Chapter 56: The Last Lesson (1)
A dimly lit abandoned warehouse bathed in moonlight.
A group of boys holding clubs looked down at a man lying on the floor. Among them, the boy who appeared to be the leader moved his lips.
"Fred."
The man on the floor flinched. Though beaten too severely to stay fully conscious, the voice pierced his ears with startling clarity.
"8th Street."
His heart pounded.
"Veronica's Bookstore."
He desperately wanted to escape this terrifying presence.
"Don’t touch it. There won’t be a second warning. Your family, your shop, your car—we know where they all are."
Tears trickled down. Fred clenched every muscle and nodded with all his might.
Ding~
"Welcome!" Veronica greeted customers entering the bookstore with forced cheerfulness.
A few weeks had passed since the unpleasant incident. The event had shocked her deeply—while she’d endured petty harassment from peers before, this was the first time burly men had stormed in.
But Veronica recovered quickly. She ate as usual, ran the bookstore as usual, and worked to build her network as usual.
In the quiet stillness, clock hands spun relentlessly.
Ray had progressed remarkably. Funds now sufficed for several more sectors. His reading skills advanced enough to tackle most books without a dictionary. He absorbed practical knowledge from the shop’s shelves—car maintenance, emergency first aid.
"Ray-nim. The 28th Street inquiry results."
His team continued gathering clues about Rainbow and Mercrade. Though no breakthroughs emerged, Ray deemed it worthwhile—each effort reduced the chance of overlooking critical details in Sector 49.
Time marched on. Seasons shifted from blazing summer to leaf-strewn autumn, signaling Ray’s impending departure.
"I’d like to talk," the old man said, his final hours approaching.
The fading sunset cast long shadows through fluttering curtains, transforming the dark room into a monochrome tableau.
"Have you decided when to leave?" the old man asked.
"Within days. Not certain yet."
"I see. It seems I’ll depart first after all."
The old man chuckled dryly. Ray showed no reaction to the morbid joke, nor did the old man expect one. Instead, he turned toward the firmly shut door.
‘That girl... Still avoiding me today.’
Veronica hadn’t visited in days. The old man understood—she lacked the courage to witness his final moments. A fearful soul who preferred fleeing pain over facing it.
Though they’d shared less than a year, their bond ran deep. He’d been both father and mentor.
‘She’ll stumble when I’m gone... But she’ll rise.’ His gaze returned to Ray. "I want to thank you. My sudden demand to learn magic must’ve seemed odd."
"It was mutual benefit. You needed a student. I needed a teacher."
The old man smiled faintly. No gratitude required between transactional partners. The boy remained unchanged since their first meeting.
"True. Our goals aligned. Still, you’ve preserved my life’s work." His magic—decades of research and innovation—would’ve taken others years to grasp, even senior mages. Ray’s ability to replicate spells through observation alone defied all convention.
"Hence my thanks."
Ray stayed silent.
"Nothing to ask me?" The old man’s time dwindled—yesterday’s wakefulness lasted 4 minutes 32 seconds. Historical records showed Eternal Sleep patients remained conscious 3-5 minutes at the end.
Ray hesitated. He’d rarely shared personal truths—his emotional void, mana perception, the rainbow quest. Vulnerabilities. But the old man had earned trust through knowledge and candor.
"I... don’t feel emotions."
"I see." The old man nodded calmly, as if expecting this.
"You knew?"
"Suspected. Not certain."
"Normally, I feel nothing. Only when concentrating, and even then just fragments. Is this... illness?"
"Do you consider it such?"
Ray recalled the dictionary definition:
[Illness]
[A biological anomaly causing distress through impaired function.]
His emotional system was abnormal, but caused no suffering. Still—
"Yes. An illness."
"The mind can ail too."
"Mental illness?"
"Merely a theory." The old man recounted meeting emotionless wanderers in his youth—people numbed by trauma like abuse or loss.
"Your case differs—selective feeling suggests different origins. But perhaps... an event sealed your emotions?"
Ray’s earliest memory was wandering streets hungry. Nothing before.
A flash—
An egg-shaped light splitting open.
Colorless world flooded by radiant threads.
A monochrome landscape dyed vibrant.
The visions vanished instantly, leaving no residue.
"Even without words..." Ray changed tack. "...you understood my situation. What magic revealed this?"
The old man laughed. "Magic? Hardly."
"Then how?"
"Humans broadcast themselves—through microexpressions, gestures, breath patterns. You claim no expressions, yet..."
The old man leaned forward.
"Are you certain you’ve never made one?"
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