Just Three Days

The pork-belly place had been the perfect choice.

The meat was excellent, and the talk even better. When we stepped outside, the cool night air came up to meet us.

"Sia."

"Yeah?"

The truth was, I'd been turning it over the whole time. I'd meant to scrape together some excuse, put off her entry, and climb the Tower alone. A half-baked lie wasn't going to move her, though. Not with her mother's surgery so close.

And the things we'd said over the grill kept catching on me.

Too bright to pass for simple optimism. Nothing had happened that should have lifted the worry, and yet her whole attitude had flipped, all at once—like someone gone light after giving something up.

She might slip in alone without a word.

That, I had to stop. I needed to hold her for three days, at least.

"Will you give me three days?"

She looked at me like she was trying to work out what I meant, so I went ahead and said it.

"I need time to go into the Tower by myself."

"By yourself? Why?"

"Because of Puppetry. I have to get in there and find something the art can actually take."

"Oh. If that's all, we can just go in together, can't we?"

"So you're saying you'll run with me from here on out?"

"Wh—no?! That's not what I meant!"

Looking at Sia made me want to tease her, and the rest of what I meant to say stuck in my mouth.

"Going in together before I'm ready is dangerous."

The Vivid Presence Quirk. That thing would put us in danger, no question.

"...Even walking into a major hospital is a challenge for you now. Ordinary farming is going to be just as big a one."

"Ah...."

What I was telling her, in so many words, was that she would be a burden.

"So will you at least give me time to prepare?"

Sia's face went complicated. Of course it stung. The guy who used to just ride the bus was the one saying it.

"O-okay. Go."

Flustered, the answer tumbled out before she could catch it. But she wouldn't go back on it now that it was said. Sia took promises seriously—the same way she'd never quite promised, all the way to the end, that she would enter with me.

"Thanks. And I'm sorry."

"It's fine! I needed time to go see Mom anyway."

"Thank you for understanding."

"Yeah...."

Even so, her expression didn't ease. Time was already short, and now entry had been pushed back.

Sorry. For now, this was the only way I could think of.

I put her in a taxi, and we parted like that—awkward, and a little cold.

The day before entry. It was a rest day from training, and I went to the Association anyway.

"Would it be possible to get a crash course in equipment crafting from one of the Association's artisans?"

"If there's something you need, you can always put in a commission."

"I need to make it myself."

"Understood. I'll ask right now."

Fortunately, the artisan agreed without a fuss. Over three hours I learned the basics—how to prepare materials, and how to handle them. After that I collected what the handler had set aside for me.

I tried laying will into the row of toys.

This one's a no.

It didn't meet the humanoid condition, apparently. The robot model took nothing.

Then what about this?

A crude humanoid toy, though—that one took.

Not bad.

Next.

Ugh. They really didn't need to get me one of these.

A pretty-girl figure. Mm. This one ran fine too. It already had joints, so it moved without a hitch, neat as anything.

Good. That's enough testing.

I had a feel now for what the skill would take and what it wouldn't.

Next came the mannequin's kit. For weapons, a hammer and a wooden bat. For armor, a hoodie, a leather jacket, leather gloves, trail runners, and jeans. That would do. If the armor needed reinforcing, I could always make more once I was inside. I might not even dress them at all. There were still tests to run against zombies.

Then it was my own gear. Weapons: an E-grade sturdy hand axe, and a whetstone. A carbon shield from the artisan. For armor, a plush neoprene hoodie, a tough leather jacket, leather gloves, a scarf, black jeans, trail runners, and a set of MTB guards with sports elbow pads.

First I ran everything through the app shop and had it all repaired. Reinforcement started with the elbow pads. I kept the same method I'd used on Sia's and only swapped in sturdier materials. The MTB guards were already close to a finished piece. They could still shatter under a hard impact, though, so I added a detachable outer shell.

Treat the outer shell like a consumable, and I come out ahead on durability.

I layered hard, smooth plastic over a shock pad and fixed it in place with fasteners. Even that simple bit of work bought me reinforced durability, higher hardness, and a correction to impact absorption, all at once.

Forearm and upper arm.

Last time I'd used magazines. This time I went with the plastic from a suitcase. I took the case apart and held a curved corner line up against my arm.

Fits perfectly.

I cut a neoprene sweatshirt into arm sleeves, laid leather over them, and capped that with the suitcase plastic. Link the sleeves to the elbow pads, and it was done.

Sturdier than the magazine build, lighter, and easier to move in.

The upper arm I reinforced more simply. The odds of a bite landing there were far lower than on the forearm.

The problem is the torso.

I took the boxy neoprene hoodie and tailored it snug to my body with shears and fishing line, then cut cushion pads and stitched them on, with small plastic plates set over the ribs.

This way, moving my upper body shouldn't feel awkward.

I rolled my shoulders, tested the range, and called it good. The scarf was the snag.

A scarf's only going to get in the way.

If a zombie grabbed it, my movement would lock up—and a choked neck was an opening waiting to happen. I built a replacement instead, out of cushion pad, leather, and scraps of rubber.

Good enough as a stopgap.

That was every reinforcement I could manage for now. The materials were all things from inside the Tower, so there was nothing to worry about on that front.

Solid.

A scan showed the Craftsmanship effect sitting on every piece of gear.

"Oh!"

The skill level rose right on cue.

Does this mean I have to reinforce everything again?

Contrary to that worry, I didn't. The effects had simply grown stronger on the gear as it already stood.

Preparations are done.

The next morning I pulled a shot on the espresso machine, poured it into a tumbler, and tucked the tumbler into the subspace backpack.

Ready.

First time saying this one out loud.

"I enter the Tower."

Pop—

The morning sun vanished without a trace.

I checked the nearest drawer first. Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle.

Nothing here.

I drew the mannequin out of the subspace backpack, passed it the hammer, and sent the order.

Go out first. Clear the zombies that spawned.

A nod. At my instruction it slipped outside, quiet as a thief. I swept the room, then followed right behind.

Thud! Thud! Crack!

The mannequin had already put the zombies down.

Sprint flat out to the clothing store.

A nod.

Tat-tat-tat-tat—!

I took off after it. Tat-tat—! This, barely moments after entry, was the best window I'd get to move fast.

"Grrk?"

Right on cue, the mannequin spotted a zombie shambling out of an alley.

Crack!! Tat-tat—!

It clubbed the thing, and the zombie pitched forward. I came in on its heels and finished the noggin as I blew past.

Crunch! Tat-tat—!

Huff. Huff. I could feel my breathing start to shorten. I knocked back a drink on the run. The coffee still had to be saved.

Under forty seconds to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠roadside. I cut across and dove into the clothing store by the bank.

Handle anything that follows.

I threw the shop door wide.

I fished a tiny toy from the subspace backpack.

Start.

A nod. The fist-sized toy took off at a run. Its job was the search—find anything useful, and watch for anything going wrong. Slow, but nearly silent. The zombies wouldn't bother with it.

You start too.

I handed the mannequins a heap of rope.

A nod. A nod. A nod.

Tat-tat-tat-tat—

They shot out the door at once. A quick dig through the shop turned up a few things worth taking.

I stuffed them into the backpack without much ceremony, stepped outside, and moved on to the shop next door. Odds and ends went in the bag, and then I was out again.

Going well.

Puppet 1 was handling the spawned zombies just fine.

Next, the cafe.

I didn't need an LP player anymore, but I could still put one to some other use. I eased the cafe door open. There was a bell on it, which only made me more careful. Inside, my eyes went straight to the seat where Sia and I had sat.

Sorry about that.

I couldn't shake the feeling I'd been too harsh. Over by the counter:

Another one? These aren't supposed to show up like this.

The handler had told me LP players were genuinely rare. I packed it away and slipped back out, careful not to ring the bell.

Next, the hardware store.

Outside, a fair number of zombies had already spawned. Off in the distance I could see the mannequins fighting the ones that had come up.

That should be enough.

Anything besides Puppet 1 might get wrecked, but restoration would cover it. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moved on quiet feet, a stealth approach, and reached the store without a single fight.

Good. It isn't shuttered.

If it had been closed up like last time, I'd have been in a tight spot. The door was still locked, though, so I'd have to break it—and that was going to be loud.

Clear the area first.

Crack—! Crunch—! Thwack—!

Counting the ones in the building, twenty zombies had been lying dormant. Clearing them took under three minutes.

Smash! Crack! Crunch!

The moment the street was clean, I broke the hardware-store door.

"Grrk?!"

"Graaagh!"

"Grrraaaah!"

The zombies inside answered it.

"Shh—"

Crunch! Crack! Crack!

The downward strike I'd drilled five hundred times a day. Easier now than splitting a watermelon.

Hm.

The front display was bare. Farther back, though, I found things worth having.

Nice!!

The wrench and the hammer were perfectly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠serviceable weapons. Driving nails into the wooden bat would be a fine bit of reinforcement too. And the duct tape had been about to run out—good timing.

Anything else?

I looked again. The displays had nothing left. But—

A storeroom?

There was a door leading behind the counter.

Locked too.

Crunch!!

I smashed the handle with the hand axe and eased the door open.

"Ooh!!"

Two shovels. One was the ordinary kind, a wooden shaft and an iron blade. The other was solid iron, all one piece.

No way. This is a jackpot!

I went straight to work on the gear. A small basin came out of the backpack; I poured water in and soaked the whetstone until it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drank its fill.

Iron shovel first.

I set the stone to the blade. Skreee, skreee, skreee. It had never been sharpened, and the noise was awful. Nothing left around to answer it, anyway.

Taking a lot longer than the hand axe.

I finished the ordinary shovel as well. Usable as a stand-in for an axe, maybe?

I didn't think I'd find anything in the axe family. This works.

Unfortunately, there was no fire station anywhere near Hongje Station.

Never thought I'd end up using a shovel like this.

Putting the whetstone to the blade had been a spur-of-the-moment idea. Weaker than an axe, sure—but it was a thing from inside the Tower, so it would serve.

Time to head back.

The mannequins were due for a return. I loaded up a fat bundle of presents and went.