Time Limit
After lunch, in the Moonrise Production office. The workshop was thick with stale cigarette smoke and the acrid tang of paper.
Director Tomizawa paused while sorting through the scattered key animation sheets on his desk.
The ticking second hand on the wall clock stabbed at his eardrums with unusual sharpness. Tick. Tick. Tick. The steady rhythm tightened around his throat like a countdown.
"...One day left."
Tomizawa squinted. "No word from Kyogo?"
A staffer flipping through correction sheets adjusted his glasses and replied, "Nothing from Kyogo yet."
Deep furrows creased Tomizawa's brow.
"He must've gone back to the dorm, right?"
"Ah, well... um..." The staffer licked his lips awkwardly.
"I checked last night too... it was empty. Bedding untouched."
The cigarette between his fingers trembled faintly.
"Empty?"
Flick— The lighter flame spurted irritably. Harsh smoke burrowed deep into his lungs.
'Did he run off?' No, that kid wouldn't bolt in the night. Tomizawa shook his head, recalling Kyung-ho's cocky yet confident gaze. Then where the hell is he, and what the hell is he doing?
Pressure from sponsor Glover Company had reached its breaking point. Design mockups, mass-production feasibility, toy blueprints, broadcast schedule. Yesterday and today, the phone brought only demands. When threats to void the contract surfaced unless results appeared, Tomizawa had rashly promised to show deliverables in two days if they came to Moonrise themselves.
But still no contact from Kyung-ho.
'If nothing comes of this, my head rolls first.'
He ground out the dying cigarette in the ashtray.
"...Yamada."
Yamada flinched, looking up from rolling his pencil in the corner.
"Y-yes?"
"Go find him. I need to see the progress with my own eyes."
"Wait, Director, I'm no detective..."
"No one notices if you sneak home for a nap— what's wrong with a little sleuthing?"
Giggles erupted around the office. "Ha... how long is this gonna go on?" Yamada's face flushed beet red.
"Fine, I'm your damn serf, serf. Happy?"
"Get going already."
"Y-yes, sir. On my way."
He grumbled, grabbing his jacket and heading for the stairs.
Asakusabashi. The alley, revisited after so long, still thrummed with harsh metal clangs and oil fumes. But the sign for "Dongdo Modeling Workshop" that Yamada remembered was gone.
"What the hell? Address is right."
As he scratched his head at the empty lot, a voice came from behind.
"Something troubling you?"
Turning, Yamada saw Hashimoto Kazuo in a neatly worn gakuran uniform.
"Ah, know where the modeling workshop went? It was definitely here."
Kazuo's eyes narrowed subtly. He eyed the man's clothes and complexion before asking, "From Moonrise, by any chance?"
"Huh? How'd you know?"
"Here for Kyogo-hyung, right? Follow me."
The boy led him deep into the alley to "Donghwa Resin Processing Shop." Opening the door unleashed a rush of hot, fishy chemical stench. Subtle heat from curing epoxy resin filled the space.
Whirr—
A low vibration hummed up through the floor to his ankles. A wheelchair was fixed before the workbench.
"Kyogo!"
The whir cut off. Kyung-ho turned slowly, and Yamada sucked in a breath.
His shirt was caked in sweat and plaster dust, eyes hollowed with exhaustion. But under the work light, his gaze burned fiercely.
"...Mr. Yamada?"
"What the hell happened to you? Get any sleep?"
Kyung-ho rolled his stiff neck and shoulders. Joints cracked audibly.
"No time."
Cold lunchbox remnants and hardened resin scraps littered the bench. Yamada clicked his tongue.
"Director's losing it. No dorm, no calls— I'm the only one getting reamed!"
"Sorry. Got lost in the work... no phone around here anyway."
Yamada sighed, scanning the silicone molds, plaster jigs, and odd resin lumps.
"So, how far along? Sponsors hit day after tomorrow."
Instead of answering, Kyung-ho opened a box beside the bench and carefully lifted out an object.
"...!"
Yamada's pupils dilated massively. It was "that"— straight from the blueprints.
The roughly sanded surface gleamed smooth; armored panels' edges were eerily precise. Unpainted, yet multi-toned resins made coloring unnecessary. The model's oppressive menace and sleek design dominated the cramped workshop like a living thing.
"D-done...? Then why not come back? What're you—"
Kyung-ho shook his head. "Just main body molding and casting done."
He pinched a tiny part with tweezers and added, "Detailing joint clearances now. Paint if time allows."
"Here? More work?"
The sponsor-requested simple details were intact, yet the quality seemed persuasive enough. Still, hearing plans for more left Yamada speechless.
"Pulling another all-nighter."
Yamada shook his head. "No can do. Director wants you back."
"Can't. Long way to go. This won't cut it."
Stripped of arrogance, Kyung-ho meant it sincerely. Sato's old man had more to teach; improvements still glared.
'Make Bandam an eternal masterpiece.'
Blue flames seemed to flicker in his eyes.
'...Madman.' That word filled Yamada's mind. 'This guy's insane.'
Overwhelming talent forgave cockiness, yet he knew no satisfaction. Peerless genius— Yamada realized it fit Kyung-ho perfectly.
"...When'll it be done?"
"All by tomorrow night."
Nodding to leave, Yamada pondered how to report to the director, then spotted another model while glancing around.
"Huh?"
An identical duplicate to the first.
Noticing his stare, Kyung-ho said, "That's the failed one. Kazuo assembled it anyway— said it was a shame to waste."
Mesmerized, Yamada reached for the "failure." Cold, solid resin met his fingers.
'This is a failure? You're kidding.'
His throat dried. Trembling fingers bent the arm joint cautiously. Smooth rotation with perfect resistance, locking precisely. Blueprint motion reborn flawlessly. Minor shrinkage depression aside, it was phenomenal.
"...Hey. This. This is enough. More than enough."
Yamada turned to Kyung-ho, voice laced with excitement.
"Can I take this first? Gotta show Director something or my head's gone."
Kyung-ho shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure. Was gonna toss it anyway."
"Toss?!" Yamada clutched it protectively. Trash to this monster genius, but outside? A revolutionary game-changer. Top-secret material.
He wrapped it airtight in a black plastic bag found nearby before opening the door.
"I'm off! Be there by tomorrow night, no matter what!"
Yamada fled like a thief. Kyung-ho smirked at his back, then fired up the electric drill for more sanding.
Moonrise Production office.
The air hung heavier than before. Tomizawa was on his fifth cigarette; ashtray overflowed like a screaming mountain.
"Still nothing? That bastard Yamada can't even call?"
"Well... Asakusabashi alleys are a maze. Might take time," the staffer said, sweating as he eyed the clock.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed from the hall.
Bang!
The door flew open as if kicked. Yamada burst in, shoulders heaving, face flushed with bizarre elation.
"D-Director..."
"Yamada! Where's Kyung-ho?!"
"Won't come."
Tomizawa slammed the desk, rising. "You little shit! I said bring him!"
Instead of replying, Yamada placed his precious bundle dead center on the desk.
Thud.
A small but weighty sound shattered the silence.
"Brought this instead."
"What's this?"
Unwrapping the bag revealed Bandam's majesty bit by bit. Tomizawa leaned in, squinting, adjusting glasses. Then he gasped as if struck by lightning.
"This... this is...?"
Staff gathered around.
"...!"
Someone gulped loudly. Amid smoke, the unpainted resin robot gleamed. Varied resin tones perfected every part. Unprecedented balance, design, detail overwhelmed the room.
Ash fell from Tomizawa's cigarette.
"Where'd this come from? Dongdo Modeling?"
"Dongdo doesn't use resin like that."
"Any shop even capable of this?"
Over chatter, the director demanded of Yamada, "Where?"
"Dongdo's gone. Found Donghwa Resin Processing Shop instead."
Donghwa Resin Processing Shop. Impressive craft. All nodded in awe— until Yamada dropped the bombshell.
"Kyogo made it himself, though."
"What?"
Tomizawa's cigarette hit the floor. He closed his eyes, leaning close to the desk.
"......"
Reflecting on his own inaction while a Korean high schooler achieved this, another thought struck. "And Kyogo?"
All eyes turned to Yamada.
"Yeah."
"He finished this but won't come?"
Natural questions arose. Yamada paused, then said,
"He called it... a failure."
Every mind in the room froze.
"Failure...?"
"Kyogo's...?"
Tomizawa echoed incredulously. Yamada elaborated.
"Unacceptable trash to him. Said take it."
"Insane..."
Tomizawa stifled a hollow laugh, pinching his brow. Unsettling thrill from transcendent talent coursed through him. The gulf in perspective was unfathomable. "Genius" fell short. This was madness.
In the stunned silence, the director rasped, "...Just get the real thing by tomorrow."