Ray then went to Rick's shop to see how the progress of the hot air balloons was going—and to check on the new prototype as well. From the outside, the sight was mesmerizing. A kaleidoscope of hot air balloons floated gently above the shop, dotting the sky in soft hues of crimson, violet, and gold. The low hiss of burners and the occasional cheer from passengers echoed faintly in the wind.
Ray smiled. His idea had taken root.
He had once suggested to old man Rick that they should start renting the hot air balloons—by the hour or for a whole day. As long as customers could pay for their time, they could float. Payment in advance, full settlement after landing—and of course, a penalty for any damage. The system was working.
Now, people were floating everywhere—families waving down from the sky, friends laughing in baskets, and couples pointing out distant horizons. The town had become a sea of floating joy. The sky buzzed with life. Ray couldn't help but grin as the thought of organizing a competition took root in his mind. Not yet, he thought. Let them get used to the skies first. But the idea shimmered with possibility.
Ray stepped inside the shop, the reception hall cool and humming with quiet energy. Wooden walls lined with blueprints and framed sketches added a warm, scholarly charm to the place. Just outside Rick's conference room, Lydia—Rick's sharp-eyed, composed wife—stood still, her gaze focused beyond the glass pane. She was clearly occupied, perhaps tense, her fingers gently tapping her arm.
Ray chose not to greet her, respecting the intensity in her posture. Instead, he turned to the receptionist and asked casually, "Is old man Rick around?"
At the mention of "old man Rick," the receptionist visibly stiffened. His brows drew together, his face a mix of offense and disbelief.
"Old man Rick?" he repeated, almost scandalized. "You mean Ricky Martin—the greatest inventor of our time? Sir, I suggest you speak with more respect."
Ray couldn't help but chuckle. The guy was clearly new—and had no idea who he was talking to.
The receptionist continued to scold Ray with full enthusiasm, puffing up as if guarding the gates of Olympus. From her place by the door, Lydia's shoulders tensed. The commotion was pulling her attention away. She turned, visibly irritated—until her eyes locked onto the boy being scolded.
For a moment, Lydia's eyes widened. It was Ray.
Her expression shifted in a heartbeat—from stern professionalism to fierce protectiveness. Her voice rang out like a whip:
"Why are you scolding Sav—I mean, little Ray? Do you not know who this boy is?"
The receptionist froze.
That name—Ray. Something clicked. The color drained from his face as the name echoed in his mind. Ray. The other legend. The one Ricky Martin himself revered. The one who'd helped birth the very idea of hot air balloons.
His throat went dry. Ricky had told him countless times: If little Ray ever shows up, take him straight to me—no waiting.
The poor man began to sweat bullets. Panic spread across his face like ink in water.
Ray, ever composed, patted his shoulder with a smile. "Don't worry. It's alright. Just don't make the same mistake again."
It was like being forgiven by a king. The receptionist nearly collapsed in gratitude, bowing and stammering his thanks. Lydia, however, was far from done. She gave the receptionist a cold glare sharp enough to slice metal.
"You're lucky little Ray is kind," she said icily. "If it were anyone else, you'd be out of a job."
The man nodded furiously, tears of gratitude welling in his eyes. "Thank you, thank you, thank you…"
Ray finally turned to Lydia and gave her a polite greeting. But before he could finish, Lydia took his hand with surprising urgency and led him straight toward Rick's conference room.
She said nothing.
Ray didn't need her to. The tension in the air thickened with every step. When they entered the room, the cause of Lydia's distress became immediately clear.
Chaos.
Five inventors stood in a circle, their voices raised in fiery debate. The walls practically trembled with their egos. Among them were three men and two women—all brilliant, eccentric, and infamously proud. And at the center of it, red-faced and defiant, was Rick himself.
The air was charged with competitive electricity.
Ray caught snippets of their argument.
"I've got the highest sales!"
"Yours are only sales! Mine solved a real problem!"
"My design is the most innovative!"
Rick slammed a palm on the table. "I should be guild leader!"
Ray's eyes widened. So this was what Lydia had been worried about. The inventor guild—formed from a circle of close friends—was cracking under the pressure of leadership. Their passions were on the verge of becoming weapons.
Lydia's voice broke through the shouting.
"Rick—"
But Rick, distracted and irritated, scolded her without even turning around. "Lydia, please, not now. Come back later!"
A moment of silence.
Rick didn't notice the subtle shift in the room—but Ray did. Lydia's entire demeanor shifted. Her lips pressed into a dangerous smile, and her eyes glinted with warning. Calm. Calculated. Then, she spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Little Ray, let's go. Seems Ricky doesn't want to meet or talk with you."
The effect was instant.
The room fell into absolute silence. Five heads turned in perfect unison. The inventors stood frozen, stunned.
Rick whipped around. "Wait! Hold on!"
His face paled when he saw Lydia's expression. That—that look meant war. He had not only ignored her but also dismissed the arrival of the one person he had been waiting weeks to see. And now, Lydia was taking Ray away.
"Oh no," Rick muttered under his breath.
He scrambled to salvage the situation. With practiced desperation, he pulled out his wallet and handed it to Lydia. "Here—buy whatever you want. Just… don't go."
Lydia, mildly appeased, raised an eyebrow.
Rick quickly turned to Ray, ushering him toward the circle of inventors like a prized guest. The others said nothing. But their gazes—five pairs of eyes—landed on Ray with such weight and intensity that a chill ran down his spine.
In that single moment, without words, they all came to an understanding. It was as if they shared one brain. One decision.
Rick turned to Ray with a solemn look and said, "Little Ray, we've been trying to decide who should be the guild leader of the Inventor Guild ever since you gave us the name. It's been months—and we haven't agreed on a thing."
He paused.
"But today, we finally reached a decision."
The others nodded quietly, their eyes still locked on him.
Rick stepped closer, his voice both proud and serious.
"Little Ray, we've come to a mutual decision that you will become the guild leader."
Ray's heart skipped a beat. Shock washed over his face. He stared at the five inventors—and they all nodded in agreement, their expressions unified with conviction.
Ray stood there, surrounded by legends, and felt the weight of something far bigger than he had expected.