The dawn mist hung low over the slums, clinging to the uneven rooftops like a stubborn shadow. Seo-joon stepped out of his cave, rubbing his shoulders. His muscles ached from yesterday's work, but there was a fire in his chest that no bruise or hunger pang could snuff out.
The pot rested safely in his satchel, hidden beneath a loose cloth. He had spent the night planning, carefully calculating the first real moves that could set him on a path from beggar to merchant king. Small trades, careful duplication, and above all, staying invisible to anyone clever enough to notice something unusual about him.
He wandered toward the market, the narrow dirt streets littered with puddles from the morning dew. Women in faded hanbok swept the porches of their homes, their wooden clogs clacking softly against mud. Men carried bundles of firewood or ceramic jars filled with water. Children laughed and splashed through puddles, their hair plastered to their heads.
Seo-joon's eyes scanned the marketplace, noting who seemed aggressive, who seemed gullible, and who might be useful. Survival was one thing; thriving required understanding the hierarchy, the opportunities, and the weaknesses.
At a corner stall, a stout woman with a wide-brimmed straw hat was selling small bundles of dried fish. She spotted him and waved energetically. "Boy! You look like you can handle some work. I'll give you a bundle if you help me move these baskets!"
Seo-joon paused. Most people would dismiss a stranger; most people would underestimate a clever man with a magical pot. "How much?" he asked, trying to appear casual.
The woman squinted. "For helping? Half a bundle for today. That's fair."
He nodded. "Deal."
As he carried the baskets, Seo-joon studied her. She was no ordinary market vendor. Her eyes scanned everyone entering the market, her posture relaxed but alert, as if she knew every trick and scam a newcomer might try. I like her style, he thought. Useful—and not easy to fool.
He returned the baskets, received his half-bundle of dried fish, and found a quiet alley to test the pot. Dropping a few pieces of fish inside, seconds later he had a small pile of duplicate fish, clean and edible. His stomach growled happily.
First real trade, he thought. Simple, safe, profitable.
Seo-joon spent the morning duplicating small, non-perishable goods: sticks for fire, small clay jars, bundles of rice, and herbs. By midday, he had enough duplicates to begin trading discreetly with the market vendors, swapping extra fish and rice for items he needed—coal for the fire, cloth for repairs, or a simple pot for cooking.
It wasn't instant wealth. But it was leverage. Every duplicated item was a seed, every trade a small victory.
He paused at a narrow street, mud clinging to his worn boots. There, a figure caught his attention—a young person in plain gray hanbok with a cloth over their face, carrying a small basket of vegetables. Seo-joon assumed it was a boy; the posture and clothing suggested it.
Yet something about them unsettled him. A faint, pleasant floral scent drifted in the air as the figure passed, so subtle he almost doubted his senses. And the hands—slender, precise, movements careful and graceful. Weird… must be imagining it, he muttered.
He turned a corner, yet the figure lingered at the vegetable stall, moving silently, bargaining quietly with a merchant. Every gesture exuded careful thought and skill, the kind of poise he recognized from only the most cunning people.
Seo-joon's curiosity flared, though he wouldn't admit it. Focus. The pot. Survive. Don't get distracted by some stranger. Who cares if he—no, they—smells… nice?
Still, the figure's presence gnawed at the back of his mind. Whoever they were, they were clever, careful, and unusually competent for someone in the slums.
By late afternoon, Seo-joon's trades had grown bolder. He noticed a small rival merchant attempting to undercut a stall selling clay jars. Seo-joon stepped closer, feigning interest in the jars, but mentally mapping the situation. The merchant was aggressive, arrogant, and overconfident—perfect prey.
Using the pot, Seo-joon duplicated a few jars, then approached the rival merchant with a humble smile. "Sir, I noticed you're selling these jars… may I offer some advice?"
The merchant laughed. "Advice from a kid in rags? Get lost."
Seo-joon bowed slightly. "If you insist… but I think you'll find that a clever adjustment could double your sales."
The merchant's brow furrowed. "Double my sales? How?"
Seo-joon produced a duplicated jar from his satchel, cleaned it quickly with water, and held it out. "See this? Imagine having twice as many jars to sell without spending a coin on materials. That's the idea."
The merchant blinked. "Impossible… you—how—?"
Seo-joon smiled faintly, retreating into the crowd. Not my problem, he thought. The merchant would either adapt, panic, or ignore him. Either way, Seo-joon had established a subtle psychological advantage, making others question their own strategies.
Evening fell, and the market quieted. Seo-joon returned to his cave, the duplicated goods safely stored. He cleaned the fish, cooked a small portion of rice, and allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
This is only the beginning.
The mysterious figure had vanished from the market, but Seo-joon couldn't shake the memory—the scent, the precise movements. Could someone like that exist in these slums? He shook his head. No matter. Focus on profit. Power comes first. Curiosity second.
The next day, Seo-joon returned to the market, now bolder. He carried duplicated rice, sticks, and small clay jars, carefully trading for essentials: firewood, a new cooking pot, and cloth. Each trade was meticulously calculated, leaving no suspicion of his source.
While walking through the crowded streets, he noticed the figure again, standing at a distance, negotiating for herbs. The cloth covering their face hid most features, and the masculine posture kept Seo-joon convinced it was a boy.
But again… that scent. Delicate, floral, and faintly sweet. His stomach clenched briefly. He cursed under his breath. Focus, Seo-joon. This is not the time for… distraction.
The day was interrupted by a commotion near the water trough. A group of slum bullies was harassing a smaller merchant, trying to steal bundles of rice. Seo-joon's instincts kicked in. He could have ignored it, but the opportunity to test strategy—and instill fear—was too good.
He approached quietly, letting the pot sit safely in his satchel. Dropping a small bundle of sticks inside, he produced several seconds later and launched them strategically at the bullies, striking arms and shoulders with precise, non-lethal hits. The leader, a man named Gwan, yelped in surprise.
"Who—what?!" he shouted, retreating with his gang.
Seo-joon stood tall, chest heaving, and picked up one of the fallen sticks. "Next time, think before messing with people smarter than you," he muttered. Lesson learned for them—and for me.
As dusk approached, Seo-joon returned once more to the mysterious figure. This time, he couldn't help himself—he observed them more closely, noting their movements, their subtle grace, and yes, that irritatingly pleasant scent that kept catching him off guard.
"Who are you?" he muttered under his breath. The figure glanced toward him briefly, tilting their head but not revealing their face. Their voice, when they spoke to a vendor, was soft but firm, carrying authority despite its feminine undertone. Seo-joon frowned.
No… it can't be… Why does someone who looks like a boy—maybe even my rival—move like that, smell like that, sound like that?
He decided to retreat into the shadows, silently watching. Curiosity flared, but he reminded himself: Survival first, curiosity second. Strategy first, fascination later.
Even so, a tiny, reluctant part of him acknowledged it: this mysterious person—clever, careful, and maddeningly graceful—was someone he needed to keep an eye on.
That night, Seo-joon cooked a modest meal, duplicated just enough rice and dried fish to last a few days, and carefully inventoried his stash. Each duplicate item, each trade, and every clever maneuver reinforced his plan: build influence, gather resources, and prepare for a bigger move.
And somewhere in the streets of the slums, the mysterious figure watched too, unseen by Seo-joon, unaware that she had already left a faint—but unforgettable—mark on the ambitious newcomer's mind.