"Two whole freakin' days…"
It had been two days since Luck had arrived in this unfamiliar world, and two days without food. His stomach growled angrily, a loud reminder of his malnourished state.
He stumbled weakly through the slums, his legs trembling with every step. He had gotten better at walking without seeing, but "better" didn't mean good. The uneven cobblestone streets threatened to trip him with every step. More than once, he had caught himself just before falling.
Half of him hoped some kind soul would notice his sorry state and offer him scraps, but this wasn't a fairy tale. Life didn't work that way.
The streets were alive with sound—vendors shouting, children crying, and the occasional scuffle breaking out in the distance. Luck couldn't see the chaos around him, but he could hear it, smell it, feel it pressing in from all sides.
The pungent stench of garbage mixed with the faint aroma of cooking meat teased his senses, making his stomach clench painfully.He had memorized some parts of this place, but memory wasn't the same as sight.
Floating beside him, the wisp glowed faintly.
"D-damn lucky bastard," Luck muttered, his voice hoarse and weak. "You don't have to worry about food… unlike your poor master."
The wisp bobbed in place as if responding to his words, almost mocking him with its carefree existence.
Luck sighed, using his cane to feel his way toward a quieter alley. He had noticed that it reacted to him in subtle ways, but it wasn't real company. Just an empty flicker in the darkness.
'A cane...yeah right if it could even pass as one.'
He felt the rough wood on the stick that he had picken up the day he arrived. It was familiar to touch and he reckon that it had been with the past host of this body before Luck himself had arrived.
He paused, tilting his head and focusing on the distant sounds of the market. Voices overlapped in a disarray, but Luck could pick out the patterns—the steady rhythm of footsteps, the clinking of coins, the occasional bark of laughter.
He had walked this route a few times and had "observed" the routine of the market for the past two days. In fact, this was the same market he had originally transmigrated in front of.
The market was a culmination of multiple stalls and vendors, a bustling hub of activity, filled with people of all kinds. Luck had overheard snippets of conversations about elves, Avians, and a reptilian race called Drassk. Though he couldn't see them, he had picked up on the subtle differences in the way they moved and spoke. The light, almost gliding steps of an elf were distinct from the heavier, clawed gait of a Drassk.
All of that was beside the point. What mattered was the "score" he had been staking out for the past two days. It was a bakery, a store that was always busy, with a steady flow of customers coming and going. Perfect for what he had in mind.
It was close, if his internal map was right. But was it? He couldn't check. He could only hope. He listened intently—straining to pick out key sounds in the mess of voices.
A scolding tone—the assistant.
Heavy steps on wooden planks—the baker, moving trays.
And a tray clattering onto the counter.
'Bingo.'
His stomach growled again, loud enough to make him wince. Luck clenched his fists around his cane.
'Let's just say I'll place it on my tab'
Luck's cane tapped lightly against the cobblestones as he approached the bakery.
Luck adjusted the position of his wisp, silently willing it to hover slightly ahead of him. It wasn't much use for seeing, but its faint warmth acted as a guide, helping him avoid obstacles that his cane might miss.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "In and out, quick and quiet."
He stepped into the fray, his senses on high alert. He kept his head low, his cane sweeping in careful arcs in front of his feet.
The bakery itself wasn't too large, it was more developed and built then the other stalls but the foundation was just wooden planks and only a cover (which he assumed to be some sort of tarp) which covered it from the sun and potential rays. Luck wasn't even sure where the bread came from but that wasn't really his concern. The only thing that mattered was where the bread was placed and then interval of it being reloaded.
Luck stopped just short of the bakery stall, pretending to lean on his cane as if he was about to faint, which was somewhat true. To anyone watching, he would appear as just another weary beggar.
The baker was busy reloading and selling the bread while the assistant was busy arguing with a customer a few feet away. Perfect.
He edged closer to the stall, his fingers brushing against the counter. Too far to reach the tray. He adjusted slightly, trying not to look suspicious. But he had no frame of reference. He was guessing where the tray was based on sound alone.
He reached out—
A voice snapped through the air, sharp and accusing. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
'Shit.'
Luck froze, his hand inches from the tray. His mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse, but his body had other plans. Before he could think, he snatched the tray and bolted, his cane tapping furiously against the ground as he navigated through the crowd of people.
Behind him, the assistant shouted, "Thief! Stop him!"
His cane tapped wildly as he ran, not fast enough to fully navigate. He clipped a crate with his hip, stumbled, but forced himself forward. The shouts behind him blurred into the chaos of the market.
He didn't stop running until he was sure he had lost them. He turned too fast into an alley and nearly smacked into a wall, catching himself at the last second. He slid down against the rough stone, panting.
Gasping for breath, Luck slumped against a wall, clutching the tray that rested in his hands.
He snatched a crossiant and briefly smelled it, savoring his not-so silent victory
"W-worth it," he panted, tearing into the warm, flaky bread like a man starved—which, to be fair, he was.
He felt the contents of the tray with one hand as the other fed him.
'2 long bread things, 5 rolls and 4 more croissants...YAHOO!!'
He mentally celebrated, too tired to dance or shout with excitement. If he stretched it maybe it would last him a couple of days. However what would happen after that? Would he have to continue creating the same commotion each time he was hungry? Surely not everyone would be as slow as the assistant in a chase nor would they fall for such petty thievlary multiple times.
He sighed and looked at the wisp still floating infront of him, its glow dimming slightly as if sharing in his exhaustion.
Luck leaned his head back against the wall, swallowing the last bite of the pastry. He was temporalily satiated but he need a more stable plan of action.
"Alright buddy," he muttered to the wisp. "We're gonna need a better plan, buddy."
A rustling sound made Luck pause. Not footsteps—no one was approaching. Just… breathing. Slow, controlled, but weak.
His grip tightened around the tray. Someone was there.
Luck turned his head slightly, focusing. The breathing came from nearby, close but unmoving. He listened harder. No shifting of weight. No attempt to leave. Whoever it was… they were conserving energy.
His cane tapped forward until it nudged something solid—then flesh.
Luck frowned. "You dead?"
A voice, hoarse but sharp, replied. "Not yet."
The voice sound relatively deep but not adult deep, definitetly older than he was in his past life. Maybe sixteen. Seventeen.
Luck tilted his head. "You planning to change that anytime soon?"
Silence. Then, a slow exhale.
"…Depends. You offering?"
Luck clicked his tongue, then sighed. He didn't owe this guy anything. Hell, he barely had enough for himself. But something about the way he just sat there, waiting to waste away, pissed him off.
"…Tch. Whatever."
Luck broke a piece off a roll and tossed it in the guy's direction. A beat later, he heard it snatched midair.
No hesitation. No wasted movement.
The guy ate fast but controlled. Not like someone desperate, but someone used to starving.
When he finished, Luck expected silence. Instead, the guy chuckled.
"Thanks kid," he muttered. His voice had strength now.
Luck's brows furrowed. "Yeah, well, don't expect it again," he said, picking up his cane and tray, intending to walk away.
But before he could take a step, a hand clamped onto his wrist.
Luck instinctively jerked back, his cane raising slightly, but the grip wasn't desperate. It was firm. Steady.
"Hold up."
Luck scowled. "What? You want more food, well listen ,buddy, I may not be strong but I can still-"
"You seem good at this...for your age," the guy said, cutting off Luck's previous statement. "You move cautiously. And that bread—you swiped it from the bakery on Lavender Street, right?"
'Lavender Street? Smells more like shit alley.'
Not waiting for my response, he continued. "I've stolen from that bakery and the strict chick does not make things easy, you have to be smart about it. And you stole from them, meaning you must be smart"
Luck's scowl deepened, but he lowered his crane. The guy's casual attitude was starting to rub him the wrong way.
"Smart kid," the guy continued, "You've got the instinct, I can see it. You just need a little... guidance."
He paused, giving Luck a pointed look.
"Here's the deal. You keep swiping from places like that, I'll teach you how to do it right. Not just the basics, but how to survive on the streets—where the real money's at. I'll show you how to read people, avoid the traps. The real stuff, you feel me?"
Luck hesitated, torn between suspicion and curiosity. He wasn't sure he wanted any part of this guy's "guidance," but… it didn't sound like he had much of a choice. The streets weren't exactly kind to the blind, and Luck knew he was running on borrowed time.
The guy shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Think about it, kid. You want to keep eating, keep surviving? You need someone who knows the game. You can't do it alone forever."
Luck looked at him suspiciously, "I don't get it, if you know the "game" then why don't you just do it yourself."
He felt the guy's gaze harden.
"I would if I could, believe me. But the last gig was a set up, they had memorized my patterns, my looks and my postures just to catch me, they want me gone."
There was something raw in his tone now, a hint of frustration that hadn't been there before.
"But you, you've got a fresh perspective. You don't have those old habits. That's why I'm offering to teach you. I'm not doing it out of charity—I'm doing it because you've got what it takes to be better than me."
Luck couldn't help but scoff. "Better than you? I don't even know how to steal without getting caught, and you're saying I can do this better?"
The guy grinned, a sly, almost teasing smile spreading across his face. "Kid, you've got something I don't. You don't have the same baggage I do. You've got the chance to start fresh, no bad habits holding you back. I'll show you how to use your nose, your ears—how to move like you're invisible. All I'm asking for in return is your trust and your promise to stick with the game."
"Fine," Luck muttered, his voice still skeptical. "But I'm not making any promises."
The guy clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture surprisingly warm. "That's all I need, kid. We'll take it one step at a time. You'll see, you're gonna do just fine."