Chapter 6
Food
Cold wind blew through the slums, biting at skin, slipping through cracks, and rattling loose sheet metal. Unfortunate for those with holes in their clothes—worse for those with none at all.
The clouds rolled in thick and heavy, swallowing the sun and draping the slums in bleak shadow. What little warmth there was faded fast, and the streets felt even more forgotten than before.
IAM looked up at the brooding sky, kissed his teeth, and muttered under his breath. Typical.
After ten long minutes of wandering and being 'kindly' told to get lost by strangers too busy or too bitter to help, he finally managed to squeeze some directions out of someone who didn't immediately threaten to throw a rock at him.
He trudged on, hands shoved in his pockets, belly groaning with each step.
So much for the inspirational speech.
After a few minutes of walking, IAM passed through a graveyard of misery—through the bodies that still breathed.
Men and women slumped against broken walls, their eyes glazed over and bodies too weak to shiver in the cold. Children with ribs like prison bars watched him with hollow stares, their little hands too tired to beg anymore. Mothers knelt in dirt, pleading with the air for anything—anything—to feed the tiny lives clinging to them.
IAM kept walking. Faster now. He didn't look back.
Eventually, he arrived.
The "restaurant" stood two stories tall. The top floor was probably where the owner lived, while the bottom half served as the dining area. The entire structure was made of aging, warped wood, barely holding itself together. Above the entrance hung a sun-bleached sign: Johan Best—ironic, maybe, or just forgotten. Two large windows flanked the building, letting in air and light. There was no front door. Just an open gap where one should've been. At least there wasn't a pile of shit near the entrance, which already made it the cleanest place he'd seen today.
Inside, IAM was met with the sharp scent of old grease and cheap spice. Seven round wooden tables filled the room, each surrounded by three rickety chairs that looked like they'd collapse if someone exhaled too hard.
It was early morning—just before the working poor scurried off to their barely-paying jobs—so most of the tables were already taken. Conversations buzzed low, tense, like everyone was conserving what little energy they had.
Only two tables were left.
IAM made his way across the creaking floorboards, each step groaning under his weight, and slid into the chair at the far corner.
....
Ella watched as IAM carefully lowered himself onto one of the creaking chairs, clearly trying to avoid its inevitable collapse. She sighed quietly.
She knew of IAM. He wasn't exactly talkative, not rude either—just… distant. Focused. People said he worked hard, always grinding to survive like the rest of them. But word had it that he, along with a few others, had enlisted for the war. She thought it was absurd
Seventeen years old and throwing your life away... For what? Glory? Freedom?
More like cannon fodder. The higher-ups didn't care. To them, IAM would be just another name on the long, bloody list of casualties.
Still, she shook off the thought and ran her fingers along one of her braids as she walked over. No use getting worked up about things you couldn't change.
When she reached his table, she opened her mouth to speak—then paused. Her brow furrowed slightly.
Something felt... different about him.
He still had that same quiet energy, but there was a strange brightness now. Not quite a glow—but a spark. Subtle. Curious. More... alive?
She studied his face briefly. Acne still dotted his cheeks. The same plain cornrows framed his head. And those same deep brown eyes—nearly black—still had that strange weight to them. Stare too long, and it felt like falling in.
"Hello," she said.
"Huh?"
"I was asking what you'd like to eat," she repeated, a bit amused.
"Oh, right."
She listed the world-class options: "Plain bread. Soup. Water."
IAM raised an eyebrow. "That's... quite the selection."
She cleared her throat and gave a dry smile. "It's the same every meal. Every day. Welcome to Johan Best."
IAM looked around, then tilted his head. "By the way, I don't know if you noticed, but… you're missing a front door."
Ella clicked her tongue. "I know. Two drunks decided to show off their wrestling moves. Took the poor thing clean off its hinges."
IAM grinned. "Damn. Maybe the door was giving them a weird look. You know, like… 'how dare it be standing there... hinged and proud'... ha... ha…"
Silence.
"..."
"...."
"....."
"That sounded better in my head," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.
Ella cracked a small smile despite herself. "Barely."
IAM ordered enough food for 2 people, which Ella thought was unusual for IAM who usually only ever ordered enough portion for one and lived off of that for the rest of the day.
"since when did you eat so much? "
IAM coughed and said "I am a growing boy after all while flashing a small grin.
After giving him a strange look she put down his order and went to inform her mother of the new order.
.....
IAM watched the short waitress make her way behind the counter.
She had a fat a—
He shook his head sharply, mentally slapping himself. Now's not the time. With his current situation—a broke, barely-average-looking seventeen-year-old with a dead path book and no clear future—he figured love or even fleeting attraction was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Focus, IAM. Priorities.
Rumble.
His stomach growled aggressively. IAM winced, hand over his abdomen. The hunger gnawed at him now more than ever—so strong it felt like he needed a meal meant for two.
After some time, the food finally arrived. A bowl of soup, blood-red and slightly off-putting, and a thick chunk of stale-smelling bread. He didn't hesitate. Within minutes, the soup was gone, bread devoured, and water gulped in a single breath. He leaned back with a long, satisfied exhale.
"Geez, I'm glad someone's enjoying their food," the waitress commented as she approached to clear his table. There was a slight smirk on her lips. She was definitely the daughter of the owner—her movements had the practiced ease of someone raised in the place.
IAM gave her a small grin. "Compliments to Jonah."
Just as she turned to leave, he stopped her.
"Wait."
She paused, eyebrows raised.
IAM glanced down at the few bronze coins left in his hand after paying the 4 BC for his meal. He looked up. "Can I get four more portions… to go?"
There was a moment of stunned silence.
"…Four?" she echoed, blinking.
He simply nodded.
A short while later, with his order packed and warm in his arms, IAM left the restaurant. The food weighed heavy in his hands—but his heart heavier still as he retraced his steps.
One by one, he stopped by the same broken mothers and starved children he had seen earlier. No speeches. No questions. He just handed them food and kept walking.
He didn't have enough for everyone. He wished he did. But it was something.
By the time he finally reached home, a soft tiredness clung to him, but there was a quiet peace in his chest.
And now… it was time.
Time to finally open that book.
The cursed and blessed speech.
The true beginning starts now.