"These joys… these smiles… are mine. And I will build a life that no one can take from me."
And from that moment—
He was no longer just a boy walking the streets.
He was a force in motion.
A storm learning to roar.
The next morning arrived, sharp and bright.
As the sunlight hit his eyes, the boy groaned, "Ugh... why does the sun always have to be this bright when I'm miserable?"
Still, he got up, stumbled over to the well, and splashed cold water on his face.
"Wake up, you useless sack of bones," he muttered to himself. "Can't sit here crying about life forever, right?"
Then he took a deep breath, straightened his back like a hero in a story, and said dramatically,
"Today... starts... my journey to greatness!"
…And then immediately tripped over a rock.
"Off to a perfect start," he muttered, dusting himself off.
As he walked along the road, the reality of his situation smacked him right in the face again.
"Right, first thing's first… a house. I need a house. Even stray dogs don't respect you when you don't have a roof over your head. Look at that one—"
He pointed at a passing dog, wagging its tail proudly.
"He's got a home. I don't. That dog's richer than me. Fantastic."
The problem was clear.
"Buy a house? Sure. Let me just sell one of my imaginary gold coins. Oh wait—I don't have any!"
Frustrated, he flopped dramatically by the side of the road, arms wide, like some fallen king.
"Great plan. Become a king. Can't even afford bread."
But then—like a flicker of fire—he remembered the promise he made to himself the night before.
His own voice rang in his head:
"No giving up. No excuses. If I'm going to be miserable, I'll at least be miserable with purpose."
He stood up.
"Fine! If I'm gonna suffer—I'm gonna suffer like a legend."
He stormed off toward the jungle, dragging an old axe behind him like some kind of tired warrior.
The axe was dull, slightly rusty, and barely held together by a worn leather strap. It looked like someone's great-grandfather's great-grandfather had last used it.
"Thank you, old lady," he muttered. "May your tea always stay warm for giving me this masterpiece of engineering."
First tree.
THUNK
Nothing happened.
Second try.
THUNK
The tree wobbled slightly.
Third try.
"Are you serious right now? Is this tree made of iron or something?!"
Finally—after what felt like a full war—
CRASH
It fell.
He leaned against another tree, panting. "I just fought a tree. And I think the tree won."
Collapsing onto the ground, he stared up at the sky.
"You know… if anyone's listening… a small fortune falling from the sky would be great right now."
Silence.
A single bird pooped near his shoe.
"...Perfect. Even the birds are richer than me."
Still, he laughed. Not because anything was funny—but because it was either laugh, or break apart.
He took a sip from his tiny, dented water flask.
"One tree down… a million more to go. Guess this is what greatness looks like."
And with that, he picked up the axe again.
"Let's go, you oversized weeds. I'm coming for all of you."
But after just cutting down two trees, he was already completely exhausted. Dragging the two heavy logs behind him, he muttered:
"That's it for today. If I try cutting even one more tree, I'm not sure if the tree will fall first or if I will. Either way—I'm definitely going to die of exhaustion before anything else. And with no food left... and my water finished too…"
Panting, he dragged the two logs slowly, stopping every few steps.
"Maybe if I break these into smaller pieces, I can at least carry them without passing out."
He sat down by the path, took a dull blade, and chopped the branches off the trunks, one by one, making them lighter.
Finally, half-dragging and half-carrying, he reached the village.
Setting the wood in a small pile in the market square, he clapped his hands together, stood up like a proud merchant, and began shouting like a salesman at a royal fair:
"FIREWOOD! FIREWOOD HERE! Winter's coming, and you don't want to freeze your toes off, do you?! Buy this fine wood and keep your house warm and your family alive! Warm bodies, happy life! Let's go! Cheap, but strong—just like me!"
People around gave him curious glances. Some shook their heads. Some chuckled.
"Come on, folks! Don't make me beg—I nearly died cutting this. Keep warm! Keep happy! Keep alive!"
He stood next to his pile of wood like a warrior standing next to his fallen enemies, ready to sell whatever life had thrown at him.
This was how his new life would begin. Not with gold. Not with fame.
But with two logs… and one very tired boy.
A man walked up to him, scratching his chin thoughtfully, eyeing the pile of wood.
"Hey kid… how much are you selling these for?"
The boy straightened up immediately, putting on his best salesman face:
"Sir! You've come to exactly the right place. If you don't want to freeze to death this winter, this is what you need. Special offer—lowest price in the whole village!"
The man raised an eyebrow.
"Alright then. How much?"
With full drama, the boy replied:
"One piece… just one brown coin, sir. Just one brown coin and you'll sleep warm tonight."
The man squinted at him.
"One brown coin per piece? And how do I know you're not lying? Anyone can drag some old logs here and scream about it in the market. What, you got ghost money with you or something?"
The boy didn't flinch. He just held up the axe by his side and pointed to his sweat-drenched shirt.
"See this axe? See this sweat? I've been cutting trees since sunrise—on an empty stomach. I haven't eaten anything yet. If you buy this, not only do you get good firewood, but you'll also earn some good karma by helping out a hungry man."
The man chuckled.
"Alright, alright, fine. Give me one."
But the boy wasn't done.
"One? Sir, are you planning to fight winter with one piece of wood? No, no. I have a better deal just for you. Take the whole lot for just… five silver coins. Special price for you. All of it."
The man frowned.
"I said I only need one!"
But the boy kept going, fast-talking like a street magician:
"Think ahead! Imagine—you're cooking dinner tonight, right? But what about next week? What about when winter really hits and you can't find firewood anywhere? I'm offering you enough for the whole season. And trust me… you don't wanna be that guy running around in the cold when everyone else is warm."
The man hesitated. He thought about it.
"Hmph… the other sellers are charging two brown coins per piece anyway… and here this kid is giving me the whole pile for just five silvers..."
The boy could see the doubt turning into agreement.
He smiled to himself, proud of his cleverness.
Finally, the man nodded.
"Alright, kid. You've got yourself a deal."
He handed over five shiny silver coins. The boy took them like they were ancient treasure, feeling the cold metal in his dirt-covered palms. The man gathered up the firewood, smiling as he walked away, probably thinking he had gotten the better bargain.
But the boy?
He just stood there in the street, sweaty, starving, tired—and triumphant.
"Five silvers," he whispered to himself. "One meal and a start. Not bad for a broke kid with nothing but an axe."
And for the first time that day…
he smiled.
Now with five shiny silver coins jingling in his pocket, he walked like a king. Chest out, chin up, the works.
"Finally! Now I'm not just that 'weird kid from the tent.' I'm a businessman. A tycoon! Soon, people will be calling me 'Sir Firewood'…"
As he strutted down the road, he imagined himself sitting on a throne—made entirely of chopped wood—with servants fanning him with leaves.
But then it happened.
The Dog.
That same, scruffy, judgmental dog with exactly zero respect for his entrepreneurial success.
The boy stopped. The dog stopped.
Two champions. Two warriors. Staring each other down on the battlefield of life.
The boy raised the five silver coins in the air like a hero showing off his medal of victory.
"HA! Look at this, mutt! You see these? That's called success. Ever heard of it?"
The dog… blinked. Calm. Emotionless. Silent.
Then the dog turned around… and walked slowly toward his cozy little kennel.
But right before it disappeared—
—it looked back.
With eyes that definitely said:
"Money's nice, kid. But… I sleep on a pillow. Good luck with your dirt bed."
The boy stared.
"…You smug little… pillow-having… carpet-footed traitor."
He could almost hear the dog laughing from inside.
Annoyed, he kicked a rock on the ground.
The rock bounced off a wall…
…came straight back…
…and hit him on the forehead.
"Yep. Universe hates me."
But then he laughed. Really laughed. Because honestly—five silver coins, a bruised forehead, and a dog richer than him?
That's basically how his life was going.
But now, at least, he had one thing more than before—
Hope.
And five silver coins.
And a lifelong grudge against that dog.