The Birth of KANG
"First," I muttered, "let's try remaking this."
The support strut had already melted down to almost nothing. I turned the ruined piece over in my hands, studying it from every angle, and the conclusion I reached was simple.
This is going to have to be made from scratch.
This wasn't an object whose life was fading. This was an object whose life was already over. Even I didn't have the power to resurrect something that had been reduced to ash. Trying to salvage a strut that had melted until barely any of its original shape remained would be far less efficient than simply forging a new one.
The one stroke of luck was that a booklet had come with the machine — a complete set of specifications for every internal component of the vacuum chamber.
"Let's see... the original material was... hmm... Inconel?"
Not a bad choice. Inconel was a material you saw in all kinds of machinery — a nickel-based alloy blended with chromium, iron, and the like. Outstanding heat and corrosion resistance; the kind of stuff they used everywhere from aerospace to automobiles.
So why did Inconel fail this badly just from lab research?
I pulled out the photos I'd requested just in case — shots of the vacuum chamber before the accident.
"Ah..."
I saw the problem immediately. It wasn't the material. It was the design. The company that built this chamber had shaped the support struts in a way that trapped heat. With a design like that, even the most heat-resistant alloy in the world would eventually melt.
Machines like this were usually commissioned as custom builds. And yet, for some reason, this strut looked like it had been designed on the cheap.
Did they figure it was just a research lab — that it'd only see limited use — and slap it together like this?
The longer I studied the old photos, the more problems I found. I didn't know much about vacuum chambers as machines, but this was a thing made of metal, and that was enough for me to see what was wrong.
Even if this accident hadn't happened, it was only a matter of time.
Well. The sloppy design was already water under the bridge. I just needed to do my job.
Fortunately, the company had a bit of Inconel on hand. But I had no intention of using it.
I've got a hundred years of work under my belt. Using someone else's brand of metal as-is would sting the pride a little.
I was going to create a more perfect alloy than Inconel — one that would never melt, no matter how many times this situation repeated itself.
"Let's see... nickel, chromium, molybdenum, niobium, and iron..."
I would have loved some of the adamantium I'd used on Mount Olympus, but there was none of that here. I'd have to do my best with what I could get.
I fired up the small electric furnace. Then, one by one, I began melting the materials and working them. The ratios could not be off — not by a fraction. Only a perfect ratio produced a perfect alloy.
Whew...
How much time had passed? It had gotten quite cold out, and yet my whole body was soaked in sweat. At last, the new alloy was complete.
Perfect.
It was a perfect alloy. Good enough to slap the KANG brand on it and sell it.
"Alright. Now then."
Outside, the quiet of early dawn had already settled in, but I had slipped into blacksmith mode, and that sort of thing no longer mattered. I had to fabricate this without a single micrometer of error. With machine parts like these, the tiniest discrepancy was what led to accidents like this one. I gathered every nerve in my body into a single point and began working the new alloy.
"Ugggh... I'm exhausted. Morning, Cheol-woo..."
Taeseok walked into the factory and started to greet Cheol-woo — then stopped mid-sentence.
Is he okay...?
Cheol-woo was soaked in sweat from head to toe, working the metal as if he'd been sealed off from the world around him. Taeseok called his name again, more carefully this time.
"Cheol-woo... don't tell me you pulled an all-nighter?"
Only then did Cheol-woo seem to register that Taeseok was there. He tidied up what he was working on and answered.
"Ah, Deputy Manager. You're here."
"Drop it. Deputy Manager? That's embarrassing... More importantly, did you seriously stay up all night?"
"Huh? What time is it?"
Taeseok held up his phone.
"It's nine."
"What?"
He'd been working since six the previous evening without so much as a bathroom break. That was at least fifteen hours straight.
"Aigoo, has it really been that long?"
"You're gonna kill yourself like that..."
Taeseok's face was genuinely worried.
That old habit of losing all track of time when I concentrate... still hasn't gone anywhere.
On Mount Olympus, hunger and sleep hadn't really mattered. Here, it was a different story.
Come to think of it, I am pretty hungry... One piece is done. Maybe I should rest.
"I just got into it and completely lost track of time. I'm going to grab a bite and catch a little sleep."
"Y-yeah... go get some rest."
Taeseok still looked genuinely concerned. I poured hot water into a cup of instant noodles, slurped it down in a few bites, and collapsed onto the Rakuraku Bed tucked in the corner of the factory.
I guess I am a little tired...
That was the last thing I remembered before I started snoring, sinking into a deep sleep. Watching him, Taeseok shook his head.
"Man. This guy is not normal. How do you work fifteen hours without even coming up for air..."
Beep... beep... beep...
"Nngh..."
I shut off the blaring alarm and sat up. The factory was quiet.
How long was I out?
I'd been worried I might have slept more than twelve hours, but luckily that wasn't the case. Everyone had just stepped out for lunch.
"Not bad. I actually feel pretty refreshed."
I'd been so exhausted that even four hours of sleep had left my body feeling reasonably clear. Part of me wanted to sleep a little longer, but I had a promise to keep. I couldn't afford more rest.
I headed to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, stuffed a piece of bread in my mouth, and went back to the vacuum chamber.
"The strut's done..."
The flange balance could wait until the very end. Now I had to deal with the most important part: the micro-fractures.
This is going to take a while.
Was it a difficult job? By my standards, no. By anyone else's, you could bring in people who'd spent decades on a welding floor and they'd still struggle. But for me, it wasn't that hard. It just needed time and focus. A single moment of carelessness on this job could collapse the entire chamber.
Even a little slip, and these micro-fractures will bring the whole thing down.
I couldn't even go to the bathroom until this was finished. To repair this perfectly, I had to start it in one go and finish it in one go.
That's the only way there won't be any lingering problems.
If I stopped midway and came back to it, it might hold as a temporary fix — but the same problem would eventually come back.
This is a design problem too, I bet...
The more I looked at it, the more I could feel just how slapdash the original design had been. I set my phone down, taped a piece of paper nearby, and began.
⚠ DO NOT DISTURB ⚠
"Let's do this..."
From here on, it was a battle of concentration.
Crackling... hiss... hiss. A long, thin whine. A rushing whisper of gas.
How long had Cheol-woo been at it? Taeseok came back from lunch, saw him already up and working, and started to say hello — then thought better of it.
Aigoo... if I greet him right now, I won't even break even.
It felt like an invisible wall had gone up around him. He was concentrating so intensely it was almost frightening. You couldn't even speak to him. Taeseok went back to his own station, sipped his coffee, and thought.
If I learned from him... could I ever get like that...?
Focus... stay focused...
I caught my posture just as it started to slip and locked it back into place. If my stance broke even for a second here, everything I'd done so far would be wasted. Why I was doing this, for what reason, what reward I hoped for — all of that had long since vanished from my mind.
There was only one thing left in my head. Restoring every last one of these micro-fractures to the way they were supposed to be.
Almost done.
My legs ached. My hands ached. I couldn't stop now. And at some point — I couldn't say when — Soul had begun to settle into the welding rod I was using. If I finished this without stopping, the repair would be perfect. I was sure of it.
How many more hours did I work after that?
Sizzle... hissss...
"Haaah..."
At last, I set down the tools in my hands. Every micro-fracture had been sealed. And in that instant, I crumpled to the floor like a runner who'd just crossed a marathon finish line.
Still. I finished it without taking a break.
"That aside... how long did that take?"
When I concentrate like this, my sense of time just disappears. I had no idea how long it had been. I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and stepped outside the factory — and the sun was already coming up.
Just how many hours was I at this...
Gulp... gulp... The cold water filled my whole body.
"Whew... I'm gonna live..."
That said...
I hadn't showered in two days, and I'd been pouring sweat the whole time. I reeked.
I should swing by home for a bit.
The important work was done anyway. All that was left was the flange balance. So I headed home for a while, reported in to my mother that I was still alive, showered, ate a proper meal, and came back to the company. Everyone had already clocked in. And there was an unexpected face waiting there.
"You're here already."
Director Park heard my voice, turned around, and greeted me.
"Ah, I was just too anxious to sit still. I thought maybe there was something I could help with."
He really is desperate, huh.
Without this vacuum chamber, most of their major experiments would be at a standstill. Of course he was. I picked up a tool and headed toward the flange as I spoke.
"I was just about to call you, actually."
"What? Ah... so the repair is too difficult after all."
Director Park's face fell instantly. He probably hadn't even been counting on the three days I'd originally quoted. If I was trying to reach him on only the second day... no wonder he looked like the world was ending.
Too difficult? Not a chance.
"No. The repair is finished. Well — technically, there's exactly one thing left."
"What...!? Wait, what do you mean..."
"Just a moment."
I stopped him as he started toward the machine, then began balancing the flange. If it weren't me, this would take a very long time. You might even have to disassemble the whole thing from scratch and rebalance it. But for me, this kind of balancing work was one of the easiest things there was.
I struck specific points on the flange dozens of times, each impact precise to the micrometer.
BANG. BANG! BANG! BANG!
Then came the fine adjustments — a technique I possessed only because I had spent a full hundred years working on Mount Olympus.
That should do it.
The balance was perfectly restored. I'd saved this for last because the flange falling out of true and the micro-fractures appearing hadn't been unrelated.
Once the micro-fractures were all sealed, this was a piece of cake.
I called over to Professor Park.
Professor Park blinked at me, his expression one of sheer disbelief, and didn't move an inch.
Did he... did he actually fix it? That thing? By himself? In two days?
His eyes were a tangle of doubt and astonishment, all of it mixed together. I called to him again.
"Professor. Don't just stand there. Come over and check it for yourself."