Chapter 1 – The Boy on the Pile of Scrap Metal (One)

Dusk was falling.

Ray was sitting atop a scrap heap.

Discarded furniture. Broken electronics.

Useless junk. Rusted metal.

A small hill where all manner of useless things clung to each other.

Its considerable height meant that from up here, he could take in the surrounding landscape at a glance.

Scrap heaps rising in all directions.

His current location was the Junkyard on the outskirts of Sector 50.

Ahead, a vast, seemingly endless Wasteland stretched out.

Behind, he could see the city full of old concrete buildings.

The place where Ray had been born and raised all his life.

Sector 50, an area entirely slumified.

He lowered his head.

He saw shabby-looking boys with tongs and bags, wandering between the scrap heaps.

They were street orphans, just like Ray, eking out a living by scavenging scrap.

The difference was that, unlike Ray, the boys moved around in groups of two or three.

They each had a gang they belonged to.

It was almost a necessity.

If you don’t steal, you get stolen from.

If you don’t kill, you get killed.

A strict law of the jungle.

In the ecosystem of this Sector 50, you couldn’t survive without banding together.

Clatter-clatter—

A flashlight from the heap rolled down the slope and fell below.

Thud!

It rolled along the ground and stopped at the feet of some boys.

The boys looked up at Ray.

Their eyes met for a moment.

“…….”

“…….”

The boys, who had been gauging Ray’s reaction, snatched up the flashlight and started running somewhere.

Ray was simply impassive.

He only thought to himself.

Picking that up won’t be of any use.

Ray’s pupils followed the boys’ movements.

An open space at the center of the Junkyard.

Arriving there, the boys caught their breath and held out the flashlight to someone.

To be precise, it wasn’t a person.

Its face and limbs were all made of rough stone.

Its height was about two meters.

The stone was a silvery-gray hue, looking somewhat like a lump of metal at a glance.

Creak— Creak—

The adults of Sector 50 called that living, moving thing a Golem.

Who its master was. Where it came from.

What purpose it had.

No one knew the exact details about the Golem.

They just said it had existed in Sector 50 since long ago.

One thing was certain.

The Golem collected specific scrap in the Junkyard, and if you gave it an item that met its conditions, it would reward you with food.

Canned goods or biscuits.

And even high-quality food like chocolate.

—Here! Eat! Eat it now!

The boys waving the flashlight in front of the Golem.

They were so excited their voices carried all the way here.

—Wheeeeng.

The Golem emitted a red Eye Light from its two eye sockets.

It stared at the flashlight for a few seconds, then turned its body and stomped off elsewhere.

The boys chased after it, waving the flashlight, but the Golem’s reaction didn’t change.

Later, other groups brought scrap, but the results were all the same.

—Damn it! Why won’t it take it!

—Should we just smash it?

—Hold on. They say if you attack the Golem, it retaliates.

—Right. They said the Golem once came into the streets and killed people.

The Golem was capricious.

Sometimes it would accept a type of item it had taken before, other times it wouldn’t, and the opposite was also common.

The success rate for scavengers was extremely low, but the tantalizing reward meant the kids never gave up.

Watching that scene, Ray descended from the scrap heap.

Clunk. Clunk. Thud!

He didn’t slip or fall.

It was a very stable descent, as if stepping down solid stairs.

Looking around, he headed for the open space.

He picked up a few pieces of scrap he had spotted earlier.

“Here.”

Arriving at the open space, Ray held out his bag to the Golem.

The Golem’s red Eye Light touched the contents of the bag.

Creak—

The Golem snatched up the bag and poured the scrap into its mouth.

Thud! Plop!

The scrap rolled into its body.

The Golem, its mouth tightly shut, shook its body once, then opened its mouth again and took out food from inside.

3 cans. 2 packs of biscuits.

1 bag of bread. 1 chocolate.

If eaten sparingly alone, it was enough to last a good three days.

The eyes of the other boys watching the scene went wide.

“Hey. Look at that.”

“How does he do that every day like that…”

Whispers came from here and there.

“…What if we do this?”

“Don’t talk crazy. That’s Ray, the Ghost of 17th Street.”

It was a reaction he experienced all the time, so Ray didn’t pay it much mind.

Silently, he packed the food into his bag and turned his steps toward the Junkyard exit.

“…….”

Before long, he could sense presences following behind.

2 behind the left heap.

2 behind the right heap.

And 3 hiding and following from the rear.

7 in total.

Not a small number by any means.

Their intent was obvious.

Ray glanced at the bag slung over one shoulder.

Then, at a place he judged suitable for a fight, he stopped walking and turned his body to face the rear.

“Come out. How long are you planning to follow me?”

There was no reaction.

When he made a gesture of taking out the bread and stepping on it with his foot, only then did he sense movement.

“Your senses are really something. We were following carefully, but you still noticed.”

The opponents who appeared were 7, as expected.

They held clubs, knuckles, and the like.

“Ron. I warned you last time. I said if I saw you one more time, I’d make it so you could never walk on two feet again.”

The boy with the largest build in the group.

Orange-haired Ron flinched when his eyes met Ray’s.

But soon, remembering they far outnumbered him, he growled.

“What are you talking about from way back then? That was so long ago I don’t even remember. Huh?”

His pronunciation was a bit off because he was missing front teeth.

They were broken from being beaten by Ray.

“It was exactly 23 days ago. If you’re asking about the time. It’s not that long ago.”

“That’s not what I meant right now!”

Ron’s insides were boiling.

That bastard Ray never failed to rub him the wrong way every time he saw him.

That face that didn’t even twitch no matter what happened.

Those emotionless eyes that seemed to see right through people.

From his breathing to his small movements.

Every single thing grated on his nerves.

But it didn’t matter.

Soon, he’d be lying on the ground, crying and begging for his life.

‘Last time it was 3. But this time, including me, it’s 7.’

Last time he lost, but this time was different.

He’d brought 6 of the best fighters from the group.

Ray.

The Ghost of 17th Street.

He got that nickname because he moved around with almost no presence and had no expression on his face.

He was also famous for being a good fighter.

But even he couldn’t do anything against 7 people.

Moreover, his build was at best average for his age.

On the other hand, all 7 of them were on the large side, not far from adults.

‘I’ll definitely win.’

Unconsciously, the corner of his mouth lifted.

He was thinking of avenging his past defeat and taking control of 17th Street, where Ray was.

Ron spoke in a confident voice.

“I won’t waste words. Put down the bag and go. Then I’ll send you off with your body intact.”

It was a lie.

Whether he gave up the food or not, he planned to beat him to a pulp and cripple him.

“Liar.”

Ron’s pupils flinched.

The reason the street kids feared Ray wasn’t just because of his fighting skills.

“It’s a lie.”

Lies didn’t work on Ray.

「Don’t make eye contact with the Ghost. If you do, he’ll catch you lying.」

Ray could distinguish truth from falsehood just by looking into someone’s eyes.

At first, the kids were skeptical.

But after a few incidents that gave them reason to be sure, it was now accepted as fact.

Lies don’t work on the Ghost.

‘That arrogant bastard…!’

Ron gritted his teeth.

Anyone could see that the promise to send him off unharmed was a lie, but that guy must have used some unknown trick to figure it out.

“Kill him—! Kill him—!”

As if to shake off his fear, Ron shouted at the top of his lungs.

Along with him, the boys charged at Ray.

Thud!

Ray dropped his bag to the ground and took a stance.

The images of the enemies approaching moment by moment were reflected in his pure white pupils.

Whooosh—!

Ray lowered his stance deeply.

He felt a club brush past his back by a hair’s breadth.

Tap!

He stomped the ground.

Springing his body forward, he pulled his elbow back.

And.

Thwack!

“Ugh!”

He drove his fist deep into the stomach.

Passing the guy who crumpled, he saw a knuckle coming straight at him.

“Die!”

Using his abruptly stopped left foot as an axis, he rotated his body to the right.

Swish!

The knuckle passed right in front of his face.

He brought his right elbow down with all his might on the opponent’s extended arm.

Crack!

“Argh!”

He kicked the staggering opponent with his foot.

Tangling with the enemy coming from behind, they tumbled to the ground.

The fight was one-sided.

The sounds of leather hitting and bones breaking echoed through the Junkyard.

Exactly 5 minutes later.

All the boys except Ron were rolling on the ground, groaning.

“……!”

“Numbers increasing doesn’t make a difference.”

Ron couldn’t believe this situation.

Was the skill he usually showed not everything?

“D-don’t come! Don’t come!”

“I warned you. I said if I saw you one more time, I’d make it so you couldn’t use your two feet.”

Ray narrowed the distance step by step.

Ron’s lips trembled as he stepped backward.

Thud!

He bumped into something.

Looking back, it was a scrap heap.

Ron pulled out a folding knife and opened it.

“F-fuck! Don’t come! You monster!”

Ray stopped.

He stared intently at the knife.

“Monster.”

Maybe it wasn’t entirely wrong.

Looking at his own face, blurred and distorted in the reflection of the knife, he thought that.

Maybe he wasn’t so different from the Golem, a lump of stone.

Ray realized he was different from others when he was 10 years old.

「Why aren’t you crying?」

「You fell and got a big wound, doesn’t it hurt at all?」

He knew it hurt.

He knew blood was gushing out.

But what did that have to do with crying?

「Kyle came back beaten up. By the kids from 7th Street.」

「…Aren’t you even angry?」

Why should I be angry?

No, before that, what is ‘anger’?

「Sniff. Bello died… what do we do now?」

「You’re not shedding a single tear.」

That’s when Ray realized.

He didn’t feel any of what others called emotions.

「You’re a bit weird. It’s scary.」

The people beside him left, and he naturally became alone.

He thought blankly.

Am I wrong?

He wanted to be like others.

He tried hard to feel emotions.

He did feel something faint stirring deep in his chest.

「…….」

But he couldn’t even tell if that was what emotions were supposed to be.

Having never felt them in his life, he had nothing to compare it to.

A year passed.

Two years passed.

Three years passed.

…And so, six years passed.

His constant efforts to feel emotions were useless.

Maybe this is better.

He sometimes thought that.

Not feeling emotions was often advantageous in the Slum.

For example, not feeling fear during a fight was a huge advantage.

Parts where he had to gauge others’ emotions and read the situation weren’t a big problem either.

Because Ray had his own method of reading others’ emotions.

“Don’t come, you monster!”

Right now, Ray was concentrating his nerves on his pupils.

Because of that, he was seeing a world different from others.

Red as red as blood.

Blue as blue as the deep sea.

Yellow as bright yellow as forsythia.

And countless other colors besides.

The world was dyed in a riot of colorful light.

A landscape like an oil painting with paints of many colors mixed together.

It was Mana, known as the material of Magic and the foundation of the world.

Of course, Ray didn’t know such details that well.

He only used it as a technique to identify others’ emotions, plus a few auxiliary means.

Ray looked at Ron’s chest.

A deep brown Mana was undulating nearby.

Everyone had a small Vessel in their chest.

Whenever they felt a specific emotion, Mana of a specific color seeped into and lingered in the Vessel.

Anger, hatred, love, etc., were Mana of reddish hues.

Mockery, indifference, etc., were Mana of bluish hues.

Joy, excitement, etc., were Mana of yellowish hues.

There weren’t many exceptions.

“A knife. Not using blades is an unspoken rule, right? Did you bring it from the start with the intention? To stab me?”

“I, I just picked it up! I picked it up among the junk!”

Liar.

You could tell by looking at the Mana’s Color filling the Vessel.

Tap.

“D-don’t come! Don’t come! If you don’t want to die!”

Disregarding the knife pointed at him, Ray approached Ron.

His gaze remained fixed on Ron’s chest.

A deep black Mana was fluctuating.

Yes. So that was extreme fear.

Ray opened his mouth.

“Liars should be punished.”