The Man of Failure

Nam took a step into the city. The roads were wide, paved with stone, but there were also narrow alleyways at the corners.

There were bustling markets and lively streets. As for the houses, they were built from stone and marble—sturdy, yet elegant. Some even had grand columns and archways.

The area Nam found himself in seemed to be where the middle class lived, with workshops for craftsmen scattered around.

"Rome?!" Nam's mouth nearly fell open. This place—it bore an uncanny resemblance to the Roman Empire. That fact alone was enough to make him uncomfortable. I mean, I'd be uncomfortable too, to be honest. If you ignore the small differences, of course.

One question echoed in his mind: Why Rome?

Without dwelling on it too much, he kept moving, his eyes still scanning his surroundings with a mix of surprise and caution. You'd be looking around like that too, admit it.

As he walked, he came across a market. Normally, he would have ignored it and kept going, but—

"Come here, young man! Special discount just for you!"

The market was filled with the scent of fresh fruits, vegetables, fish, and bread. Vendors shouted at the top of their lungs, trying to attract customers.

"Come, my friend! Fresh fish, only 8 Lunor!"

Some stalls had already drawn in buyers.

"That'll be 1 Lunor, sir."

The stalls were mostly wooden or stone tables, many of them set up against walls. The goods ranged from fruits and vegetables to fish, spices, and more.

To shield themselves from the sun, some vendors used leather canopies, while others relied on cloth awnings for shade. Their products were neatly arranged on wooden or stone platforms; some were stored in large amphoras, while grains and cereals were displayed in sacks.

One of the vendors caught Nam's attention—a man selling fruits and vegetables. Truth be told, Nam did want some fruit, but… he had no money. That reminded me of the times I stole fruit.

Anyway.

"I don't have any money, old man," Nam admitted.

The vendor frowned, placing the pears a little more aggressively on the stall. He was bald, without a beard or mustache, and wore a simple tunic made of linen that reached his knees. His footwear? Sandals.

"Could you not call me old man?"

Nam continued to stare at him, and the man, clearly uncomfortable, sighed.

"You don't have money, huh? Here, take this."

Before Nam could react, an apple was thrown at him. It happened so fast that he barely managed to catch it.

"Why are you giving me an apple?" He asked—but by the time he finished his sentence, he was already taking a bite.

The vendor yawned, probably tired from standing there all day. "Why, you ask? Why does everyone always ask that when someone does something nice? Youth these days…"

Nam quickly finished the apple, but his eyes lingered on the rest of the apples.

"Can I have another one, old man?"

The vendor grabbed another apple—this time, a hard one—and threw it farther away.

"Stop calling me old man!"

Nam rushed after it, caught it mid-air, and started eating as he walked away.

That was when he saw it—the statue in the center of the city.

It depicted a man with slightly curly hair, his hand extended outward despite holding nothing. Because the statue was made of stone, it was hard to tell what kind of clothes he was wearing.

Nam found himself staring at it, an inexplicable feeling washing over him. It was as if he recognized someone familiar.

There was an inscription at the base of the statue:

"The Man of Failure—Nio Valterin!"

As he read the words, an elderly man approached.

He was slightly hunched, with short white facial hair and thinning hair. He wore the same kind of clothing as the others—his wrinkles were deep, though not excessive.

Nam narrowed his eyes at him.

"Oh! I see the young still appreciate art," the old man said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Nam found himself irritated by his attitude.

The man continued, "Nio—Nio Valterin, to be precise."

His voice grew more serious, as if he were speaking about someone he had sworn to protect.

"Valterin was intelligent, hardworking, strong… he had so many things. And yet—"

The words seemed to get caught in his throat. As if they were too painful to say. But he forced himself to continue.

"They framed him. At least, that's what I hope happened…"

A surge of emotions suddenly crashed over Nam—anger, hatred, even vengeance.

His fingers clenched into a fist, pressing into the ground. Every muscle in his body tensed, his veins bulging. His stance grew rigid, his expression sharper.

His eyes—cold before—became even colder.

"What did you just say?" Nam shot the old man a piercing glare.

The man merely sighed, folding his hands behind his back.

"I see…"

He looked back at the statue.

"They made this statue to mock him."

Nam's eyes widened.

"To mock—"

"They inscribed those words—'The Man of Failure'—as a joke," the old man continued, ignoring Nam.

"But tell me, look at this statue."

He turned toward Nam, his gaze unreadable.

"Does this look like a man who accomplished nothing?"

Nam was about to speak, but—

"Of course not—"

The old man was already walking away.

He raised a hand in a half-hearted wave.

"Forget what I said. Go home, young man."

And with that, he left.

Nam clenched his teeth, his frustration growing. Honestly, I'd be mad too.

"H-Home?"

That's when it hit him. It was getting late. And he had nowhere to stay.

His only option was to sleep outside. But that was risky—especially in an unfamiliar city.

As he kept walking through the stone-paved streets, he noticed something.

The people around him… they were all happy.

But why? Why were they so happy?

He couldn't understand it.

Raising his gaze to the moon, a single thought crossed his mind.

"Have they all been brainwashed?"

That was when he spotted something.

ESSENTIA REALM!

His first reaction?

"Boring."

Yeah. That was literally the first thing Nam said. And honestly? I agree. It looked boring.