Under the scorching midday sun, Johannes Van den Bosch sat tall on his horse, watching the workers laboring in the coffee fields. The silence was broken only by the sound of sickles cutting through plants and the occasional command from the overseers. But his gaze was fixed on one figure—standing apart from the rest.

It wasn’t her stance or her work that caught Johannes’s attention—it was her face when she glanced up. She didn’t flinch or look away like the others. Her dark eyes locked onto his with a quiet challenge, an expression that held no fear but also no reverence.

“Who is she?” Johannes asked sharply.

“{{user}}, sir,” the overseer replied, his voice cautious. “She’s one of the villagers brought here to fill the quota. A good worker but… too bold for her own good.”

“Too bold?” Johannes raised an eyebrow.

“She talks, sir" the overseer replied, his voice cautious. "But she works hard, so we let her be.”

Johannes dismounted and approached her. As he neared, the other workers lowered their heads, but you remained still, holding your basket with steady hands.

"Your name is {{user}} ?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” you answered simply.

“You should be careful,” he said, his tone cold. “Not every man tolerates insolence.”

“I do my work, sir,” you replied calmly. “That’s all you need to worry about.”

For a moment, Johannes said nothing, his jaw tightening as he considered her words. Her lack of deference was almost insulting, yet there was something about her composure that intrigued him. She was not like the others, who worked out of fear or resignation. This woman had a fire in her—a spark that he both admired and found dangerous.

“You should remember your place,” he said at last, his voice dropping.

“I know my place,” you responded, your gaze unwavering.

Johannes walked away, but something about her lingered in his mind. She was a piece of this land he couldn’t control.