Power Shift

The discrimination Stella had just witnessed didn’t leave her angry - it left her quiet. Her chest felt heavier than her legs did after a gym day. If she never had one.

She sank into the booth’s creaky folding chair, her hands trembled slightly as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve, breath catching between sobs.

Fifty watched her in silence from the other corner of the booth.

“Why are you so upset, Stella?” he asked gently. “I promise this isn’t the worst that could happen.”

That did it.

She covered her face and sobbed harder—shoulders shaking like a bad engine. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. But it was just around the right volume to pierce at Fifty’s heart.

“I thought…” she managed between hiccups, “I thought that if I ran away, I could leave it behind.”

Fifty came closer and knelt beside her, elbows on his knees. “Leave what behind?”

Stella sniffled and looked away. “Don’t sweat it. I’m fine now…”

Then, with zero grace and maximum noise, she grabbed a napkin and blew her nose like a dying trumpet.

Fifty winced.

Before he could react, or recover from the shock, a new voice cut through the moment.

“Excuse me,” a woman said, holding up a box of the plastic brick sets. “Sorry to disturb you, but may I have this one?”

Stella turned away to hide her reddish face.

Fifty stood quickly, his instincts kicking in. “Sure!” he said, grabbing a bag. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, please,” the woman replied, polite and calm. She handed over the prepared paper bills, then added, “Keep the change.”

“Thank you very much. Have a wonderful day!” Fifty said with a practiced smile, bowing his head slightly.

The woman gave a final nod and disappeared into the current of the fair.

Stella stared after her. “That was…” she blinked. “The first sale of the day, huh?”

Fifty returned to his side of the booth and stretched his arms above his head. “And just the beginning. Look around—the streets are packed. Noon’s always when it picks up. The morning’s just warm-up.”

“You… forgot to give her a receipt.”

“Oh shoot!”

As Stella chuckled at his panic, she watched people wandering over, asking prices, poking at packaging, haggling like it was the last day before a meteor, then leaving—or buying.

A man in a wide-brimmed hat eventually approached, scanning the booth like he was analyzing military strategy.

“You got one of them fighting robots?” he asked.

Stella perked up. “Yes! Right here, sir!”

He leaned closer. “And what exactly does it do?”

She paused.

Her mind spun like a fidget toy—too fast to focus.

“Uhm, Fifty?” she said out the side of her mouth. “Help.”

Without missing a beat, Fifty turned, holding up the box like a product demo model. “It’s a new model, sir. We haven’t fully tested it, but the distributor recommended it. I hear it’s popular among youngsters these days!”

“Thanks for the help…” Stella muttered, realizing it was just the rehearsed line she could have blurted as well.

The man looked him up and down, then chuckled. “Alright, I’ll take two of them. Gotta keep my boys from fighting over it.”

She nodded quickly and grabbed two of the boxes, while Fifty made sure to print out a receipt.

The man’s eyes swept over Stella from head to toe, lingering just long enough to feel like an unspoken judgment he didn’t bother hiding.

When he finally moved on with his purchase, Fifty turned to her, his grin unapologetically smug.

“That was your first sale. How’s it feel to contribute to capitalism?”

“I kinda feel excited, not gonna lie!” She held up her fist like a boxer in a ring.

“Someone got a little endorphin boost from receiving money.”

As the day went on, sales picked up. The lull of morning was over. And now, the swarm had arrived.

But something felt... off.

Fifty first noticed it when two guys came over and bought matching robot toys without blinking. They didn’t ask about functions. Didn’t haggle. Didn’t even glance at him.

Then another group. Three of them. All questions, all pointed at Stella.

And then another. And another. All young men. All way too eager to drop cash on spinning tops and transforming cars as if it were the hottest nightclub in Velgravia.

They weren’t customers. They were fans. And they weren’t buying toys—they were buying time.

They’re not here for the booth, he realized. They’re here for her. The guys ignored his presence like he was just another oversized plushie.

But somehow, it was different than when people with prejudice avoided eye contact.

These men… just desperately wanted a brief contact with the beautiful ‘celebrity’ whose face decorated billboards and bus stops across all of Velgravia.

“Out of my way, raklo.” A familiar but unwanted voice cut through the crowd faking their interest in children’s toys.

“Go away. Drop dead. Bengoro is coming through.”

“Oh no…” Fifty recognized that aura stealer even before he spotted the thorns on his jacket, sunglasses and fierce look.

“So you’re the gádži that I will win?” Michael Merkury forcibly pushed away two guys out of his way.

Stella watched him with a raised brow. “And how exactly do you know that you’re the one who’s gonna win?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” He adjusted his shades. “It’s a gypsy thing.”

Fifty stepped between them, eyes flat. “You mean half-gypsy, right?”

“What do we have here?” Khan purred. “Are you running this booth? That’s golden!” Without waiting for a response, he whipped out his phone and shoved it toward his own face. “Look at this Roma boy, my friends.” He started, camera panning to Fifty. “This guy wants to win the grand prize and become the Gypsy King? Look at him! He’s just a broke street vendor, haha! Make sure to comment how humiliating it is and check out my new single! Peace!” He winked at the camera and ended the recording with a flourish.

“Oh I see.” Stella folded her arms. Her voice came low, like a blade disguised as velvet. “Technically, you’re just twenty percent macho, thirty percent a Fik-Fok clown and fifty percent scarred little boy who still can’t cope with his emotions whenever he remembers Daddy didn’t show up for school concerts.”

Khan flinched. Fifty flinched.

Behind them, the crowd let out a unified, delighted “Ooooohhh!” like she just dropped the biggest diss of the year.

“W-what do you know about me?” His voice cracked. “You’re just a white girl, this is a gypsy th-“

“There’s nothing ‘gypsy’ about what you’re doing. That’s just pure disrespect to both white and Romani people alike!”

“Khan, could you step aside please? I think we still have some customers here who would like to buy something actually useful for their kids from this broke street vendor.” Fifty shooed Khan away with the air of someone swatting a persistent pigeon.

Unable to respond to any of it, Khan grumbled under his breath and backed off, saying something about revenge and algorithms.

“Sorry, did I overstep with that ‘gypsy’ part?” Stella’s cheeks reddened.

“Not at all.” Fifty looked at her—really looked—and then cracked a slow, honest smile. “You always know what to say and how to say it. That’s what I like about you.”

Chapter 11: END