The Genius Magician Who Sees Rainbows Chapter 001
The Boy on the Scrap Heap (1)
At dusk.
Ray sat atop a pile of scrap metal.
Discarded furniture. Broken electronics.
Useless odds and ends. Rusted metal.
A small hill of worthless things embracing each other.
Thanks to its considerable height, climbing up here allowed one to take in the surrounding scenery at a glance.
Mounds of scrap metal rose in every direction.
This place was the junkyard on the outskirts of Sector 50.
Ahead stretched an endless wasteland as far as the eye could see.
Behind lay a city full of weathered concrete buildings.
The place where Ray had been born and lived his entire life.
Sector 50, an area that had completely devolved into slums.
He lowered his head.
He could see scruffy-looking boys wandering between the scrap heaps with tongs and bags.
They were street orphans who, like Ray, scraped by collecting recyclables.
The difference was that unlike Ray, these children moved around in pairs or groups of three.
Each belonged to their own group.
It was practically a requirement.
Take from others or be taken from.
Kill or be killed.
Survival of the fittest in its purest form.
This was the ecosystem of Sector 50 - you couldn't survive without banding together.
Clatter──
A flashlight tumbled down the slope from the heap.
Thud!
It rolled across the ground before stopping at some boys' feet.
The boys looked up at Ray.
Their eyes met briefly.
"......"
"......"
After gauging Ray's reaction, the boys grabbed the flashlight and started running somewhere.
Ray remained impassive.
He only thought to himself.
That picking that up would be pointless.
Ray's eyes followed the boys' movements.
The clearing in the center of the junkyard.
Upon arriving there, the boys caught their breath and held out the flashlight to someone.
More precisely, it wasn't exactly a person.
Its face and limbs were made entirely of rough stone.
About 2 meters in height.
The stone was a silvery-gray color that could be mistaken for metal at first glance.
Creeak─ Creeak─
The adults of Sector 50 called this moving thing a golem.
Who its master was. Where it came from.
What purpose it served.
No one knew exactly anything about the golem.
They just said it had existed in Sector 50 since ancient times.
But one thing was certain.
The golem collected specific kinds of junk from the junkyard, and when given items that met its criteria, it would reward them with food in return.
Canned goods and biscuits.
And luxury food items like chocolate.
─Here! Eat it! Come on, eat it!
The boys waved the flashlight in front of the golem.
They were so excited their voices carried all the way here.
─Whirrr.
The golem's two eye sockets emitted a red glow.
After staring at the flashlight for a few seconds, it turned and stomped away.
The boys chased after it waving the flashlight, but the golem's response didn't change.
Later other groups brought junk items, but the results were all the same.
─Damn! Why won't it take anything!
─Should we just smash it!
─Hold on. They say you'll face retaliation if you attack the golem.
─Right. They say the golem has gone into the streets and killed people before.
The golem was fickle.
Sometimes it would accept items it had taken before, other times it wouldn't, and the reverse was also common.
Though the success rate for scavenging was extremely low, the children didn't give up due to the lucrative rewards.
Watching this scene, Ray climbed down from the scrap heap.
Clank. Clank. Thud!
He neither slipped nor stumbled.
His movements were as stable as if he were walking down solid stairs.
Looking around, he headed toward the clearing.
He picked up a few pieces of junk he had spotted earlier.
"Here."
Arriving at the clearing, Ray held out his bag to the golem.
The golem's red glow fell upon the contents of the bag.
Creeak─
The golem lifted the bag high and poured the junk into its mouth.
Thud! Clatter!
The junk rolled inside its body.
After tightly closing its mouth and shuddering once, the golem opened its mouth again and produced food from within.
3 cans of food. 2 packs of biscuits.
1 loaf of bread. 1 chocolate bar.
If eaten sparingly alone, it would last a good three days.
The other boys watching this scene had their eyes wide open.
"Hey. Look at that."
"How does he do that every day..."
Whispers could be heard here and there.
"...What if we... you know?"
"Don't be crazy. That's Ray the Ghost of Street 17."
Ray paid little attention to these familiar reactions.
He quietly packed the food in his bag and turned toward the junkyard exit.
"......"
Before long, he could sense people following behind him.
2 people behind the left heap.
2 people at the right heap.
And 3 people following hidden from behind.
7 people total.
Not a small number by any means.
Their intentions were obvious.
Ray glanced at the bag slung over one shoulder.
Then, stopping at a spot he judged suitable for fighting, he turned around.
"Come out. How long are you going to follow me?"
There was no response.
When he made a gesture like he was about to step on the bread, only then did movement stir.
"You've got good instincts. We were being so careful following you too."
As expected, there were 7 opponents.
They held clubs and brass knuckles in their hands.
"Ron. I warned you last time. I said if you crossed my path again, I'd make sure you'd never walk on two legs again."
The largest boy in the group.
Orange-haired Ron flinched when his eyes met Ray's.
But soon remembering their superior numbers, he growled.
"What are you talking about? That was so long ago I don't even remember it. Right?"
His pronunciation was slightly off due to missing front teeth.
They had been knocked out when Ray beat him up.
"It was exactly 23 days ago. If you're asking about the time. Not that long ago."
"That's not what I meant!"
Ron's blood was boiling.
He had never liked that Ray guy whenever he saw him.
That face that never showed any reaction to anything.
Those emotionless eyes that seemed to see right through people.
From his breathing to his smallest movements.
Everything about him was irritating.
But it didn't matter.
Soon he'd be on the ground crying and begging for mercy.
'Last time there were 3 of us. But this time we've got 7 including me.'
They lost before but this time would be different.
He had brought 6 of the best fighters from the group.
Ray.
The Ghost of Street 17.
He got that nickname because he moved without making a sound and never showed any expression.
He was also known for being good at fighting.
But even he couldn't handle 7 opponents at once.
Moreover, his build was only average for his age.
Meanwhile, all 7 of them were built as big as adults.
'We'll definitely win.'
The corners of his mouth turned up without him realizing.
He planned to avenge his past defeat and take control of Street 17 where that guy lived.
Ron spoke with a confident voice.
"I'll keep this short. Put down the bag and go. Then we'll let you leave in one piece."
It was a lie.
Whether he handed over the food or not, they planned to beat him half to death.
"You're lying."
Ron's pupils trembled slightly.
The reason the street kids feared Ray wasn't just because of his fighting ability.
"You're lying."
Lies didn't work on Ray.
"Don't make eye contact with the Ghost. He'll know when you're lying."
Ray could distinguish truth from lies just by looking into someone's eyes.
The kids were skeptical at first.
But after several convincing incidents, it became accepted as fact.
Lies don't work on the Ghost.
'Cocky bastard...!'
Ron gritted his teeth.
Anyone could tell the promise to let him go unharmed was a lie, but somehow the boy must have used some unknown trick to figure it out.
"Kill him! Kill him!"
Ron shouted at the top of his lungs, as if trying to shake off his fear.
With that, the boys rushed at Ray.
Thud!
Ray dropped his bag and took his stance.
His pure white eyes reflected the images of his approaching enemies.
Whoosh—!
Ray lowered his stance deeply.
He felt a club barely graze his back.
Tap!
He pushed off the ground.
He sprung forward while pulling back his elbow.
And then.
Thump!
"Ugh!"
He drove his fist deep into the stomach.
As the boy collapsed, he saw a knuckle coming straight at him.
"Die!"
Using his suddenly planted left foot as a pivot, he rotated his body to the right.
Swish!
The knuckle passed right in front of his face.
He brought his right elbow down with all his might on the opponent's extended arm.
Crack!
"Aaargh!"
He kicked the staggering opponent hard.
The boy got tangled with another attacker behind him and tumbled to the ground.
The fight was one-sided.
The sounds of flesh being struck and bones breaking echoed through the junkyard.
Exactly five minutes later.
All the boys except Ron were rolling on the ground, groaning in pain.
"...!"
"Adding more numbers doesn't change anything."
Ron couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Was this not even his full strength before?
"St-stay back! Stay away!"
"I warned you. I said I'd make sure you couldn't use your legs if I saw you again."
Ray closed the distance one step at a time.
Ron's lips trembled as he backed away.
Thud!
Something hit his back.
When he turned to look, it was a pile of scrap metal.
Ron pulled out a folding knife and opened it.
"D-damn it! Stay back! You monster!"
Ray stopped.
He stared blankly at the knife.
"Monster, huh."
Perhaps that wasn't entirely wrong.
Looking at his distorted reflection in the knife, he thought to himself.
Maybe he wasn't so different from a stone golem after all.
Ray realized he was different from others when he was 10 years old.
"Why don't you cry?"
"You got such a big injury from falling, doesn't it hurt at all?"
He knew it hurt.
He knew he was bleeding heavily.
But what did that have to do with crying?
"Cale came back beaten up. By the kids from Street 7."
"...Aren't you angry?"
Why should I be angry?
Or rather, what is this thing called 'anger'?
"*sniff*Belo died... what are we going to do now?"
"You haven't shed a single tear."
That's when Ray realized.
He couldn't feel any of what others called emotions.
"You're a bit strange. It's scary."
Those around him naturally drifted away, leaving him alone.
He pondered vacantly.
Was there something wrong with him?
He wanted to be like everyone else.
He tried hard to feel emotions.
He could feel something faint stirring deep in his chest.
"......"
But he couldn't even be sure if that was what emotions were supposed to be.
Having never felt them before, he had nothing to compare it to.
A year passed.
Two years passed.
Three years passed.
...and so six years passed.
All his desperate efforts to feel emotions were futile.
Maybe this was better.
He sometimes thought.
Not feeling emotions was often advantageous in the slums.
For instance, not feeling fear during fights was a huge advantage.
Having to read others' emotions and be mindful of them wasn't much of an issue either.
Because Ray had his own way of reading other people's emotions.
"Stay back, you monster!"
Right now, Ray was focusing on the pupils.
Because of this, he was seeing a different world from others.
Red like blood.
Blue like the deep sea.
Yellow like forsythia.
And countless other colors.
The world was dyed in brilliant, colorful light.
Like a painting where various colors of paint swirled together.
It was mana, known to be the source of magic and the foundation of the world.
Of course, Ray didn't know all these details.
He just used it as a supplementary means to identify others' emotions.
Ray looked at Ron's chest.
Dark brown mana was rippling around it.
Everyone carried a small vessel in their chest.
When specific emotions were felt, specific colors of mana would seep into and remain in the vessel.
Red-spectrum mana for anger, hatred, love, and the like.
Blue-spectrum mana for contempt, indifference, and such.
Yellow-spectrum mana for joy, excitement, and similar feelings.
There weren't many exceptions.
"A knife. Using blades is against the unspoken rules. Did you bring it planning to stab me?"
"N-no, I just found it! I picked it up from the junk!"
A lie.
You could tell by the color of mana filling the vessel.
Step.
"St-stay back! Stay away if you don't want to die!"
Ray approached Ron, paying no mind to the knife pointed at him.
His gaze remained fixed on Ron's chest.
The dark black mana was churning.
Yes. That was extreme fear.
Ray opened his mouth.
"Liars must be punished."
