**#042. The Old tale and the Circle (4)**
—
The second polished stone was so smooth that it could stand up to the old man’s work with no inferiority.
“I’ll try again.”
The third stone was even smoother, resembling refined marble. It was much larger, filling his hand completely, and was undeniably superior to the old man’s.
With only three attempts, he surpassed the old man’s skill, gaining an understanding of magic in real time.
“Excellent. Now, could you try this?”
“Yes.”
*Crack!*
“And this as well.”
“Yes.”
*Crack! Crack!*
“Can you manage this too?”
“Yes.”
*Crack! Crack! Crack!*
The old man could not hide his excitement and astonishment.
He demonstrated various techniques using gray mana, and each time, the stone transformed into different shapes. From basic geometric forms like spheres and cubes to complex objects like cups, frames, and vehicles.
The boy observed the old man’s use of mana intently.
*Crack!*
No matter the shape, it never took more than three attempts for him to create something more refined than the old man’s work.
âUnbelievable…â
The old man was once again struck speechless. He had expected some progress. He thought that once the boy formed a circle and could use refined mana, his growth would be extraordinary compared to others.
After all, this boy had already manipulated the difficult elements of stability and duration with ease, and instantly identified the differences between two elements before even creating a circle.
âI suspected this much. I thought that once he had better tools, his abilities would improve to an incomparable level.â
But this exceeded even his imagination. He felt ashamed for trying to predict the limits of this boy’s potential.
In magic, the same amount of mana could yield vastly different results depending on how the elements were handled. And from the old man’s perspective, the boy’s control over the elements was flawless.
“Wonderful. Now, let’s…”
Following the old man’s guidance, Ray created a few more shapes. Then, at some point…
“……”
The old man’s voice ceased.
When Ray glanced up, he saw the old man with his eyes closed, breathing lightly and evenly. He looked fatigued but deeply satisfied. Veronica gently laid him down on the bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest.
*CreakâClick.*
She quietly exited the room with Ray, closing the door softly. Turning to him, her eyes sparkled.
“You’re amazing! How did you do that?”
The memory of Ray using magic remained vivid in her mind.
âHow did I do it?â
The intricate seven-story clock tower in his hands crumbled into dust and scattered in the air.
How? That was a question Ray couldnât answer. The magic he used in that room wasnât based on formulas but pure intuition.
The old man had performed magic, and Ray merely followed what he saw. To explain, he would first have to talk about seeing the colors of mana.
âŠIt was a long story, one he wasnât confident about sharing yet, especially since his trust in Veronica wasn’t deep enough.
“I just… did it.”
“You’re just saying that because you donât want to teach me, right?”
“No, I really mean it.”
Veronica, pouting, soon smiled brightly.
“Well, anyway, you’re incredible. Really, truly incredible. You’re probably the best wizard I’ve ever seen. Though to be fair, the only wizards Iâve seen are you and Grandpa, but still.”
Her response suggested the answer didnât matter much. She continued to chatter, her eyes sparkling with lingering amazement.
“Seriously, you’re amazing!”
“……”
“How can you use magic so easily? You donât even know the theory!”
“……”
Ray listened with one ear while watching Veronica intently. Suddenly, he noticed something strange.
âI canât see it.â
Among Veronica’s swirling emotions, there was clear envy. Yet, the other emotion that usually accompanied envy was absent.
“Veronica.”
“Grandpa always said that without theory, itâs impossible toâhuh?”
“Do you envy me?”
“Uh… yeah, I guess?”
It was natural for her to envy him. After all, he had completed in under a minute what she had failed to achieve after long, arduous effort. But for now, her confusion outweighed her envy.
âWhat is this? Does he really just ask things like this outright? Are all street kids this blunt?â
She pondered briefly but concluded it was unlikely. Life on the streets was dangerous, and caution was necessary for survival. It was more plausible that this reserved and strikingly handsome boy simply had a peculiar personality.
“Do you dislike me? Feel annoyed or angry with me?”
There it was again. That bizarrely serious question from the embodiment of seriousness.
Was he boasting? That didnât seem like his personality. It felt more like a question born of pure curiosity.
“Um… not really.”
“Do you ever feel like you should have been the one to succeed in creating a circle instead of me?”
“Are you asking if Iâm jealous?”
“Yes, jealous.”
Ray nodded slightly.
Envy and jealousy both stemmed from seeing someone possess what you donât have. Though they appeared similar, jealousy was fundamentally different, as it was envy mixed with negative feelings like resentment or anger.
Envy was wanting to have what the other person had. Jealousy was wanting to take it away from them. These were Rayâs personal definitions of these emotions.
“Hmm…”
Veronica, seeing his serious expression, felt compelled to answer sincerely. She wrinkled her brow and pondered before replying.
“I envy you, but Iâm not jealous.”
“Why not?”
“Because… we’re friends?”
As she said this, Veronica looked directly into Rayâs eyes, willing him to acknowledge it.
âSay youâre my friend already.â
Her gaze was so intense it was almost frightening, but the socially oblivious Ray didnât notice.
“Friends donât get jealous?”
“Not always, but I think usually, yeah.”
Ray fell silent, then nodded as if he had reached a conclusion.
“I see. I think I understand now.”
“Youâre such a strange kid.”
Veronica turned and walked briskly toward the stairs. Ray didnât deny her statement. Instead, he called after her.
“I have a favor to ask you.”
—
—
Ray and Veronica sat facing each other at a table on the first floor of the bookstore.
“You want me to teach you how to read and write?”
“Yeah. I want to read books.”
Ray had realized he knew far too little about the world. It was natural, given he had never left Sector 50, and his narrow focus on survival left him uninterested in anything else. But now, things were different.
The moment he left Sector 50 and entered the wastelands, the boundaries of his world expanded. As long as his journey up the Elton River continued, those boundaries would keep growing.
âI need knowledge.â
It was essential to quickly fill the gaps in his understanding of the world. Luckily, this bookstore was the perfect place to do so. The surrounding shelves held a treasure trove of books spanning art, practical skills, and moreâat least a thousand volumes.
In other words, a wealth of knowledge lay waiting to be picked up, like coins on a streetâso abundant you couldnât gather them all in one day.
Before leaving Sector 49, Ray was determined to cram as much knowledge into his mind as possible. Once acquired, it could always come in handy.
Once acquired, knowledge always proves useful eventually.
Moreover, learning how to read and write wasn’t just for the purpose of enjoying books; it was a skill necessary for the journey ahead.
âTeaching how to write isnât particularly difficult… is it?â
Veronicaâs words trailed off into a question.
Come to think of it, while she had always been on the receiving end of lessons from her grandfather, she had never taught someone else before.
*âI did help my siblings study once or twice, though.â*
But that had only been to supplement gaps in their learning after their grandfatherâs lessons.
*âCan I teach well?â*
A question about herself.
But she quickly shook her head.
Fearing something without even trying was foolish.
Besides, it was better to do somethingâanythingârather than sit idly in the dim bookstore, letting melancholy take over.
And the boy had been her benefactor, protecting the bookstore.
âAlright. Iâll teach you! Anyway, the shopâs closed, and thereâs nothing else to do.â
âThe bookstore.â
âHmm?â
âYou can open it.â
What?
This statement caught her off guard.
The shop had remained closed because of the daily barrage of rocks thrown at it.
As she tilted her head in confusion, a realization dawned on her.
*âCome to think of it, I havenât seen those kids who used to throw rocks for several days. Could it be⊠is this what Ray meant?â*
âThey wonât show up again,â Ray said, interrupting her thoughts.
Veronica felt her chest tighten, her pupils shaking and her voice trembling.
Carefully, she asked, âDid you⊠kill them?â
âI wouldnât kill someone just for throwing rocks at a shop.â
Was he implying that there would have been exceptions under different circumstances?
The boyâs manner of speakingâcoming from a completely different world than her ownâmade Veronicaâs head spin.
But soon, a thrill of excitement began to bubble up in her chest.
Ray wasnât the type to joke or play tricks.
Most of the words that came out of his mouth carried a significant weight and a specific reason.
âŠThough he did occasionally ask strange questions.
If he said it was okay to open the bookstore, there must have been a basis for it.
What had happened?
Had he confronted the rock-throwing kids on the street and scared them off?
âAre you sure itâs safe to open the bookstore? Are you sure they wonât come back?â
âYes.â
Ray nodded firmly.
If they did come back, heâd make sure Zephyr and his gang paid the price for ignoring his warnings.
He wouldnât tolerate anyone damaging the space where he planned to study magic and accumulate knowledge.
âAlright! Once todayâs lesson is over, Iâll start preparing to reopen!â
It had been a month and a half since the shop last opened its doors.
With a bright smile, Veronica hurried upstairs and came back down, carrying an armful of books and notebooks.
**Thud!**
The pile was so large that the desk shook noticeably as she set it down.
âThese are the materials I used when I learned to write. And these are my notes, where I summarized everything I studied.â
âHow much did you study?â
âHmm, about a month?â
Considering the thickness and number of books, it seemed like a surprisingly short time.
While it was true that Veronica was quick to understand things, her achievement was more a result of relentless effort and determination than natural talent.
After all, Veronica had spent countless nights studying on the first floor while her grandfather and siblings slept upstairs, often dozing off with her head on her desk.
It was an innate thirst for knowledge.
If she encountered a difficult concept, she would tenaciously tackle it until she fully understood it.
And whether it was reading or studying, she felt a sense of satisfaction only after completing a set amount of learning each day.
âDoes it normally take about a month to learn to write?â
Ray had no frame of reference for how long it should take, having never studied or seen anyone study in Sector 50.
âWell, it depends on how hard you work. For most people, it takes much longer. But in your caseâŠâ
Veronica trailed off, recalling a compliment her grandfather had once given her.
*”Remarkable. You certainly have a talent for languages. Effort is important, but without innate ability, this level of achievement wouldnât be possible.”*
According to her grandfather, it typically took over a year for an average person to become proficient at reading and writing, even with consistent effort.
*âBut Ray doesnât seem like an ordinary boy.â*
He had already shown extraordinary abilities on several occasions.
Especially with magic.
Although magic and language didnât seem directly connected, she couldnât help but have high hopes for him.
ââŠI donât think itâll take long. Maybe about the same time as me, or even less.â
âIâll work hard to learn.â
âGreat. But before we start the lesson, thereâs something you need to do first.â
Straightening her posture, Veronica looked at Ray with a faint hesitation in her gaze.
*âSheâs about to ask for something,â* Ray thought.
At first, he assumed her eagerness to teach him was because she considered him a friend.
And friends, as he understood, were supposed to help each other without expecting anything in return.
But literacy was advanced knowledge, so perhaps she wanted some form of payment.
Would she ask for a fee?
Or maybe for help running the bookstore?
*âOr perhaps sheâll ask me to take out Zephyrâs gang.â*
Whatever it was, Ray didnât mind. Heâd already intended to repay her in some way.
âWhat is it?â
Veronica extended her arm, pointing upward.
Her finger slowly arced forward until it pointed at the stairs behind him.
âGo wash up. The bathroomâs on the second floor.â
Veronica smiled sweetly as she gestured toward his dust-covered, bloodstained appearance.
—
—
—
**âWash up! Iâm going out to buy clothes!â**
Footsteps faded, followed by the faint sound of the bell above the bookstoreâs door.
Ray, momentarily distracted by the noise, shifted his focus to the room he had entered.
A clean, pristine bathroom with white tiles lining every surface.
On the wall, a metal hose hung coiled from a protruding hook.
ââŠâŠâ
It was the first time Ray had encountered such a well-equipped place to wash up.
*âSo, this is how it works.â*
He unhooked the hose, examining it curiously.
On the streets, hygiene was a luxury. Most children paid little attention to cleanliness, unless they happened to befriend shopkeepers who occasionally let them use their facilities.
Ray, however, had never felt the need for such efforts.
Rainy days sufficed as his version of a shower.
But now, he stood before this unfamiliar setup, taking a moment to figure it out.
The handle on the wall caught his attention.
Turning it, he activated the water flow.
A jet of cold water streamed out.
Stripping off his clothes and placing them in a corner, he adjusted the hose, mounting it above his head.
The initial blast of icy water swept over him.
It was cold enough to chill, yet Ray stood still, unbothered.
After all, he was no stranger to the cold. Years of exposure to rain and even a near-death experience from frostbite had hardened him.
Gradually, the water warmed.
Steam rose as the hot water coursed over his scarred, well-trained body.
ââŠâŠâ
Oddly, it wasnât the cold but the warmth that caught him off guard.
The sensation was unfamiliarâalien, evenâbut not unpleasant.
For the first time, Ray let himself relax under the steady stream.
Water washed away the dirt and dried blood clinging to his body.
It cleansed not only his physical wounds but also, unknowingly, a fraction of the weight he had carried from Sector 50.
Like polished metal regaining its shine, the boy stood under the stream, becoming something new.
