The Star Maker and His Little Monsters

Chapter 002

Perhaps Ethan Gray had been standing at the gates of the Little Red Pony Academy for a moment too long. His stillness amidst the evening bustle eventually drew the attention of the security guard. The man, a sturdy figure with a weathered face, stepped out from his small booth, his eyes narrowing with professional suspicion.

"Can I help you, young man?" the guard asked, his voice a cautious rumble.

Ethan broke his gaze from the glowing windows of the academy and smiled. " Old Ashford, you don't recognize me? It’s me, Ethan Gray."

The guard froze. He leaned in, peering intently at Ethan’s face, scanning the sharp jawline and the clear, steady eyes. For a few seconds, he looked utterly bewildered, and then, like a camera lens snapping into focus, recognition dawned on him.

"Good grief! It’s Young Master Gray!" Old Ashford exclaimed, his posture relaxing instantly. "I didn't recognize you with the short hair! What are you doing here? Is it summer recess already?"

Ethan let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I’ve graduated, Old Ashford. I’m back in Riverport for good."

"Graduated? My, how time flies," the guard said, shaking his head. "It’s good that you're back. Planning on staying in the city permanently, then?"

Before Ethan could answer, a sudden, high-pitched commotion erupted from the academy’s main courtyard. The peaceful evening air was shattered by a chorus of wailing voices. A group of people emerged from the building’s entrance, led by two officers from the District Precinct in their crisp blue uniforms.

The female officer was carrying a small girl, perhaps four years old, who was sobbing heart-wrenchingly. Behind them, a small army of toddlers followed, their faces red and streaked with tears, creating a wall of miniature grief.

Suddenly, a little girl in a bright red dress charged out of the classroom building like a tiny, focused whirlwind. She was brandishing a neon-green plastic water gun, her small face set in a mask of righteous fury. She sprinted toward the officers, grabbing the sleeve of the male policeman’s jacket. She leveled her "weapon" at his chest, her stance wide and defiant.

"You bunch of villains! You're dark as a barrow, the lot of ya!" she shouted, her voice thick with a heavy Fourrivers accent. "Put her down! Don't you dare try to slink away with my friend!"

The girl, whom Ethan would soon know as Blanche, looked ready for a full-scale brawl. She was a tiny, fierce warrior, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desperation.

The academy’s teachers rushed out behind them, trying to bridge the gap between the law and the heartbroken children. "Now, now, let's talk this through," one teacher pleaded. "Put the gun down, Blanche. No need for violence!"

Ethan frowned, watching the chaotic scene. "What's going on, Old Ashford?"

The guard adjusted his work vest, straightening his spine as he looked on with a sigh. "Those are officers from the local precinct. Director Golding had to call them in."

He lowered his voice, his tone turning somber. "There’s a little girl in there—Millie. She’s only four. Her parents dropped her off for after-school wardship two days ago and never came back. We can't reach them. Their phones are disconnected, and the address they gave is fake. It looks like she’s been abandoned."

Ethan’s heart sank. "Abandoned? At a school?"

"The police have to take her now," Old Ashford continued, watching the children surround the officers. "They’ll take her to a shelter and see if they can track down any relatives. If not... well, she goes into the system."

The scene was becoming increasingly difficult to watch. The children, led by the red-clad Blanche, were mounting a desperate blockade. They were tugging at the officers' trousers, crying out in high-pitched, milk-scented voices, their grief raw and infectious.

"The kids don't want her to go," Old Ashford said, his own eyes looking a bit misty. "That girl in red, Blanche—she only met Millie a month ago, but they’ve been inseparable ever since. She’s a tough little thing, that one."

Although the Little Red Pony Academy had been in his family for over a decade, the old Ethan had never spared it a second thought. To him, it was just a line on a ledger, a source of modest income he usually squandered on expensive whiskies and chasing women in high-end lounges. He had never once stepped foot inside during operating hours, preferring the neon lights of the city over the flickering fluorescents of a childcare center.

"Does this happen often?" Ethan asked. "Kids being left behind?"

Old Ashford nodded grimly. "A few times over the years. You have to understand, Young Master Gray, the people who bring their children here aren't the ones living in the penthouses across the street."

He gestured toward the skyline of West Longpeace Avenue, where the glass towers shimmered with wealth. The academy sat on the edge of a world of contrast. During the day, the area was filled with elite professionals in tailored suits. But at night, a different population emerged—the "ants" of the city. These were the delivery drivers, the cleaners, the street vendors, and the night-shift security guards who kept the city running while the world slept.

The Little Red Pony Academy was a midnight academy, operating from 5:30 PM until 1:00 AM. It served those who had no one else to watch their children during their grueling night shifts.

In a hyper-competitive metropolis like Riverport, the pressure could be soul-crushing. Sometimes, a parent reached their breaking point. They would look at their child, then at their empty bank account, and decide that the child had a better chance of survival in the hands of the state than in a cold, dark basement. It was a rare occurrence, but for those who worked at the academy, it was a recurring nightmare.

The female officer tried to soothe the crying girl in her arms, while also addressing the mob of toddlers. "Children, listen to me. I’m not a bad person. We're the police. We’re going to help Millie find her mommy."

She looked over at a woman in her fifties who had just stepped into the fray. " Director Golding, we need to go. We can't stay here like this."

Director Golding, a woman with a kind but weary face who had managed the academy for decades, stepped forward. She was a fixture of The Old Quarter, a woman who had known Ethan’s grandparents for thirty years.

"Everyone, listen to me!" she called out, her voice calm but firm. " Blanche, let go of the lady's jacket. The police are the good guys. They’re taking Millie to a safe place to look for her family."

Blanche froze, her small hands still clutching the officer's uniform. She looked up, her face flushed. " Millie is my best friend! She's not a bad girl! Why are you taking her away?"

Despite the teachers' best efforts to restrain the children, the situation remained volatile. Finally, the teachers had to physically hold the children back, forming a human chain to allow the officers to reach their patrol car.

The volume of the wailing spiked, sounding more like a scene of tragic bereavement than a school pickup. All the children were howling—except for Blanche.

The little girl in red didn't cry. Instead, she became "fierce-cute," like a stray puppy baring its teeth at a wolf. She let out a tiny, high-pitched roar and managed to wiggle through the teachers' legs. She bolted toward the gate, determined to bring her friend back.

Just as she was about to reach the sidewalk, a hand reached out and caught her by the back of her dress.

It was Ethan.

The two officers gave him a look of profound gratitude before quickly sliding into their car and pulling away into the night.

" MILLIE!" Blanche screamed, her voice cracking. In her desperation, she turned and sunk her teeth into the hand that was holding her.

"Argh!" Ethan hissed, the sharp pain shooting up his arm. He instinctively let go.

Blanche didn't hesitate. She scrambled away like a rabbit, chasing after the retreating taillights of the patrol car. She ran until she tripped over a loose cobblestone, tumbling hard onto the pavement. Her plastic water gun clattered away into the gutter. She lay there, watching the car vanish around a corner, and finally, her defiance broke.

"You bunch of villains! You're dark as a barrow!" she sobbed, the tears finally flowing in thick, heavy streams.

Thirty minutes later, Ethan was sitting in a small neighborhood clinic, watching a nurse apply an antiseptic tincture to the bite mark on his hand.

"I am so incredibly sorry, Ethan," Director Golding said, standing beside him with a look of deep guilt. "You just get back to the city and this is your welcome. I’ll make sure to have a long talk with Blanche."

Ethan looked at the bandage being wrapped around his hand. He thought of the way Blanche had looked lying on the ground, the pure, unadulterated grief of a child who had lost her only anchor. He found he couldn't bring himself to be angry.

"Don't worry about it, Aunt Golding," he said with a tired sigh. "She didn't mean it. She was just scared. Maybe... maybe we should have let them have a proper goodbye."

"They were saying goodbye for hours," she replied sadly. "Sometimes, the longer it takes, the harder it is to let go."

She paused, looking at him with concern. "You haven't had dinner yet, have you? Come to my house. It's just around the corner."

"Oh, I don't want to trouble you. I’m not that hungry anyway."

"Nonsense. I knew you were coming back today. I’ve prepared a proper Riverport-style meal. No arguments."

Ethan followed her to her home, where her husband, Old Golding, was already waiting. The table was laid with a feast—salt-cured bamboo shoot broth, chilled spiced chicken skewers, and several other local delicacies.

" Ethan! Welcome home!" Old Golding greeted him, then paused, noticing the bandage. "What happened to your hand?"

Ethan explained the incident as he sat down.

"Ah, Blanche," the old man said, nodding knowingly. "That child has a spirit like a wildfire."

"How are Frankie and Berry doing?" Ethan asked, referring to their children.

Director Golding set a bowl of steaming rice in front of him. " Frankie is married now. He bought a place out in Millhaven and has his own life. Berry is away on business in Southmere; she won't be back for a few days."

"Time really does move fast," Ethan remarked, the realization of his new life's timeline setting in.

"It does indeed. Here, have some green plum spirits?" Old Golding offered.

"No, thank you," Ethan said quickly. After the hangover that had nearly ended him, the very thought of alcohol made his stomach churn. "I’m staying away from the bottle for a while."

"Good! Very good," Director Golding beamed. "Drinking only ruins the health. Eat more of the fish instead; it's fresh from the market."

After dinner, while her husband cleared the table, Director Golding led Ethan back to the academy.

"I'll show you to your quarters," she said. "I’ve had them ready for a while. They’re on the third floor."

Ethan insisted on carrying his own heavy duffel bag as they climbed the stairs. The third floor of the academy contained four large rooms. Director Golding led him to the one at the very end of the hallway. It was massive—nearly a thousand square feet.

"This used to be one of the children’s dormitories," she explained as she opened the door. "I had it renovated earlier this year. It's spacious, though the furniture is a bit dated. If you don't like it, I can buy new pieces tomorrow."

The space was divided into a living area, a bedroom, a small kitchenette, and a balcony. The furniture was indeed old—mostly heavy, dark wood pieces—but Ethan recognized them immediately. They had been moved here from the Ancestral Estate. They smelled of sandalwood and history.

The renovation had been commissioned by his grandparents before they passed, knowing the main house was uninhabitable. Director Golding had overseen the work, ensuring he would have a home to return to in Riverport.

"It's perfect, Aunt Golding," Ethan said, looking around the clean, well-kept room. "It’s very comfortable. Thank you for all the hard work."

The older woman looked at him with a hint of surprise in her eyes. She remembered the Ethan Gray who had visited during the last Hearthfire Festival. That version of him had arrived with purple-and-yellow dyed hair, stinking of cigarettes, and had spent his nights partying until dawn. He had once even stumbled into the academy while drunk, terrifying the children with his shouting. When she had tried to reprimand him, he had sneered at her, telling her he owned the place and could fire her whenever he pleased.

She had prepared herself for the worst upon his return, fearing she would have to deal with a spoiled, arrogant brat.

But the man standing before her now was different. His hair was neat, his clothes were simple, and his manner was calm and respectful. He spoke with a maturity that seemed to have appeared overnight.

Maybe losing his grandparents finally made him grow up, she thought with a sense of relief. She hoped, for the sake of the academy and the children, that this change wasn't just temporary.