Beggar 123
I woke up as a filthy child clutching a rotten fish with hands that hadn’t been washed in who knows how long.
“……?”
I couldn’t tell if this was a dream or reality. I smacked the headless durahan fish aside and approached a passerby on the street.
“Excuse me.”
“Don’t touch me, you filthy beggar! Here, take this and get lost!”
Clatter. Coins flew straight into my face and slapped my cheek mercilessly for nothing more than a single sentence. I’d seen kimchi slaps in trashy dramas, but never a coin slap. Life really does throw you curveballs……
‘Wait.’
My mind snapped into focus. The absurdity of receiving my very first coin slap—an experience no modern person should ever have—wasn’t even the main issue. The cold, tangible sensation of the coins against my skin was far too vivid.
‘Why does this feel so real?’
Suspecting the worst, I pinched my cheeks, slapped myself repeatedly, banged my forehead against the wall behind me, and even bit into my bony arm. It hurt. The rags I was wearing weren’t an illusion either. When I shoved a sleeve into my mouth and chewed, the rough texture of the filthy fabric and the taste of the dirty water being squeezed out registered clearly on my tongue.
This wasn’t a dream!
“Look at that crazy beggar hurting himself.”
“Must’ve lost his mind.”
“Never seen such a deranged beggar before.”
Thanks to that, I’d apparently been promoted from “filthy beggar” to “crazy beggar,” but I barely registered the murmurs. My attention was caught by words I’d only ever seen in novels: otherworld transfer. Reincarnation. Things like that.
Tch. I spat out the scrap of fabric I’d been chewing like gum and hurriedly gathered the coins that had struck my face and fallen to the ground, tucking them carefully into my clothes. I was going to need money if I wanted to survive in this unfamiliar world.
“Who am I?”
“What’s that kid saying?”
“He really is crazy.”
When I muttered into the air, the beggar children who had been begging with tin cans nearby whispered among themselves and slowly edged away from me. That was fine. Their hundred-year-old dog-food stench had been giving me a headache anyway.
Of course, I hadn’t started spouting nonsense like a madman just to drive them off. For someone who had suddenly been thrown into a fantasy world, this was the most important question of all.
“Who…… am I?”
Huh. Who would’ve thought I’d end up seriously pondering the question “Who am I?”—the same one I used to half-heartedly copy from the internet for middle-school ethics class? Since I was apparently fated to live in this world, establishing my own identity was essential. Things like name, age, status, origin, past, and occupation.
So who was I?
‘What else? A hollow bun.’
It was ridiculous to compare myself to bread when I couldn’t even eat any, but no metaphor fit better. After calmly organizing my thoughts, the personal details of this body were exactly like a hollow bun—completely empty. Spotless.
‘Now that I’m thinking about hollow buns, I want to eat one.’
I was just some nobody. Beggar Nobody. According to the other beggars, there were over a hundred and twenty beggars in this city, and I was a newbie who had only recently crawled in. So maybe I was Beggar Number 123?
Beggar 123 truly had nothing. No name. No parents, no siblings, not even distant relatives seven or eight times removed. Naturally, no house and no hometown either. Talents? Skills? Of course not. I couldn’t even read or write, so what skills could I possibly have? If I’d had even a shred of talent, I wouldn’t have been begging on the streets.
Grumble.
‘I’m hungry.’
Unable to endure the hunger any longer, I set out to find food. Fortunately, on the first day I managed to buy strawberry-jam cookies with the coin-slap money. I split the palm-sized cookie into three and somehow survived half a day on it, but the real problem came after. Most days I begged from morning till night and came up empty. “Handsome mercenary, sir, spare a coin! Give me money!” Switching between pitiful and groveling modes, I still often failed to earn a single penny. Every single day was hardcore difficulty. If this were a game, at least I could reload. But here, eating nothing at all was its own form of torture.
Grrooowl.
“Aaaagh! I’m starving! I’m gonna die of hunger!”
Begging alone had its limits. There were simply too many beggars. Whenever someone opened their wallet, beggars swarmed like locusts, thrusting out their cans in a bloody free-for-all. Standing out from that filthy mob and receiving a coin was no easy task.
“Move it, you filthy beggars! I want some too!”
The competition for survival was brutal. Still, after enduring, I occasionally met generous merchants and had decent hauls. Those were the rare days I tasted the sweetness of happiness. While I was hugging my can like treasure and dreaming of buying food, a rat appeared.
“Whoa, listen to those coins jingle. You did good business today, huh, kid?”
“Get lost.”
“What did you say?”
“I said get lost, you filthy beggar.”
“Hand it over while I’m still asking nicely. Unless you want to die.”
Beggars who smelled money had their eyes on my can. They looked about middle-school age—vicious types who extorted earnings from easy targets like newbie beggars. Plenty of beggar children had been beaten and crippled by them.
“These bastards. They really don’t know when to stop.”
After rolling around as a beggar, all that remained was venom. The venom of pure survival! I felt a deep rage rising from my core.
“Hey, take that kid’s money!”
“You’re dead today, you little shit!”
“Get him!”
When I refused, they surrounded me from all sides. They were older, but malnutrition meant the size difference wasn’t that big. There’s a saying that striking first wins. I gritted my teeth and drove my fist straight into the leader’s face.
“Guh!”
Caught off guard, he staggered in shock. I snatched a nearby bottle and smashed it against his head.
Crash!
“Aaaaaagh!”
Shards of glass scattered like stars. Bright red blood flowed from the leader’s cracked skull, painting his face. Blood. Crimson blood. It streamed beautifully, like a meteor trailing a red tail through a sky of glittering glass stars.
“I wasn’t trying to make him pretty.”
Even though my preemptive strike had landed, the sight somehow didn’t satisfy me. Someone who’d done wrong shouldn’t look pretty when they got hit.
‘Then I’ll make him a mess.’
I tossed the broken bottle and leapt onto his torso like a cicada, pounding his face with my fists. Before I knew it, I was striking him with bloodshot eyes, like someone whose mind had snapped. When I came to my senses, he was a bloody pulp, slumped over, and his two lackeys had already fled.
Word must have spread, because after that incident, no one dared approach my rice bowl again.
“Isn’t that the kid?”
“The one who half-crippled the boss of 56th Street alley?”
“That guy’s insane. Don’t even make eye contact.”
No more beggars bothered me, but poverty’s torment remained. I began digging through food waste. It took courage to face the vomit-inducing visuals, but when one meal a day became half a meal, even trash started looking like a buffet. I survived by touring restaurant, inn, and bakery dumpsters. I wasn’t filling my stomach—I was merely enduring. A beggar’s life, forever shackled to hunger, was wretched and horrific, but I clung to survival with everything I had.
Before I knew it, a year had passed. Around the time this newbie had been promoted to pro beggar, someone appeared before me.
“You’ve got venom in your eyes.”
It was an old man. He wore a navy robe and carried a staff.
“I am a wizard. I will teach you what I know.”
His hair was white and his face lined with wrinkles, yet his eyes shone with a piercing light that no old man should possess, as if they could see straight into my soul. His appearance was ordinary, yet he radiated an indescribable, powerful presence.
‘He really does seem like a wizard.’
The green orb at the tip of his staff glowed with emerald light, and a beautiful rainbow danced around it. I’d once seen a wandering wizard perform street magic in the square; this light looked remarkably similar. An alien, wondrous power that didn’t belong to this world! A year of beggar experience told me one thing: that was magic.
“You’ll teach me your knowledge?”
“Yes. I’ll make sure you can eat and live like a human being. If you learn from me, you’ll never suffer from hunger again. Will you follow?”
I paused mid-bite on the baguette I’d scavenged from a bakery dumpster and stared at the old man. Wizards were supposed to be eccentric, unpredictable lunatics. Instinct said I should be wary, yet my heart raced. A cliché from martial arts novels flashed through my mind—the powerful master who appears before the protagonist enduring a harsh life and recruits them as a disciple. Could it be……? Was this the legendary bowl-of-rice opportunity I’d only heard about?
‘Finally, my own lucky break!’
Gulp. This was my chance for a life reversal.
‘If I learn magic and become a wizard, I could……!’
I could make bread with magic! Not only that—I might even be served lavish feasts by nobles! What was there to think about? As long as I could eat until I burst, nothing else mattered! The training might be tough, but if it meant becoming a wizard, I’d do anything. Ten years, twenty years—I was confident I could endure whatever was asked of me. At the very least, it would be better than this dog-like reality.
“You’re a cautious one. Most children would have followed immediately.”
The old man regarded me with the look one gives a special child. I’d only been happily imagining stuffing my belly with grease. He seemed to have mistaken my expression for deep contemplation.
After a moment, I set the now-useless baguette on the ground. I stood, dusted off my hands, and asked with innocent eyes.
“Today’s my birthday. Could you buy me a meal?”
Of course I had no idea when my birthday was. I just wanted a free meal, so I lied.
“Does that mean you accept my offer?”
“Well…… if you’re buying.”
“Buying one meal isn’t difficult. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a proper restaurant. Let’s see……”
The old man looked around, pointed his staff at a building, and said, “That place looks good. How about chicken? They make excellent chicken dishes there.”
“Anywhere is fine with me.”
“Honesty is a virtue. Let’s go. Since it’s your birthday, I’ll let you eat as much as you want. No alcohol, of course.”
The old man smiled kindly and chuckled. The other beggar children watched me with envious eyes as I was chosen by the wizard. A few even looked at the old man with pity, as if thinking, “Poor old man, taking in that lunatic.”
I glanced briefly at the tin can I’d shared a year of hardships with, then turned away without hesitation.
Ah, farewell, my begging life! Beggar 123 is free!
My steps following the old man were filled with excitement, anticipation, and a sense of liberation.
That was how I became the wizard’s disciple.
……No. I became his slave.