Chapter 1 — The Train
A frail boy sits on a subway bench.
His face is pale, his stomach hollow. He waits.
Cap in hand, cigarette smoke hanging in the air around him, he holds out his hand, again and again, but no one stops for him.
The trains pass, one after another.
The rumble of the rails drowns out the murmurs, the announcements, the footsteps, and the conversations.
His face vanishes behind a stream of hurried passersby.
Then silence returns.
Slowly, the boy lowers his arm.
A middle-aged man approaches.
He holds a cup in one hand and wears thin, worn-out clothes. At first glance, he doesn't seem much better off than the boy.
The man stops a few steps away.
Why is this old homeless man stopping in front of me? What does he want?
“Do you need something?”
The boy looks up.
“No... Well, yes. But can't you see I'm trying to beg here?”
The man offers a faint smile.
“I can. That's exactly why I stopped.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a banknote.
“Here, kid. Take it. I won't be needing it anymore.”
The boy hesitates before reaching out.
“But... why?”
The man glances toward the tracks.
“I'm taking the next train.”
The boy doesn't quite understand, but he takes the bill.
After hours of waiting for a stranger to spare him a little money, someone had finally given him something.
A smile slips onto his face.
“Thank you...”
He lowers his eyes to the bill.
His smile fades.
He turns it over, then looks at it again.
“What the...?”
He squints.
“But this is fake!”
The man says nothing.
“It's like those fake coins they give to children to play with! You tricked me!”
A wide grin spreads across the man's face.
Then he bursts into laughter.
“Sorry, kid. But I figured I deserved one good laugh before catching my train.”
The rumble of an approaching train echoes in the distance.
The boy frowns.
“You're really strange...”
The man says nothing.
The train appears at the far end of the tunnel.
It rushes forward, making the rails tremble.
The boy looks at the man.
He doesn't step back.
Instead, he slowly moves toward the edge of the platform.
The boy's smile vanishes.
“Sir?”
The man turns his head slightly.
His expression is strangely calm.
“Keep it anyway.”
“What?”
But the man doesn't answer.
The rumbling grows deafening.
And as the train pulls into the station, the boy finally understands what the man meant when he said he was taking the train.
He stands frozen.
His fingers close around the counterfeit bill.
For the first time in hours, someone had given him something.
And perhaps it was the last thing that man would ever give him.
