The tavern hadn't quieted down. If anything, it had grown louder. The bandits around Ren were red-faced, their laughter booming like thunder in the cramped room. Mugs clattered, chairs creaked, and one man nearly fell flat on his back because he couldn't stop laughing.
All because of a single, stupid declaration.
"I'll get strong enough to never run out of food! And then I'll share it with everyone who's hungry!"
Ren had said it with a grin so wide his cheeks nearly split, his fist pumped in the air like he had just announced the greatest dream in history.
The bandits, however, couldn't stop cackling.
"Food? Of all the things in the world—wealth, women, kingdoms—this brat wants food!" one howled, pounding the table with his fist.
"Unlimited food! Hah! Even kings can't have that, boy! You're a bigger fool than the drunkest of us!"
Ren didn't flinch under their jeers. He crossed his arms, puffing his chest out proudly, crumbs still stuck to the corner of his lips. "Laugh all you want! But when your stomach's growling at night, you'll remember me!"
That sent them into another fit of laughter. One man actually fell off his chair this time, rolling on the sticky tavern floor as tears streamed down his face.
Ren blinked at them, clearly confused. "What? Did I say something funny?"
"Kid," one bandit managed to choke out between guffaws, "you could have said gold, women, power—hell, even immortality! But no, you said food! Gods above, you're killing me!"
Their mockery filled the air, blending with the tavern's drunken noise. Yet amid all the harsh laughter, another sound joined in.
A low chuckle.
It wasn't mocking. It wasn't cruel.
The boyish grin on Ren's face faltered when he turned his head toward the shadowed corner of the table.
The man sitting there—silent until now—was laughing too. His voice was deep, smooth, carrying none of the jeering tones of his companions. Instead, it was warm, almost amused in a way that set him apart from the others.
Ren tilted his head, unsure what to make of it.
The bandits noticed too. Their laughter slowed, glances darting toward the figure they never dared interrupt. If he laughed, they followed. If he ordered silence, they obeyed. He wasn't their leader by name, but his presence alone commanded respect.
He leaned forward slightly, revealing a face that was both weathered and sharp, as though life had carved scars on his soul more than his body. The faintest smile tugged at his lips as he spoke.
"Food, huh?"
His voice cut through the room. The bandits fell quiet.
Ren blinked, then nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Food! Think about it—no more starving people, no more rumbling bellies, no more stealing bread or fighting over scraps. If I could wish for one thing, I'd wish for food forever."
The man chuckled again, shaking his head as if he couldn't decide whether to call Ren insane or admirable.
"You're a strange one, boy. Strength for food. Ambition for… a full belly. Most men would kill for crowns and empires. But you—" he narrowed his eyes, his smile fading just enough to show the weight behind his words, "—you'd fight for a meal."
Ren didn't notice the sharpness in his tone. He just nodded with the same dumb grin. "Exactly! Finally, someone understands!"
The tavern erupted into mixed reactions. Some bandits laughed again, some muttered curses about wasting time on a fool, and a few sat silently, watching both Ren and the mysterious man with unreadable expressions.
The boy's dream was ridiculous. Absurd.
And yet, there was something… refreshing about it.
The man's eyes lingered on Ren, as though searching for cracks in his naïve exterior. But all he found was that same stubborn glint—the kind of resolve too stupid to be shaken.
Finally, he leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight. "Alright, boy. Let's test that ambition of yours."
Ren perked up, crumbs falling from his lips. "Test? Like… a quiz?"
The bandits chuckled again, but the man ignored them. His eyes never left Ren.
"You say you'll get strong. You say you'll fight for that dream. But words are cheap. Prove it."
Ren tilted his head. "Prove it? How?"
The man's faint smile returned. "Defeat the one who caught you."
The tavern stilled. The bandits who had been laughing a moment ago went silent, exchanging uneasy looks.
Ren blinked, his expression blank. "…Wait, you mean the guys who tied me up?"
"Not them," the man corrected calmly. "The one who first put you on the ground. The one who had you at their mercy before I intervened."
Memories flickered dimly in Ren's mind. He remembered the rough hands grabbing him, the cold blade pressed against his throat, the sneering faces around him. He remembered his body moving without thought, pure instinct lashing out—and then darkness.
His stomach growled. Ren frowned. "Do I have to fight them now? I just ate…"
That single line broke the tension. Half the tavern burst into laughter again, and even the man let out another quiet chuckle.
But his eyes were sharp when he spoke again. "Not now. Soon. Think of it as your first step. If you want to chase your foolish dream, then stand up and fight. Show me you have more than a bottomless stomach."
Ren chewed on his lip, looking like he was actually thinking for once. Then his face lit up again with a grin that was equal parts dumb and fearless.
"Alright! If that's what it takes, I'll do it! I'll beat that bandit and prove I'm serious!"
He slammed his fist onto the table, nearly knocking over a mug of ale. The bandits burst into a mix of cheers and jeers, some egging him on, others shaking their heads at the absurdity of it all.
The man simply leaned back again, his expression unreadable. His laughter was gone, replaced by a calm that was far more dangerous.
"You'd better be ready, boy. Foolish dreams burn the brightest… but they also burn out the fastest."
Ren didn't hear the warning in his tone. He just grinned wider, fists clenched.
For the first time in his short, foolish life, he had declared a goal.
And for the first time, someone had given him the chance to prove it.
The night dragged on, the tavern filled once more with laughter, shouts, and the clinking of mugs. But beneath the chaos, a quiet storm had begun to brew.
A fool's ambition had been spoken aloud.
And the world would not forget it.