「Saturday morning.」

The fog in Pittsburgh was lighter than usual. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, spilling onto the asphalt roads.

Leo Wallace pushed open the door to his apartment.

He dug out a gray hoodie from the bottom of his closet. It was the one he wore most often back when he wasn’t yet the Mayor, when he was still worried about his student loans.

He pulled up the hood to cover half his face, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked out onto the morning streets.

There was no police escort clearing the way, no Ethan chattering in his ear with a schedule, and no media with their long-lens cameras.

At this moment, he was just one of Pittsburgh’s three hundred thousand ordinary citizens.

He walked slowly along the street.

He had walked this road countless times before; he could count the potholes with his eyes closed.

But today, the ground felt different under his feet.

The broken paving stones that had once made him twist his ankle were gone. The gutters along the roadside had been cleaned spotless, free of stagnant water and floating trash.

Leo looked up, his gaze sweeping across the storefronts.

A year ago, this place had been the epitome of the city’s decay.

Back then, you couldn’t walk a block without seeing shops with "Closing Sale" or "For Lease" signs.

The glass was caked with dust. Inside, the spaces were empty, with nothing but a few abandoned tables and chairs toppled on the floor.

The air was thick with a scent called "despair."

But now, that lifeless gray had been replaced by vibrant colors, full of vitality.

A hardware store that had previously gone out of business had reopened, a brand-new banner hanging over its entrance.

"Large stock available! Specializing in construction site supplies! Open at 6 AM!"

The barbershop next door, which had been vacant for ages, was now full of people.

The barber’s clippers buzzed as he gave several young men, getting ready for work, neat, short haircuts.

What surprised Leo the most were the notices posted on the windows.

Before, it was "Clearance Sale." Now, it was "Help Wanted."

A handwritten sign on a piece of cardboard was taped to the window of an auto repair shop:

"Hiring experienced auto mechanics! Paid weekly! 1.5x overtime! Starting today!"

A recruitment ad for a logistics company was posted on a utility pole:

"Hiring heavy truck drivers! Start immediately with license! Signing bonus of 1,000 US Dollars! Room and board included!"

These ads were simple and crude, the handwriting even a bit messy, but the message they conveyed was more powerful than any official government document.

They were short-staffed.

They needed labor.

There was money to be made.

Leo stopped at an intersection.

He watched a pickup truck full of workers drive past. The men in the truck bed were talking and laughing loudly, breakfast in hand, their faces flush with a color he hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was the complexion of people who had something to strive for.

Leo continued walking.

His destination was a coffee shop two blocks away.

Daily Grinding.

That was where the story began.

It was in that very shop that the manager, Dave, had given him the envelope with his severance pay. That was the lowest point of his life, and also the starting point for his whole crazy plan.

Leo stood across the street from the coffee shop.

He almost didn’t recognize the place.

The Daily Grinding of his memory had been crowded, but it was a suffocating, depressing kind of crowded.

Back then, the shop was crammed with college students on their laptops, hogging the Wi-Fi, or recently unemployed white-collar workers who would buy the cheapest Americano and sit all afternoon editing their resumes.

But now, a long line snaked from the counter all the way out into the street.

The vast majority of them were wearing dust-covered, dark-blue work clothes, with safety boots on their feet and hard hats still on their heads.

They were construction workers from the South District, longshoremen from the Inland Port Terminal, and truck drivers from the transport fleets.

They held cash in their hands, loudly urging the line to move faster.

Leo pulled his hood lower and blended into the line.

The surrounding clamor enveloped him.

"Hey, Joy! Heard your crew got a bonus last week?" a burly man in front of Leo shouted, turning to the person behind him.

"Yeah, we did." The man behind him chuckled. "Not much, three hundred bucks a head. Just enough to get my daughter a new phone."

"That’s pretty good. Our foreman said we’ve got to rush a deadline next week. All-nighters with double pay. I’m thinking of going for it, replace that busted-up fridge at home."

"Come on, you think your old back can handle it? Don’t want to give all that money you earn to the hospital."

"What’s there to be afraid of? We’ve got insurance now. The guy from the Union said the other day we have full accident coverage. As long as you get hurt on the site, you don’t have to pay a dime. It’s all covered."

Leo kept his head down, listening to the conversations.

There were no grand political terms, no empty words like "revitalization" or "resurgence."

Just phones, refrigerators, insurance, and overtime pay.

These mundane words, full of the grit of everyday life, were what real life was all about.

The line shuffled forward, and Leo finally squeezed into the shop.

The air inside was scorching hot.

Behind the counter, Dave was so busy he was practically running in place.

He was wearing a sweat-soaked T-shirt, operating two coffee machines at once while also trying to answer the constantly ringing phone for take-out orders.

"We need five large Americanos! Ten beef sandwiches! Hurry up, the convoy is about to leave!"

A man who looked like a foreman slammed his hand on the counter.

"Coming right up! Just a second!" Dave yelled back, his hands a blur as he bagged the food, moving more than twice as fast as before.

Leo reached the front of the line.

Dave didn’t even look up, his hand gripping the ringing landline phone.

"Daily Grinding, how can I help you?"

Dave cradled the receiver between his shoulder and ear as he reached out to take Leo’s money.

"What? You’re not coming in?"

Dave roared into the phone.

"Tom, we had a deal! I need two people on shift today! The morning rush alone has been more than the last three days combined! I’m about to die of exhaustion here!"

The voice on the other end seemed to say something that made Dave’s blood boil.

"You think the pay’s too low? Seven-fifty? That’s last year’s news!"

Dave grabbed a rag and furiously wiped down the counter.

"I’m offering you eighteen US Dollars now! Eighteen an hour! And I’ll throw in breakfast! Are you coming or not?"

"What? The logistics warehouse next door offered you twenty-two?"

Dave froze for a second, then swore.

"Damn it, are those warehouse guys insane? Poaching workers from a coffee shop?"

Dave slammed the phone down in frustration.

He looked up, his face flushed red, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks from his forehead.

He looked at the customer in front of him, clad in a hoodie with his head down, and didn’t recognize him at all.

His mind was completely consumed by orders and the anxiety of being unable to hire anyone.

"What do you want?" Dave asked gruffly. "Hurry up, there are people waiting."

Leo lifted his head, revealing a pair of smiling eyes.

"One black coffee, Dave."

Leo handed him a five-dollar bill.

Dave’s hand froze. The voice sounded very familiar.

He instinctively stared into those eyes for two seconds.

That familiar gaze made his order-addled brain short-circuit for a moment.

"You’re..."

Dave’s mouth fell open.

Leo raised a finger to his lips in a hushing gesture.

"Shhh."

Leo smiled.

"Business is good, Dave."

Dave stood there, stunned, nearly dropping the coffee cup in his hand.

He looked at Leo, then back at the long snake of a line outside.

Dave’s eyes suddenly started to sting.

He fumbled to pour a cup of coffee, deliberately making it double-strength, and handed it to Leo with both hands.

"Here."

Dave’s voice trembled slightly.

"This one’s on me."

"And, uh... thank you."

Dave’s voice was quiet, drowned out by the noise of the workers around them, but Leo heard him clearly.

Leo took the coffee and nodded.

"Get back to it, Dave. Don’t keep your customers waiting."

Coffee in hand, Leo turned and squeezed his way back through the crowd.

He stepped out of the coffee shop and stood on the street corner.

He watched the backs of the men holding their coffee, striding toward the construction sites.

Their backs were straight, no longer hunched over with averted gazes like a year ago.

Now, they had jobs. They were earning money.

They knew that as long as they were willing to work hard, they’d get a paycheck next Friday.

They dared to speak up to their bosses, dared to quit for better pay, and dared to plan a barbecue for the weekend.

This was dignity.

Dignity was money in your pocket, a bargaining chip in negotiations, the confidence to say "no" at any time.

’Mr. President,’ Leo said quietly in his mind. ’Did you see that?’

Roosevelt’s voice rang out.

The voice of the giant who had once led the United States out of the Great Depression was now filled with a sense of satisfaction.

’I saw it, Leo.’

’Listen to that sound.’

Roosevelt said.

’It is the sound of the gears of society re-engaging and turning once more.’

’You’ve done it.’

’You didn’t just hand them relief checks. You didn’t let them become beggars waiting to be fed.’

’You gave them something more important than money.’

’You gave them their value as workers.’

’That man, Dave, he’s complaining about not being able to hire people. He’s complaining that wages are too high.’

Roosevelt let out a soft chuckle.

’That is the most wonderful complaint I have ever heard.’

’This society is finally alive again.’

Leo took a sip of his coffee.

It was bitter and scalding, yet the aftertaste was sweet.

He didn’t need anyone to thank him.

To see this street.

To see the lights on in the shops, the windows plastered with "Help Wanted" ads, the faces beaded with sweat from the sheer busyness of it all.

That was his greatest reward.

This was what he’d gotten in return for selling his soul, for making a deal with the Demon, for wrestling in the mud.

The trade was worth it.

Leo tossed the empty paper cup into a trash can on the curb.

He tightened his hood and melted back into the flow of people.

He still had to get to City Hall.

A pile of trouble was waiting for him there, but his steps were light now.

Because he knew this city was finally awake.

And the man who had woken it was walking on the same street as his people.