or are you giving them permission to treat you like dirt?"

The boy flinched. "I don't give them permission. I just… I don't want more trouble."

Hale tilted his head, his piercing gaze locking onto the boy. "Trouble's already here, isn't it? Every day, they take your share, your dignity, and your future. You think keeping your head down will protect you? It won't. It only makes them push harder."

The boy's shoulders sagged. "Even if I wanted to do something, who would believe me? No one cares what I say."

Hale's lips curved into a faint smirk, his tone softening but still insidious. "That's where you're wrong. I believe you. And I can help you. I know things, and I can show you how to get proof of what's really happening here—the corruption, the lies, everything."

The boy's eyes widened. "Proof? How?"

Hale's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're smart. You're invisible to them, which means you can go places, hear things, see things they'd never expect. I can guide you. Together, we can expose the truth. Imagine the look on their faces when they realize the boy they treated like nothing was the one who brought them down."

The boy hesitated, his lips trembling.

Sensing his doubt, Hale's tone turned colder. "Or you can stay like this forever. Let them grind you down until there's nothing left of you. Is that what you want? To fade away, unnoticed, unimportant?"

The boy's breathing quickened, his eyes filling with desperation. Hale's voice softened again, like a soothing balm. "This is your chance. Your moment to prove them wrong. I'll be here with you, guiding you every step of the way. All I ask is your trust."

The boy nodded slowly, his resolve breaking. "Okay… I'll do it."

Over the next month, under Hale's careful instructions, the boy gathered evidence of the embezzlement—altered ledgers, hidden supplies, and whispered confessions from those too scared to speak openly. Hale never directly involved himself, ensuring that the boy believed he was the one taking control.

One cold morning, a knight visited the orphanage. His imposing figure, clad in gleaming armor with a deep scar running across his face, immediately caught Hale's attention.

The other children whispered nervously, keeping their distance.

"Who is that?" Hale asked, his voice low.

Before Rena could answer, Joan puffed out his chest and jumped in. "That's Sir Edran! He's one of the most powerful knights on the continent!" Joan's eyes sparkled with admiration. "One day, I'll be just like him!"

Rena rolled her eyes. "Joan, stop dreaming. You can't even beat me in a game, let alone become a knight."

Joan glared at her but didn't respond.

Hale remained silent, studying the knight. He noticed something peculiar—despite his commanding presence, Sir Edran avoided eye contact with the children. He stood off to the side, distant and unapproachable, his scarred face unreadable. The children seemed more afraid of him than inspired.

"Why doesn't anyone talk to him?" Hale asked.

"Because he scares us," Joan admitted reluctantly. "Look at that scar! He doesn't even smile."

Rena added, "They say he grew up here in this orphanage. But now he's so cold, he doesn't even bother with us."

Hale's eyes narrowed as he watched Sir Edran. He noted the subtle tension in the knight's posture, the way his gaze lingered on the orphanage walls as if recalling memories he'd rather forget. Hale realized that Edran wasn't merely aloof—he was burdened. And a burdened man was a man who could be swayed.

That evening, while the knight stood alone near the entrance, Hale walked over. The other children gasped, pulling back in fear.

"Don't do it, Hale!" Joan hissed. "You're crazy!"

Rena reached for him. "Hale, stop! He might get angry!"

Ignoring them, Hale approached the knight, his footsteps steady. When he was close enough, he spoke softly but clearly. "Mister, why are you always alone?"

Sir Edran stiffened, his sharp eyes darting to the boy. For a moment, he said nothing, unsure how to respond. Then, his voice came out gruff and defensive. "What's it to you, kid?"

The children flinched, expecting Hale to retreat. But instead, Hale met the knight's gaze, his expression calm and unwavering. "You're so cool. May I call you Uncle?"

Sir Edran's hardened demeanor cracked, his eyes widening in surprise. He had grown used to being avoided, his scarred face an unspoken barrier. But this boy—this tiny, fearless boy—was different.

"Uncle, huh?" Edran muttered, his voice softening. "No one's ever called me that before."

Hale nodded, his eyes gleaming with what seemed like genuine admiration. "You remind me of someone strong. Someone who protects others."

For the first time in years, Sir Edran felt a warmth stir within him. "Fine, kid. Call me Uncle if you want. What's your name?"

"Hale," the boy replied simply.

Over the next month, Hale carefully cultivated his relationship with Sir Edran. The knight, initially reserved, began to open up, sharing snippets of his past. Hale listened intently, always knowing when to speak and when to remain silent.

One evening, Hale approached Edran with a somber expression. "Uncle," he began, "have you ever felt powerless? Like no matter what you do, things won't change?"

Edran's gaze darkened. "More times than I'd like to admit," he replied.

Hale hesitated, his voice soft. "The orphanage… it's broken, Uncle. The food always runs out too quickly. The younger kids go hungry while the older ones take more than they need. And no one does anything because they're afraid. I tried to tell the managers, but they just laughed at me."

Edran's jaw tightened. "That's unacceptable. You shouldn't have to live like this."

Hale lowered his gaze, his voice trembling just enough to seem genuine. "I don't know what to do, Uncle. I'm just a kid. But you… you're a knight. You can make things better, can't you?"

Edran placed a hand on Hale's shoulder. "I'll look into it, Hale. I promise."

What Edran didn't know was that Hale had already set the stage. Over the past month, he had secretly gathered evidence of the embezzlement—altered ledgers, hidden supplies, and whispered confessions from those too scared to speak openly. He had even manipulated one of the senior kids into delivering a letter to the noble, detailing the corruption but framing it as a plea for help from the knight.

When Edran began his investigation, everything fell into place. The evidence was damning, and the arrests were swift. Seven individuals—including soldiers and managers—were taken into custody.

All seniors scolded by knight personally. Also knight directly ordered them if you ever do something like that the consequences will be harder than you except.

The noble, impressed by Edran's diligence, ordered immediate reforms to the orphanage's administration.

As Edran reviewed the reports, he muttered to himself, "Was this… all Hale's doing?"

Back at the orphanage, the children celebrated as new supplies arrived. Joan, puffing out his chest, declared, "I told you I'd be like Sir Edran one day!"

Rena smirked. "Keep dreaming, Joan."

Meanwhile, Hale sat in the corner, watching the scene unfold. His faint smirk returned as he thought, People are so predictable. All it takes is the right push.

In the shadows of his mind, another thought lingered: This is only the beginning. Sir Edran… you'll be my most valuable piece yet.

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