Powersuit Debut and the Broker's Offer
There was no sensation.
Vito lowered his outstretched hand as he gazed at the powersuit emitting a faint glow. He'd momentarily forgotten what Allen was wearing.
"No matter how good the gear is, you can't hunch over when lifting something like that. Keep your back straight."
"I didn't know since I never have to do heavy lifting normally. I'll do it that way next time."
How often would Allen ever need to exert himself physically? He always relied on others or tools.
After setting the box down, he visualized the powersuit's status. The soul stones and sensors in each section linked to his left eye.
First, an image of the powersuit appeared with its arms slightly spread out like an anatomical diagram—all in green, meaning everything was normal. Next to it, text scrolled into view.
Evaluation metrics for now: just three items. He'd test it out first and add more if needed.
Allen, visor raised, happened to lock eyes with Taylor.
"Happy?"
"Yeah."
"Good. If you're pleased, I'm satisfied too."
His slurred words didn't match his sloth-like limp posture. As Allen watched the listless Taylor, he asked Vito,
"What time do you start work?"
"Noon. If we head out now, it'll be perfect."
"How late do you work?"
"Depends on income—some days we wrap up early. Could end at 6 PM or go till midnight."
In the past month, after commissions, Vito had pocketed a clean 5 million coin. If he'd worked till midnight every night, it would've been double.
Of course, the bar's nature as a hub for fixers and mercenaries played a role. It was always packed, and their line of work meant frequent magitech repairs.
Even in a boom, 5 million coin might seem low, but given the location, they only took simple repair jobs.
"You study consistently, right?"
"That's why I don't work till midnight often. If I'd chased the money, my pockets would've been bulging."
"You're doing well. If I slack off, your advancing skills will leave me behind automatically. Like I said before, check out the Star Letters book if you need to."
"Great as a sleeping pill. That night, I slept like a baby..."
"You didn't drool, did you?"
"No way. It's not used—it was a pricey new book. Why'd you ask about my hours?"
Allen's finger pointed at the dangling Taylor. Even seeming oblivious to his surroundings, Taylor perked up his ears, aware it was about him.
"Gonna upgrade him to better magitechwear, so we need funds. Need time to adapt to the powersuit and scout issues, so we'll stick topside for a while."
"Hold up—then what about me? Can the boss steal his employee's gig?"
"Competition drives progress."
"No, wait... please, don't do this..."
Vito, looking utterly defeated, grabbed his tools and followed Allen out.
Allen entered Rolf's bar, the Drunken Flame. Descending the stairs, he first spotted the red-haired owner with his mane-like locks cascading down.
His hairstyle alone was eye-catching. He was personally polishing glasses despite having staff—clearly a hobby.
Or maybe, as a broker, he was eavesdropping on customers.
Why else would an info broker run a bar? Booze draws crowds, and liquor loosens lips.
As Allen in his powersuit stepped in, patrons glanced once before returning to their drinks.
Powersuits were common sights. Fixers saw them more than civilians, and one in the corner had his helmet off, chugging booze.
Plus, quality varied wildly by maker and materials. Allen's could easily pass for basic strength-assist or labor gear.
Rolf, who'd perked up thinking new talent arrived, smirked at the visored Allen.
"Magitech engineer Allen, long time no see. Dressed to kill. How much for the custom fit?"
"Boss calls me 'patch-up guy' but hypes Allen proper—why?"
"Got beef? Level up. Easy, right?"
Simple tasks looked easy but were the hardest. Knowledge built skill. Everyone knew, but starting was the hurdle.
Magitech, with "magic" in the name, had high barriers and wide skill gaps.
Stung by Rolf's cold, truthful jab, Vito slunk to the bar's corner. A small room there was his workshop. Rolf's underground spot had many such rooms for various techs.
Curious for objective takes, Allen casually asked,
"How's Vito doing?"
"I don't rent rooms to just anyone, even with intros. He's green, but decent for his age. Wait, how old are you again?"
"Eighteen."
"Right, birthday in June. Didn't mean to bring up age in front of you. Maze City's vast—folks like you ignore time often. Stay eternal prospects or become timeless giants? Who knows."
Rolf cut it short tactfully. Allen guessed the unsaid: over 99% fizzle as prospects.
Irrelevant to him. Knowledge, exploration, treatment—that's what mattered.
Peeking at Vito's workshop, plenty of customers. Perk of the spot: watch repairs, no swap-theft worries.
Allen entered, took a seat. Familiar fixers switched lines.
Result: Vito's line empty, Allen's bustling. Finishing his last job, Vito pouted.
"Guys, that's just mean."
A nearby watcher growled. Arms crossed with golem prosthetics so bulky they hid his torso.
"Mean? Lucky you botched maintenance and lived. Or else—bam!"
No botch, no "bam"—no survival to complain. No bad rep spread.
Allen, lightly testing, slid a magitech to Vito. Protests erupted.
"H-hey, what're you doing?"
Allen didn't flinch. Fixers menaced like labyrinth beasts, but they talked... same language, at least.
"I'll handle inspections. Uncomfortable? Take it back."
That shut them up, grumbling. Proper shops charged double.
Fixers trickled out, leaving Allen and Vito alone.
"Don't you need cash for upgrades?"
"Snatching from Vito's plate is poor form. Thinking other options."
"How 'bout jobs from the boss? Broker knows good gigs."
"One reason I'm here."
"One? So checking my work's another?"
Allen just shrugged and stepped out. No bar racket—patrons focused on the counter commotion.
An orc with a golem prosthetic on his left arm yelled at Rolf.
"My fee's that low? You kidding?"
"Hey, customers around—quiet in a room?"
"Right here!"
The orc's twisted face could scare a kid into wetting himself. Rolf stayed cool, broker guts.
Rising orc voice, Rolf's hand inching to a table leg weapon.
Allen intervened. Came for jobs; blood made things messy. Personality-wise, avoided gore.
Allen's hand rested on the golem prosthetic.
"What the—"
Orc froze mid-shove. Trembling pupils fixed on immobile prosthetic. Powersuit's glow sealed it.
Powersuit stood tall against dim bar, mana light deepening shadows.
"Damn it..."
No intent for real trouble—or felt the gap—orc slunk away meekly. Spectacle gone, attention scattered.
Rolf checked the table the orc slammed.
"Pricey piece—hope it's not trashed. Tough build pays off."
"Why the hassle?"
"Fee split friction. Orcs—say it's good, then renege next day."
"That all?"
"Of course..."
Rolf paused, meeting Allen's impassive eyes.
"...Tried lowballing market rate a bit."
Patrons weren't just gawking. Brokers and fixers symbiotic, but money bred grudges.
"Bastards giggling 'bout time. You? Leaving?"
"No. Here for jobs."
Business talk sharpened Rolf's gaze from neighborly to predatory.
Coldly assessing Allen's skills, gear. Blocking orc earned points.
"ID?"
"Here."
Rolf eyed only the depth reached, ignoring the rest.
"Primordial Forest already? Depth 3 then. Powersuit for the dive?"
"No, brand new."
"Hm... How 'bout this? Cousin runs a mine in Saldos West—needs hands."
Maze City central Saldos. West mine? At least 1,000 km out.
"Recruiting here? Ah, rumors nearby bad?"
"Loose lips with familiars. Taylor's Breaker vet, knows; Shiba dwarf monk, trustworthy."
Rolf wasn't sentimental. Broker through: assessed cold, assigned fits.
End
The Saldos Federation claimed nearly a whole continent, its might from vast lands.
Broad plains, vast resources—perfect people-magnets. Natural superpower.
Pros have cons. Immensity meant long travel.
Acceptable flaw, but folks hated waiting, hassle. Most progress born fighting that.
Allen's train exemplified. Hyperloop conquered time, hurtling across continent at insane speeds.
Flying fit better. Near-zero drag, over 1,000 km/h.
Shiba savored the smooth vibration from chassis to seat. Massage chair vibes, perfect for sleep—but no.
"Listening?"
"Not tired, Brother Allen?"
"Pondering hyperloop principles—too fun. How'd they build vacuum tubes spanning continents? Who dreamed running trains inside?"
Allen’s nonstop chatter taught Shiba hyperloop basics. Mistake drinking holy water to wake. Taylor's snores confirmed he slept.
