Gild Tesoro

Sabaody Archipelago—Human Auction House.

The air was thick with dampness and the scent of metal.

The scrape of dragging chains was like rusted blades, raking across people's hearts again and again.

Shouts of sale, laughter, and muffled sobs tangled together.

Light filtered down through the mangroves, bright yet unable to shine into people's hearts.

In a corner.

Gild Tesoro stood there, clutching a bulging money bag tightly to his chest.

It was not ordinary money. It was his life for the past three years.

His fingers had gone white from the force, and even his knuckles trembled faintly.

The calluses on his palms stung as the rough cloth rubbed against them, but he did not loosen his grip. Instead, he held it even tighter.

"Almost enough."

"Just a little more..."

He murmured under his breath.

His voice was dry, yet unable to hide his excitement.

Three years. A full three years.

During the day, he did the hardest labor, moving cargo and hauling crates, ordered around by everyone.

At night, he sang on the streets, his voice going from clear to hoarse, then from hoarse to torn.

Sometimes, the taste of blood came the moment he opened his mouth.

But he kept singing. He had to sing.

Because it was money, it was hope, it was her future.

The injuries on his body had never stopped. He had been kicked over, insulted, dragged along, even trampled into the mud.

But he had never stopped. Not once.

Because—

"Stella..."

His voice lowered, carrying a softness he barely dared touch.

He raised his head, his gaze passing over the iron bars and the crowd before landing precisely in that direction.

That familiar place, the place where he stood and sang every day.

As long as she was still there, it was not