Drogo headed toward the restroom, his head still pounding. Damn… I feel like shit. I’m still nauseous. I wonder what I got after eating that bastard’s heart. I hope this suffering was worth it. He asked himself the question but received no answer. Instead, the pressure in his skull intensified. The buzzing grew sharper, turning into a shrill, almost screaming sound. Drogo leaned over the sink and shoved his head under the faucet, letting icy water run over it. In the rush of cold he suddenly heard the voice of his essence.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you bastard. Listen – he’s here.

  The dialogue with the blind essence began.

  Who’s here?

  The boy. The one from the hospital. The one with the gift we need.

  Why didn’t you say it earlier?

  I was screaming about it, you idiot. I smelled him. Find him.

  Drogo burst out of the restroom and scanned the bakery.

  The scent is still here, the essence said. But it’s weaker now.

  Drogo rushed outside and looked around. The street was crowded with people. The essence turned its head from side to side, trying to catch the smell, but the wind and the mix of food smells scattered everything, making it impossible to determine the direction.

  Well? Drogo asked.

  Because of you. Your stupidity and weakness. We lost him.

  Shut up. You’re me. Our weakness. What do we do now?

  Drogo returned to the bakery and headed back toward the restroom. The essence whispered first into one ear, then the other, repeating the same words: Your fault… weak… you are weak. As he walked, Drogo grabbed his head and rubbed his temples, trying to calm himself. Inside the restroom the whisper became unbearable. He splashed water onto his face, rubbed his temples again, then raised his head toward the mirror and smashed it with his fist.

  The pain came instantly, and strangely it made him feel better. Drogo looked down at his hand. Several fingers were broken, the knuckles crushed, but the blood was already clotting and the torn skin began to close. The bones remained broken, scars forming, yet the torn flesh was already sealing itself.

  Drogo examined his hand with interest. Not bad… that’s quite a reward for my suffering. A memory surfaced – the hotel room, the victim on the bed, the skin around the clamps that held the chest open slowly tightening. At the time he hadn’t paid attention to it.

  Now understanding the ability he had received, Drogo grabbed his broken fingers and snapped them back into place one by one. After each movement the torn tissue closed again. He washed the blood from his hand, calmed down a little, and walked back into the hall. Knowing that the boy had been here and that the scent still lingered faintly in the air, Drogo ordered coffee and pastries. He paid the bill and left extra money to cover the broken mirror. Then he sat near the window and sipped his coffee, lost in thought.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Gobby and German reached the sea and sat down on the steps leading to the beach. The sun was already high in the sky. Gobby was eating pastries while German watched him with a quiet smile.

  Trying to start a conversation, German asked something simple.

  Do you really like pastries that much?

  Gobby, his mouth full, raised a finger as if to say wait. After finishing the bite and taking a breath, he answered:

  Very much. I really love Empanadas de Pino.

  German looked surprised.

  Empanadas de Pino?

  Yeah. They’re pastries with filling, Gobby replied proudly.

  Then Gobby began explaining with growing enthusiasm why he loved pastries so much – the structure of the dough, the different fillings he had tried, the process of preparing them, and the small details that made them good. German was surprised. He had assumed Gobby was simply a chubby guy who ate everything in sight. Now Gobby seemed far more interesting.

  Gobby, can I ask another question?

  Of course. You’re my friend.

  German, clearly excited, almost forgot what he wanted to ask.

  How did you do that?

  A memory flashed through his mind – Gobby shrinking slightly, his body turning red, then launching himself at the bullies.

  Gobby sighed.

  German… again? I told you yesterday. I’m just strong.

  No, I remember. I’m just curious how it works physiologically.

  Physiologically? Like physically? Gobby scratched his head. I don’t know. I just thought I needed to pull myself together and my muscles tensed up. I bit my tongue hard, got a rush of adrenaline, and just jumped.

  German fixed the word adrenaline in his mind.

  And when was the first time it happened?

  Gobby thought for a moment.

  Hmm… maybe during rugby.

  A memory surfaced – Gobby running across the field with the ball, knocking opponents aside and crossing the line while his teammates surrounded him.

  Actually, that wasn’t the first time, he corrected himself.

  Before I started playing rugby something else happened.

  School. Bathroom. I went in to wash my face, but I had a lollipop in my mouth and didn’t know where to put it. So I carefully placed it in the back pocket of my backpack so nothing would happen to it. While I was washing up, a couple of guys came in – two grades older than me. They decided to mess with the chubby kid. I ignored them and tried to leave. One of them noticed the lollipop, grabbed it, threw it on the floor and it shattered.

  I stopped. Turned around. Looked at the pieces. I crouched down, carefully gathered them and wrapped them in a small bag.

  Then something inside me just switched.

  I jumped up, grabbed the guy by the throat and pinned him to the wall.

  You owe me a lollipop. And remember – you don’t do that with food. If any of you ever do that again, you’ll be the one lying on the floor instead of that lollipop. Got it?

  The boys nodded quickly. Gobby let him go and they ran away.

  The next day they brought him a whole pile of lollipops to apologize. It turned out they were angry because Gobby didn’t respect their “authority”. They were the school athletes.

  Those same guys later told the school rugby coach about him, and the coach personally invited him to join the team. That was how Gobby started playing rugby.

  After finishing the story, Gobby noticed that German was holding a small notebook and pen, writing everything down.

  What’s that for? Gobby asked, pointing at the notebook.

  I’m writing down interesting things.

  Gobby shrugged and continued eating his pastries.

  So… what now? German asked.

  What do you mean what now?

  I don’t play football anymore. It takes too much energy. After every training session and match I had to stuff myself with food just to recover. I don’t like stuffing myself. I like enjoying food.

  German glanced at the bag full of pastries and wondered what “stuffing himself” would actually look like, but decided not to ask.

  Gobby added:

  The coach still tries to convince me to come back. And those guys? We’re friends now.

  They continued talking on the steps by the sea.