A few days later, Jinyong was back in his workshop, welding pieces of metal together. Sparks flew and clung to the air. He wore a tank top, sweat beading on his toned arms and chest, his muscles flexing with every movement. The metal simple machinery that he was welding with his hands would make shaping bullets easier, as he realized he needed more bullets, and needed more efficient ways to make it other than by hand.
A sharp knock at the door pulled him out of his focus. A security guard peeked in.
"Mr. Keum, your father wants you," he said.
"Where?" Jinyong asked, raising his welding helmet, showing his face.
"Back. Where the household chores usually get done."
Jinyong hummed, wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel, and tossed the helmet aside. "I'll be there in a minute."
When he arrived, his parents were already there, flanked by a few engineers. Boxes and crates were stacked neatly, each containing a prototype of the machines he had designed. He scanned the room. There was an electric washing machine, an iron, a vacuum cleaner, all looking almost identical to the sketches he had made.
"They actually made it pretty quick," he said, raising an eyebrow.
One engineer scoffed. "Your drawings were detailed. Every delicate part, every recommended material, even how it works. Made things easier for us."
His father leaned forward. "Was it expensive to make?"
"A bit," the engineer said. "With proper planning, we can lower the production costs, though, sir."
His mother clapped her hands. "Which one should we try first?"
Jinyong crouched down to inspect the washing machine. It was a solid block, small windowed door on the side for clothes. He turned to the engineers. "Have you tried it yet?"
The engineer nodded. "It works fine."
He connected it to the electricity and the water pipe. Jinyong glanced at his mother. "Do we have soap for the water?"
A servant handed him a small container. He smiled faintly, peeled off his sweaty tank top, and threw it into the machine. He poured the soap into the slot and closed the door. Then he turned the dial.
Water gurgled into the machine, mixing with the soap. The washing drum slowly spun, making a soft grumbling noise as it moved.
He explained, pointing to the machine as it worked. "It spins to agitate the clothes. Water and soap mix and loosen dirt from the fibers. The drum rotates back and forth to make sure everything gets cleaned evenly."
His mother nodded, interested.
"And the drying mode," he continued, "uses heated air to evaporate the water while the drum keeps spinning slowly. It's efficient only for small loads that could fit here. But it works well without wasting much energy. It's still a bit damp of course, but it'll evaporate easily and don't really need to be dried off under the sun."
The machine whirred and hissed, working through its first cycle. Jinyong watched, satisfied.
His parents exchanged glances, a quiet pride in their eyes. Even his mother, who rarely showed interest in such things, leaned forward, captivated.
He stood up, and turned to the other things. "As for the others… Those are self-explanatory. The electric iron for smoothing out clothing, the dust cleaners to suck dust and dirt from carpets and tight places depending on how you use it. Where are the other things?"
"I told them to make only three of these first. Your mother chose it." said Wonyong, crossing his arms.
"Alright…" Jinyong said, humming. "So… what do you think?"
His mother smiled, clearly pleased. "Let the servants use it for a week, but I can already tell this will sell well."
Wonyong nodded in agreement. "We'll test it further, but I'll tell the marketing team to start planning a campaign."
He turned to the engineer. "When could we start mass production after testing?"
The engineer tapped his chin, thinking. "There's an empty factory we could use right now. Hiring people and setting up the machines… probably a month or two."
Wonyong nodded, satisfied. "Then prepare it now."
"Right away, sir," the engineer said, and left.
Jinyong stretched. "Well, anything else? If not, I'm going back."
Wonyong hummed. "Good work."
Jinyong smiled, shoulders relaxing. "Thanks, Father. Oh, I have a few requests on some materials, I'll send you the list later."
He turned and left the back room,
—
Night settled over the tower. Jinyong wiped metal dust from his hands and watched the little machine spit out shiny casings like clockwork as he pressed the pedal using his feet.
Before, he had handmade each one. Cut a strip of brass, roll it tight around a mandrel, pinch the seam, trim the mouth, then size it until it fits. A hundred a week if he pushed himself. Slow and tiring.
This new rig did it without heat or sparks. A simple draw press, a pair of dies, a mandrel and a trimming cutter. He fed a flat strip into the die. The press pushed the metal down around the mandrel. The metal flowed, formed into a hollow shell. A cutter trimmed the rim. A sizing rod pushed it to exact length. No electricity needed. Just leverage and gears and the right shape.
He fed the casings to the next station. A small press seated the primer. Then he measured gunpowder into each, tipped a swaged lead bullet on top and crimped the mouth closed. The bullet set tight also with the machine.
Where he once made fifty rounds a week, he can now theoretically make the same amount overnight.
He set the magazines on the bench. He had reworked the pistol too. The old single-shot wasn't enough. Now the frame had a magazine well, a spring follower, and a feed ramp. He had polished the slide to match, tuned the extractor and the firing pin, and set the recoil spring so the slide cycled cleanly.
Pistols worked simply, he thought as he loaded them. The magazine pushed a cartridge up. When the slide slammed forward it shoved the round into the chamber. Pull the trigger. The firing pin hit the primer. Powder burned. Gas pushed the bullet out the barrel. The same gas shoved the slide back, ejecting the spent case. The recoil spring sent the slide forward again, and the next round fed. One motion. Repeatable. Fast. Efficient.
He clicked rounds into the magazine until it sat full and snug. The pistol felt right in his hand. Balanced. Heavy enough to tame recoil. Reliable.
He grinned, shook his head at himself, and wiped his hands clean. A small reward, he told himself. He deserved a walk.
He slipped on his coat, hid the pistol under a loose sleeve, and left the workshop. The city at night was quiet. He walked the back alleys, testing how the pistol felt when he drew it, how the magazine seated, how the slide racked. He found an abandoned industrial lot, a stack of old barrels, and a patch of concrete.
He aimed once, twice, at the empty space. The reports echoed off metal and brick. He checked the rounds. The feed was smooth. The extraction is clean. The bullet holes marked the barrels like neat punctuation.
Satisfied, he holstered the pistol, pocketed the extra magazines and the small pile of fresh casings, and walked into the night. The city hummed. He smiled and kept going.
He wandered through quiet streets, the night air felt cool on his face. Eventually, he reached a small park, where a few street vendors were still packing up. The smell of grilled meat hit him. He bought a few meat sticks, found an empty bench, and sat down. He tore into the first one, savoring the smoky flavor and the calm of the park.
The peace didn't last long. From a corner, he heard shouting. Someone was trying to recruit people for the Equalist party. Jinyong frowned, listening for a moment. He tilted his head at their words but didn't engage. The voices faded behind him as he went back to eating, focusing on the meat and the night.
After finishing, he stood and started walking again. Closed shops passed him by, shutters down, lights dim. He drifted through alleys, quiet streets.
Eventually, he reached the docks. The air smelled of salt and oil, the waves slapping quietly against the piers. In the distance, a glow caught his eye. The pro-bending arena. Lights blazing, the sound of cheering and shouts echoing over the water.
He paused, intrigued. He'd been here before, but never really paid attention to the fights. Tonight felt different. On a whim, he decided to go. Not yet. First, he would head home and grab a notebook. Maybe he could take notes, study the movements, see how benders fought up close.
—
The lights of the pro-bending arena flickered in the distance, cutting through the night like a beacon. Jinyong walked closer, notebook in hand. The cheers, the shouts, the clash of bending, it was chaotic. He bought a ticket from the booth and grabbed some popcorn on the way in, the smell of buttered kernels filling the air.
He found a seat just above the arena floor. The roar of the crowd hit him immediately. Loud. Too loud. He winced, adjusting his notebook on his lap and tearing a piece of popcorn.
The match was ready to start: the Buzzard Wasps versus the Boar-q-pines. Flames hissed, water arced, and boulders spun through the arena as the teams clashed. Jinyong scribbled in his notebook, trying to catch every movement. The waterbender flowed fluidly, ducking and spinning. The earthbender was stiff, each strike precise. The firebender moved with pride, every attack bold and sharp. He tried to analyze their styles, the efficiency in their chaos.
A light touch on his shoulder made him look up. What greeted him was a beautiful face. A familiar face. Asami.
"Surprised to see you here," Asami said, already sliding into the seat beside him without asking.
"You should be the one saying that," he raised a brow. "Did you come alone?"
She scoffed. "You think I'm daddy's little girl and helpless in all things? Can't go anywhere without an escort?"
"Of course not. I was just asking." He chuckled. "My first impression of you definitely doesn't make me think that."
She giggled, recalling their wild ride through the city in his modified satomobile. "Yeah, last time was fun."
"So you are alone," said Jinyong. "Did you drive here, or… please tell me you didn't walk here."
"Of course not," she rolled her eyes. "I have my moped."
"Moped huh?" Jinyong hummed, eyes back on the arena. "Do you like pro-bending?" He gestured as a horn sounded, a team stepping closer to losing.
She nodded. "I try to watch every match every season."
"Really? What's your favorite team?"
She pointed to the Boar-q-pines. "Right now? Them. They've been champions forever, but last year a team took their crown, and now they're in a slump."
Jinyong whistled. "You really are a fan."
She grabbed a handful of his popcorn, popping it in her mouth. "Did you come here casually, or are you a fan too?"
"Just casual," he said, shrugging. "I've been here a few times, never paid much attention. But watching them up close… It makes sense. Seeing benders in action is the next best thing if you're not one yourself."
She raised a brow. "That's a sad statement."
He shrugged. "It's true though, at least for me."
She smirked, leaning back. "I like the thrill. That's it. Nothing to do with wanting to be a bender."
Jinyong nodded, flipping open his notebook.. The horn blared. The crowd roared. The Boar-q-pines had lost.
"Ah damnit. I was hoping they'd win." Asami cursed under her breath.
Jinyong glanced at the arena as the players left the floor, the crowd still buzzing from the last round. "You sticking around for the rest of the matches?" he asked.
She scoffed, leaning back in her seat. "Of course I am."
He tilted his notebook toward her, scribbles and sketches filling the pages. She leaned closer, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Why are you taking notes?"
Jinyong shrugged. "You never know when the knowledge might come in handy, right?"
She raised a brow, clearly skeptical, but didn't press. Instead she asked, "So… are you staying too?"
"I planned to ditch after one match," he admitted. "But since you're here, I'll stay until the end. I'll send you home afterward."
She snorted, crossing her arms. "Like I said, I'm not a helpless little girl, you know."
"I know," he said. "But my conscience won't let a beautiful girl wander home alone at night."
She looked at him, a faint blush on her cheeks, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Alright, flatterer," she said softly. "If you want to run while I ride my moped, suit yourself."
He chuckled, closing his notebook for a moment and turning his attention back to the arena. The night wasn't over yet.
—
By the time the final match ended, the sky outside had started to pale. The crowd thinned out, yawns spreading through the stands. Jinyong rubbed his eyes, stifling one himself. Asami stretched beside him, her voice lazy. "That was fun," she said, covering another yawn.
He chuckled. "Yeah. Though you look like you're about to pass out."
She ignored him, grabbing her helmet. "I'll be fine. It's not that far."
Jinyong frowned. "Your home's outside the city, right? It's an estate after all."
She nodded. "Pretty much. Why?"
"Then you're not driving there half-asleep, not that far my ass, it's pretty far." he said flatly. "Just drive to my family's tower. It's a few blocks from here. I'll have a servant take you home from there."
She paused, one eyebrow raised. "And my moped?"
He smirked. "Guess you'll have to come pick it up later."
Her lips curled into a teasing grin. "Ah, I see what this is about." She tried to sound sharp, but a yawn slipped out mid-sentence.
Jinyong pointed at her. "See? You're sleepy. That's why you're not riding that far."
She sighed, defeated. "Fine. Hop on, we'll go to your family's place."
She swung a leg over her moped and patted the back seat, smirking. The engine hummed to life as she pulled on her helmet. "Hold on to me tight."
Jinyong raised a brow. "Really? You sure you want me to hold on to you?"
Her smirk widened. "If you fall, it's not my fault."
Without warning, she twisted the throttle. The moped jerked forward hard. Jinyong nearly flew off but grabbed her waist just in time, cursing under his breath.
Asami giggled. "Hold on tightly, big boy."
He scoffed but couldn't help smiling. The city lights blurred past them as they sped off into the quiet streets.
—
When they pulled up to the tower, the streets were almost empty. The air was cool, quiet. Asami slowed the moped and parked it where Jinyong pointed, right outside his workshop, where he opened the garage door and let her in.
"You can leave it here," he said, already walking to a telephone on the desk to call someone.
A few minutes later, a black satomobile rolled up to the front entrance. One of the family's drivers stepped out and bowed slightly. Jinyong gestured toward the car. "He'll take you home."
Asami pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair. "You're too much sometimes, you know that?"
He smirked. "You'd thank me when you're not falling asleep at the handlebars."
She laughed softly and walked toward the car. Jinyong got there first, opening the door for her. She gave him a sidelong look as she stepped in. "Don't do anything to my moped," she said, pointing a finger at him. "I'll know. And I'm coming back for it tomorrow afternoon."
He chuckled. "Sure. I'll see you then."
She smiled, shutting the door. The car rolled away, its headlights fading into the quiet street.
Jinyong stood there for a while, hands in his pockets, watching it disappear.
—
Early morning light spilled through the garage windows. Jinyong pulled himself up on the bar, chest bare, muscles flexing as he finished his set. Sweat gleamed on his skin.
Suddenly the door to his workshop swung open with a soft creak. A sweet smelling perfume drifted in. He froze mid-pull-up, eyes widening. There was Asami, standing in the doorway, a faint blush on her cheeks at the sight of him.
He dropped from the bar and straightened, turning to her. "I thought you said you'd take your moped in the afternoon, not the morning. Did you even sleep?"
She scoffed, trying to look away but failing. "I could say the same to you. Already up this early, huh?"
Jinyong smirked, amused. He wiped sweat from his body using a towel, grabbed a shirt, wore it, and tossed the moped key toward her. "Here."
She caught it. "Thanks."
He walked over to the garage door, pulling it up. "I'll open this for you."
Asami swung her leg over the moped, slipped on her helmet, and started the engine. She moved forward but stopped just short of him.
"Got free time right now?" she asked, tilting her head.
Jinyong raised a brow. "Are you asking me on a date?"
She scoffed, smirk tugging at her lips. "That's the point of you asking me to leave my moped here, isn't it? So you'd see me again. Might as well go on the date now and not dally around."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright. Where to this early in the morning?"
She tapped the back of the moped. "The park. Hop on."
Jinyong glanced down at himself. "I should wash up first."
She hummed, settling on the seat. "I'll wait here then."
—
They strolled through the park, morning sun spilling through the trees. Ice cream in hand, Jinyong licked at his vanilla cone while Asami savored a chocolate one.
"You know vanilla is clearly superior," he said, a smug grin on his face.
She rolled her eyes, chocolate dripping on her fingers. "Clearly? Chocolate is richer. Stronger. Better."
"I disagree," he countered, taking a bite. "Vanilla is classic. Simple. Timeless."
"Timelessly boring," she shot back, tugging at her cone. They kept arguing playfully as they wandered along the gravel paths.
Ahead, a man stood on a small crate, a banner of Amon behind him. He was shouting, voice hoarse from passion, about taking down bending establishments and giving power back to the non-benders.
"Benders rule this city with their powers and their arrogance!" he shouted, pointing at the crowd. "They dictate who gets ahead, who earns what, who lives free! Non-benders, we are the forgotten! We work, we sweat, we pay their taxes, and yet we have no voice! No say in our future!"
He jabbed a finger toward Jinyong and Asami. "You! You're non-benders too, right?! You feel it too, don't you? Every day, you live under their shadow, their fire, their water, their stone! We are the majority in terms of numbers, yet treated like the weak! Enough is enough!"
The man held up a pamphlet, thrusting it toward them. "Join us tonight! Sympathizers, those who wish to learn the truth, come! Hear our ideals! See a world where we are the superior ones, not those benders! Amon will show us the way!"
Jinyong raised a brow, flipping the pamphlet in his hand. "Will Amon be there?"
"No," the man said, voice still booming. "This gathering is for those willing to listen, willing to see the future we can build without fear of bender dominance!"
Asami stiffened. Without a word, she tugged Jinyong away, though he still clutched the pamphlet.
"You okay with that?" he asked, tilting his head.
She scoffed, frowning. "With the part where they want to destroy benders' establishments?"
Jinyong shrugged. "Is that wrong?"
She glanced at him, frowning deeper. "Do you agree with it?"
"Non-benders have been oppressed for ages," he said. "Even now, where our technology is starting to catch up to them, we're still being oppressed subtly. Ever since Councilman Sokka died, no non-bender has sat on the council. No voice in a city that is supposed to be the most diverse place in the world.."
She frowned. "Still… taking down the bending establishment entirely seems extreme."
"Exactly," he said, nodding.
"So you don't agree with them?"
"We have tools now to level the playing field," he explained. "Technology is rising. Benders' supremacy won't last forever. It's our choice if we accelerate that or not. The Equalists? They want to speed it up in all the wrong ways."
"What does that even mean?" she asked, tilting her head.
"They push non-bender supremacy," he said. "That's not fair either. Benders are born with weapons built into them. Non-benders aren't. That's fact, that's what makes them superior. But we can make our own weapons, our own tools to stand equal. That is enough. The Equalists however, want more, they want to strip benders entirely, at the very least socially or even worse."
She raised her brow, amused. "I didn't think you cared much about politics."
He scoffed. "You're too carefree. We're rich. So we don't see what non-benders have to deal with. Fewer jobs for them, lower pay, worse quality of life. I'm just pointing it out. It's not an insult like you think it is, Asami."
She smiled faintly. "I'm not saying it's an insult. Just an observation. And I agree with your view… just not the Equalists'."
Jinyong rolled his eyes, relieved. "Good. You're not an extremist. Although… it might be interesting to join one of these gatherings, don't you think?"
She raised a brow. "Is that your idea of a second date?"
He laughed, flicking the pamphlet into the grass. "You're right. Horrible second date."
They walked on, ice cream melting in the morning sun, laughing quietly, the pamphlet forgotten in the dirt.