"So how should I go about this?"
Leon was a little confused about how to turn his plans into reality.
"Let's start with scouting," he said to himself before heading off.
It was the middle of the day. The sun blazed overhead, bearing down with heat. Leon had already walked quite far. He was looking for someone important—someone people would listen to. He knew his limitations all too well. No one was going to take a five-year-old seriously. Hell, he'd be surprised if they even stayed to listen to him.
That's why he was out here, wandering through the streets. Thanks to his improved senses, he could hear conversations from far away, picking up whispers and murmurs like tuning into different radio channels.
But until now, he hadn't found anything worthwhile.
As Leon walked along a narrow road, he suddenly heard a sharp voice shout from a street behind him. He turned quickly. A small crowd had gathered in a spot he'd passed just a few minutes ago. There had been nothing there before—but now something was definitely going on.
Leon decided to check it out.
Aside from finding someone people would follow, he also had another goal in mind: to make himself known—at least in this neighborhood.
When he got closer to the commotion, he heard a man yelling in frustration.
"How can they do this to me? I worked there for twelve years—and now they just replace me like nothing?"
Another voice joined in: "I worked there for six. And they threw me out just because I got sick for three days. What am I supposed to do now?"
Around them, people started whispering:
"I mean… they were absent for days."
"They should've known."
"Yeah, it's common. People get fired without a reason all the time. Especially if you miss a day."
Leon's ears perked up.
Opportunity. He could smell it in the air.
"So these two men were laid off just for being absent a day or two…" he thought.
Leon pushed and squeezed his way toward the front of the crowd.
Now what do I do?
he saw two men sat on the ground—dust clinging to their clothes, their faces red with anger and shame. One of them held a torn worker's badge in his trembling hand. The other looked as if he'd just come back from a hospital bed.
Leon took a breath. He didn't have a plan yet. But he knew an opportunity when he saw one.
Someone bumped into him and muttered, "Watch it, kid."
Another man glanced down at him. "What's a brat doing here?"
Leon ignored them.
He stepped forward.
"Is this how it usually happens?" he asked, loud enough for the nearest five or six to hear. "You work twelve years, six years, give your time, your body, your health—and they throw you out because you caught a fever?"
A few eyebrows lifted. People turned toward him—not many, just a few.
A gruff man in a black vest frowned. "Go home, boy. This ain't a place for children."
Leon didn't pay him any attention. He walked toward the two men sitting on the ground.
"I once met a priest," Leon said, his voice clear. "He told me God made everyone equal."
He had used God's name deliberately. People were more likely to listen when faith was involved—it made you sound sincere, serious. People didn't argue with priests, even when they doubted them.
Leon glanced around. He could feel it in their eyes—they were annoyed. He understood. If some snot-nosed brat suddenly showed up telling you how to think, how to live, you'd be annoyed too. That's just how people worked—they only listened to those they saw as equals… or superiors.
That's why Leon didn't offer advice.
Instead, he asked a question.
"Was the priest wrong?" he asked, softly, genuinely curious. "Are we not equals? Do our lives… our happiness… our struggles mean nothing?"
His voice trembled slightly. He looked down, as if overwhelmed by the weight of his own thoughts.
A hand gently landed on his head.
Leon looked up.
It was the same man who'd been shouting earlier, the one who had worked twelve years only to be tossed aside like trash.
"You don't need to worry about these things, kid," the man said, his voice tired but kind. "At least not yet. You're too young for this."
"But my brother said I'm not a child anymore," Leon replied, still holding the man's gaze. "He said I should work hard… and be happy."
He paused.
"But you worked hard… and you're not happy."
The man blinked.
Behind him, the gruff man from earlier cleared his throat. His voice came softer now. "Where's your brother, kid?"
Leon's eyes glistened.
"He's dead," he said. "One morning, he left for work… and never returned."
His voice cracked. He didn't fake the emotion—it was real. The memory of his past life, the loneliness, the meaningless end… it all came rushing back.
The silence in the crowd grew deeper.
People stopped looking at Leon like a nosy child.
Now, they saw something else—someone who had lost, who understood pain, who was speaking not from books or fantasies but from lived truth.
A few lowered their eyes.
The man beside him gently patted his shoulder. "What's your name, son?"
"Leon."
"Alright, Leon. You're a strange one," the man said with a weak chuckle, "but… you got guts."
The gruff man gave a grunt, then spoke, not to Leon, but to the others. "Bosses don't care if we're old, young, sick, or loyal. They throw us out the moment we're inconvenient. Maybe the boy's got a point."
More murmurs spread.
Leon stood quietly. He didn't push further. He had said enough for now.
He wasn't looking for change in a day. He just needed a spark.
And today… he had lit one.
__
Leon was back in his room. The sun was setting, and it was almost time for Lisa and Mira to return.
Satisfied with how his day had gone, he sat in the corner, legs tucked under, arms resting on his knees.
'Now I just have to do this a few more times… Meet more people, talk to them… The second step is to tell them about the idea of revolution. But… how do I go about that?'
Just then, a knock came from the door. Leon stood up and opened it.
Lisa was there, tired and damp with sweat and water. She smelled faintly of ash soap. Mira trailed behind her, looking just as exhausted. Each of them carried a cloth bag—filled mostly with groceries and bread.
Ever since coming here, their lifestyle had improved a lot. They cooked their own food. It still wasn't on par with what Leon used to eat back on Earth, but it was far better than the scraps they were fed at the Cradle. Thanks to Lisa and Mira working at the laundry shop, they had access to clean clothes now. They weren't wearing dirty rags anymore.
But it wasn't perfect either. Mathew and Bear, for example, worked 12-hour shifts—sometimes even longer. They came home late in the evening, barely able to stand. Lisa and Mira were both still under 13, yet their hands were growing rough from hours of washing clothes every day.
"You okay?" Lisa asked as she set her bag down by the door.
"Nothing much," Leon said with a shrug.
"Really? Your face says otherwise," Lisa said, walking over and sitting beside him.
"What's wrong with my face?" Leon raised an eyebrow.
"No, nothing's wrong with your face," Lisa replied. "It's just… you're making that serious expression again."
"Oh, that. I was just thinking."
"About what? What we're going to eat tonight?" Mira joked from the other side of the room.
Leon gave a faint smile, but then leaned back against the wall.
"No. I was thinking about the future. Our future."
"Oooh, our little Leon is all grown up now, huh?" Lisa teased, nudging his shoulder lightly. "So, what were you thinking about?"