Recognition Earned

A suffocating silence pressed down heavily on the forge. Mi So-jeo, the second most powerful figure in the Mi Merchant Guild, fixed her clear, sharp eyes piercingly on my sweat-slicked face as I stood there shirtless.

"So it was you—the one who attached that strange metal contraption under my carriage... not the old blacksmith groveling on the floor?"

Her question stabbed like an awl. Yeom Cheol lay prostrate on the ground. If I nodded right now and admitted, 'Yes, it was me. I made it,' what then?

I might be hailed as a genius, instantly elevated to a core member of the guild. The critical task of repairing Governor Do Geom's wife's carriage could become entirely my achievement. But that intoxicating glory hid a deadly poison.

Yeom Cheol, the guild's top craftsman, would suffer a fatal blow to his fragile pride and position. He'd be branded a useless old man, completely outmatched in skill by a green apprentice porter. The moment I stole his place, I'd lose his protective shield and material support forever, tormented by invisible envy and sabotage.

In Korea's brutal manual labor world, I'd seen—and endured—how a sloppy worker who snatched a foreman’s credit ended up chased off the site in disgrace the next day.

In this mad age of chaos, playing the lone hero is the fastest way to lose your head. The truly clever yield the facade and justification to superiors while devouring the real power and profits behind the scenes.

I bowed my waist politely and spoke.

"Miss, it seems you've badly misunderstood."

"Misunderstood?"

Mi So-jeo's fine eyebrows twitched faintly. Yeom Cheol, still on the floor, flinched and lifted his head slightly.

"Yes. That dawn, I did crawl under the carriage and attach the metal piece, hammering in the nails. But the uncanny technique of heating that rigid iron in a subtle flame to give it the tough, unbreakable elasticity of cartilage... that came entirely from the master's mind and hands."

I cast a gaze of deep respect ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠toward Yeom Cheol on the floor, continuing in a calm yet weighty tone, unflinching sincerity in my voice.

"Master had long ached over how you suffered on rough rocky roads during your patrols. For days and nights, he never left the furnace, hammering the metal to design and temper that shock-absorbing ring. I merely pitched in with a shallow idea from my porter days—using the bounce of a shoulder pole for heavy loads."

As my words flowed, the air in the forge subtly shifted.

"That night the device was finished, the master was so wracked from overwork he couldn't even crawl under the carriage. He woke this useless wretch, pointed out the exact spots, and ordered me to nail it in instead. We kept it secret to avoid troubling you, but it led to this huge misunderstanding."

A seamless, natural excuse. Perfected in modern office politics—elevating the direct boss while subtly inserting my own presence.

Yeom Cheol's eyes shook like an earthquake. His rugged face flushed crimson in an instant, a complex mix of shock, relief, and bone-deep gratitude as he looked up at me.

Mi So-jeo slowly folded her fan, glancing alternately between us with evident intrigue. Her brilliant mind surely saw through my lie. But she instantly grasped why I'd fabricate it—to save the old master's face, revealing the shrewdness and heavy loyalty to the organization beneath.

"...I see."

A faint, refined smile escaped her red lips.

"I nearly failed to recognize the old master's deep loyalty. To devise that astonishing technique over sleepless days and nights—truly, the finest craftsman in Xu Province."

As Mi So-jeo stepped back, fully acknowledging Yeom Cheol's credit, he exhaled a held breath and pressed his forehead to the ground.

"Ah, Miss! This old fool just did what was natural for the guild—your praise is too much!"

Mi So-jeo nodded in satisfaction, then turned her gaze to me.

"Under such an excellent master, a truly clever and useful disciple has appeared. Even if he devised the technique, your merit in grasping it perfectly and installing it flawlessly is no small thing. From now on, support your master well and elevate the guild's craftsmanship even higher."

"I will, Miss."

I bowed deeply.

With a satisfied expression, she gave Yeom Cheol her final order.

"Master. Have Governor Do Geom's wife's carriage repair ready perfectly before dawn tomorrow. With your fine disciple, I trust you'll manage."

"Of course! I'll stake my life to fit the finest shock absorbers before the morning dew dries."

"I expect it."

Mi So-jeo flashed a light smile and glided out of the forge with elegant steps. The faint floral scent faded, replaced by the familiar acrid char of coal.

Only after the guests' footsteps fully receded from the yard did Yeom Cheol, still on the floor, collapse with a thud, falling on his rear.

"Haaah..."

A thick, weary sigh escaped his tough lips, as if ten years had melted away. His leather apron was soaked with sweat, his thick arms still trembling faintly from gripping the hammer.

I approached and handed him a towel.

"Well done, Master. Wipe your sweat."

Yeom Cheol took the towel with dazed eyes and mopped his flushed face.

"Aman... you rascal."

His beastly eyes reddened faintly.

"You saved this old man's pathetic pride. How could you spin such a clever, grateful lie?"

"Lie? No."

I smiled plainly and patted the back of his rough hand.

"Without your forge, your spot beside you, I'd still be a useless porter making nothing. My shallow knack for handling metal only shines under your great shelter and reputation. I just packaged the truth to sound better."

At my calm, earnest reply, Yeom Cheol's bushy brows furrowed. His gaze now saw me not just as a curiosity or promising kid, but as his successor and comrade.

"Damn it. A silver tongue that draws tears from a hammer-headed old coot like me. Fine, Aman! If you treat me as your true master, I'll teach you every last technique I know!"

Yeom Cheol bellowed heartily and strode to the deep back storage of the forge.

Moments later, with a heavy clank, he emerged grunting, cradling an enormous lump of metal in both arms. He slammed it onto the anvil with a thud—it was far superior in quality and overwhelming in size to the test piece he'd given me yesterday: a top-grade black iron ingot.

"This goes on Governor Do Geom's wife's carriage. It's for the eyes of Xu Province's top ruler—no room for failure."

Breathing roughly, he clapped my shoulder hard.

"Tonight, use that perfect isolated focus of yours. Forge this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ingot into the world's toughest, most resilient shock ring. Pour in your monstrous handiwork more than ever!"

"Understood."

"And..."

He grinned and added,

"Plenty left after the carriage parts. No need to stash the scraps—forge whatever weapon you want for your own defense. This is your master's reward. Take it without a word."

Top-grade black iron. Ecstasy threatened to erupt like a volcano in my chest, but I schooled my face and bowed deeply.

"Thank you, Master. I'll use it well."

The sun had fully set, stars studding the sky as heavy darkness blanketed the guild. I smothered the furnace's last embers with ash, sweeping the forge floor's metal dust with a rough broom, tidying the workspace.

Sweep, sweep. In steady rhythm, a heavy pair of tongs teetered on the workbench edge, then toppled toward the dirt floor. My eyes were on the ground litter; the tongs fell in my blind peripheral spot.

Yet in that instant, before my brain could command, my body reacted like a wild beast.

Whoosh—! Dropping the broom, my left hand sliced the air. With a thunk, the heavy tongs' handle was snared perfectly in my grip, inches from the dirt.

"Huh...?"

I stared blankly at my frozen left arm and the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tongs clenched tight within. The movement was impossibly fast, precise. Dynamic vision, reaction speed.

Come to think of it, all afternoon hammering and tending the fire, my hands had felt strangely sharper.

No way...?

My heart pounded wildly with anticipation.

"Status Window."

"Agility... 11!"

A hollow chuckle escaped me. Just as I'd guessed.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

How'd my agility go up?

I closed my eyes, replaying my forge movements. Before the glowing iron cooled, in that split-second window, I had to hammer madly fast to shape it—precise wrist control for flawless strikes, sharp timing pulling the bellows to regulate furnace heat.

Not brute labor. A smith's work with metal was brutal training in ultimate precision. Extreme focus and fine muscle control converted to system experience.

"One hammer swing... grows strength, toughness, speed, and reflexes all at once."

This was a tremendous blessing. Even if I left this forge for the battlefield's heart someday, this built strength and agility would be my perfect, devastating guarantee of survival.

I clenched and released my fist, savoring the fresh reaction speed surging through my veins.

"Nice. At this insane speed... tonight's subspace work will explode."

I easily scooped up the top-grade black iron ingot Yeom Cheol had given me, my lightened body making it a breeze. I'd fully secured a solid backer, stats curving upward. All conditions perfect.

I extinguished the forge fire completely, hugged the heavy ingot, and headed to my dark side room with a jaunty whistle and light steps.