#014. Street Kids (4)
“After you defeat Cedric and become the new leader of the group…”
“……”
Ray locked eyes with Philip.
An unnamed intensity flickered in the gaze of this small-statured boy.
Ray looked down at the bowl.
This felt easier than deciphering the signals on Philip’s face.
‘The black mana has diminished. He feared me. Is he mustering courage now?’
Pale yellow mana had swelled to replace the black.
A glaring, sunlit ochre.
The color only permeated the bowl when fueled by unshakable conviction.
“You don’t think I’ll lose?”
“I can’t dismiss the possibility. But the odds favor your victory. From my observations.”
“Why?”
The yellow mana surged.
Its deepening hue obliterated the last remnants of black.
“My intuition.”
“Intuition?”
“As I said—I enjoy observing people. Study their actions and habits long enough, and you glimpse their essence. Not fully, but enough. For instance…”
Philip leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“You avoid eye contact. Stare at chests instead of faces during conversations. Trauma related to eyes, perhaps?”
He paused for breath.
“And you lead with your right foot at every corner. Unconscious preparation for ambushes. Natural for a right-hander.”
“……”
The experience felt novel.
Others had judged Ray before.
「You’re terrifying. Abnormal.」
「Reckless lunatic.」
「Join us when you’re older.」
But those were shallow impressions—fear masquerading as insight.
This dissection of minutiae? Unprecedented.
Ray hadn’t even recognized his own right-foot habit.
He leaned forward.
Craved more.
This analysis might widen his stunted emotional spectrum.
Understanding oneself bred growth.
Currently, only anger and sadness pierced his emotional numbness.
“Regardless—I’ve sharp instincts. My observations suggest—”
“What else?”
“Huh?”
“What other habits did you note?”
“Ah… Several.”
Philip adjusted his glasses and continued:
Patrol routes through alleys.
Hypervigilance during meals.
Microgestures revealing calculation over passion.
“Cedric fights emotionally. You dissect movements like equations.”
No psychiatrist’s evaluation, yet startlingly astute for street-born insight.
“…That’s my assessment.”
Ray nodded slowly.
Each word illuminated hidden facets of himself.
“I accept.”
“Eh? Without discussing tribute rates or—”
“Set your terms. But no cheap tricks.”
“Deal!”
Philip beamed.
“One more condition.”
“Which?”
“Can your network gather rumors? Sector-wide intelligence.”
*
Two days later, beneath noon’s furnace sun:
“Sector 50 rumors check out,” echoed a voice from under Ray’s vehicle. “This wreck’s seen real wasteland miles.”
Only denim-clad legs protruded from the wheeled repair board.
Ray monitored from a salvaged chair.
No malice detected, but his vehicle’s integrity demanded vigilance.
Clangs and wrench-grinds punctuated the mechanic’s monologue:
“Phil doesn’t lend top talent lightly. He’s sweet on you.”
Silence.
“Hand me the 6mm wrench? Nut too.”
Ray telekinetically floated tools beneath the chassis.
“Huh? Had these here all along?”
More clattering.
“Why leave Sector 50? Challenging Cedric suggests settling down.”
False.
Ray would depart Sector 49 post-investigation.
Let the pack fight over vacant leadership.
Final clank. The board slid out, revealing oil-smeared overalls.
“Done. Overheating fixed—premium coolant now. Stole the good stuff myself.”
“Appreciated.”
“All for Phil. Our savior.”
The boy repacked tools.
“Without him, we’d starve. That’s why we don’t mind his cut—it’s fair.”
Loyalty earned, not extorted.
Sector 50’s enforced tributes contrasted sharply.
“Wait! Phil’s note.”
A crisply folded paper exchanged hands.
“Read it yourself. He’s busy today.”
The mechanic departed, waving over grease-blackened shoulders.
*
Seven profiles filled the note.
Suspected mages across Sector 49.
Philip’s child network worked efficiently.
「Baker lifts sacks single-handedly.」
「Eats stale bread without flinching.」
Dubious leads mostly—except one.
「32-1 Building. Vacant store.」
「Frequent underground trips.」
「Wind deflected falling pipe—no panic.」
Ray’s boots echoed through familiar alleys.
Past Veronica Bookstore’s shuttered windows.
Then—voices:
“Still closed! Mission accomplished.”
“Idiot. Owner must list it for sale first.”
“More stone-throwing?”
“Aim upstairs tonight. Drive them out.”
Three boys emerged, arms laden with rocks.
Ray shadowed their advance toward the bookstore.
