Little Pink Starfish

Side Story 2

Rekayan was someone fundamentally uninterested in other people. His only true passion—almost obsessively so—was magic.

From the moment he learned to read, he holed himself up in the Riccione Ducal Library like a madman, devouring magic books day and night.

The Riccione family, not known for any magical legacy, had a limited collection. He ran out of books quickly.

So Rekayan hounded the Duke until he was allowed access to the family’s secret archives. When he finished those, he used the Riccione name to collect more magic tomes from all corners of the Empire—and devoured them.

Then he burned through his allowance to start formal magical studies.

It didn’t take long for him to realize:

“I’m a magical genius!”

And it wasn’t just a delusion. Even the court magicians the Duke hired to assess his son reluctantly admitted: Rekayan had a powerful natural reservoir of mana and a sharp mind capable of mastering everything he studied.

Before even coming of age, he was scouted by the Imperial Mage Division, Esche—a dream opportunity for any young magician. Esche offered power, prestige, and a guaranteed future.

Rekayan turned them down.

“I’m going to the Mage Tower!”

“…Rekayan, have you finally lost it?”

His older brother Phailen looked at him like he was mad, incredulous that his younger brother had just refused one of the most prestigious institutions in the Empire.

His family immediately launched a campaign to talk him down.

“Rekayan, sweetie,” said his eldest sister Yureana, in her most soothing tone. “I’ve thought this through a hundred times, and the Mage Tower just isn’t right for you. That place is for… well, lunatics. People who devote their entire lives to magic. I know you’re passionate right now—you’re still young, still in the early stages. But what if you regret it later, or realize you want something else? Just one year. Let’s wait one year, okay?”

Unlike the gentle Yureana, Phailen—who had practically raised Rekayan with headlocks—was brutally honest.

“Listen, Rekayan. You’re my brother, but I’ll say this straight. The Mage Tower is a bad idea. Not because it’s a terrible place—it’s not. The Empire funds it, and even Mother invests in it sometimes. But it’s filled with freaks. People who forget to eat and sleep while chasing magical theories. You’re not like that. You’re too free-spirited to shut yourself away and work until you puke. But the biggest problem is…”

“The biggest problem?”

“Yeah. A major one.”

“And that is…?”

“You, Rekayan von Riccione, are broke.”

“Wait—how can I, the second son of the Duke of Riccione, be broke?!”

“Oh, come on. You know better than anyone. Tower researchers either get investors or fund themselves. And you? You blew all your allowance trying to make mana restoration potions—and failed spectacularly. You don’t even have enough to start your first research project.”

Phailen handed him a stack of documents with cold precision: an analysis of Rekayan’s spending and the projected costs of entering the Tower.

“And just so you know—Mother said that the second you go, she’ll cut off your allowance. Don’t count on her.”

Rekayan, hands trembling, flipped through the documents. Phailen, currently studying imperial administration, had laid out everything in brutal, objective detail.

So on the night he snuck away to join the Mage Tower, Rekayan did the unthinkable.

He stole Phailen’s secret stash.

Borrowed, he would argue—leaving behind only a note:

“I’ll pay you back when I make it big.”

For the record, neither the Duke nor Yureana ever found Phailen’s hidden vault. When Phailen discovered the theft, he allegedly clutched his neck and collapsed, screaming:

“That damn delinquent Rekayan!”

But Rekayan had no time for guilt. He was too busy being happy. The Tower suited him perfectly. Even when his entrance caused problems—by knocking out Gatekeepers Zerozeni I and II—he got off with a warning thanks to the Tower Lord’s mercy.

The Tower was nothing like his life before, but he adapted. He even succeeded in developing the mana potion he once failed at and threw himself into new research for five years.

Then, something new and much more entertaining happened.

“Oh right. While I was looting the Tower Lord’s room and fell into the dungeon, I overheard something interesting,” said his classmate Amon casually.

Rekayan didn’t even look up—just rolled his eyes while continuing to channel magic.

“What?” he replied. “Amon, reinforce the spell over there. If we don’t, Jei-en’s gonna come behead us.”

“Oh—got it.”

Amon quickly reinforced the spell. The unstable mana field settled instantly. Click—the vault door they were cracking opened with a satisfying sound.

Yes, Rekayan and Amon were currently robbing one of their classmates’ vaults.

“Score! I knew Jei-en had Palem’s hair. Here, you needed Pissus’s forelegs, right? Got eight of them. They’re rare these days—almost no supply in the market!”

“Amon, give me all eight or I’ll cut off your hands.”

“Just one—”

“Want me to break your ankles too? Also, hand over the mana stones. I’m low.”

“Rekayan, if we take those, Jei-en’s gonna faint!”

Rekayan replied without a shred of shame:

“Not my problem. If you only put a triple-layered barrier on your vault, that’s your fault.”

“Heh, true. Can’t believe how far you’ve come. You used to get looted left and right when you first got here.”

“You too, idiot.”

Back when he first joined the Tower, Rekayan realized how peaceful his previous life had been.

Here, everyone was crazy. Researchers acted like starving beasts. It was standard to raid your peers’ vaults and labs for materials.

That became the rule.

If you were weak, naive, or slow, you were just food for the rest.

Rekayan learned fast. He hunted down the mage who stole his gold bars (the ones he borrowed from Phailen) and raided their vault. From then on, whenever he hit a wall in his research, he’d break into other labs and steal what he needed.

Until the Tower Lord finally told him:

“No open robbery. Only stealth theft is allowed.”

“So what was the interesting thing you heard?”

As they casually stuffed magic materials into prepared bags and slipped out of Jei-en’s lab, both grinning with satisfaction, Amon dropped the bomb:

“A royal’s entering the Tower next week.”

“A royal?”

Rekayan had never cared for politics, but as a noble himself, he’d been to debutante balls and palace banquets. He knew the names of those in the royal line.

“You mean the second prince? Ishar Rubinus Elowiniad von Lucheist?”

Amon nodded eagerly.

“Yeah! That abandoned prince. I knew he was talented, but I never thought he’d actually join the Tower.”

“Hmm…”

Rekayan recalled the image of that doll-like prince he’d seen once at Emperor Bezerne I’s birthday celebration. Ishar had been pale, thin, with desert-dry eyes—but stunning in his own way. More memorable, though, was the magical design of the barrier wall he had distributed—brilliant in its construction.

“Well, royalty or not, it doesn’t concern me. But Amon…”

“Yeah?”

“Even if he joins the Tower… stealing from a royal’s vault is probably treason, right?”

Their footsteps halted.

Rekayan and Amon stared at each other in silence.

Then Amon grinned. “Once he’s in the Tower, he follows the Tower’s rules—even if he’s royalty.”

“Perfect.”

Eyes gleaming with mischief, Rekayan’s heart pounded with anticipation.

A fresh new mark, and royalty no less.
He couldn’t wait for Ishar to arrive.