The first day of my new life was a masterclass in how to fail a job interview. My new body was a disaster, as thin as a wire and dressed in rags that didn't even qualify as clothing, so if this were a company, it would be in total bankruptcy.
I walked away from that corrupt guard, a public official who clearly hadn't read the manual on labor ethics, and made my way into the main square where the noise was deafening. There were vendors shouting prices, children running between stalls, and the constant hammering of blacksmiths in a chaotic mess without any coordination. I needed work, food, and to understand what the hell this place was.
My stomach growled with the force of a union grievance, but I ignored the signal to focus on what mattered: market prospection. My first stop was a bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread was a form of torture for someone as hungry as I was. I watched the baker, a burly guy with arms like tree trunks, as he pulled loaves from a stone oven using a technique that was functional but inefficient. The oven was losing heat everywhere and the flour was too far from the workbench, which showed a total lack of organization. With a simple five-minute restructuring, he could increase his production considerably, I thought while watching him work.
I approached when he finished pulling out the last batch.
"Excuse me."
My voice sounded weak because of this malnourished body. The baker turned around while wiping sweat from his forehead and looked me up and down with obvious disgust.
"What do you want, kid?"
"I'm looking for work. I'm a fast learner."
He let out a laugh that nearly knocked me over.
"Work? Look, I don't know what you smoked this morning, but I need someone who can carry fifty-kilo sacks, not a scarecrow who's going to faint before noon."
"I can do other things. I could organize your inventory or optimize your workflow..."
"Optimize my what?"
We both looked at each other in an awkward silence.
"Your way of working. I could make it more efficient."
"Kid, I've been making bread for thirty years. I don't need a beggar telling me how to do my job."
He waved his hand as if shooing away a fly.
"Get out. And don't come back unless you have money to buy something."
That was rejection number one; the physical labor sector was a closed market for me for now. I kept walking through the square, which was a hive of disorganized commercial activity where fishmongers shouted over cloth merchants. Children stole fruit while shopkeepers chased after them in what felt like a stock market without regulation.
I saw a vegetable stall run by an elderly woman who had piles of carrots, cabbages, and something that looked like a cross between a pumpkin and a melon. The layout of her products was terrible because the high-margin items were tucked away in the back.
I approached her.
"Good morning, ma'am."
She looked up, surprised that someone so ragged would greet her with such courtesy.
"Good morning, young man. Are you looking for something in particular or just looking?"
"I'm looking for work, actually. Do you need help with your stall?"
Her expression softened a bit and at least she didn't laugh.
"Oh, child. I'd love to help you, but I barely have enough to eat myself. This business doesn't bring in much anymore."
"I understand. But if I may offer an observation, you could increase your sales with a better product layout."
"What was that?"
"Your best vegetables are in the back where customers can't see them. If you put them in front, they would draw more attention."
She frowned while looking at her stall as if seeing it for the first time.
"Mmmh. You might be right. I never thought about it like that."
"You could also group complementary products, like carrots with cabbages for soup. Customers would buy more if you made the decisions easier for them."
"You're a smart kid. It's a shame I don't have money to pay you."
She sighed and went back to rearranging a carrot.
"But if you come by tomorrow and still need help, I can give you some vegetables. It isn't much, but it's what I can offer."
"Thank you, ma'am."
While it wasn't a job, the fact that she hadn't kicked me out counted as progress. I continued my walk and passed a blacksmith shop where a man with athletic arms was pounding a piece of red-hot metal under unbearable heat. I approached anyway.
"Do you need help?"
He didn't even look up.
"No."
"I could keep the fire going or organize the tools..."
"I said no."
The hammer struck the metal with a sound that ended the conversation. Message received. That was the third or fourth rejection, and I had already lost count. I walked through side alleys looking for anything promising until I saw a carpentry shop. The master was an old man carving intricate figures with undeniable skill, although his business model of handcrafted production one piece at a time was a disaster.
I approached with my best humble face.
"Master, your art is exceptional. Would you take on an apprentice?"
The old man looked up and his eyes, though cloudy, were sharp.
"Apprentice? How old are you, boy?"
"Eighteen, sir, or sixteen. I'm not sure."
"You aren't sure of your own age?"
"I've had a difficult week."
He snorted something that could have been a laugh.
"Show me your hands."
I held out the hands of someone who had never worked a day in his life.
"Mmm. Hands of a scribe, not a craftsman."
He took a piece of wood and a carving knife.
"Make me a bird."
"Pardon?"
"A bird. If you can do that, I'll consider teaching you."
I took the knife. The wood was soft and the edge was sharp. In theory it should be simple if I visualized the process of removing excess material to define the shape, but in practice my hands were shaking. The knife slipped, the wood splintered in unplanned directions, and after five minutes of struggling, the result was definitely not a bird.
The old man took it and turned it in his hands.
"This looks more like a flattened bird than a living one."
"I'm aware it isn't my best work."
"Son, carving requires strong hands and a full stomach. Come back when you have both."
He handed back the mutilated piece of wood.
"But you are polite. That's rare these days. If you ever manage to fill that stomach, come back. Maybe by then your hands will be good for something."
"Thank you for your time, master."
I walked away with my pride in pieces, just like that wood. The sun was already high and the heat was brutal as my stomach went from growling to howling. I needed water, a place to sit, and above all to rethink my strategy. I sat on the edge of a public fountain where the water was murky, but at this moment it looked like champagne, so I drank from my hands to cool my throat.
"Hey, you."
I looked up at a boy my age who was dressed a little better than I was.
"What?"
"Are you new in town? I haven't seen you before."
"You could say that."
"Looking for work?"
I sat up a bit.
"How did you know?"
"Because you've been walking around the square like a headless chicken all day. I saw you talk to the baker, the vegetable lady, and the blacksmith."
"You're very attentive to what others are doing."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"There isn't much else to do. My name is Tao."
"Kenji."
"Strange name. Where are you from?"
"From far away."
"I see. One of those."
He sat down beside me without an invitation.
"Look, Kenji from Far Away, if you're looking for work in this city, you're going to starve to death. All the good spots are already taken unless you have some special skill."
"What kind of special skill?"
"You know. Cultivation. Martial arts. Something that makes you worth the effort."
Cultivation and martial arts. Apparently this world operated under rules that defied all known business logic.
"I don't have any of those things."
"Then you're screwed, friend."
"Thanks for the optimistic analysis."
Tao laughed.
"Hey, I'm just being honest. But if you're really desperate, there are ads on the market board for jobs that no one else wants, like cleaning stables or picking up trash."
"And why don't you take those jobs?"
"Because I have standards."
I looked at him. His clothes had holes and his shoes were about to disintegrate.
"Very high standards, I see."
"Shut up. At least I didn't drink water from the public fountain."
"Touché."
We stayed in silence for a moment. Despite his attitude, Tao seemed to be in a situation similar to mine or maybe worse.
"Why don't you have a job?" I asked.
"I had one in a tavern, but they fired me because I supposedly stole some wine."
"Did you?"
"Yeah, but it was only a little."
"That isn't a good defense."
"I don't need your sermons, Kenji from Far Away."
He stood up while shaking the dust off his pants.
"The market board is over there. If you're lucky, you'll find something before it gets dark. If not, there are alleys worse than others to sleep in."
"Wait."
He stopped.
"What?"
"Why are you helping me? You don't know me."
Tao thought for a moment.
"Because you look like I did three months ago: too proud to beg but too weak to steal."
And with that, he left. I sat there for a moment longer processing the information. Tao was the first person in this world who hadn't treated me like trash and I didn't know if that said something good about him or something terrible about my situation.
I stood up even though my legs and stomach protested. I headed toward the market board, which was a wooden post with scrolls pinned to it. There was everything: assistants for potion shops with resistance to toxic vapors, sewer cleaners for two copper coins, and herb gatherers in the Black Forest with a high risk of death. This world was completely crazy.
I kept reading until I saw a clean scroll with elegant calligraphy.
"SERVANTS WANTED. The Silver Cloud Clan, an honorable cultivation sect, seeks hard-working and discreet people for domestic duties at their residence. Room, board, and a modest stipend are offered. Interested parties must report to the Clan Residence before nightfall."
I read the ad three times. The Silver Cloud Clan seemed like an established organization with a recognized brand. The servant position was an entry-level position with a low physical barrier to entry that covered my basic needs. But the most important thing was that such an organization would have structure and resources; I could observe from the inside to identify opportunities. I would accept the janitor position despite being qualified to be a CEO, since even the janitor has access to every room.
The sun was already beginning to set and the offer expired at nightfall. I ripped the scroll from the board; this was my ticket in. A smile formed on my face, the smile of an executive who had just identified a viable hostile acquisition. The Silver Cloud Clan didn't know it yet, but they had just hired their future director.
First step: survive. Second step: observe. Third step: optimize everything from within.
I put the scroll away and set off. My legs were still shaking from hunger, but my mind was already working on my first consultancy project.