The machine fragment continued to glow even as morning came. Raikaru kept the magnifying glass pressed to their eye, hunched over the workbench among the screw holes, continuing their observation. Counting from last night, they'd been in this position for over five hours now. Their neck throbbed with a dull ache. But their hands wouldn't stop. Damage covered more than thirty percent of the whole. Yet the pale blue light pulsed like a heartbeat. Chemtech—the basic technology of Zaun, powered by chemicals and steam compression—couldn't explain this output by any theory. The electrical potential was wrong. The junction angles were wrong. The entire design philosophy was fundamentally wrong. （What the hell are you?） Raikaru muttered, gently touching the edge of the junction with tweezers. That's when it happened. CRASH. The wall shook. The door—was kicked in. The hinges screamed. The door slammed against the inner wall with a tremendous bang. Raikaru jumped in shock and dropped the magnifying glass to the floor. Glass shattered. A tool rolled off the shelf with a soft clink. A figure stood in the doorway. A small girl. The odd-eyed girl who'd come to the workshop last night—Ekoo. Her short bob of purple hair had silver mesh woven through it, and she wore a tattered coat with a hood. The small cyber-earring on her left ear glinted dully in the chemical lamp's light. A drone perched on her shoulder. A small flying machine cobbled together from scrap. About thirty centimeters long. Its rear-facing camera fixed steadily on Raikaru. And in both her hands she gripped—tools. A wrench and pliers. Held up like weapons. "[angry]That part's mine, you know?" Raikaru froze for one second. Something in their chest pounded once, hard. Exhaustion, Raikaru immediately decided. Five hours of forward-bent work had just cut off blood flow to their heart. "[serious]…The door's broken." "[angry]Don't care. Give it back. Now." Ekoo walked briskly to the workbench and pointed at the machine fragment. Her fingertip bore old oil stains—the hands of someone who did their own maintenance. Raikaru had noticed that last night too. "[serious]It's broken." "[angry]I know." "[serious]I'll fix it first, then give it back." "[angry]I said give it back now." Ekoo gave the drone some kind of signal. It lifted softly from her shoulder, hovering thirty centimeters in front of Raikaru's face. A low buzz. A small nozzle pointed at Raikaru's nose—probably with electrical discharge capability. Raikaru reflexively grabbed a wrench nearby. Held it up as a shield. Drone versus wrench. For thirty seconds, neither of them moved an inch. Ekoo stared at Raikaru head-on. Raikaru stared at Ekoo head-on. The drone trembled and hummed. From outside came the sounds of Drain Street's alley. Someone pulling a cart. The smell of pressure-cooker stew drifting from the diner "Smoke and Beans." Ekoo broke first. "[cold]…Not like," The drone zipped sideways and returned to her shoulder. Ekoo averted her eyes from Raikaru, who still held the wrench, and dragged a chair from beside the workbench with her foot. "[cold]I'm just checking if your skills are actually worth anything. You got a problem with that?" Raikaru couldn't understand the logic at all. Why would she sit in front of the workbench instead of taking the machine back if she just wanted to "check" whether their arm was any good? But somehow, something in their chest felt relieved. Why it felt relieved, Raikaru had no idea. "[serious]…Yeah, I guess there's no helping it." 　* The two of them had been sitting side by side at the desk analyzing the machine fragment for about ten minutes when Ekoo suddenly spoke. "[cold]There. That electrical potential can't be explained by standard Chemtech output." Raikaru's hands stopped. （What did she just say?） The electrical potential anomaly was something Raikaru had only just figured out after five hours of work. Ekoo had said it in five seconds of looking. "[surprised]…How do you know that?" "[cold]You can tell if you look." She answered only that, then looked away. She was fiddling with the drone's wing tip, pretending it was nothing. "[serious]Where'd you learn this?" Ekoo lifted the drone and pointed it at Raikaru's face. "[sarcastic]Shut up." Raikaru understood that meant don't ask any more. They backed off and focused on the Chemtech wiring in the junction. For a while, the two worked in silence. Outside, someone shouted angrily in the street. The chemical lamp hissed. The workshop was cramped, and with another person so close, Raikaru could hear their breathing. Raikaru untangled the wiring with tweezers and arranged it neatly. Skillfully, without hesitation. Ekoo watched from the corner of her eye, staring intently. "[cold]…Well, you're not bad, I guess." "[serious]Thanks." Ekoo's cheeks flushed slightly. Raikaru had already returned to observing the machine fragment, so they didn't notice. 　* Midway through the repair, Ekoo pulled a small bag from an inner pocket of her coat. "[cold]This should work." Three precision screws made by Piltover. Tiny as a pinky fingernail, with machining precision that put Chemtech products to shame. The spiral grooves were fine, uniform, catching light differently. "[surprised]Where'd you get these? Piltover-made stuff barely shows up even at the neutral markets in the Bridgelands." "[serious]Bought it last week. Almost got caught at the checkpoint on the way back though." Raikaru took the screws and pictured the Bridgelands checkpoint. The Bridgelands—the massive network of connecting bridges linking Zaun and Piltover. About three kilometers long. At the Midland Bridge checkpoint, Zaun residents returning to the Piltover side had their belongings inspected. Piltover-made tech items were restricted from being "taken out." Precision screws probably wouldn't be confiscated, but they could cause trouble. "[serious]You had a travel permit?" Ekoo went quiet for a moment. "[sarcastic]Didn't have one. Got through on face recognition." Raikaru didn't ask what "face recognition" meant. If they did, the drone would point at them again. Travel permits. The document Zaun residents needed to enter Piltover—established by the Transit Control Ordinance after the Bridgelands War. Getting one required a fifty-crown processing fee and a Piltover citizen to vouch for you. "[serious]Fifty crowns." Speaking it aloud, Raikaru realized. Their monthly income was at most two hundred crowns. From that came thirty-five crowns in rent to landlord Balden, parts, food. Fifty crowns was— "[serious]…More than a third of my monthly income." "[cold]How am I supposed to get a voucher when I don't even know anyone over there?" Ekoo spat the words out. The drone hummed low and angry—or maybe just responding to Ekoo's emotions. Raikaru set the screws on the workbench. Coming from Piltover to Zaun just required a form. But the reverse—fifty crowns and a voucher. Which was up and which was down—this system answered everything. "[serious]…That's unfair." Ekoo looked at Raikaru for a moment. "[cold]…It's not like I'm complaining or anything." She said it while quickly taking the screws back and placing them on the workbench. The gesture was a bit rough, but like she was hiding embarrassment—and Raikaru realized they probably had the same expression. The two of them seeing the same thing and making the same face. There was something oddly comfortable about that. Why, Raikaru couldn't say. 　* Evening came, and the repair reached a stopping point. "[cold]I'm coming back tomorrow. There's more to do." "[serious]You don't have to come back." The words came out, and Raikaru immediately regretted them. Why had they said that? They didn't even know. Ekoo's expression hardened for just a moment. Just an instant. Then it returned to her usual sullen face, and "[cold]Shut up." She turned her back and walked out into the alley. The drone followed behind her. Raikaru watched the door where Ekoo had left. The hinges were slightly warped from this morning's kick. If they didn't fix it, it wouldn't close properly. Later, they'd get the tools from the toolbox and— （Ah.） The drone was wobbling. The moment Ekoo stepped into the alley, the drone tilted to the right. Its hover wasn't stable. The thrust balance was off during flight. The gyroscope calibration was probably off. "[serious]…That drone's gyroscope is misaligned." Just talking to themselves. Ekoo was already out of earshot. Raikaru ate dinner while studying the drone design notes Ekoo had casually left behind. Hastily scrawled by Ekoo on the paper's edge, a mix of symbols, numbers, and sketches that only the designer could read. But somehow, Raikaru could read it. （Just a little bit.） They opened the toolbox. 　* Deep in the night, alone in the workshop, Raikaru opened the drone's belly. The interior was—complex. Despite being cobbled together from scrap, the design philosophy ran through it like a single thread. Not something learned from someone else, but something thought through, tested, built up over time. Traces of failure remained. Marks of rework too. The gyroscope was easy to find. A tiny component. Its angle was off by just over one degree. Raikaru spent an hour adjusting it with precision. Work in units smaller than a millimeter. Holding their breath, concentrating all their nerves on the tweezers' tip. When the adjustment was done and Raikaru activated the drone—it floated quietly, uniformly. Dramatically more stable than yesterday. Raikaru looked in the mirror. Their face reflected in the small mirror beside the workbench. A serious face. Brow furrowed, the face of a repair technician. （Why am I so desperate about this?） No answer came. They just closed the toolbox and looked at the machine fragment on the desk. The pale blue light pulsed quietly. Ekoo had said it was "mine." She hadn't said why. She'd read the structure instantly, outside Chemtech theory. She hadn't said why she could read it. It nagged at them. Not a repair technician's instinct, but something else entirely—but naming it felt like too much trouble, so Raikaru started putting the tools away. 　* The next morning. Ekoo appeared as if nothing had happened. She completely ignored the "you don't have to come back." Raikaru didn't point it out. Ekoo took the drone and stepped into the alley. —The drone lifted smoothly. Completely different from yesterday. No wobble. No tilt. Straight, quiet, stable, hanging in the air. Ekoo stopped. She said nothing. Just watching the drone. Three seconds. Four. "[cold]…It's just the wind." She turned her face away and walked further into the alley. Raikaru watched her receding figure from the workshop window. Gray mist pooled in the alley. The chemical lamp glowed weakly in the pale morning light. Ekoo's purple hair disappeared into the distance—and for just a moment, Raikaru saw her mouth relax. She was smiling. A smile she couldn't quite hide, there for just an instant. Raikaru felt something warm in their chest and stepped away from the window. And again wondered why. The machine fragment on the desk glowed pale blue today too. Ekoo had called it "mine." Something she'd found in the ruins of a broken factory basement. Something that shouldn't work by Chemtech theory. She'd read its structure as if she'd known it from the start. Why did she know? Raikaru still hadn't asked. Ekoo still hadn't answered. The light pulsed on. Like it was calling them here.