Failure
The silicone work finished faster than expected. Since it involved spreading it thinly, full curing took less than thirty minutes, and by handling other mold tasks in between, he completed all six molds in under two hours.
"Not bad at all."
Sato, watching from the side, picked up the molds one by one with genuine admiration.
"But they won't last long."
"I know. This is good enough for now."
Silicone sealant wasn't originally meant for this. Anyone who'd ever scratched at window frame silicone with their fingernail knew it— it tore easily and the surface degraded quickly.
But that didn't matter this time.
"I just need to cast twice."
Sato smacked his lips at Kyung-ho's words, then waved him off and left, as if to say he was on his own.
Next came the auxiliary molds.
Plaster powder floated faintly in the air. Mixed with water, it thickened into dough in seconds.
He layered it over the silicone molds. Silicone alone couldn't withstand the resin's weight and curing heat—it might warp.
"Your hands move like a pro."
Sato had returned unnoticed, eyes fixed on Kyung-ho's fingertips. He seemed genuinely interested, yet kept pretending otherwise, coming and going.
The plaster hardened, emitting subtle heat.
Once fully set, he pried the mold open, revealing the silicone mold trapped inside, perfectly preserved.
Now, the final step.
Polyester resin casting.
He scanned the workbench for what he needed. An old electric drill caught his eye on the shelf.
"Sir, mind if I borrow that drill for a bit?"
Sato narrowed his eyes, glancing between the drill and Kyung-ho.
"Drill? You planning to bore holes in the plaster? You'll shatter the damn thing."
"Not for holes."
He took the drill, tightened the chuck without a bit. A light trigger pull sent heavy vibrations up his wrist.
True to its '70s vintage, the vibration was rough.
But that was perfect right now.
"To remove air bubbles."
He pressed the drill body against the side of the plaster mold filled with resin and slowly squeezed the trigger.
Whirr...
A low mechanical hum filled the workshop.
Sato peered in curiously, then his eyes widened.
The vibrations traveled through the plaster, shaking the resin inside. Tiny bubbles, barely visible before, rose to the surface.
Pop, pop.
They burst in succession.
Calmly, he shifted the drill's position bit by bit.
"Without this, thin parts like fingertips or antennae always trap bubbles."
Sato let out a disbelieving chuckle.
"Heh... using a drill as a vibrator?"
He stared for a moment, then shook his head.
"Where the hell'd you learn that?"
"Picked up tricks along the way."
It was common in his past life, but apparently novel here.
Only after confirming the smooth resin surface did he release the trigger. Residual vibrations lingered in his palm, making his fingers tremble faintly.
Exhausted to the point he could barely push his wheelchair, the work was finally done.
One thing left.
Waiting for it to cure.
And time would handle that last process.
"Get outta here now."
Sato tossed the words gruffly. His face was as gruff as ever, but his gaze on the resin-filled molds held a newfound, peculiar trust.
"I'll watch the curing. Just need to control temp and humidity, right?"
"...Thank you. I appreciate it."
Kyung-ho bowed briefly. His voice carried unavoidable fatigue despite forcing the words out. The hand that gripped the drill still twitched uncontrollably. Yet it felt satisfying. Thanks to the effort, what he'd estimated at a week was done in three days. He shed his sweat-soaked apron, gripped the wheelchair wheels. Aching shoulder muscles screamed, but all he felt was anticipation for tomorrow.
The next morning, the workshop air hung calmer than yesterday.
Resin protruding from the plaster molds had hardened solid.
Kyung-ho wedged a flathead screwdriver into the seam.
Crack.
Dry plaster split faintly.
Too much force might tear the silicone, so he carefully inserted it again.
Crack.
This time, the plaster parted more.
Sato watched from behind, arms crossed.
"You're good at this."
Pop.
"...!"
The first mold finally released its resin parts. The complex angles of the gauntlet, the antenna's sharp tip—every detail he'd labored over yesterday gleamed with resin's smooth texture.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Sato, now close, adjusted his glasses and snatched a part.
"Not a single bubble even at the antenna tip. Thought you were nuts with that drill vibration talk, but this? Hand-finishing can't touch it. Good enough for production molds right now. Can't believe it's a first cast."
Genuine awe colored Sato's voice. Kyung-ho smiled in relief. Unexpected variables like using polyester had arisen, but in that moment of confidence in his future knowledge—
Light reflecting off a part's edge struck a subtle wrong note.
"...?"
Kyung-ho's eyes narrowed. The gauntlet plate's center, meant to be flat, dipped ever so slightly.
He held it to the light.
The resin surface sparkled like glass.
No problem.
Shouldn't be.
But his gaze returned to the center.
A faint shadow.
He pressed lightly with a fingernail.
Hard.
Yet the center dipped just a bit.
He grabbed another part.
And another.
And another.
"Ah...!"
Nearly every part showed it—on broader surfaces, like finger marks pressed in. It reminded him of cheap toys from the early 2000s school shop. He frowned.
"What's wrong? This is ghost-level work."
But Kyung-ho didn't answer, just jammed the screwdriver into the next mold.
Crack!
Plaster shards scattered. The second mold's shin guard. He checked it.
This one too...!
He stabbed into the third, fourth molds in rapid succession.
Crack! Snap! Pop!
Sharp bursts echoed like gunfire.
"Hey, hey! Slow down! You'll wreck 'em!"
Sato shouted in alarm, but Kyung-ho heard nothing. His eyes locked on parts scattering across the bench.
No way...
Every broad-surfaced part bore the flaw without fail. The dip sharpened under shifting light, like a shadow-sunk hole. Like a carefully built tower slowly sinking from the base.
Kyung-ho's pupils quivered faintly.
The sculpting had perfect flats; molds checked perfect. Yet every cast part was uniformly warped.
"...All of them like this?"
Sato eyed him oddly, then followed his gaze. After a pause, he asked cautiously,
"...Shrinkage sink, maybe?"
"Shrinkage?"
Kyung-ho looked up blankly. Sato seemed more flustered.
"You didn't know polyester shrinks on cure?"
"..."
Shrinkage.
Kyung-ho's mind went blank.
Polyester resin...
UV resin had negligible shrinkage, but he'd vaguely recalled old resins didn't. Too late now. He bit his lip.
"You know all these weird techniques but not this?"
Sato's words stabbed like a needle. Only then did Kyung-ho realize—he'd grown too used to awe at his glimpses of future knowledge. Drunk on omnipotence, he'd ignored basics like material physics.
Sato inspected a part, continuing.
"Tch. Still, putty fill and sanding fixes it. Design's so killer, flaws like this won't even register. Sponsors'll faint."
Kyung-ho cradled a shrunk part in his palm. No matter how he checked, the finish was wretched. What would his pre-death self think of this toy-shop crap? Was he satisfied?
This hack work won't make me the best.
He bit his lip instead of answering.
Arrogant.
He'd thought 1970s tech a breeze with future knowledge. Memories flashed of scoffing at past works: Why only that good?
Now he saw. They weren't incompetent. In harsh conditions, battling invisible foes like shrinkage and warps, they'd built knowledge to produce visible results.
"...I'll remake them."
"What? Starting now?"
Sato jumped.
"It's day three already! Seven days total, remember? No margin! Impossible!"
Kyung-ho gripped his wheels tight, veins bulging.
"Still no. I can't accept this."
"You stubborn brat, what if you fail?"
Kyung-ho met Sato's eyes squarely, lips parting.
"Then help me not to."
For the first time, after solo work, Kyung-ho asked for help. Sato's face shifted complexly.
"I get it now. Can't do this alone."
"And if we fail?"
"Worst case, take these failures."
Sato pondered long, seeing Kyung-ho dismiss parts still shockingly good to him.
"Honestly, no guarantee my help makes 'em much better. Might be smarter to polish these. That okay?"
Kyung-ho answered steadily.
"If not perfect, no point in rebirth."
His eyes held grim resolve, not past arrogance. Sato nodded, satisfied, noting the change.
"Lately my ears ain't what they used to be, but..."
"Pardon?"
Sato scratched his chin.
"What was that about being reborn?"