How are some people more gifted or talented than others? I mean, haven't you thought about it?

You put in the same amount of effort, maybe even more, but you still fall short in that space. What's different about these gifted people? Aren't they the same as us?

Well, to be honest, I don't know. But if you give me your time, I'd love to figure it out with you.

The tale goes like this:

A 12-year-old kid was asleep off in a narrow alleyway in the slums of the Empire when, suddenly, he heard someone call his name.

"William! William! William, are you there?"

The kid woke up in shock, sweating all over his body. The 12-year-old kid was William. He looked quite different from the other children his age in the slums. He was thin, but that was the only thing he had in common with the others. He had long, jet-black hair with streaks of red covering most of his forehead and his ears.

The boy ran towards the voice. The voice he heard was from an old baker.

"You want bread, boy?" the man politely asked William.

Old man was an 81-year-old baker living in the slums. He often saw William wandering around.

"Yes, please," the boy spoke, still sweating.

"You had a bad dream again?"

"Uhhh... it's nothing," William replied.

William took the bread and started mumbling to himself.

"Where should I sit today?"

Crunch, crack.

Will proceeded to step on some eggshells.

"I miss home," he said, a gloom covering his face.

"I'm starting to get used to the smell here. I guess that's a start."

The boy sat with his back against a wall in a narrow alleyway, munching his bread with a faint smile.

"Maybe things aren't so bad as they seem," he muttered. "It'll work."

Suddenly, William heard someone screaming his name. The moment he looked outside the narrow alleyway, he got punched in the face.

"Hahahaha! Stupid Willy!"

"Who gave you bread, huh? Gimme that, or I'll break your jaw!"

William looked petrified. He couldn't even speak without stuttering.

"I-It's uhh... m-mine! The old man g-gave it to m—"

Before he could finish, William was punched again, this time in the stomach.

"Leave me alone, okay? I didn't do anything to you, did I?" William exclaimed toward the boy.

"It's just… looking at you makes me angry. You don't belong here. Get out of here. Where's your mommy and daddy, huh? Lost them, have you?" the boy shouted at William.

"Th-they're… away for some work," William stuttered.

"Ooooh, are you sure they didn't leave their baby boy to fend for himself? If you ask me, I think they just got fed up with you," the boy sneered.

"What? They would never!" William protested, scratching the back of his head.

"They would never, right?" he thought, doubting himself.

The boy suddenly called over his friends, and they began laughing at William.

"Look at this dumbo!" one of them said.

"Nah, bro's like a midget," another added, laughing.

"Hahahahahahahah!"

The whole group burst into laughter.

"Well, you guys aren't much different either. One's tall and thin like a palm tree, while the other's shaped like an egg," William retorted, gathering some courage.

"You think we care, huh?" said the muscular teenager, who looked about 14. He was a popular bully in the slums; his father owned an illegal fighting ring not far away.

"Ive got more of those punches ready"

William clutched the bread and ran. He ran again and again, not daring to look back. When he finally grew tired.

"Why am I so pathetic?" he whispered.

"I'm a coward," he added, his blue eyes beginning to water. "Where is my home."

"Maybe I should get washed up near the river," he thought.

He started walking through the slums. The river was situated at the edge of the slums. Everywhere he looked, people were begging for food and basic necessities. Trash littered every corner he passed.

"The lord of this region must be sick to keep his people in such pain," Will thought to himself with a serious look.

All the houses were just combinations of mud, stones, cloth, and wood. He could feel everyone's unfriendly gazes on him. He didn't look like he belonged in these slums.

He finally reached the edge of the slum and briskly walked down a small hill to the river. He jumped into the water with a smile.

"This'll be fun," he thought.

But then he exclaimed, "Why the hell is it so cold?!"

He ran out of the river shivering.

"Maybe I shouldn't wash up today," he muttered.

Will sat beside a large boulder. It started to rain, and the sky grew dark.

"My shitty luck," he said. "This sucks."

Will bent his knees to his chest and tried to sleep.

The next day, after William woke up beside the river, he decided to wash himself up a bit, despite the water being very cold. Suddenly, an idea popped into William's head. He looked at his reflection, tidied himself a little, and headed back into the slums.

This time, his destination was a small, broken-down bakery shop at the center of the slums.

"Who's at the door?" the bakery owner called out.

"It's me, William, the guy you gave bread to this morning," William replied, feeling a bit nervous.

"Oooh, I remember you, kid. Come in, sit down, and have some tea."

The old man started pouring tea into William's cup when William suddenly asked a question.

"Can I work for you by chance? I don't really like the idea of begging for money," William said, feeling embarrassed.

The man suddenly stopped smiling.

"Just kidding! I was wondering if I should hire someone. You came at the nick of time! You can start work tomorrow," the man said kindly.

"Thanks, old man! I knew you wouldn't turn me down!" William said with a sigh of relief.

Life passed like this, but after six months, he began to see a new, glimmering light.