It was something that happened a bit later.
The realization that the scent was 'the smell of books' and that many people enjoyed it came later.
Thud.
The girl stopped walking.
She spun around to face Ray.
The trembling and shock in her vessel had mostly subsided.
Curiosity glimmered in her crimson eyes.
"I’m Veronica."
Veronica.
The name written on the bookstore’s sign.
"Ray."
"Ray. I see."
Veronica repeated his name several times aloud, as if etching it into memory.
"Sorry for shouting earlier. I thought you were one of those kids who throw stones every day."
Ray answered flatly,
"It was a reasonable misunderstanding."
"Thank you again for helping me earlier. Things would’ve gotten really bad without you."
This was true.
The lower sectors lacked even a basic security force, let alone proper police.
People here cared little for others, leaving everyone to rely solely on themselves when trouble struck.
"Really, thank you."
Dip.
Her head bowed slightly before rising again.
Her voluminous red bob swayed, momentarily veiling her face before settling back.
"......"
Ray watched her impassively.
He couldn’t comprehend Veronica’s persistent gratitude.
By strict terms, he’d already received his reward—the promised meeting with a mage.
Help and compensation.
A simple transaction.
"You don’t need to thank me. I only wanted to enter this bookstore."
"Huh? But still..."
"I merely thought your injuries might hinder your ability to come here."
"......"
Veronica faltered.
Most people would boast in such situations, yet Ray seemed genuinely unconcerned—not modest, but truly believing thanks unnecessary.
An odd sensation prickled her.
In that fleeting moment, she recognized Ray’s difference from other children she’d met.
...Well, he did snap their arms without blinking.
He was no ordinary child.
Where he’d learned to wield such refined magic remained a mystery.
"Alright. But you— Oh, wait."
Veronica abruptly paused.
Her hand reached cautiously toward Ray’s cheek.
Their similar heights allowed her fingers to brush his face unimpeded.
"You’re hurt."
"......"
Her slender fingertips traced the shallow scrape along his cheekbone.
Dried blood crusted from his cheek to earlobe—a wound from daily skirmishes he hadn’t noticed.
"Must’ve scratched it somewhere. It’s fine."
"Wait. It’ll scar if left alone."
Veronica pressed her palm against his cheek.
Ray silently observed, wondering why she bothered with a wound that would heal naturally.
They should be hurrying to meet the mage.
Then the unexpected happened.
Huum—
White mana gathered from the air into Veronica’s palm, crystallizing into light.
No other colors mixed in.
Pure white energy enveloped Ray’s cheek before dissolving seconds later.
Slither.
Her hand withdrew.
Ray touched his face.
"......!"
His widened eyes found no trace of the injury.
"How did you do that?"
"Eh? Do what?"
Ray stepped forward urgently.
"You manipulated white mana. Used it to create light and erase the wound."
Veronica flinched back, but Ray paid no heed.
He could control every colored mana in the atmosphere—except this stubborn white variant.
No matter his focus, the cement-like particles refused to budge.
Initially, he’d theorized specific emotions might move them, but soon realized the futility—he couldn’t feel the required sentiments.
Helpfulness. Consideration. Sacrifice.
White mana seeped into vessels during such acts.
Veronica’s current concern for others exemplified this.
Its root emotion was likely worry for someone else.
A conclusion that left him hollow.
He could never genuinely worry about others.
When the golem attacked the underpass, his momentary panic hadn’t been for the children’s safety, but fear they’d die before repaying their life-debts.
...He couldn’t be certain.
But he believed it probable.
Veronica blinked at Ray’s sudden intensity.
"I just used healing magic. White mana?"
"You drew it from the air—" Ray cut himself off.
Memories resurfaced:
"Didn’t they mention colors? That mana has colors."
"Colors? They said mana’s invisible."
Nyles’ words seemed accurate given her reaction.
"White mana? Do you mean the regeneration element?"
"The regeneration element?"
"Right. Healing magic usually uses one primary element—regeneration. Sometimes with supplementary elements."
Nyles’ teachings echoed:
"Mana comprises numerous elements—over 100. People’s constitutions dictate which they can wield."
Veronica counted on her fingers before abandoning:
"At least over 100. Grandfather told me the exact number, but I forgot."
Ray’s theory solidified:
The colored mana he saw were called elements.
Others couldn’t perceive these hues.
Excitement flickered in his chest—he needed to meet her grandfather immediately.
"Is your grandfather upstairs?"
"Yes. He’s... unwell. Rarely leaves bed."
Veronica turned to lead the way.
Tap— Tap—
"How did you learn magic?"
"Grandfather says you can’t use it without being taught."
Ray remained silent.
"Do you have a home? Where do you sleep?"
"Outside. Here and there."
"I see. That’s hard. I lived outdoors too before the orphanage."
Their exchange continued—her questions, his terse replies—until they reached the staircase.
"Wait here. I’ll check if he’s awake. His illness keeps him asleep often."
Ray nodded.
Veronica’s footsteps faded upstairs.
Silence reclaimed the first floor.
Rather than wait, Ray wandered through the bookstore.
Titles flooded his vision:
"On the Ontological Significance of Human Existence... Kailedric Travelogues... Interpreting the Unconscious..."
He reached for a book, then froze.
His grime-caked hands—layered with dust, soot, and dried blood—were unfit to touch such valuables.
Slum children rarely bathed properly.
Clear rains allowing makeshift showers hadn’t come in half a year.
Sniff.
His hand’s pungent odor—a mix of sourness and acridity—confirmed what others would find repulsive.
Yet Veronica had shown no disgust since his entry.
She didn’t return.
Ray continued exploring, finding no magic-related books but maintaining keen interest.
Even non-magical knowledge here could prove valuable.
Reaching the counter, he found a cluttered desk: reading stands, lamps, open books, and stacks of filled notebooks.
Creeak—
He entered and examined an open notebook:
"Elemental Distribution by Sector... Causes of Black Rain’s Spread...?"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps descended the stairs.
