#004. The Man Who Drifted Down the River (1)
The bullet pierced exactly through the back of Hector's gang member's head.
Thud!
The body collapsed, splattering blood across Ray's face and body. The hot blood that had been flowing through veins just moments ago. Even though someone had died right before his eyes, Ray didn’t show much of a reaction. Wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve, he turned to the man who had fired the shot.
“Did you get a report? You don’t usually wake up at this time.”
“Yeah. Heard Hector’s guys were snooping around.”
The man wore a navy-blue shirt and slacks that fit him perfectly. He looked to be in his early thirties.
Click—
The man lit a cigarette and slowly approached. Using the tip of his shoe, he flipped the corpse over to check its face, then said,
“Got one of them.”
He glanced at Ray, whose coat bulged with canned goods. The man smirked, immediately understanding the situation.
“You’ve got no fear, kid.”
Ray knew that when someone complimented you, you were supposed to say thank you. That was the rule he lived by.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Honestly, it was kind of ambiguous.”
Ray couldn’t read people’s expressions or the hidden meanings behind their words. Whether they were laughing or crying, all expressions seemed the same to him. That’s why he relied solely on the color of their mana to gauge their emotions. However, there were some people whose emotional range was so narrow that the color of their mana was barely visible. These were the hardest people for Ray to deal with—and the man standing before him was one of them.
The man exhaled a puff of smoke and said,
“You’re gonna get yourself killed, kid. There are things you can touch and things you can’t.”
“If I don’t touch anything, I’ll starve anyway.”
The man shook his head in exasperation.
“So, does this mean we’re even now? Life debt paid?”
The “life debt” referred to how Ray had saved the man a year ago when he had been injured and drifting down the river.
“I thought you were trash when I picked you up. How many times do I have to tell you? Maybe your memory’s just bad.”
Ray wasn’t being sarcastic. He genuinely wondered if the man had memory problems.
The man, who knew about Ray’s emotional deficiencies, chuckled and replied,
“Well, I’m alive thanks to you.”
“And you already paid your debt.”
Ray looked at him calmly.
The man had once been an executive in a gang from Sector 46. He claimed he had been betrayed and thrown into the river. Ray didn’t think it was a complete lie—the fighting techniques the man had taught him in return were far more systematic than anything street thugs could offer. To some extent, Ray owed his ability to beat up street kids to this man.
“That was then. This is now.”
“And I could’ve handled it on my own. Even without your help.”
“You’re getting cocky. Can’t let a single word slide, huh?”
“Thank you.”
“I told you, it wasn’t a compliment.”
The man stubbed out his cigarette on the ground.
He couldn’t deny that Ray had talent.
Kid definitely has potential.
It had only taken two weeks for Ray to master every fighting technique he had taught him. The boy absorbed everything like a sponge and applied it immediately. It took him mere hours to internalize each move perfectly. Soon enough, there was nothing left to teach him.
For someone like that, taking out a few gang members would be child’s play.
“Remember what we talked about last time?”
“Huh?”
“About joining my gang.”
“Yeah.”
The man wasn’t the only one who recognized Ray’s talent. Many gangs in Sector 50 had been subtly reaching out to him. A shining gem like Ray couldn’t go unnoticed anywhere.
“I’ll do it.”
Ray made his decision for one reason: if he joined a gang, he could protect the kids under the underpass too.
The man hummed noncommittally this time.
He walked out of the alley and sat on the curb.
Ray followed suit and sat beside him.
Click!
The second cigarette lit up.
As smoke rose into the sky, the man suddenly asked,
“Do you use magic?”
“Do you know about magic?”
Ray responded immediately.
The man realized his hunch was right.
There were some clues—like how Ray could predict people’s movements or start bonfires under bridges without a lighter.
“Tell me. Do you know anything about magic?”
The man forced a laugh.
It was rare for Ray to press like this.
“Not much. Just some stuff I picked up when my old gang hired a mage once. He said there’s an energy called mana in the atmosphere. It’s what fuels magic. He also said only the chosen few can sense and manipulate mana.”
“What about colors? Does mana have colors?”
“Colors? No. He said mana isn’t visible.”
Ray frowned.
So what were these colorful energies he saw?
They definitely felt like mana.
He’d been using them to cast spells all along.
“He did say mana is made up of hundreds of elements. Depending on a person’s constitution, they can control a certain number and types of elements.”
A hundred elements.
That matched the number of colors he saw.
So maybe each element corresponded to a different color?
“Are you sure there wasn’t anything about colors? Maybe you forgot because of bad memory?”
“Should I hit you just once?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the man flicked Ray’s forehead.
But Ray, having predicted the move, easily dodged it, leaving the punch to slice through empty air.
“Annoying brat.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re really pretending not to feel emotions, aren’t you?”
“Does mood affect the power of magic?”
The man paused, lost in thought, before answering.
“The mage I knew used fire. When he got angry, his flames grew bigger.”
So magic was tied to emotions after all.
For Ray, this was extremely valuable information.
A few more questions were exchanged before the conversation returned to its original topic.
“So, your answer about joining the gang?”
“No.”
“Why not suddenly?”
“...”
The man remained silent for a long time.
He’d always dreamed of escaping the slums and living a better life.
But reality was harsh.
Even maintaining the status quo was exhausting enough.
He looked up.
Not far away, the Elton River flowed.
Junk floated downstream, destined to become part of the scrap heap.
He was no different from that trash himself—having drifted down the river and settled in Sector 50.
All sectors are located along the Elton River. If you follow it upstream, you’ll reach the next sector...
But he had no strength left to fight the current again.
Unlike him, this kid brimmed with potential.
Sharp-minded, physically gifted, and capable of using magic...
Mages are treated well wherever they go.
It’d be a waste for such talent to die as a lowly thug in these alleys.
“Ever thought about leaving Sector 50?”
“You’re asking weird questions today. Did you eat something bad?”
“Seriously. I could even give you a car. Not a great one, but...”
Ray shook his head.
“Can’t. You know I have kids to feed.”
“Don’t worry. I’m planning to open an orphanage soon.”
“An orphanage?”
“Yeah. Gonna round up brats like you and stick ’em there.”
“...”
Ray looked at the vessel in the man’s chest.
The mana’s color was faint, barely trembling.
Hard to distinguish.
But Ray believed him—the man had always kept his word.
“They say when someone changes suddenly, it means they’re near death.”
“It’s not sudden. I’ve had this idea for a while. I was an orphan too.”
“So joining the gang is off the table?”
“Yeah.”
The man stood, dusting off his pants, and walked toward a beat-up car parked on the sidewalk.
Ray called after him,
“Got it. Be careful, though. Hector’s preparing for war. I saw trucks loaded with equipment.”
“I know.”
The man waved the gun in his hand.
“Ah.”
Only then did Ray remember the gun had been fired.
The unwritten rule among Sector 50 gangs was to use only blades during disputes.
Breaking it meant declaring all-out war.
“War. Are you planning to fight back?”
“Even if I don’t want to, I have to. Hector wants the shops in this area.”
“If you lose, the shop owners will suffer. They said your gang’s protection fees are at least fair.”
The man frowned.
“I just look good compared to the morally bankrupt scum out there. And why are you calling me ‘mister’? I’m an unmarried bachelor.”
“You’re a mister because you’re a mister.”
“If you were my little brother, I’d beat you senseless.”
The man growled, but the car window rolled down to reveal a rough-faced driver.
“Boss. Time to go.”
“Right. Time to go.”
The man rummaged through the trunk and tossed something to Ray—a bottle of disinfectant.
“What’s this?”
“Your ear.”
Ray touched his ear and felt a dried blood scab. He must’ve gotten it during the fight with Humphrey.
“See you later. Move the hideout if you can. This area might become a battlefield soon. And keep the car in mind.”
The boss of the gang that divided Sector 50, Niles, got into the car and drove off.
Ray sat on nearby debris, applying disinfectant to his ear, then stood and headed toward downtown.
The weather’s cloudy again.
Ray looked up.
The sunlight that had poured down minutes ago was now eclipsed by heavy dark clouds.
It was always like this.
Rain would temporarily clear the sky, only for new clouds to darken it again.
Because of this, Sector 50’s streets were perpetually gloomy.
No vibrancy or vitality—just a dull monotony.
Lethargic faces.
Faded, unwashed clothes stained beyond their original colors.
All cast under shadows that amplified the gloom.
Most people’s chests housed dark-colored mana, corresponding to negative emotions.
Suddenly, a yellow hue appeared—excitement and joy.
“Hey! Ray!”
A little shoeshine boy squatting in front of an old woman sprang up and scampered over.
Josephine, the youngest under the underpass, stopped mid-sentence upon seeing Ray’s dirty coat and scratched face.
“Waaah! Why are you hurt? Did you fight? Who did this?”
“Just fell.”
Ray couldn’t look away from the swirling colors of mana in Josephine’s chest.
It was fascinating.
How could one person feel so many emotions?
Watching the underpass kids always gave him a tickling sensation in his chest.
Ray applied Formula #3 for comforting sad people: gentle head pats.
It worked—the sobbing quickly subsided.
He pulled out a canned good and stuffed it into Josephine’s shoeshine bag.
“Go to the tent first. Tell Pale I’ll come soon.”
“Okay. Sniff. You’ll come quick, right?”
“Yeah.”
Josephine hugged the bag tightly and disappeared toward the underpass.
Ray approached the shabby grandmother sitting on a mat with closed eyes.
“Grandma Viola. What were you telling Josephine?”
Viola lifted her head, smiling warmly with eyes still shut.
“Ah, Ray. We were talking about rainbows.”
