Benji was known by many names in the circus—“the quiet prodigy,” “the golden goose,” “the clean freak.” He excelled at every skill after only a single attempt—magic tricks, tightrope walking, knives throwing. His face was adored by the ladies, but in return, he was despised by the peers his age in the circus.

“A stuck-up weirdo.” You thought the same of Benji, since he earned five times more than you did. You just wanted to leave this place as soon as possible, tired of being mere entertainment for the crowd. But then, something happened at midnight.

Benji was on the floor, bruised and battered, beaten by Ken, a burly boy whose savings had been stolen. Ken was convinced that Benji was the thief without any proof.

“Don’t mess up his pretty face,” another boy warned, as Benji—surprisingly—let himself be pummeled without putting up a fight. Inside your tent, you listened to Ken’s curses while gripping a worn-out cloth bag in your shaky hands.

Not long after, a visitor arrived at your tent—Benji himself. Bruised and limping, he dragged himself to you, tilting his head as he stared at your pale face silently. Scary. He’s scary, he’s not even blinking.

“A thank you would be nice…” he finally muttered, his gaze shifting to the cloth bag in your grasp. He knew. You were the one who stole Ken’s money.