That morning was hazy with barely a ray of sunlight. A hooded figure scurried across the quiet street, carrying a basket of freshly-baked croissants and baguettes. Bad weather usually means bad business, but Youngjae is smart enough to spin the situation to his own advantage. 

    Villagers don’t come out on dark, foggy days like this, afraid of stumbling upon the one-eyed ghost. For almost a hundred years, the one-eyed ghost had been nothing but a part of an old-folks’ tale, until a child went missing one day. He was later found in an abandoned street, babbling about a one-eyed man who wanted to cleave his heart out. 

    Of course Youngjae knew better than trusting a child, a lousy ten-year-old who was always seen talking to thin air. Instead, he saw the bad weather as an opportunity to make more money. Door-to-door business especially worked well, since people don’t really leave their houses until the fog goes away.

    Picking out a random cottage, he knocked on the door. 

    “Hello, is anybody home?” Youngjae said.

    But there was no answer, so he moved on to the neighbouring cottage and knocked on its wooden door. 

    Again, no one opened the door. 

    “That’s strange,” he said, peeking through the window. “Where is everybody?”

    He jumped off the doorstep and crossed the street to another cottage. On his way, he saw another hooded figure with what looked like a very big basket, selling chicken pies from one house to another. He could almost smell the sweet aroma of the pastry from his standpoint.

    “No wonder no one’s answering! How dare—” Youngjae said, infuriated. “This is my idea in the first place!” 

    The hooded figure turned to Youngjae with a smile. 

    “Why, hello! If it isn’t Youngjae,” he said.

    “Hello, Himchan,” Youngjae hissed. 

    “How’s your business going? Bad, huh? It seems that your bread isn’t going to sell anymore, now that the best chicken pie is in town.” 

     Youngjae bit his lower lip, suppressing hate. 

    “Don’t talk about business when you’re stealing my idea!” 

    “I don’t steal from anyone, cherry,” he cooed, pleased. “Especially not from you. I simply listen to the villagers’ demands, is all. They’re tired of the same old menu!” 

    “What?” 

    “You heard me, cherry. They’re TIRED of eating your dry, cheap, tasteless bread,” Himchan said, shoving Youngjae out of his way. “Now, move along. I’ve got business to run. Customers are dying to dig into my scrumptious chicken pie.”

    The smaller baker boy groaned in exasperation. Himchan put on a gleeful façade as he held his pie to his customer’s face, letting the aroma entice his buds into buying. Without doubts, the pie was exchanged with coins and Himchan moved to another house, humming a happy tune in celebration of his victory. He knew he had won.

    But then Youngjae had an idea. A very brilliant idea that might just completely eliminate his business competitor.

    So he ran back home, dabbed his face with powder and slapped an eyepatch on his right eye. His brother, Junhong, was still sleeping soundly, so he put on his black raincoat that was twice the size of his petite figure and headed out with a rusty scythe he found in the stable. His father used to cut hay with it, and Youngjae had always thought about getting rid of it. 

    Never knew that it would finally be of use today.

    Youngjae sneaked up behind Himchan, quietly enough not to catch his attention. Sometimes he tripped on the raincoat, surprising the taller baker with the sound of his shuffling feet on the gravel. Thankfully, he was fast enough to find a hiding place before the latter could catch him. 

    The look on Himchan’s face was priceless, though. 

    “Youngjae?” he called out, face paling to one shade lighter. “I know it’s you! Come out, you coward!” 

    Youngjae laughed in his palms as Himchan backed off a distance, enough for the fog to fade the smaller baker out into a malicious-looking silhouette. He rose from the bushes, slowly holding up the scythe in Himchan's direction, eliciting a scream from the latter who later shot off into the dark alley like a scalded cat, dropping his basket of chicken pies.

    Youngjae smirked, picking up the pastry and took a bite. It tasted slightly of chicken curry and other spices he could not recognize. Chilli powder? Cinnamon? Himchan’s right, it really was the best chicken pie in town. 

    But who cares, right? He had eliminated his business competitor, just like what he did to the lousy kid he cornered in the abandoned street, who dared selling muffins to the villagers.