Second Encounter
A week later, Tessal was scavenging near the edge of the Terminal. He had found an old boiler tank half-buried in ash, and sweat clung to his brow as he struggled to pry it free.
"You again."
The voice made him stiffen. Tessal turned to find Ace leaning against a stack of rusted beams, arms crossed, smirk plastered across his face. Sabo stood beside him, calmer but watchful.
Tessal grunted. "Didn't have enough last time?"
Ace pushed off the beams, pipe resting casually across his shoulders. "Last time you ran. This time, I want to see what you've got. You talk big about building machines—so show me."
"I don't owe you anything," Tessal shot back.
"True," Sabo cut in smoothly, "but Ace won't stop hounding you until you prove him wrong. Trust me—I know him."
Ace grinned wider. "See? He gets it. So, what's it gonna be? You gonna show us, or do I have to beat it out of you?"
Tessal's jaw clenched. His first instinct was to walk away, but something in him stirred—maybe pride, maybe loneliness. Without a word, he set down his tools and pulled a small device from his satchel: a compact crank box with gears exposed. He wound it once, and the machine whirred to life, unfolding tiny legs. It scuttled across the dirt like a crab, then hopped over a scrap of metal with a click and whir.
Ace blinked, then barked a laugh. "That's… actually kinda cool."
Sabo crouched to watch the device more closely, curiosity lighting his eyes. "How'd you get it to balance like that?"
Tessal shrugged, a little defensive. "Trial. Error. A lot of both."
For the first time, Ace's grin lost its edge. "Alright, I'll admit it—you've got skill. Guess you're not just some weird junk collector."
Tessal didn't know how to respond. He wasn't used to compliments—or company.
Sabo straightened, brushing dust off his pants. "Maybe instead of fighting, we could help each other. You've got your machines, we've got… other talents. Could be useful."
Ace groaned. "Don't go making friends so fast, Sabo. He hasn't earned it yet." Still, there was no venom in his tone this time—just challenge.
Tessal glanced between them, a flicker of something unfamiliar tugging at him. It wasn't trust yet, but it was the start of something he hadn't felt in years: connection.
After the second encounter, he wrote to his father, mentioning that he'd met some interesting people. In the letter, he recounted their first meeting—how he'd used a smoke bomb to make a dramatic exit. It had been mostly for show, an impulsive display of flair. But this second time… it had been different. He admitted that while he was annoyed at first, by the end, he was glad to see them again.
When Albert read the letter, he paused, his eyes lingering on the words longer than necessary. A quiet warmth bloomed in his chest.
His son had found something—someone. Companionship. Connection. Perhaps even friendship.
Albert couldn't have been more proud.
There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to visit, to surprise his son with a knock on the door and arms wide open. Or better yet, to send a letter inviting him to naval headquarters, to sit at the table again, even just for a day.
But he didn't.
The thought of calling his son back, of asking him to come Navy HQ, stirred a fear he couldn't shake. A fear that doing so might pull him away from what he was finally beginning to find. That if he reached out too far, he might lose him altogether.
So he folded the letter gently and placed it in the box where he kept all the others. A quiet smile touched his lips.
Let him find his place in the world, Albert thought. Let him be happy—even if it means watching from a distance.