#015. Street Kids (5)
Rey, hiding behind a box, watched the boys approaching the bookstore.
They must be from Jeph's faction. Territory-wise.
Their current location was 8th Street—a sparsely populated area on the sector's outskirts. Of course the window wasn’t broken for no reason.
From their conversation, Rey pieced together their intent.
Hired hands.
Paid by someone coveting the bookstore’s location.
A familiar tactic in Sector 50. Rey himself had once been offered similar work.
“Hey kid. Got a minute?”
“Simple job. Just disrupt their business.”
“Figure out the how. Keep it quiet.”
He’d refused—the target was a store he knew. Later, he learned the client was a competitor from another numbered street.
Hiring street orphans to harass rivals was effective. Cheap, low-risk, and left no trail compared to gang involvement.
Rey scanned the deserted street—ideal for their scheme.
As the boys braced to hurl rocks at the bookstore—
Creak—THUD!
The second-floor window burst open.
“Hey! You! Stop throwing rocks at our store!”
A red-haired girl. Rey had passed this place countless times but never seen her since their first encounter.
He observed her vessel: black mana churned violently (fear) while pale yellow mana fought back (courage).
“What now? Someone’s here.”
“So what? She’s just a scared kid.”
The boys jeered, sensing weakness:
“Lucky brat! You’ve got a home! We sleep in gutters!”
“My stomach’s rotting from hunger!”
Rocks tore through the air—not playful throws, but full-armed pitches fueled by malice.
CRACK!
A stone struck the wall beside the window. Concrete fragments rained down as the girl paled.
A direct hit could maim or kill. Her eyes brimmed with tears, yet she gripped the sill harder and leaned out further.
“Get lost! I’ll kill you all!”
The boys sneered:
“Ooh, she’ll kill us!”
“Aim for her face—that’ll shut her up!”
“Come down! Show us what’s under that skirt!”
Their laughter echoed—parroted vulgarities from drunkards, wielded to feel grown.
Rey hefted a rusted pipe. The bookstore connected to the second floor—likely housing the owner’s family. If the redhead died, the shop’s fate would complicate.
“Adults are coming out!” the girl lied.
“Liar! Only a sick geezer and brats inside!”
Whizz—THIP!
A rock grazed her cheek. Blood streaked her face as tears finally fell. Still, she held her ground.
Déjà vu struck Rey—this mirrored Fael defending the bridge-dwelling orphans pre-Rey’s arrival. Predator vs prey.
What expression did Fael wear then?
The girl’s clenched jaw and furrowed brow answered—exactly like this.
Another rock hurtled toward her face—
SWOOSH!
Wind mana yanked the projectile midair, hurling it back.
“Agh!”
A boy collapsed, rock embedded in his solar plexus. His companions stared dumbfounded—
CLANG!
Rey’s pipe smashed the last standing boy’s skull.
Methodically, he broke their wrists and arms—crack-crack-crack—until all three lay unconscious in spreading blood.
He dragged them into an alley before returning. The girl stared down, trembling.
“Long time no see,” Rey said.
Her vessel now swirled black (fear) and teal (curiosity) mana.
“Was...was this necessary?” she stammered. “They’ll never use their arms properly again.”
“Yes. Half-measures invite retaliation.”
She swallowed. “...Thanks.”
“Save it. Answer me—”
“You used magic earlier!”
“Are you a mage?”
Their voices overlapped, echoing through 8th Street.
The girl unlocked the bookstore, grimacing at the bloodstains. “Your wind magic—even Grandpa can’t do that.”
“Grandpa?”
“The owner. Eccentric, but...”
“You learned magic from him?”
“He took me and my siblings in. Of course he’s a mage.”
Rey’s eyes lit up. He’d expected grimoires here—not a live practitioner.
“Can I meet him?”
She sighed at his barrage of questions but nodded. “Wait inside.”
The opened bookstore revealed shelves upon shelves—knowledge he craved, pages whispering promises.
