Dwarves Lose Their Minds Over New Tech (4)

"You mage! You son of a—!"

BANG!

The dwarf's short leg punched a hole clean through the door.

At the sudden commotion, Lily, who had been sipping her tea, flinched so hard she spilled a few drops onto her skirt.

I handed her a handkerchief, then took a leisurely sip of my own tea and eyed the dwarf as he huffed and puffed.

"Is something the matter, sir?"

"Is something the matter? Is something the matter~? You're asking me because you don't know? What in the hell did you do to him!"

"And by 'him,' you mean?"

"The one who came and took the pneumatic hammer from you this morning!"

"Ahh."

I set my teacup down as if I'd only just figured it out. I'd known exactly who he meant from the moment he started shouting, of course — I simply hadn't bothered to show it. Staying calm in any situation is how you make the right call. A man who loses his composure makes rash judgments and botches everything, so I'd kept my cool on purpose.

To piss him off.

Any dwarf who'd tasted the pneumatic hammer and fallen headfirst into the comforts of modern civilization would count me as one of his own — and that kind of dwarf was bound to take offense at my dismissive attitude.

"Did this, did that — I haven't done a thing. He simply couldn't forget yesterday's experience, and came back to find me of his own accord."

Slurp.

I took another unhurried sip of tea.

To piss him off.

"I assumed that was why you'd come to see me as well."

"What did you say?"

"Have you not seen how happy he looks at the forge? I'd have thought you'd envy the man — free from the ache of hammering, starting a whole new life."

The dwarf ground his teeth so hard I could hear them creak. His face was beet red, veins bulging across it like he was about to explode on the spot.

Time to dial the provocation down a notch.

I snapped my fingers and sent Gode a signal.

"Just like these gentlemen here."

At my cue, Gode yanked back the curtain that split the room in two.

"Y-you bastards!"

There sat the dwarves who had come to see me this morning for reasons much like this one, waiting in their chairs. Every one of them had slept on it, sobered up overnight, reconsidered yesterday's events — and come around on the pneumatic hammer.

At first they'd hung their heads like traitors to their own kind, but as their numbers grew one by one, so did their chins — and now every last head was held ramrod straight. They too had been quietly sipping their tea, and now they shot withering glares at the dwarf who couldn't read the room and was throwing his tantrum.

The moment the incredulous dwarf drew breath to roar, Gode pressed a finger to his lips.

"Keep yer voice down, lad. What're ye goin' to do if ye sour Owen's mood, eh?"

"You've thrown away the dwarven artisan spirit…!"

Not one of them so much as blinked at the outburst.

"Accept the times, boy. Wasn't it that very artisan spirit that kept us wracked with muscle aches our whole lives?"

"Those aches are honorable scars!"

"That's a young man's talk. Get to my age and see. All those years of aching left my neck so stiff it won't even turn anymore."

"Then it's time ye died, old man."

A brief battle of wills simmered between Gode and the young dwarf.

A house divided against itself.

Absolutely fascinating. This was the moment for popcorn.

…I'll have to make some later, come to think of it.

For now, I munched on cookies in its place and settled in to enjoy the rest of the argument.

"You mean to abandon tradition."

"It's called progressin' a better direction. Yer the one followin' the new tradition yerself, aren't ye? Back in my day, a forge like the one we have now was unthinkable. Youngsters these days, honestly…"

Gode spat out the old fogey's line and clucked his tongue. Then he pulled a piece of paper he'd been treasuring inside his coat and slid it across to the young dwarf.

"Owen's promised he'll keep goin' beyond the pneumatic hammer — more inventions to better our lot. This here's one of 'em."

For reference, what I'd given Gode were the rough concepts for machine tools — milling machines, lathes, and the like. I figured they'd be needed down the line for building the Iron Man Suit, and would improve the blacksmiths' lives right away besides.

The dwarf's Adam's apple bobbed, the way a man's does when he's spotted something delicious. For all his big talk, his body was honest. Show a dwarf a few inventions capable of making his eyes roll back, and that's the reaction you get.

"What we're doin' isn't betrayin' ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tradition. It's embracin' change for the sake of a better future — for the children who'll be smiths after us. Just as you grew up never knowin' the hardships of my day."

For reference, I wrote that speech for him. It was meant for any holdout stubborn enough to resist even after tasting the pneumatic hammer. The moment it was framed as progress of the dwarves, by the dwarves, for the dwarves, refusing the technology meant branding yourself a selfish old fool clinging to pride — so how exactly were they supposed to refuse?

"……"

The enraged dwarf huffed and puffed until his anger cooled. Maybe he'd come looking for a real fight, because he set the hammer he'd brought down on the table with a clack, heaved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a deep sigh, and stood there looking utterly lost in thought.

"…Fine. If everyone's agreed, then I've no right to be the stubborn one."

At his capitulation, Gode silently clapped his knee. I smirked and held out a contract — so he'd never dare talk back again.

"Sign here, if you would."

"What's this?"

"A contract stipulating that Professor Gode agrees to become our club's faculty advisor, and in exchange for machine rentals, enters a cooperative partnership with me."

I handed the dwarf a ballpoint pen.

"The dwarves… respect Gode's choice of advisor…"

Okay. Contract complete.

After the dwarves' declaration of surrender, there seemed to be nothing standing in the way of founding the club anymore.

The application itself was flawless, too. When the clerk reviewing it asked with her eyes alone what the "purpose" was supposed to mean, we managed to get it approved anyway, one way or another.

Owen wore a satisfied expression.

"Now we can actually do club activities."

"Yeah."

Lily couldn't hide her excitement either — her voice was a little higher than usual. After all, she'd never once gotten to live a normal academy life. Bullied at the drop of a hat, on the bad side of every powerful noble so she couldn't make a single friend, too poor to try anything even if she'd wanted to.

And in the middle of all that, this was the first club she'd ever join, together with Owen — the first person she could really call a friend. Of course her expectations were sky-high.

"Let's see here."

Owen unfolded the informational pamphlet he'd received from the clerk after founding the club. Lily leaned in slightly to read it too.

Tap.

Her head came to rest against his shoulder.

Owen didn't seem to pay it any mind. Seeing his reaction, Lily decided that much must be fine, and kept ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reading with her shoulder pressed against his.

The pamphlet listed precautions for club activities and other schedules, and as Owen's eyes skimmed down the page, they stopped on one line.

"Club activity subsidy… paid monthly to clubs whose achievements are recognized upon submission of an activity report by the end of the month…"

"We won't get it this month. The month's nearly over."

"Oh really?"

Owen pressed two fingertips to his temples and ran the numbers. Ten days remained until the end of the month, when results were due. If they submitted the activity report by that afternoon — before the clerk clocked out — then in practical terms, they had nine days. One week and two days.

Wasn't that plenty? Enough time to whip something up, sell it, and land a result?

Granted, accounting for manufacturing and distribution time, the schedule was tight — so whatever they did would need serious impact.

So, what would do the trick?

Something easy to make that could captivate people all at once… ah, wouldn't that work?

Come to think of it, there was that.

At the sudden idea, Owen folded the pamphlet shut. Then, without a word ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of warning, he rested his chin on both hands atop Lily's shoulder.

"Hup…!"

"Lily, let's make our club's very first activity about claiming that subsidy."

"O-okay. Let's do that. Though I'm not sure we can manage it in ten days…"

"Time's short, so let's start today."

Owen grabbed Lily's hand and strode ahead.

It was pure unconscious habit. When he was little, he'd held his little sister's hand so he wouldn't lose her; walking with Muriel, he'd held her hand or hooked arms with her often enough that it had become second nature. Which is why Owen didn't think anything of it at all.

H-his hand…

Lily, on the other hand — a girl unaccustomed to the opposite sex — was thrown into a whirlwind of thoughts by that one tiny gesture. Flusteredness, embarrassment, the feeling that she might start sweating…

His hand is so big.

His fingers were long and his palm broad — a hand big enough to swallow her whole fist with room to spare.

Lily wiggled her captured fingers a little, then spoke up.

"Owen, you're way too casual about skinship, you know that?"

"Am I?"

Come to think of it, maybe?

"Well, you're half wrong. I don't do this with just anyone."

"You say that to just anyone?"

"I don't say this to just anyone, either."

"…You say embarrassing things like that without even blinking…"

She wanted to pull her hand free. Hearing words like that had heat rushing up her body — she was sweating from her hand, of all places.

Lily rubbed her free hand against her skirt, and to hide her embarrassment she pointlessly changed the subject.

"So what are we making?"

Owen answered.

"Aphrodisiacs."

"…?"

For a moment, Lily doubted her own ears.

Wh-what?

Aphro…disiacs?