I stopped in front of the boy, slowly lowering myself onto one knee so that I wasn't towering over him. Up close, he looked even worse than he had from across the street. His clothes were thin for the weather, and his arms were covered in dirt and small scratches.
"Hey," I said gently, trying not to frighten him. "Were you one of the children rescued in Gotarum a few days ago?"
The boy stared at me for several seconds before slowly nodding.
"Yes. You. You were there."
His voice was quiet, almost to the point of being inaudible.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise that he remembered me. I studied his face again, finally certain that my memory wasn't mistaken.
"What happened after Report Services took you?"
"They took us somewhere," he answered, rubbing his arm. "They asked questions and took our fingers. They checked our names and some other things, too. After that, they said we could leave."
"Took your fingers?" I exclaimed in shock. I quickly glanced down at his hand; however, he still had all five fingers on each hand.
The boy raised his hand, opening his palm to show some purple ink on each of his fingertips.
Oh, they took his fingerprints... this boy wouldn't know what those are.
"Oh, you almost gave me a shock, buddy. You were just released?"
"A few of the other children were released too. I don't know where they went." The boy nodded again while rubbing his fingertips because of the fingerprint ink.
I had expected Report Services to take care of them. After everything they had been through, I assumed someone would have found them somewhere to stay, given them food and clothing, and provided a proper place to sleep.
Apparently, I had been wrong.
"Why would they let you go?" I muttered.
Toho, who had been standing behind me, finally spoke, only loud enough for me to hear, "Because they probably don't have anywhere to put them."
I looked back at him.
"What?"
Toho folded his arms, staring at the boy with a troubled expression.
"Think about it, Zero. Report Services can process them, identify them, and make sure they're not connected to any other criminals, but that doesn't mean they have the resources to take care of every child they rescue."
I frowned.
"But they're the World Council's organization. They have power and resources."
"Yes, but they still have limits." Toho sighed before continuing, "Look at everything that's happening right now. Crime has been increasing, tensions with other planets are worsening, and the World Council is pouring resources into the search for the Wonders. You really think they've got unlimited money, people, and facilities to house every orphan they find?"
I glanced toward the boy. He was still sitting against the wall, looking at us with tired eyes.
Toho continued, his voice growing quieter.
"They probably processed these children, made sure they weren't immediate threats, and released them because they simply didn't have anywhere else to put them."
I looked at the boy again with a pang of hurt deep inside. His cheeks were sunken, and his stomach was noticeably thinner beneath his shirt. There was no way he had been taking care of himself.
"Alright, here is what's going to happen. I'll give you some money for food, then we're gonna take you to the nearest police station."
I reached into my pocket, immediately grabbing Toho's attention.
"Woah, woah, wait..."
I ignored him and felt around for my Coins.
My aunt had given me enough money to cover my dorm expenses, food, transportation, and a few comforts until I turned sixteen and inherited my parents' fortune.
Seeing that I didn't have enough Coins to make a difference, I pulled out one Irid paper bill. A portrait of a handsome man, very young, with middle-parted hair on the center of the blue inked note.
Before I could hand them over, Toho grabbed my wrist.
"Wait!"
"What?"
"How much are you giving him?" Toho harshly whispered.
"Just enough for some food."
"How much?"
I glanced down at the note in my hand.
"Not much, it won't matter."
"Yes, yes, it will."
Toho's grip loosened, but he didn't let go.
"Zero, we have school expenses. We have transportation costs, equipment, books, and whatever else comes up. You can't just start handing away our money every time you see someone struggling."
I pulled my wrist away.
"Oh my goodness, Toho. This is equivalent to twenty Coins. This'll feed him for a week straight. Actually, even longer than a week. We'll live without one Irid."
"You don't know that. Anything can happen in the future," Toho criticized my actions, with both of our well-beings in mind.
"I know we'll be fine," I said more harshly, trying to get my point across.
Toho, however, clapped back: "No, no, you don't.
"We don't know what happens tomorrow. One of us could get injured, one of our classes could require something expensive, we could need medicine, or we could run into some other unexpected problem—that's what emergency money is for."
I stared at him for a moment before looking back at the boy, who was watching us. I lowered my voice.
"He's hungry."
"I know. I get it," Toho whispered sympathetically.
"So what the hell is your problem?" I gritted my teeth, trying to wrap my brain around his logic.
"The problem is that you're acting like giving him this money fixes this. He'll have food for what? A couple of nights. Then what happens? Are you going to keep giving him money every time we see him? Are you going to keep feeding him for the next week? The next month?
"What happens when we run out of money? You gave up an Irid, which could have been a necessity to both of us, for a short temporary fix," Toho, exasperated, tried to push his sense into me.
"Then I'll figure something out for him," I retorted, pushing him back slightly.
Toho let out a dry, weak chuckle. "That's exactly what I'm talking about." Toho shook his head in disagreement, "You're trying to solve something that neither of us can solve by ourselves. There are probably thousands of children in the Central Quad alone who are in the same position as him; it's probably more than that. Are you going to feed all of them too?"
"Because if your answer is no, then you're only delaying the problem for one kid."
Toho continued, "And even taking him to the police station doesn't guarantee anything. The officers aren't exactly swimming in money themselves. Most of them barely have enough resources to deal with the problems already in front of them, and plenty of them don't even bother doing their jobs properly."
"So what? We just leave him here?" I clap back.
"No. That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what? What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we need to understand what we're actually dealing with." Toho pointed toward the boy.
He continued speaking, "Taking him to the police station might get him off the street for a little while. Maybe they'll send him to Report Services again. Maybe they'll find somewhere for him to stay. But if they don't have the resources to help him now, sending him back to them isn't exactly a solution."
I looked away, conflicted with no idea what to do.
"Then what is?"
Toho hesitated before speaking up: "That's the problem, Zero. I don't know. But I know throwing money at the problem isn't going to fix it."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke. I looked down at the Coins in my palm, then I looked at the child. Eventually, I crouched down and placed the Irid into his hands. The boy stared at the money as though he couldn't believe it was real.
"Buy yourself something to eat," I told him. "And don't spend it all at once."
The boy looked up at me.
"Thank you. Thank you, sir!"
Toho didn't say anything. I nodded before standing.
We eventually took the boy to the nearest police station. The officer at the front desk took his information and assured us that they would handle the situation. I didn't entirely believe him, but there wasn't much else we could do.
After leaving the station, Toho and I began walking back toward the Academy. The afternoon sun, at its peak, shone across Celestiala.
Despite the bright, cheerful setting, neither of us wanted to speak.
The fruit basket remained between us, with the various fruits shifting slightly whenever I moved my arm. The market had become busier since we had first arrived, but neither of us paid much attention to it.
Toho remained unusually quiet. The reason was obvious, though. It was because he was still enraged by my decision.
I simply couldn't understand why he was still angry.
By the time we reached the Academy and returned to our dorm, neither of us had said another word. I placed the fruit basket on the table while Toho closed the door behind us. He walked towards his desk, directly next to mine, and pulled out today's mathematics assignment.
I sat on the lower half of the bunk bed, behind him. Looking at his back, I spoke up.
"You're still upset."
Toho didn't bother looking at me.
"Yep."
I crossed my arms, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"Over one Irid?" I questioned him in a tone that suggested his argument made no sense.
"No," His answer came immediately.
"Then what? What? What is your problem?"
Toho stood up, turning around to confront me. He stared at me for several seconds before sighing.
"It's not the money itself, Zero. It's the fact that you didn't think about what you were doing. You saw that kid, felt bad for him, and immediately decided that giving him money was the answer."
"The kid was hungry! For Father's sake, have some empathy!"
"I feel bad! I get it, he's starving!"
"Then what exactly did you want me to do?"
"Think."
His response irritated me.
"I did think," my response came after a scoff.
"No, you reacted. Thinking means considering what happens after you act." Toho's voice grew louder, "You gave him enough money to eat for a couple of days. That's good, okay? I'm not saying it isn't. But what happens afterward?
He's still homeless. He's still alone. He's still poor. You didn't change any of that. Giving him that money will leave him in the exact same place. The only difference you made is putting a twenty-coin hole in our pockets. If you keep treating symptoms individually, you'll exhaust yourself without changing anything."
I clenched my fists, standing up quickly.
"So what was I supposed to do? Walk past him?"
"No, no, I never even said that. We should have taken him to the police, which we did."
"And you just told me that probably won't solve anything."
"Because it probably won't!" Toho threw his hands into the air, "That's my entire point! You didn't solve the problem, Zero. You made yourself feel better for a few minutes."
"That's not why I did it. It's because somebody had to help him!"
The room fell silent. I could feel my heartbeat pounding against my chest while Toho's deep eyes gazed into me.
I continued before he could respond.
"I know I can't fix every problem in this city. I know there are thousands of people like him. I know giving him money won't suddenly change his life. But he was sitting on the side of a street, starving, while everyone walked past him."
My voice began to shake.
"What was I supposed to do? Tell myself that the World Council probably has a reason for it and keep walking?"
Toho looked away.
"No."
"Then why are you making me feel guilty for helping him?"
"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty."
"Yeah, well, it sure feels like it."
Toho took a deep breath.
"I'm trying to make you understand that you can't carry every problem on your shoulders. I'm trying to make you understand that your decision didn't solve anything in the long term; instead, it made our financial situation worse.
"You keep looking at individual problems and trying to fix them one at a time. But if you actually care about people like that kid, then you need to look at why they're ending up there in the first place.
"The World Council has the power to do something about this. They have the resources, the authority, and the ability to change things on a scale that you and I can't even comprehend. Yet they're focusing on political conflicts, crime, the Wonders, and whatever else they've decided is important."
His voice lowered, a bit calmer than it had been originally, "If you really want to help people, then maybe your attention should be on the source of the problem instead of trying to patch every hole you find."
After his words, I couldn't think of an argument.
He was right. I knew he was right; however, that didn't mean I agreed with him.
I looked toward the fruit basket sitting on the table, then glanced back at Toho.
"...I still think I did the right thing."
Toho sighed, "I think you did what you thought was right. But those aren't always the same thing."
My frustration finally overwhelmed whatever restraint I had left. Before anything got out of hand, I turned toward the door.
I opened the door, stepping out without looking back at him.
Before Toho could say anything else, I stepped out and slammed the door behind me.