In the workshop that smelled of metal and echoed with the steady hum of machines, the evening light slipped through a cracked window, bathing the room in a faint golden glow. Dust floated lazily in the rays, giving the cluttered space an almost sacred shimmer.
It wasn't just a workshop, it was a place of dreams, built with sweat, shared meals, and bursts of laughter. Among the piles of tangled cables, rusting tools, and towers of scrap metal, the rhythm of labor and playful banter pulsed like the heartbeat of a family. Every corner held a memory: the burn mark from an old welding mishap, the stool missing a leg but still stubbornly in use, the faded poster of a racing car that someone had taped to the wall years ago.
Zinnia stood in the center, her violet hair tied high, giving her a sharp, capable look. The light caught strands of her hair, glinting like sparks.
"This week's gold: 212 grams," she said, pointing to the digital scale. Her voice carried authority, cutting through the background noise of clattering tools. "Plus 67 grams from last week, that makes 279 grams."
Radit leaned back casually against a beam, flipping his pocket knife shut with a whistle. His movements were lazy, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Guess all this slave work finally paid off," he muttered, slipping the knife away before spinning it once more for show.
By the window, Kaivan raised his hand lightly, his face calm under the shaft of sunlight painting him in a soft glow.
"Current price is 325 thousand per gram," he said evenly. "That's nearly ninety million in total." The words rolled off his tongue as though he were simply stating the weather, but the weight of the sum settled on the others like a heavy blanket.
Frans, who had been lounging lazily in a chair with one leg dangling, straightened up in an instant. His grin broke wide across his face, eyes shining with eagerness.
"So how's the split this week?" he asked, leaning forward with anticipation.
"And… we're having a feast again, right? Like last time?" he added, rubbing his chin as though already tasting the memory of grilled meat and overflowing drinks. His voice carried a boyish hope that drew a chuckle from Radit, who reached out and clapped him firmly on the shoulder.
But the laughter quickly faded when Zinnia narrowed her eyes, her sharp gaze slicing through the air. Her arms crossed firmly over her chest, body rigid as steel.
"But… why is that girl sitting on Kaivan's lap?" she demanded, her tone like a spark landing on dry wood.
All eyes turned in unison toward the corner. Felicia sat comfortably on Kaivan's thigh as though it were the most natural place in the world. Her long hair spilled down in silken waves, her fingers idly twirling the ends of a strand. She only smiled, calm and unbothered, her expression daring anyone to challenge her.
"Thivi, everyone's staring at you now," she said softly, though a glimmer of fire flickered in her gaze, betraying her playful words.
Thivi shot back immediately, her hands snapping to her hips, voice loud and sharp enough to cut the tension.
"Hah? Why me? You're the one glued to him," she quipped, her tone half-playful, half-provocation, while her eyes held an undeniable challenge.
Zinnia stepped in before the air could ignite. She planted her feet firmly, her voice ringing with authority that left no room for defiance.
"I was talking to both of you!" she snapped, her finger stabbing toward Felicia and Thivi in accusation. Her words sliced through the rising tension like a blade, making the others instinctively straighten their backs.
Kaivan let out a quiet sigh, the sound barely audible against the hum of the machines. His face remained composed, detached, as though he refused to be dragged into the firestorm brewing around him. His calm presence was like a silent wall, the one unmoved figure in a room brimming with sparks.
Frans never missed a chance to joke. "Must be nice, being pampered by two pretty girls like that," he muttered with a mischievous grin, sparking a ripple of laughter among them.
Radit, quick as always, jumped in. "Bring Tira, your girlfriend, then you'll know what it feels like!" he teased, laughing as Frans chuckled in satisfaction.
In the middle of the noise, Kaivan rose slowly to his feet. His voice was calm but steady, every word carrying weight. "We'll sell part of the gold. The profit's enough for a feast, and to buy four sacks of phone parts for the next batch." All attention shifted toward him at once.
Frans, now serious, nodded. "I'll get the car ready. But… is it okay if Tira joins us this time?" His tone softened, warm and sincere.
Kaivan gave a faint smile and nodded. "Of course. The more the merrier."
The setting sun slipped through the cracked window, washing the workshop in liquid gold. The light danced across the piles of treasure they had forged with their own hands, glinting like dreams beginning to take shape. Laughter and conversation blended with the hum of machines, turning the place into more than a workshop, it was a space where resolve and joy grew side by side, shaping hope.