The next morning, the sky was still gray from the night's rain. Jinyong stood outside his father's office, the city faintly buzzing below the tower windows. He knocked once.
"Come in," his father said.
Wonyong Keum sat behind his desk, staring at a large diagram spread across the polished surface. His brow was tight, his fingers tracing the lines in thought. It was rare to see him like that. The man who usually seemed untouchable looked troubled.
"You wanted to see me?" Jinyong asked.
Wonyong looked up briefly, then gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
Jinyong sat, waiting.
"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday," Wonyong began. "About joining the engineering team."
"And?" Jinyong asked.
"I've decided against it," his father said. "You're too different from them. You'll just end up arguing with the staff and demoralize them. Instead, I want you to work alone. Build something on your own terms. If you come up with something good and worth selling, bring it to me. We'll talk then."
Jinyong nodded slowly. "That works for me."
His eyes drifted toward the blueprint on the desk. The lines and measurements were dense but familiar. He recognized the pattern almost immediately.
"That's a gas dispersion pump," he said.
Wonyong raised his brow. "You figured that out from a single glance?"
"It's obvious," Jinyong replied. "The valve design and the chamber placement make it clear. It could be used for something useful, or for something dangerous."
"Exactly," his father said. He leaned back slightly. "Hiroshi Sato gave this to me. He said he wanted my help developing something new. Mecha tanks, equipped with these pumps."
Jinyong frowned. "That sounds like a weapon."
"It is," Wonyong said quietly. "He wants cooperation. He wants to build an illegal weapons factory, and he wants us involved. Of course, it comes with other deals that would very much benefit our company hugely, but those deals came with this requirement."
Jinyong looked at him for a moment. "Why are you asking me?"
"You're my heir," his father said. "Soon enough, you'll learn that business isn't always clean. Still, to think Hiroshi Sato is working for the Equalists."
"We're non-benders, Father," Jinyong said evenly. "We benefit from their ideals."
His father frowned. "Do you agree with them?"
"Not exactly," Jinyong said. "I agree that non-benders should have ways to match benders. Otherwise, we'll always be pushed down. But I don't hate them. They were born with something we weren't. They didn't choose that, just like we didn't choose this."
Wonyong studied him quietly. "Your thoughts are more mature than I expected. Tell me, then. Should I take this deal? It would be good for business, but the risk is high. I don't want to make weapons."
"I'll tell you honestly," Jinyong said. "I'll probably make weapons myself."
Wonyong blinked. "What?"
"Not for sale," Jinyong said. "Just for private use. I want to create something that can balance things between benders and non-benders. For protection. But I'll need machinery and funding."
"I'm not allowing that," his father said firmly. "We're not killers."
"We're not," Jinyong replied. "But one day, we'll need to defend ourselves. I just want to be ready."
Wonyong sighed, leaning back. "Fine. I'll see what you make first. Then I'll decide."
He turned to the diagram again, his expression unreadable.
"Do you want my advice, Father?" Jinyong asked. "About that deal?"
Wonyong glanced up. "Let's hear it."
Jinyong paused for a moment. "Accept it. Help him build the factory, but keep your distance. If it turns bad, you'll have leverage. You can report him to the police and get amnesty in return. Betray him at the very last moment."
Wonyong's mouth twitched. "That's a dirty move."
"You said it yourself," Jinyong said. "Business isn't clean."
A small smile appeared on his father's face. "Using my own words now. Good. I'll do just that."
He slid the diagram into a drawer and closed it. "Don't tell your mother about this. She'd be furious."
"She'd have my head first if she heard that I told you to do it," Jinyong said.
Wonyong chuckled. "You might be right."
—
Inside his workshop, in the middle of the night, Jinyong sat at his desk, pencil in hand and an empty sheet in front of him. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the electricity around.
He had been thinking about what to make next. There were so many things that didn't exist in this world yet, especially the simple, everyday machines that people in his previous life took for granted.
He began to write them down one by one. Washing machines. Vacuum cleaners. Household refrigerators. Humidifiers and dehumidifiers. Electric kettles. Electric irons. Electric stoves. Then the ones that can be improved: compact radios, better cameras, smaller batteries.
The list grew quickly, a dozen ideas scattered across the page. Too many for him to make all at once.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping the pencil against the table. It wasn't that he couldn't make them all, he just needed to focus on one need. Something that would sell.
After a while, he drew a circle around a few of them: the household ones. Machines that saved time, made chores easier, improved comfort. Things that are just for improving the quality of life for people.
He smiled, satisfied, and began sketching.
—
A week later, Jinyong carried a box full of schematics and blueprints, each neatly rolled and labeled. He took the elevator up to the top floor, humming softly to himself.
When the doors opened, he walked straight into his father's office without even knocking because of how excited and how satisfied with himself he is.
The sound of his humming stopped instantly.
Wonyong Keum sat behind his desk, and across from him was Hiroshi Sato himself. The air in the room was cordial, almost polite, until Jinyong's arrival shattered it.
"Jinyong," his father said in a low, tired voice. "Don't you have manners?"
"I— sorry," Jinyong said quickly. "My apologies. I'll leave at once."
Before he could step back, Hiroshi lifted a hand. "No, no, please, stay." His tone was warm, amused. "This is your son, Wonyong? I've heard about him. Quite the tinkerer, I heard?"
Wonyong sighed "Yes. He spends most of his time in his workshop. He even stripped down a Satomobile. Changed every part, said it was an improvement."
"Really now?" Hiroshi leaned forward, intrigued. "An improvement, you say? I'd love to see that."
Jinyong blinked, not expecting the invitation.
Wonyong looked between the two of them, then exhaled slowly. "He keeps it downstairs. You can take a look, if you want."
"I'd be delighted," Hiroshi said, standing with genuine interest. "It is always fascinating to meet the next generation of engineers. Especially one who starts this young."
Jinyong nodded slightly. He didn't dislike Hiroshi Sato, but he knew what path the man was walking, and where it would lead.
"Son, you can accompany him to your workshop," said Wonyong. "What is that on your hands?"
"Well, schematics." Jinyong said. "For you to look at."
Wonyong raised his brow. "That many?"
"It's a package." Jinyong simply answered.
Hiroshi laughed. "Well, don't be too harsh on him. I know very well how inspiration is often fickle and needs to be realized quickly. In this case, his inspiration is many."
Wonyong hummed. "Just put it on the table. I'll take a look at it. Go accompany Hiroshi to your workshop."
Jinyong put on a polite smile. "This way, Mr. Sato."
—
The elevator doors slid open to the basement with a hiss. The soft hum of dormant machines lingered like background music. Jinyong stepped out first.
"This way, Mr. Sato."
Hiroshi followed. His eyes swept over the room, looking at the scattered tools, the disassembled engines, the modified chassis gleaming under the light.
Then he saw it, the Satomobile.
Or at least what used to be one.
"Oh wow," Hiroshi murmured, stepping closer. "You weren't exaggerating."
"I said I improved it," Jinyong said. He moved to the side of the car, hand brushing the smooth, reshaped frame. "The stock engine's gone. Replaced with my own build, double carburetors, redesigned pistons, better combustion ratio. I adjusted the suspension to handle sharper turns. And the gearbox—" he tapped the shifter, "—I rebuilt it for faster torque transfer. No lag."
Hiroshi crouched beside the car, fingers brushing the edges of the metal. "You did all this yourself?"
"Yes."
"No engineers? No supervision?"
"I am the engineer."
Hiroshi laughed quietly, not mockingly, more like he was remembering something distant. "Fourteen, and already rebuilding one of my cars from the ground up. You're either a genius or a nightmare for your father's repair team."
Jinyong smirked. "They already hate me."
"Good. That's the mark of someone doing something at least."
Jinyong tilted his head. "You sound like you'd know."
"I used to," Hiroshi said. "Now I just sign papers." He patted the hood. "Does it run?"
"Better than anything in your catalog," Jinyong said, only half-joking. "Want to try it?"
Hiroshi's brows lifted. "You're offering me a test drive of my own invention?"
"Your company's car, you only invented the early iterations of it." Jinyong corrected. "This one's mine."
Hiroshi's grin widened. "Fair enough. Let's see what the young inventor can do."
—
Minutes later, the Satomobile roared out of the ramp and onto the street circling Keum Tower. The city lights shimmered against the pavement. Hiroshi took the wheel while Jinyong sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, calm as ever.
The moment Hiroshi shifted gears, the car responded like a living thing; smooth, immediate.
He let out a low whistle. "This is… different."
"Yeah? Different how?" Jinyong asked.
"Faster. Lighter on the turns. The handling's cleaner, the acceleration… Oh my, the acceleration is perfect."
Jinyong smiled faintly. "The weight distribution. I adjusted the frame geometry. It's balanced now. And as you can see, the shape of it, it's more aerodynamic, albeit not too much, I want some style too."
Hiroshi took a sharp corner, and the car glided effortlessly. "You've made something better than half the prototypes my engineers showed to me, you know that?"
"I could make something even faster," Jinyong said, voice casual. "Faster than the current racing models. The engines in those are heavy and inefficient. Outdated design philosophy. I could fix that."
Hiroshi laughed, deep and genuine this time. "Listen to you. You sound just like me twenty years ago."
"Do I?"
"Always trying to create, to push things forward," Hiroshi said, eyes still on the road. "I used to spend nights in the workshop, same as you."
Jinyong looked out the window, city lights streaking past. "And now you don't make things anymore."
"Now I sell them, though I still dabble from time to time." Hiroshi said quietly. "People call that progress. I'm not sure it is."
"Maybe you just became more of a merchant," Jinyong murmured. "My father's like that too. He builds deals, not machines."
Hiroshi's eyes flicked to him. "And what does that make you?"
"A blacksmith," Jinyong said simply. "A week ago, he finally allowed me to be part of his company's engineers, though I work alone. Separate from the others."
"A lone blacksmith in a family of merchants," Hiroshi mused. "I like that." He slowed the car, parking it smoothly by the curb near the tower entrance. "You have talent, Jinyong. Real talent. If you weren't your father's son, I'd steal you for Future Industries in a heartbeat."
Jinyong allowed himself a small smile. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Sato."
Hiroshi turned the key, killing the engine, then looked at him with amusement. "If you're going to talk like that, call me Hiroshi. Makes me feel less like an old man."
"Mr. Hiroshi then," Jinyong repeated. It felt strange on his tongue.
Hiroshi smiled. "Good. Maybe we'll see more of each other. Our companies are partners now, after all."
Jinyong's gaze lingered on him for a beat too long. Then, he said, "Partnerships can mean a lot of things. Sometimes… more than what's written on paper."
Hiroshi's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes, a momentary, quiet tension.
"Smart boy, you didn't actually say it, but I know what you mean." he said finally. "You involve yourself with your father too?"
"Sometimes. I am his heir after all." Jinyong replied.
"Keep doing that," Hiroshi said, opening the door. "What do you think of it?"
Jinyong tilted his head slightly. "What do I think of what?"
Hiroshi turned to look at him, one hand resting on the open door. "I assume you already know what this cooperation between our companies is really for."
Jinyong met his gaze. "For the future of us non-benders."
Hiroshi chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "You're right about that." He studied the boy's face for a moment. "And do you agree with it? Our… ideas?"
"Not entirely," Jinyong said.
Hiroshi raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"I believe in equality," Jinyong replied. "But not by punching down those who are above us. Equality should be built by raising up those who are below."
Hiroshi hummed thoughtfully. "And how would you do that, then?"
Jinyong pointed to his forehead. "Ingenuity, Mr. Hiroshi."
Hiroshi laughed again, louder this time. "You're young. Naive, maybe. But I respect that." He reached out and patted the boy's shoulder, his expression softening. "Keep that fire. The world will try to put it out soon enough."
He turned back toward the elevator, hands in his pockets. "It was nice to meet you, young Jinyong. Thank you for showing me your Satomobile. It felt like a trip down memory lane, even if it was short."
Jinyong nodded. "The pleasure was mine."
Hiroshi stepped into the elevator, gave one last nod, and the doors slid shut with a quiet chime.
The basement fell silent again. Only the faint hum of the machines and the lingering scent of oil remained.
Jinyong stood there for a moment, staring at the reflection of the closed elevator doors.
Then he turned toward his Satomobile, his fingers brushing the cool metal of the hood.