Ekoo had been coming to the workshop for three days now. On the first day, she said she was "just checking." On the second day, she said there was "more to see." On the third day, today, Ekoo opened the door without saying anything. Just there, as if that was explanation enough. Raikaru didn't say much either. On the workbench sat two roasted sweet potatoes, wrapped in paper, bought that morning. The kind sold at stalls in the steam market—unusually sweet-smelling for the ash-fog city of Zaun. Yesterday, Raikaru had seen Ekoo pause for just a second in front of that stall. She probably thought he hadn't noticed, but he had. "[surprised]……Why are there two?" "[serious]They were selling them as a set," "[cold]I see." There was a pause. Ekoo quickly shoved one into her coat pocket and bit into the other. She didn't say anything, didn't offer thanks. Just chewed quietly while pulling a broom from where it leaned in the corner of the workshop. She started sweeping the floor. Raikaru watched her from the corner of his eye while focusing on the repair in front of him. A chemtech valve pump he'd been working on since yesterday. The piping was clogged, and when he'd disassembled it, he found three corroded valves inside. The replacement parts cost more than his wholesale price. The math didn't leave much profit, but the client was the old man from the nearby diner, so he couldn't refuse. The door hinge creaked. Gwen, the owner of the neighboring bar "The Rusty Faucet," poked her head in. A woman in her fifties who'd worked in factories for years—her left hand still bore the scars of an old accident. For Raikaru, she was one of the few adults whose face made him feel a little at ease. "[gentle]Raikaru, did that pressure cooker part I asked for yesterday arrive?" "[serious]Not yet. Should be here the day after tomorrow," Gwen nodded while naturally glancing around the workshop. Her gaze drifted toward Ekoo holding the broom, then back to Raikaru. Her mouth curved into a grin. "[sarcastic]Oh, is she your girlfriend?" "[serious]A client," "[cold]A customer," Both voices overlapped perfectly. A moment of silence. Gwen burst out laughing. Her shoulders shook as she laughed from her belly. She waved her hand while saying "sure, sure," and disappeared out the door. Ekoo gripped the broom tightly. "[angry]……W-what's so funny?" "[serious]Beats me," Raikaru genuinely didn't know. What was so amusing about it? But somehow, the air in the workshop felt a little warmer than before. He didn't know why. * A little past noon, Raikaru shouldered his toolbox and left the workshop. There was a peddler near the Bridge Walk district—someone had reported that a steam-compression cargo hauler was broken. It needed on-site repairs. Ekoo followed silently. He didn't have the heart to tell her not to come. For some reason. The two of them cut through Drain Street and walked up the slope leading to the Bridge Walk. Halfway up, the whole landscape of Zaun spread out below them. Chemical lamps glowing white in the alleys, ash-fog flowing from exhaust pipes, the sight of rusted iron-plate roofs layered upon each other. Raikaru had been seeing this view since birth and didn't think much of it, but Ekoo kept turning back to look. The repair itself took thirty minutes. The cargo hauler's drive belt had snapped—just a matter of replacing it with a spare. The peddler handed over coins while saying "thanks for the help." Twenty crowns. Not bad. On the way back, Raikaru started to take a shortcut, then paused and chose the longer route instead. There was no particular reason. He just did. After walking for about ten minutes, Ekoo's feet stopped dead. Raikaru stopped too. Before them stood the railing of a bridge beam, its scars from the Bridge War still visible. Concrete gouged out by artillery fire. Exposed steel beams, unrepaired for six years. Of the five bridge beams in Bridge Walk, two still hadn't been restored. Some said the budget hadn't come through, others that it was low priority, but Raikaru didn't really know. "[serious]There are still bridges that haven't been repaired," He said it casually. Ekoo stood motionless, facing forward. "[whispers]I was——in that war——" Her voice came out, then cut off. "[serious]……What about it?" He asked quietly. "[cold]Never mind," Ekoo started walking. Faster. Her drone bobbed on her shoulder. Raikaru didn't follow. He tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Only one thing stayed with him: Ekoo's back looked a little smaller than usual. That image lingered in his mind. * In the evening, Raikaru went alone to Danen Metal Works, a parts wholesaler near the steam market. He needed several precision components for machine repairs, and this place had the best selection. He'd told Ekoo to stay at the workshop, saying he could go alone. A staff member sat behind the counter. A man in his thirties with an unreadable face. He opened a ledger and glanced at Raikaru. "[cold]Do you have a union member number?" "[serious]No. I work independently as a repair technician," "[cold]According to our regulations, we can only wholesale to businesses under the Grindgear Workshop Union. Please seek another supplier," With that, he closed the small window. Raikaru stared at the closed window for a while. "[serious]I'll pay above market rate," A voice came from behind the window. "[cold]It's a matter of regulations, so price is irrelevant," Raikaru went outside. He knew the workshop union controlled about sixty percent of Zaun's economy. Supply routes, major job flows—the union essentially managed everything. Work independently and you get shut out—he'd understood that intellectually. But today, for the first time, it took on the shape of a real "wall." To join the union, you needed three hundred crowns in membership fees and a recommendation letter from a union workshop master. To get a recommendation letter, you needed connections first. To build connections, you needed existing relationships. For someone starting outside the circle, there was no entry point at all. He leaned his back against the wall and looked up at the sky. Ash-fog hung heavy. Zaun's sky was always this color. (If I just joined the union, that'd solve it) He muttered that to himself, then headed back to the workshop. * The moment Raikaru stepped inside, a piercing vibration sound hit his ears. The drone was flying. But not like usual. Its movement was completely different. It was flying around the workshop at nearly three times normal speed, and the sound from its wings was high and sharp. It slammed into shelves, and cans full of parts tumbled to the floor. Bang, bang, bang. The chemical lamp swayed and nearly toppled. Something was clearly wrong. Chemtech power couldn't produce this kind of output. "[scared]It won't stop! The control signal isn't getting through!" Ekoo crouched on the floor, drawing symbols in chalk. She was trying to send an emergency shutdown code directly into the floor surface, trying to transmit a control signal that way. But the drone wasn't responding. Raikaru rummaged through the shelves. An electromagnetic interference pulse generator—rarely used, but he had an old one shoved in the bottom of his toolbox. He pulled it out and switched it on. "[angry]You have to match the frequency or it won't reach! Match it!" "[serious]Which band?" "[angry]Just above mid-range! Turn it more to the right!" Raikaru turned the generator's dial by feel. Ekoo lifted her face from the floor, watching the drone and the generator in turn. "[angry]More! There! Back up a little! Stop right there!" Raikaru stopped. The drone stopped dead. It dropped to the floor with a soft thud. A can of parts rolled slowly across the workshop. The room went quiet. Only their ragged breathing remained. Ekoo jumped up and rushed toward the drone. Her foot slipped. Scattered parts from the fallen cans covered the floor, and Ekoo's foot caught one. Her body tilted. She instinctively reached out and grabbed the nearest thing. Raikaru's arm. Both of them kept their eyes on the drone. They watched it fall, breathing hard. Three seconds. Ekoo noticed where her hand was. "[angry]——I just slipped!" She immediately let go and turned her face away. She went to pick up the drone. She wouldn't look at Raikaru. The tips of her ears were slightly red. Raikaru looked at his own arm. The place where she'd grabbed it was still warm. Something deep in his chest beat quietly. He tried to think about why, then stopped. The cleanup came first. Probably. * Night fell. They tried to investigate the cause of the malfunction, but Ekoo clutched the drone to her chest and said "don't touch it." He wasn't allowed to see the power mechanism. But she didn't tell him to "go home" either. Instead, Ekoo sat at the edge of the workshop with the drone on her lap. Raikaru silently repaired the charred shelf board. Nailing, filling gaps—nothing urgent, but his hands kept moving. "[whispers]……I always thought I'd be fine on my own," Ekoo said it quietly, almost to herself. Nothing more came. Raikaru set down his tools. He tried to say something. But nothing came out. Raikaru wasn't good with words. Especially not at times like this. The silence continued. The chemical lamp hissed and crackled. From outside, the night sounds of Drain Street drifted in. "[serious]……Will you come back tomorrow?" That was all he managed to say in the end. Ekoo didn't lift her face. She traced the drone's wing gently with her finger. "[cold]Not like I have a choice. I come when there's a broken machine," She put on her coat and stood up. She walked toward the door without stopping and left. The drone lifted from her shoulder and followed behind. The door closed. Raikaru was alone. His gaze fell on the workbench. The machine piece was there. Blue-white light pulsing quietly. He remembered the drone's vibration sound from earlier. That abnormal output rhythm. And this machine piece's flickering light. The frequency——seemed similar. Raikaru picked up the machine piece. The light pulsed softly in his palm. (Why are they similar?) No answer came. He closed his toolbox, turned off the lamp, and couldn't sleep that night.