Infinite Mage - Remake

Falcoa sneered, tightening his grip on Jis’s jaw. The young man’s spine arched painfully—one wrong move, and it might snap.

“I lost five gold,” Falcoa hissed. “Taking back what you gave is the lowest thing a man can do. That woman will pay for the damages.”

Jis gasped, barely able to breathe. His vision blurred as Falcoa forced his head back further.

“You sick? This’ll hurt. I’m a lot stronger than you.”

“L-Live… please…” Jis choked out.

“You don’t want pain? Then chew this. You won’t feel a thing.”

Jis’s eyes flickered to the twisted root in Falcoa’s hand.

Loop.

A native stimulant—worse than any drug. Highly addictive, capable of rotting a man’s mind. Some said the ancient Kergoin civilization fell because of it.

“Please… not that…” Jis begged.

If he took it, his life was over. He’d become a hollow addict, and his sister—his only family—would be dragged into the gutter with him.

Falcoa smirked and shoved the loop into Jis’s mouth.

“Pathetic. This is the gods’ gift. Now, what’ll it be? You bringing her to me?”

“W-Who?” Jis stammered, coughing.

“That red-haired girl. The noble one. I could sell her for a fortune. Or… maybe just a decent price.”

Jis’s blood ran cold. Trafficking an aristocrat? But Falcoa’s mind was already rotting from the loop. He was beyond reason.

He’s insane. Completely insane.

Falcoa was the acting leader of the Freeman organization. Jis, a mere Habari, had never met the true boss—Freeman himself. But one rule was absolute: No human trafficking.

“B-But… the Code forbids it! You’ll be kicked out—!”

CRACK!

A spiked boot slammed into Jis’s chin. His thoughts scattered like broken glass.

Falcoa yanked him up by the hair, his voice icy.

“Or what? Should I take your sister instead?”

Jis’s body trembled—rage and terror twisting inside him. His sister was everything. The one person he’d die to protect.

“N-No… please…”

Falcoa leaned in, his breath reeking of loop.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’ve always liked her. Maybe this is my chance to introduce myself properly.”

Meanwhile…

Shirone and the woman finally shook off Garmoth’s men after thirty minutes of frantic sprinting through the alleys.

Breathing hard, they slumped against a grimy wall. Shirone’s legs burned, his throat tasting of iron. The woman beside him—Marsha—let out a breathless laugh.

“Hah… You’ve got stamina, kid. Didn’t expect that from a pretty face like yours.”

“If I stopped, they’d catch us,” Shirone panted. “But… are you okay?”

“Name’s Marsha. Running’s my specialty. Come on, let’s grab a drink. My treat—consider it thanks.”

Shirone frowned. She didn’t seem worried at all. And if she had money for beer… why steal?

“Shouldn’t we lay low?” he asked.

“Garmoth’s men won’t last long. He’s brutal but dumb—give it an hour, and he’ll forget. Besides…” She grinned. “I’m scared. Stick with me a little longer?”

Shirone sighed. If Garmoth caught them now, things would get ugly.

“Fine. But my friends are waiting.”

“Just till the coast’s clear. Follow me.”

Marsha led him to a dimly lit bar, tucked deep in the alley. Despite its seedy appearance, it was packed.

“Huh. Place hasn’t changed in years.”

“You’ve been here before?” Shirone asked.

“Three years ago. Got a friend here.”

“You know the island well.”

“Never forget a path. Running’s my life.”

As they sat, the bar’s rough patrons turned to stare. A beautiful woman and a young boy? Unusual.

“We’re drawing attention,” Shirone muttered.

“Ignore them. This is where the island’s ‘troubled souls’ gather. News spreads fast here—we’ll know when Garmoth gives up.”

“Won’t his men come?”

“Garmoth rules the surface. This place? It’s… a resistance. A ‘community of fate,’ if you will.”

Shirone wasn’t convinced. Too many people meant loose lips.

How do they control information?

Marsha smirked at his skepticism.

“Okay, fine. The bar’s in bed with the Galliant Municipality. Officials turn a blind eye—for a price.”

“Why?”

“Money. Laundering, slush funds, bribes. They call it the Island Gate. A closed ecosystem. Criminals get safety; the government gets dirty cash. Symbiosis.”

She twirled a stick between her fingers, her smile bitter.

“Funny, isn’t it? Society screams about justice, but it’s the criminals who keep the wheels greased. We’re the microbes—without us, the body dies.”

Shirone stayed silent. The world was too complex for an 18-year-old to untangle.

“Enough heavy talk,” Marsha said. “Why’re you here, Shirone?”

“Vacation. Beaches, ruins… fun.”

“The Kergo Ruins? Ah, I went as a kid. I’m already twenty-seven—might die an old virgin.” She winked. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Wow, really? You look younger.”

“My sister does too. Speaking of… can I call you ‘sis’?”

“Sure. Start with ‘sis,’ end with ‘lover’—how’s that sound?” She laughed.

Shirone rolled his eyes. A 27-year-old flirting with him? No thanks.

But Marsha was sharp—witty, insightful. Shirone found himself relaxing, even sharing the port incident.

“Ah, a street tout scam,” Marsha nodded. “Five gold’s steep, though.”

“Yeah. Now my friend’s pissed. He’s probably still waiting… I’ll get an earful later.”

She checked the clock, then slid a silver coin to the bartender.

“Garmoth’s men?”

The bartender pocketed the coin. “Forty guys. Blocking every major street.”

“Still? He’s persistent today.”

“Usually, he quits fast. Must’ve really pissed him off.”

Marsha shot Shirone a look. He grimaced—yeah, I knocked his hat off.

“Anyway,” she said, “avoid street touts. They’re part of a network. Mess with one, and the whole hive comes buzzing.”

“Got it.”

“Tourists never think about it. But an island’s small. Limited resources mean cutthroat competition.”

Shirone filed the advice away. They had ten days here—he’d need it.

Then a thought struck him.

Marsha was… normal

“Hey, can I ask something?”

She leaned back, grinning. “If it’s my measurements, use your imagination.”

“No! Why’d you steal that vase?”

Marsha’s smile faded.

The woman across from him—Marsha—tilted her head, her sharp eyes studying him. “I don’t think you’re the kind of person to shoplift. And saying you had no money was a lie.” She tapped a finger against the worn wooden table. “So why steal useless pottery?”

“Hmm.” Marsha rested her chin on her palm, lost in thought for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe I just… wanted to steal it?”

Shirone frowned. “Wait… you can just do that?”

“Of course.” A bitter smirk tugged at her lips. “It’s called stealing. But it wasn’t always like that.” Her voice grew quieter. “I was an orphan. My parents dumped me when I was four. A mercenary picked me up—raised me as his own. Became my adoptive father.”

Shirone’s chest tightened. Abandoned, just like me.

Marsha continued, her gaze distant. “But it wasn’t some happy story. Mercenary life? Full of violent, broken people. When I was eleven, one of those bastards tried to… touch me.” Her fingers curled into fists. “Luckily, my adoptive father found out first. Beat the man half to death.”

Shirone exhaled sharply. “That’s only natural. His own daughter, going through that? Anyone would’ve done the same.”

Marsha let out a hollow laugh. “Oh? You really think so?”

“...Yes?”

Her eyes dropped to the bar, glistening under the dim lantern light. For a second, Shirone thought he saw tears.

“Every day, he gave me one piece of bread. One glass of water. Nothing else—no clothes, no sweets, certainly no toys.” Her voice turned icy. “He bred me. Like an animal. So I started stealing. Food, trinkets—anything. One time, I got caught swiping an apple. The vendor made him pay. But the second we got home?” She mimed a brutal strike. “He beat me unconscious. Said I should’ve stayed silent.”

Shirone’s stomach twisted. “That’s too far. If he could pay, why not just buy it? And why didn’t you… ask?”

“Because that’s what he wanted.” Marsha’s smile was razor-thin. “Total obedience. The only way I could fight back was stealing. And every time I got caught? Another beating. Until one day…” She trailed off, then lifted her chin in defiance. “I told him, ‘Go ahead. Kill me.’”

Shirone’s chest ached. How much pain must she have endured for a child to say such words?

“Ever since that day, those words became a kind of spell,” Marsha said, her voice eerily calm. “Every time my adoptive father raised his hand, I repeated them—‘You can kill me.’ And like magic, he’d stop. He’d glare, then leave. I survived like that… until I turned seventeen and ran away.”

“You’re my age now,” Shirone murmured.

“Yes. Old enough to understand the world.” Marsha’s fingers traced the rim of her glass. “One day, it finally clicked—what that man really wanted from me. Maybe I always knew. That’s why I never begged.”

Shirone’s stomach twisted. He could guess. Marsha’s adoptive father had entertained a monster’s desire—one no child should ever face.

“Pathetic,” Marsha spat. “If he’d just done it outright, I wouldn’t have suffered for seventeen years. But he was a coward—too weak to act, too sick to stop. So I carried a knife.” Her gaze darkened. “One night, I saw his eyes while he hit me. Really saw them. So I said it again: ‘You can hug me.’”

Shirone’s breath caught. “…Did he?”

Marsha laughed—a hollow, brittle sound. “No twist. He lunged like a starving dog. I slit his throat.” She shrugged. “Felt nothing. I left his corpse rotting in that house and never looked back.”

Shirone’s fists clenched. Books and rumors spoke of such horrors, but hearing it from her lips—living it—ignited a fury he couldn’t name.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he stammered.

“Don’t.”

Her smile eased Shirone’s guilt. How could she still joke after that?

“If pain won’t fade,” he said softly, “maybe hugs can help. You’re already fighting to heal. The stealing… it’ll stop.”

“Thanks.” Marsha winked. “If you were planning something tonight, though, mission accomplished.”

“Wha—?! No, I’d never—!”

“I know.” She flicked his forehead. “But your blush is cute. Wish I’d had a little brother like you.”

“I… I thought the same.” Shirone’s voice wavered. “You remind me of the sister I never had.”

Had Reina felt this way with Rian? Marsha’s teasing, her warmth—it filled a hole he hadn’t named.

The bartender emerged from a back room, wiping his hands. “Garmoth alert’s off. They found a girl—heading back to the mansion for a ‘party.’”

Marsha exhaled. “Good. Not too late.” Then she side-eyed Shirone. “Or do you hate me? Just called me noona like a puppy, now rushing off?”

“N-Not like that!” Shirone protested. Yet time had slipped away. The villa—Amy, Rian, Tess—they’d be waiting.

“I should go,” he said reluctantly. “But… can I visit again?”

“Obviously.” Marsha smirked. “Where’ll I go? Middle of the damn sea? Come bother me anytime.”

As Shirone left, Marsha flagged the bartender. “Strongest thing you’ve got.”

Two men slinked over, liquored up and leering.

“Fresh meat,” one slurred. “A woman alone… dangerous. Need company?”

Marsha didn’t glance up. “Leave. Before I kill you.”

“The hell?!” The drunk slammed his bottle. “You begging for a beating?!”

The bar tensed. Marsha sighed—then laughed, sharp and mocking.

“Fine. Bring your friends. Ten? Twenty? I’ll play all night.” Her smile turned feral. “But interruptions piss me off.”

The men paled. Predators recognized bigger predators. They fled.

Marsha downed her drink, fire searing her throat. “Another.”

The bartender slid a fresh glass. “…You’re Marsha. The one the Magic Association wants.”

“Yep.”

“Keep it quiet. Break the peace, and you’re gone.”

“Relax.” She stared at the ceiling. “I’m already leaving.”

“The boy seemed to like you.”

Marsha’s grip tightened. “Kids forget.”

“You liked him.”

A pause. Then—

“Tch. Disgusting, isn’t it?” She laughed, raw and broken. “How do humans like me exist?”