"Come here! Come here!!"

In a small town, passersby couldn't help but notice a homeless old man shouting something.

Seeing that he had drawn everyone's attention, the man revealed his dirty teeth in a wide grin.

He stood up, donned a pair of black gloves with a red gem embedded in them, and brought his hand to his mouth, blowing out a burst of flame.

"Whoa!!"

The crowd was astounded by the seemingly impossible feat and looked on with amazement.

They eagerly dropped coins into the man's tin cup, bringing him great joy. However, just as he was about to perform another trick, a man in the crowd pointed at him.

"Hmph, what's so special about your little trick? Even a child with basic magic knowledge could do that!"

The comment made everyone reconsider, and they started nodding in agreement.

"Hey, my friend, the 'children' you're talking about are the privileged ones who receive proper education and know about magic. I'm just a homeless man with no magical knowledge, yet I can create fire. That's completely different!"

"Or maybe you picked it up somewhere, or perhaps you've had formal training before. Either way, I don't believe a lowly homeless man like you would use low-level magic to deceive passersby—especially someone of your status," the man retorted with disdain.

"Alright, alright, if you don't believe me, that's fine. I'll return the money to those who gave it to me."

The old man began returning every coin to the crowd and then walked away.

"Look at him fleeing, just as I expected."

"Yeah, you can't expect much from a homeless guy."

"Pfft, let's get back to work."

Everyone sneered and dispersed.

Meanwhile, the homeless man wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Damn it, he hit the nail on the head! That's why I hate nobles!" he muttered angrily, kicking a rock.

The truth was, he was just a dirty, greedy old beggar with no remarkable background.

The flames he conjured were thanks to a pair of gloves he had stumbled upon by chance.

When he put them on and managed to produce a small flame, the idea of using it to beg for money popped into his head.

Unfortunately, he had been called out—though the accusation was wrong, it was still a relief. If people found out he didn't even have an ounce of magical power, he'd be humiliated even more.

"Am I going to live like this forever..." he sighed, wandering aimlessly.

That was when he noticed a boy, around four or five years old, sitting near a gutter. The boy's hollow brown eyes stared blankly ahead.

"Parents these days..." the old man muttered with a sigh, looking at the child.

But this wasn't his business. He could barely take care of himself—worrying about this kid would surely starve him to death.

Just as he was about to walk past, he caught the boy's gaze on him.

"Come on... don't look at me like that..."

The boy's stare was unnerving, as if silently begging the old man to notice him.

"Hey, kid, if you've got something to say, just say it! Stop staring at me!" the old man snapped.

"Grandpa..."

"Huh?"

And just like that, the homeless old man suddenly found himself with a grandson he wasn't related to.

***

The two of them sat side by side.

Passersby rarely paid attention to them, and even when they did, it was with faces full of disdain and annoyance.

"Grandpa, I'm hungry..."

"Just wait, you little brat. Patience is a virtue."

"But we've been waiting for seven hours, and no one's given us anything."

"Hmph! If you're living without hope, then what's the point of living at all!"

Suddenly, the door of a nearby restaurant swung open. A staff member came out holding a plastic bag filled with stale bread and tossed it into the trash.

"See? Hope has arrived!" The old man grinned. The two hurried to the trash can and grabbed the bag of bread.

"Here, eat this!" The old man handed a piece to the boy.

"Grandpa... is this all we have left?"

"You idiot! Say that again, and I'll smack you upside the head!"

"Sorry..."

"Good, now shut up and eat! Every meal, no matter how bad, is important for keeping us alive another day!"

The boy watched as the old man ate the stale bread without hesitation. Resigned, he started eating as well.

Of course, shortly afterward, both of them were clutching their stomachs and relieving themselves in the nearby bushes.

***

When night fell, the two returned to their "home."

Though calling it a home might be a stretch—it was merely a haphazard pile of wooden planks and cloth, barely resembling a tent.

"Grandpa, let me borrow that fire glove you talked about."

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's too dangerous. Fire is dangerous. What if you burn yourself?"

"But you—"

"No means no! Get back to the tent and sleep now!"

Hearing this, the boy felt disappointed but obediently crawled into the tent and closed his eyes.

Seeing that the boy had laid down, the old man sighed, entered the small tent, and yawned. Gradually, he drifted off to sleep, his loud snores filling the air.

The boy quietly sat up, smiling when he saw his grandpa was sound asleep. He carefully reached for the box placed beside the old man.

Opening it, his eyes lit up as he took out the black gloves and slipped them on.

He sneaked out of the tent, eager to try them out, but no flames appeared.

He remembered how easily his grandpa had created fire when wearing the gloves. Though the flames were small, they were undeniably cool!

But no matter what he did, he couldn't figure out how to make it work.

"Hmm... how did Grandpa do it?"

Then he recalled something his grandpa had said:

"How do I make fire? Heck if I know! I just feel like it'll happen, and poof, the fire shows up!"

...Not very helpful.

Back in the present, the boy closed his eyes and tried to follow his grandpa's words.

Just have the will... Just have the will...

JUST HAVE THE WILL!

Suddenly, he felt something strange. A ring of fire flared up around him, and both gloves ignited in flames.

His brown hair stood on end, and a small flame flickered on his forehead.

"W-What?!" The boy panicked, staring at the flames surrounding him.

'Why is the fire so strong?! Even Grandpa never made flames this powerful!'

Confused and frightened, he heard someone shout his name.

Turning around, he saw his grandpa, wide-eyed with fear and panic.

"YOU LITTLE BRAT! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!"

"Grandpa!!"

"TAKE THEM OFF NOW! QUICKLY!"

Hearing the urgency in his grandpa's voice, the boy frantically pulled off the gloves.

As soon as they came off, the flames vanished instantly, leaving behind a patch of scorched grass.

The old man rushed over, grabbing the boy's face and checking for injuries. Satisfied the boy was unharmed, he smacked him on the head.

"YOU LITTLE IDIOT! YOU DIDN'T HEAR WHAT I SAID HUH?!"

"Grandpa... I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize to me!" The old man snapped, grabbing the gloves and locking them back in the box.

"Even if I don't know exactly what that fire did to you, fire is dangerous, and danger is danger! Can't you just listen to me for once?!"

"..."

The two stared at each other in silence.

"Tch... brat. Tomorrow, your punishment is to go out and beg for food. That'll teach you!"

"Yes, sir..."

"Now get back in the tent!"

The boy sulked and went into the tent, but seeing the angry expression on his grandpa's face made him feel even worse.

It was the first time his grandpa had been truly angry with him.

As he closed his eyes to sleep, he silently promised himself to work hard tomorrow and find food for the both of them.

***

As usual, the two sat in a corner, begging for money from passersby.

The boy noticed other children, about his age, being led to school by their parents.

"...Grandpa, I want to go to school."

Hearing this, the old man glanced at the other children.

"Why do you need to go to school? You could just get a book for yourself and teach yourself, right?"

"...But we don't even have money to buy books. Day after day, we only eat stale bread, and if we're lucky, we get a jar of yogurt."

"You're asking for too much, brat."

Gradually, the sun began to set, and the two began to leave.

The old man noticed a bookstore and stopped, staring at it.

"Grandpa? What's wrong?" The boy curiously looked at the old man, then at the bookstore.

"Brat, tomorrow I'll bring you a book. What kind of book do you want?" The old man smiled at the boy.

"Really, Grandpa?! If so, I want a book on how to use magic!"

"Then wait for it! I'll get one for you!"

"Yayyy!!"

The boy beamed with joy, grabbing the old man's hand as they headed back to their tent.

***

The old man was dying...

The boy was in shock, staring at the old man covered in wounds. His already tattered clothes were now even more shredded, and his hand clutched a book.

It seemed that while the boy had been asleep, the old man had gotten up early and gone to the bookstore.

He didn't go to buy it... he went to steal it.

Of course, because he was a homeless man, he was easily noticed.

The moment he stole, the bookstore owner spotted him and alerted the knights. The result was that he was beaten mercilessly, but the old man still clung to the book.

Despite the severe beatings, the old man refused to give up the book. The knights, seeing that he wouldn't cooperate, had no choice but to leave. The bookstore owner, furious, decided to let it go when he saw the book's cover.

No one cared about the old homeless man, and even though he was badly injured, he dragged himself back to their tiny tent.

Now, he was dying, lying on the ground right in front of the tent.

"Grandpa... you didn't have to do this..."

The old man looked at the boy, trying to say something.

"H..m...de....pg....a..." The words came out as incomprehensible murmurs. They had no meaning, like the squeak of a dying rat.

He breathed heavily, unable to say anything more despite his efforts, only holding onto the boy's hand. His eyes slowly lost their light of life, and they continued to gaze at the boy.

His hand grew lighter and fell to the ground.

The boy just stared at the old man's face, unable to cry...

He hugged the old man, whispering words of gratitude, even though the old man could no longer hear him.

Then, the boy destroyed their tent, digging into the ground, even though his nails were torn.

Slowly, he placed the old man into a small hole, gently closing the old man's eyes, and tried to bury him properly.

Even though his stomach growled, he still tried his best to bury his grandpa with care.

As the hot sunlight beat down on him, the boy grabbed a stone and placed it on the grave. He used smaller stones to chisel a word that didn't belong in this world.

Looking at the old man's grave, the boy took out his dirty bag and stashed away his belongings inside. He then held the book and looked at the words on its cover.

[Cookbook]

"Grandpa... you're such an idiot..."

The old man's death had ultimately been pointless. Born like an abandoned child, lived like a beggar, and died like a foolish thief.

It was no surprise that he didn't even pick the right book. After all, he never knew how to read, did he?

His death would be forgotten by everyone, except for the one person who cared.

The boy put the book away, looked in one direction, and took out the stale bread to eat.

The only family he had relied on was gone. The one person he cherished, the person that a reincarnated who see as family , was no longer there.

Now, he had to search for new hope. After all, living optimistically, as Grandpa had said, was the right way to live, right?

He ate the bread and left the town without looking back.

A small flower on the old man's grave was carried away by the strong wind.