"I'm fucked."

That simple phrase is the only thing running through my mind as I stare at the crumpled letter in my hands. It's the kind of thing you never want to find, yet somehow always do. My eyes scan the scribbled words on the yellowed paper. If I weren't in such a hurry, maybe I'd read Mr. Ludwig's notice more carefully, but honestly, I don't have the patience for details. I already know what comes next.

"Dear Mr. Felix,

Due to the constant delay in payments, I must inform you that your continued stay in this establishment has become unsustainable. I kindly request that you remove your belongings and vacate the room by the end of the day. Otherwise, more drastic measures will be taken.

Sincerely,

Mr. Ludwig."

I had been so naïve. Believing that the couple of pennies I made selling trinkets on the streets would be enough to cover rent and food. What a sweet illusion! Especially now that the streets are more dangerous than ever. Not just because of the police, who don't like seeing street vendors around, but also because of the growing competition. There are some real characters out there—I don't even know if I should feel more threatened by the patrols or the other swindlers.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Well, none of that matters now. What matters is that I'm homeless, penniless, and apparently out of luck. But I won't let that get me down. After all, who is Felix, if not the master of improvisation? The only man capable of turning a broken stick into an "ancient distance-measuring device"?

I glance around my tiny room. The mattress that can't handle another night without wrecking my back, the small trick box I carry everywhere, and a pile of old newspapers. There's only one thing I can truly rely on: my silver tongue. And, of course, my incredible ability to convince people that they desperately need something they didn't even know existed. That's my gift.

With a dramatic sigh, I adjust my clothes—the last shred of dignity I have left. I'll get through this. The last time I thought that, I ended up being chased out of a market for selling "miracle elixirs" that were nothing more than water and food coloring. But this time is different. This time, I have a plan—or at least a con to pull off.

The street outside seems to call me, and I have nowhere else to go. So, with a tight chest and a forced smile on my face, I step out into the fray.

Because, at the end of the day, every conman has a beginning. And this is mine.